The youngest rises early and is fully alive at 6:15 a.m. Perhaps he is his mother’s son. Breakfast consumed quickly, he begins his play. He shouts at objects in repeated indecipherable words. They are unknown to the untrained ear. But to us, with visual cues of context, we discern what they mean. As he shouts in repeated fashion, we echo back our confirmation that we heard.

“Truck.”
“Train.”
“Tracks”
“Brother”
“Deacon”

His attempt to name is intense and urgent. He shouts them like cannonballs hurling towards the target until affirmed that we heard and understood him.

May my prayers be the same – eyes open to the world, to that which delights my eyes and that which frustrates my heart.

May I launch it all, in few words, towards the Eternal Listener until I hear it reverberate back my way.

A cry for mercy
A cry against injustice
Desperation for hope
Witnessing death
In need of resurrection

This Palm Sunday, may my prayers be simple and bold, before God rich in mercy and grace. May they be the same that were uttered so long ago, that must be prayed now as the people still yearn for redemption but struggle to embrace it.

Fling open the gates.
Choose the rejected One to heal
Shout thanks and praise

And then walk into Jerusalem
where redemption comes at a price and
revelation of Love’s strength and endurance changes everything.

Then I will walk through Holy Week where strength and endurance are all that hold me through the long dark nights, until the Easter sun rises and I wait to see what God might still do that changes everything.

“Resurrection,” may I cry. Repeatedly and repeatedly, until it echoes back my way.