I don't pray so very well

I don't pray so very well
With all the levels of divine contact newly devised
And all the assorted certainties of those who know
Far more about God than perhaps He does Himself.



I'm still in the back pew with the publican,
Struggling to believe, pushing through today's pain,
And worried about what's in store for tomorrow.



I hang on to simple things -- like a Father who never
Gives a stone when I ask Him for bread.



Some of the greatest gifts I received were when
I never asked at all,
When a loving, unseen hand took me safely along
Some precipices I'd not like to walk again.



God is still a mystery to me and my faith is probably
As weak as any man's alive.



But I never quit believing in love and joy and serenity,
And knowing that somehow I am a favored child
Whether I deserve it or not.



Our relationship keeps getting simpler:
I picture the kind of child I really want to be,
And in bits and pieces He gives me the help to be it.

~ James Kavanaugh