pry me off dead center.

Deliver me from assuming that mercy is gentle.
Pressure me that I may grow more human,
not through the lessening of my struggles,
but through an expansion of them
that will undamn me
and unbury my gifts.

Deepen my hurt
until I learn to share it
and myself
openly,
and my needs honestly.

Sharpen my fears
until I name them
and release the power I have locked in them
and they in me.

Accentuate my confusion
until I shed those grandiose expectations
that divert me from the small, glad gifts
of the now and the here and the me.

Expose my shame where it shivers,
crouched behind the curtains of propriety,
until I can laugh at last
through my common frailties and failures,
laugh my way toward becoming whole.

Deliver me
from just going through the motions
and wasting everything I have
which is today,
a chance,
a choice,
my creativity,
your call.

Let how much it all matters
pry me off dead center
so if I am moved inside
to tears
or signs
or screams
or smiles
or dreams,

they will be real
and I will be in touch with who I am
and who you are
and who my sisters and brothers are.

-Ted Loder, Guerrillas of Grace: Prayers for the Battle