Each night, I take refuge in these minutes of prayer, this hour of reflection, this time of stretching out my heart after another day where I lived the best I could, imperfect as I am. Love, you teach me to be gladdened by imperfections, accepting some of my limitations and pushing others, unskillfully pushing, seeking to be more merciful and find that satisfying, more attentive to what really matters and find pleasure in the work of each day, whether much of the world values that work or not. Love, you teach me to take heart turning into the night, into another blessing of each day, more hours of caring and daring and dreaming, of planning and doing and resting, of trying and hoping and fumbling, vulnerable, imperfect, needing and needed. Love, you know that somewhere I learned needing meant I was not needed, and daily I relearn the truth, that these are neither exclusive, nor opposites, but simply what is is to be human, gifts in their own right. Let me love and accept both those gifts, in the discipline of discomfort, the one that stretches me past what is easy and into where I am called to grow, and the one that is easier, and brings its own discipline and burdens and joys. Love, you stretch out my heart where I have grown knotted and resistant and where I am weak and weary. Thank you, for this and for every day. Amen.