Storms, and Other S-Words

Blessed are You,
Lord our God,
King of the Universe,
for sex.
I am drawn by passion
or a desire for passion.
I am drawn to celebrate the joy
and relief of belonging.

Blessed are You
for storms,
set to kill, or thrill,
or water the earth.
Thunderstorms ground me—
flashes of light,
beating of great sky-gongs,
loud but gentle fall of rain.
The smell of washed earth
says I belong here.

Blessed are You,
Lord our God,
King of the Universe,
for the safety of You—
a safety that embraces
mystery and madness,
skepticism and silence,
and humankind’s violent and dark
underbelly—human trafficking,
and other tragedies.

When there is not a wisp of cloud
over endless, hellish desert,
there is a whisper that you belong
in yourself and in the heart of God.