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God, who often works best in chaos, here I am – your child – a blessed hot mess.

I carry too many items in my hands, resulting in me dropping things as I walk along my path. Or I stumble into chairs or couches or tables or doors as I carry on my day. I say the wrong things as my mouth becomes a waterfall for wrong terms and awkward jokes. My stole often leans too long on one side or my hair is tucked into my robe. Or my hair falls into my face, and as I fix it, my glasses drop to the ground. And, don’t forget, my desk is swimming in too many papers.

While I would like be the model for grace and move about the earth with every kind of smoothness there is, I have failed spectacularly.

I’m imperfect and incomplete.

But maybe this isn’t failure. Maybe being made in your image means that “hot messes” are ones who shift the world’s trajectory in meaningful ways. Maybe it means that we carry the Holy Spirit’s fires and winds in our passion, and in doing so, our form is a little unconventional.

And so, Creator of Living Art, if possible, make my life smooth. Yet if it isn’t your intentions for my life, let me use my messiness to set the world on a more-loving path. May the fire within me shine a justice-filled light into your world. And may your grace splatter upon all of your creation – including those of us in a sacred state of hot messiness.

Amen.

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