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I write, mostly to keep my head from exploding. It threatens to do that a lot. My blog is the pixelated version of all the voices in my head. I tend to dive into what connects me to God, my community, my family and my doubt. I do a lot of searching, not as much finding. I’m good with that. I have learned, finally, to live comfortably in the gray. In the meantime, I wrestle with God, and my doubt and my joy.

Sunday, August 10, 2014

A Prayer for Hope

I sent my hope out into
the Universe.
Whispered and weightless,
I waited.

I waited to be struck whole,
made happy,
By you;
by You.
I waited for peace
to come.

But Hope is an action
And it doesn't wait,
or come when
And you--
and You--
will never save me
or bring me
lying calm and clean
on platters of silver.

I hope with my feet,
not my head
or my heart,
which lies broken
and bruised
near the graves of
the fallen,
who lie silent
and still
near the fields
where you
and You
once tried to be holy,
once tried to hope,
once waited for peace to

But hope is an action,
and peace is a
to lift me,
to fill me,
allow me to
When I hope with my feet
I am saved.
I am healed.
I am made holy
once more.

Stacey Zisook Robinson
(c) 2014

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