letter

Letters to God, Western Wall, Jerusalem

...

Dear,

it would take every moment of two lifetimes to thank You.

here. i'm standing, little me. insignificant and full of potential and fear.

and i can't seem to untie this belt of hope i have wrapped around me.

i know which things are of You and which things i create(d) to fight them.

but You still give rain. and trees. and the clear night sky.

i know how much i doubt and how much i cry.

even with them closed, i can roll my eyes and even while i'm sleeping i slip.

but You still give the ocean. and siblings. and the moon.

i could and have found reason after reason why i should have more.

i could list all of them right now. but then i think of what i have. what You have already bestowed.

and You still give butterflies. and arms. and the scent of flowers. and clouds. and airplanes. and eyes. and Prayers & Meditations. metaphors. and pianos. my father's hands. and my mother. orcas island. babies laughing. "sorry". books of poetry. ferry boats. large trampolines. peripheral vision. oolong tea. summers in china. Mount Carmel. colors. grandparents. autumn. snow. angels. the snowflake that landed in my hair on that day. tomorrows...

thank You.