How shall I pray?
Are tears prayers, Lord?
Are screams prayers,
Can trembling hands be lifted to you,
Or clenched fists
Or the cold sweat that trickled down my back
Or the cramps that knot my stomach?
Will you accept my prayers, Lord,
My real prayers,
rooted in the muck and mud and rock of my life,
and not just the pretty, cut-flower, gracefully arranged
bouquet of words?
Will you accept me, Lord, as I really am,
messed up mixture of glory and grime?