Lap of the Lord

I lay my head
in the lap of the Lord.
The wrinkled clay of my brow
smoothed by His thumb.
In my hair His breeze
is a blue blanket to my soul,
His sunlight warm silk 
to my face.

The weight of my worries
gives way to prayer.
The problems of my bones
absolve in song. The bricks
around my heart become berries
to spread on toast.

All the sins of my tongue,
every boast, insult, and lie
melt into broth and butter.

As I lay my head in the lap of the Lord,
my eyes trace the Hand that moves the stars,
my ears echo with a brook voice
breaking over stones, even my toes
are glad in clover.

Let me vow to walk every corner I've cut
again, heel to toe,
straight and narrow.
Raise in me, dear God,
the artistry to repaint
every wall I've beat my head

I'm hungry now for the soup
I cried in. Let me blow
on the spoon of grace You give us,
bow my head
and dip my bread.

Will SchmitComment