40 Days

Forty days, only
We offer up
In smallest token
Of what was done for us.

Forty days, lonely
He walked the desert
Of that land
To save us
From ourselves and
What the earth
Holds out
To tempt and offer–
Empty promises
It cannot keep.

Forty days, merely
We give it back
In miserly ways–
A piece of chocolate
Or a dollar coin
A thoughtless prayer
Most likely drifting
Up in space
Or somewhere
For ourselves
And our own needs.

Did he ever once
Think of himself
When Satan said
He’d show him
What it meant
To be the King?

What then, is it
For us
To give Him
Some small gift
Of Forty Days
In recompense?

Let me kiss your fingers,
Your eyelid and your cheek,
Let me kiss your forehead
The instep of your feet.
Let me kiss your hair,
Your hand the nail once pierced,
Wash you in my blood,
Rinse you with my tears.

Thank you, Lord, for answering prayer.
For calling me to teach for you,
For showing me a place to learn,
For telling me where to look for my keys!
I am not amazed that no prayer is too large for you—
The mountains must move, and the light obeys your word.
I am only amazed that no prayer is too small for you!—
The lilies of the field know your voice.
,
Who is not too high to kneel beside me!
Who loves his daughter enough to watch her purse when she leaves it somewhere,
Who is not too occupied guiding the stars to arrange a happy coincidence.
Thank you that I, who am too small to imagine a galaxy,
Am not too small for you to love.