How do you listen to it all, God?
Every prayer, every word, every question, every sigh, shout, and groan.
In each instant, your children call to you. Cry to you. Protest. Tug on your sleeve.
How do you do it?
I guess that’s why you’re God and I’m not.
Because you’re big enough to absorb our needs.
Where I grow impatient, you remain steadfast.
Where I turn a deaf ear, you lean in to listen all the more intently.
Thanks, God, for being all at once huge enough to take it all in,
and yet small enough to confide in.
Thanks for being a big armchair in which to rest,
a warm hug in which to feel secure.
And even when anyone in their right mind would want to run away,
thanks for never leaving.
I sure don’t get you, God.
But I’m sure glad you get me.