HERE’S ONE OF MY MANY (thousands of) photos, this one dating back to April 2008, that I love and return to as much as almost any other photo I can think of. I’m not much of a horticulturalist so cannot, I’m afraid, give an account of what is growing before the camera lens, but what I saw through the lens that Spring day is, for me, an image of prayer, my kind of prayer.
Here is a tender shoot, tentatively reaching beyond itself, (though its origins lie in a space, a place, a heart perhaps, before time began) opening slowly, rising out of dark, moist earth. Past, present and future. Here are (tiny) “hands together, eyes closed” all suffused in liquid light, like the newly baptised, yesterday’s and everyday’s.
Here – in tiny, precious hair, and arteries and veins, and nuanced colours, and exquisitely petite majesty – is testimony to the care and the call of a life Source beyond the limited capacity of any one of us fully to comprehend. Here is tenderness. Here is openness. Here is extra-ordinary beauty. Here is a call to life. Here is something precious being graced, and honoured, and sustained by love – before its rising from the earth, throughout its rising and its temporary temporal glory, and after its return to ‘adamah, to dust.
And this is prayer. My kind of prayer. The kind of love I live for, and in and with. Like you do.