Benedicere
May your home always
be too
small to hold all
your friends.
May your heart remain
ever supple,
fearless in the face
of threat,
jubilant in the grip
of grace.
May your hands remain
open,
caressing,
never clenched,
save to pound the
doors of all who
barter justice to he
highest bidder.
May your heroes be
earthy,
dusty-shoed and
rumpled,
hallowed but
unhaloed,
guiding you through
seasons
of tremor and
travail, apprenticed
to the godly art
of giggling amid
haggard news and
portentous circumstance.
May your hankering be
in rhythm with
heaven's,
whose covenant vows a
dusty
intersection with our
own:
when creation's hope
and history rhyme.
May hosannas lilt
from your lungs:
God is not done;
God is not yet done.
All flesh, I am told,
will behold;
will surely
behold. Ken Sehested
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