For One Living with Anxiety

In the small hours of the morning

when you wake with a hand at your throat

seizing you with worry,

may you find unexpected solace in the shadow

of One who loves you and calls you by name.

And in your daily offices—

the simple actions of your day,

when you feel as if your hands and feet

are too heavy to lift,

may you find sanctity in a tea cup,

the curve of a tree branch, the weight of a friend’s hand,

in the birds that sing on through the morning.

In the afternoon, when your mind

is weary and your spirit worn,

may you find silence, and shadow, and sun.

In the evening when darkness falls cruelly

and the day has not yet reconciled herself with night,

May you allow yourself to grieve

the unrightness of this world;

may you feel fully the moaning of earth,

sky and all creation, the seas that swell,

the ground that cracks—all that seeks to destroy

innocence, tenderness, and song.

Then in the night, when all seems spent

and you are struck with emptiness,

may you find a table is laid for you,

a fire already in your hearth,

food and drink laid before you,

your chairs filled with those who love you well.

In the darkness of sleep

may you feel the protective walls of your home,

hear the rhythm of your breath

and the stillness that yet is filled with words;

and may you know that you, and all you love

are bound safely beyond understanding,

and may you find peace in your dreams

and joy in the morning.