O Creator of the quiet stars,
O Singer of the first song,
O Breath from which all breaths arise,
I lift my voice to You.
I stand at the edge of the known world,
with dust on my boots and longing in my heart.
I have wandered far to remember what was never lost.
I have built small fires against the vast dark.
I have forgotten and remembered, and forgotten again.
I bring You my aloneness, and ask that You make it holy.
I bring You my ache for belonging, and ask that You weave it into gold.
I bring You my doubts, my strange resistance, my hidden fears —
not to be erased, but to be transfigured.
Make me a quiet vessel for Your light.
Make me a fearless witness to Your beauty.
Teach me to love without performance,
to rest without shame,
to stand among others without losing my song.
Remind me, when I tremble,
that Your love was never something to be earned.
It is the river beneath the desert.
It is the seed asleep in the rock.
Help me to walk awake through this strange world,
to be unashamed of my solitude,
to be unafraid of my tenderness,
to be steadfast in the wild work You placed in my hands.
Let me not confuse noise for belonging.
Let me not mistake the crowd for the kingdom.
Let me remember:
I was sent here not to be like everyone else,
but to bring a signal that no one else could bring.
Let me trust that even now,
even here,
even when I cannot see the path,
You are carrying me home.
Amen.