Prayers from the Island Beauty of Bubbles

Beauty of Bubbles

The upturned shell held foam bubbles that glistened in the sun with every color imaginable, iridescent and shimmering. Each bubble was separated and yet connected, sharing an inner membrane, as if part of a whole and still independent. I stood above the shell, watching the colors move across the spectrum as the light played over its surface. The bubbles reminded me of an ideal congregation of believers, each one separate in faith, and yet each sharing the same inner membrane—the certain conviction of Christ’s resurrection. It didn’t matter that the bubbles were short-lived, for they glowed with intensity I could only envy. How beautiful to see such an example of love and unity! I thank you, Lord, that you have given us examples of existence that demonstrate what the communion of believers ought to resemble. Forgive me when I fail to follow that example, and help me, please, to bring joy and support to all those whose lives I touch. Amen.

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Deflated DomesDeflated Domes

When I walk early in the morning, I see domes in the sand, small puffed-up areas where some clam has apparently inflated the sand.  If I step on one of these domes, it immediately collapses, leaving only a crushed roof and bits of scattered sand.  I wonder about the creature that created the dome, and wonder too if I make domes myself.  Sometimes I inflate my own self-worth, puffing myself up, generating hot air that creates a false sense of importance.  Then when adversity happens, the roof falls in and I’m crushed.  Forgive me, Father, for those times when I take all the credit myself for every good thing, leaving you out of my life.  I thank you that no matter how often I inflate myself, you accept me back into your house, forgiving me, loving me, and extending your grace to me.  Forgive me. Amen.

Fog CloudsFog Clouds

  Another dense, foggy day.  Everything seems unsubstantial.  How strange the world looks, so soft and fuzzy, when I know from experience that it is hard and firm.  I hear cars inch past on the road, drivers hesitant to go fast in case a biker or an animal is ahead.  My faith is sometimes like that—there are times when I know it is strong and substantial, but other times I feel it becoming gauzy and slick, almost slipping from my grasp as I despair or fret.  It is then I most need your help, Dear Father, to assure me you are there with me, not only in the fog, but particularly in the fog!  Please help me to trust you when I can no longer see you, hear your voice, or feel your presence.  Be with me as I grope in the fog; may I draw comfort from your strength that is always extended to me, even in the gray fog of doubt.

Sandy FoundationSandy Foundation

A new home is being built across the road from our house.  As the pilings are pounded into the ground, the impact shakes my house with earthquake echoes.  Bang, bang, bang. Incessant.  I’m reminded of the Biblical directive to erect our homes not on sand, but on rock, a foundation able to withstand the force of moving water and grinding wind.  Here there is no rock, only sand, so an artificial substratum of pilings is required.  I think of all the artificial foundations’ I attempt to build on in my life—agreeable personality, intelligence, and good deeds, hoping these will insure my existence’s security.  They fail, of course, because there is only one sure rock foundation—Jesus Christ.  Forgive me, Lord, when I seek to replace you with puny props; you are my only sure hope, the rock on which I build. Amen.