I heard a poem yesterday ... or I should say, a part of a poem.
I am not sure who the author of the poem was.
I am not even sure I have the phrase right.
Nonetheless, I have been captured by its truth, this little, potentially misquoted, phrase.
Here is it:
"Lord, most of what I love mistakes itself for nothing."
I urge you to read that phrase aloud, perhaps several times in a row.
S-l-o-w-l-y ...
Most
of what I love
mistakes itself
for
nothing.
A cup of hot coffee made by my husband, often delivered to me in bed.
A late afternoon phone call from one of our adult kids, full of news of their life.
My mom's smiling face as she pulls out of our driveway with a fresh loaf of my homemade sourdough bread.
My dad's voice on the phone when he hears it's me calling ... "Hey, Al!"
The resilience of a student I know who is rising up and out of generational poverty.
The prayers of a faithful elderly widow friend.
A hot bowl of stew on a chilly night.
A lovely glass of dry red wine.
A sunset on a Thursday night.
Fresh sheets on our bed.
The friendly wave of a neighbor as I leave for work.
The smile of an immigrant new to our community whose language I do not speak.
Should I continue?
What things (or people) you love tend to "mistake themselves for nothing?"
What might you do to force yourself to see the gift these ordinary, everyday, often-overlooked gems actually are?
Why do you think this poet starts this statement by addressing God?
Is this sentence a prayer?
If so, how might it become yours?
"Lord, most of what I love mistakes itself for nothing."
(God, I pray I am quoting this poet correctly! But if not, what a fantastic mistake I have made. Forgive me.)