Thank You, God, for surprises, starting with the fireflies that look like falling, flitting, blinking stars in the forest and summer squalls that blow up all bubbly and burst to soak the smiling farmer and the buzz of a bird that actually hums when it breezes by so closely or trees that blush red in autumn or what about hiccups–how hilarious!

Perhaps we need all these surprises because we get so callous to the mundane miracles, so we need a little shocking. We don’t even blink at the dinner-plate sized Magnolia and the ants that carry more than their weight and tissue-paper butterflies flitting about for over a thousand miles.

And then there’s the biggest surprise of all–that You would love us even to the shocking scandal of sending Your Son to die for us.

And so we say, thank You.

Thank You for the children’s prayers:

For the “Dear Hope-enly Father” who continues, “I hope Mommy doesn’t die. I hope Daddy doesn’t die. I hope my sisters don’t die.” May she always bring her hope-list to the Hope-enly God.

And thank You for the staller who starts, “Deeeeeeeeeaaaaaaarrrrrrr Goooooooooooood.” May he get another minute before he has to climb in bed. And when he is chided to continue and then asks for heavenly assistance with, “Please help Mom not be so meeeeeeeeaaaaaaan,” may his request be granted.

Thank You for the thankful, who could go on and on. “Thank You for the rainbows and the rhinos and the hippos and the triceratops and the T-Rexes and the swings and the…” May they never find the end to their list.

Thank You for the straight business prayers of “Thank You for this food but I hate broccoli.” May we all remember to stay honest and open with You.

Yes, Lord, thank You for loving us as we love ours.

Thank You for reminding us to come as a child.

Amen.

***In the spirit of Brian Doyle’s “Book of Uncommon Prayer” and with continuing praise to the Creator, Amen.

…which I tend to think of as mine and here for me. An overlooked servant, I ignore it, or curse it when it’s not there, or too much there. Or bless when the wind bites but it gives hope. Or wish on when it seems so cold and distant over a frozen tundra. And thanks for the moon, another gift just to me, to add to the magic of a garden of stars for an enchanting night.

Always there, whether seen or unseen, the sun and moon do Your bidding whether I like the day’s orders or not. They are Your created beings to rule the day and the night that will go on with or without me and have since before the dust that became Eve.

And though I fuss and cuss and pout and groan, and sing and dance and delight and swim and sled and sleep and eat and work with little thought to the perfectly spaced, massive ball of consuming fire above that is the reason I can live at all, I thank You now for its example, daily, of Your hope and faithfulness and sovereign plan which I can neither thwart nor hurry. I need that reminder.

And though the scientists tell me this sun will burn out and turn cold like it feels on an Alaskan January day, foreign and impotent, that is far beyond my ability to be concerned about. I can be content with that.

And so, thank You.

***In the spirit of Brian Doyle’s “Book of Uncommon Prayer” and with continuing praise to the Creator, Amen.