Lessons in prayer, from a dog

Lessons in prayer, from a dog

   He assumes his still posture
   two feet from the table.
   He is not grabby,
   his tongue is not hanging out,
   he is quiet.

   He wants to leap,
   he wants to snap up
   meat and blood.
   You can tell.
   But what he does is sit
   as the gods
   his masters and mistresses
   fork steak and potatoes
   into their mouths.

   He is expectant
   but not presumptuous.
   He can wait.
   He can live with disappointment.
   He can abide frustration
   and suffer suspense.

   He watches
   for signals,
   he listens for calls
   of his name from above.

   At hints that
   he may be gifted
   with a morsel,
   he intensifies his
   already rapt concentration,
   he looks his god
   in the eye,
   but humbly,
   sure of his innocence
   in his need,
   if his need only.

   On the (often rare) occasions
   when gifts are laid on his tongue,
   he takes them whole,
   then instantly resumes
   the posture of attention,
   beseeching, listening, alert,
   the posture of hard-won faith
   that will take no for an answer,
   yet ever and again hopefully
   return to the questioning.

COPYRIGHT 2008 The Christian Century Foundation
COPYRIGHT 2008 Gale, Cengage Learning