How shall I pray?

Are tears prayers, Lord?

Are screams prayers,
or groans,
or sighs,
or curses?

Can trembling hands be lifted to You,
or clenched fists,
or the cold sweat that trickles 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 my pretty, cut-flower, gracefully arranged
bouquet of words?

Will You accept me, Lord,
as I really am,
messed up mixture of glory and grime?



Ted Loder
Guerrillas of Grace