A prayerful mess

I don't even really know
   what prayer looks like
       anymore.

Is it this breathing in and out,
   the gasp of appeal
      where the soul unwinds?

Is it this chorus of hallelujahs
   when the faith-filled gather
      in reckless wonder?

Is it this encounter with the Almighty
   that no worshipper can grasp,
      where one staggers in awe?

Or is it this lone whisper
   behind closed doors,
      where praise and pain mix?

I'm a prayerful mess.
   Part breath.
      Part glorious daring.
         Part childlike hope.

Thank you, Lord and Father,
   for hearing and speaking,
      both loving and beloved.
         
One God.
   Forever and ever.
      Amen.