Sunday prayer

Light shines through casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the carpet.
The hues blending together like the altos and basses of the choir ~
Each distinct and yet moments of indistinguishable blurring.

Light enlivens the window now that morning has broken,
But I have seen the stained glass at night.
It is muted, drowsy, yet nevertheless still breathing deeply.
It's rich, radiant blues turn dark gray and black.
The bright yellows quietly turn an olive green.
And slowly, softly the moonlight still illuminates the window in a new way.

Our lives are like that stained glass window.
Sometimes vibrant and talking so quickly because all the words, stories want to escape at once.
Sometimes falling more thoughtful, reflective, muted by the world.
Sometimes the sunlight streams through us.
Sometimes we need space for the moon to do its work too.

A stained glass window
Or a prayer?
Or perhaps there is no reason to make a distinction.

Grace, peace, and love everyone ~