With intent: Prayers from a stubborn earthen vessel

Dear reader,

I wish I had a clear and succinct paragraph that captures the details of my experience so far as a DioCal intern. Truth is, I don’t have the words to capture the gift I’ve received. Each aspect of the program has come with a bundle of lessons and I could write a book about each. Trust me, it’s better for everyone that I don’t get started on my love for the San Francisco Day Labor program and Women's Collective; that could easily turn into a three part book series. So I’ll spare you the novels, and instead want to invite you along the journey my heart stumbled upon here. Through the combination of photography, prayers, and scripture, it is my hope to reveal the ways God has been moving in my life so far. I hope you enjoy it!

Con mucho amor,

Susi

“I form light and create darkness,

God, I see you
in the sunrise.
I watch
the delicate orange hues warm up
the icy blue skyline.
It’s a cold still morning on Alcatraz Island
a bittersweet Thanksgiving.
We pray...
How does one feast in times like these?

 

I make weal and create woe,

God, I see you
in the night.
The black skies eating away the details of the distance,
silence consumes my heart.
I think about the future of our nation —
of my life...
Welcome Uncertainty!
My old familiar guest,
could you uninvite fear?

 

I the Lord do all these things.

Shower, O heavens, from above, and let the skies rain down
righteousness;

God, I feel you
in the rhythms.

Breathe in,
out,

wake up,
work,

Fall asleep, Repeat.

You are the dance, the syncopated beat — breaking through the muted rhythms of daily routines.

 

Let the earth open, that salvation may spring up, and let it cause righteousness to sprout up also; I the Lord have created it.

God, I feel you
in the resilience of La Colectiva
Fighting for ten years to pass SB1015,
We celebrate victory.

 

God, I feel you
in the stories of my housemates,
each choosing to practice resurrection,
through their own mundane rhythms.

 

I listen to our steady footsteps hiking up the dry dirt trail,
my housemate recites a poem and we stop in awe of the royal golden moss.
For a second, I forget about broken rhythms.
I forget winter is coming.

 

Woe to you
who strive
with your Maker,
earthen vessels with the potter!
Does the clay say
to the one who fashions it,
‘What are you making?’
or ‘Your work has
no handles’?”

—Isaiah 45: 8-9

God, woe to me!
How I complain to your clumsy fingers.
In pottery class they said always to
“shape with intent.” Oh God.
Each moment,
Every unexpected turn,
You shape
With intent.

This stubborn earthen vessel is done trying to shape herself.
Help, that I may trust that you form this world, this community, this life,
with intent.