“Our Father who art in heaven,” I begin to say

with a heart full of hate.

 

“Our Father,” a person maternal to us all?

Does that mean you want to see me thrive

Just as much as the boy who treats the girl

With the shady past as a walking matt for his pride?

 

“Who,” who are you?

The man who came to lift eyes,

To strengthen legs, to turn water into wine

Are you the “who” who forgot about my healing?

 

“Art in Heaven,” but can you see me?

Little, insecure person of the “I am,”

miles and miles away

From the clouds that which you reign

 

Did you forget? Have you tuned me out?

 

“Hallowed be thy name,” I mutter from a set of lips

too tired to proclaim the truth that you deserve because

 

“Hallowed,” is my chest

as I run out of breath to keep up

with this prayer

and with the voices that surround me.

 

“Be,” be this. But be that.

Be someone who inspires you

But don’t be what she is because

Being is a scale you rise up to.

 

“thy Name,” is the one I both

worship and curse in the course of

a Monday and I’m forgetting

that Your Name holds the weight. 

Not mine.

 

“Thy kingdom come,” I whisper between two phrases

I question all too often.

 

“Thy,” the God three in one,

but do all three of you

view me the same?

 

“Kingdom,” looks different to him

than it does for me

and I just don’t know what to envision.

 

“Come,” Lord Jesus come, I sing

but please check my punishment at the door

because I don’t think I can face what I truly deserve.

 

“Thy will be done,” falls off my lips

but this phrase, do I actually mean it?

 

“Thy will,” but will I prevail?

Does your will include a safety net

Secure enough to hold the burden

Of all my messed-up years?

 

 “Be done,” be done with me

because I have destroyed your name

and brought nothing but shame to the 

Father of a daughter with scars.

 

“On Earth as it is in Heaven,” I say in a way

that is hopeful of something deemed impossible.

 

“On Earth,” a place filled with

torment and lust,

trafficking and drugs

we mere dust have already failed you.

 

“As it is,” where you are

but my vision is so clouded

I can’t even picture what lies

Beyond the stars. 

 

“In heaven,” where you stand,

where you look down on me

and not just because of the distance

between.

 

“Give us this day our daily bread,” 

I mutter as my hands instinctively reach

For loaves to last until next Tuesday.

 

“Give us,” I say as I wait for you to set the table

while I chase at your ankles.

Could you move a bit faster now Jesus?

 

“This day,” I remember is a gift.

But I will spend my 24 hours preparing for the next 72

Only to find rest when the next 408 are through.

 

God, do you have 17 loaves ready for me now?

 

“Our,” I question. So, you’re telling me

that I have to share?

 

“Daily bread,” I whisper because I know that if

you gave me 17, I wouldn’t see you for the next

18 days. You see, because I only know how to take.

 

“And forgive us our trespasses,” I moan, because

I’m just trying to check the boxes.

 

“Forgive” and forget,

a pair that too often is celebrated

but don’t you dare think I’ve truly

forgotten the pain my sister has caused me. 

 

“Us” a family; one that

I’ve brought shame and humiliation to

Because although he acts differently than me

I’m not treating him equally.

 

“Trespasses” not just the soil of

the hearts I’ve trampled over,

or the land of her hurt I’ve ignored,

but even the places I haven’t sown love. 

 

“As we forgive those who trespass against us,” I pass over

because I have already forgotten what it means.

 

“As we forgive” but can we?

Does that include the boy who ridiculed

Me for the size of my jeans

And the girl who whispers when I turn away?

 

“Those who” yes!

That’s what I mean!

God it’s them and not me.

 

“Trespass against us” but

here I am, and there they are

the only thing in common is our hurt

and the battleground where we stand. 

 

“And lead us not into temptation,” my voice confirms

as my shoulders shrink down in self-disgust

 

“And lead us not” to the things that feel good

past ten PM or to the addiction

I won’t admit that I have

 

“Into temptation” that my generation has said

is easily forgiven with the bending of a knee

and the folding of my hands and the words

that truly don’t understand your grace. 

 

“But deliver us from evil,” I shout because

I know what this one means!

 

“But deliver” me to the heavenly gates

ones that will sing glorious praises

with white robes, and clouds where

surely my savior awaits.

 

“Us,” I say but what does that mean

for me and you and her to call ourselves

family?

 

“From evil,” that is stealing and murder

and the other eight from the stone, but also comparison

envy, lust, and the doubt of Your Son that I’ve shown. 

 

“For thine is the kingdom,” a verse I quickly state

to a rhythm that doesn’t allow for me to understand it’s weight.

 

“For thine,” is that you?

Are you the one tugging me away from

Comfortability and things that I say are good?

 

“Is the kingdom,” one I haven’t yet

put my allegiance in fully,

is it my fault I don’t understand

my own inheritance? 

 

“And the power,” but where are you at?

 

“And the glory,” what does that look like?

 

 

“Forever,” will you be there?

 

“And ever,” do you hear me?

God just please give me something.

 

“Amen.”