Most of what I love ...

I heard a poem yesterday ... or I should say, a part of a poem.

I am not sure who the author of the poem was.

I am not even sure I have the phrase right.

Nonetheless, I have been captured by its truth, this little, potentially misquoted, phrase.

Here is it:

"Lord, most of what I love mistakes itself for nothing."

I urge you to read that phrase aloud, perhaps several times in a row.

S-l-o-w-l-y ...

Most

of what I love

mistakes itself

for

nothing.

A cup of hot coffee made by my husband, often delivered to me in bed.

A late afternoon phone call from one of our adult kids, full of news of their life.

My mom's smiling face as she pulls out of our driveway with a fresh loaf of my homemade sourdough bread.

My dad's voice on the phone when he hears it's me calling ... "Hey, Al!"

The resilience of a student I know who is rising up and out of generational poverty.

The prayers of a faithful elderly widow friend.

A hot bowl of stew on a chilly night.

A lovely glass of dry red wine.

A sunset on a Thursday night.

Fresh sheets on our bed.

The friendly wave of a neighbor as I leave for work.

The smile of an immigrant new to our community whose language I do not speak.

Should I continue?

What things (or people) you love tend to "mistake themselves for nothing?"

What might you do to force yourself to see the gift these ordinary, everyday, often-overlooked gems actually are?

Why do you think this poet starts this statement by addressing God?

Is this sentence a prayer?

If so, how might it become yours?

"Lord, most of what I love mistakes itself for nothing."

(God, I pray I am quoting this poet correctly! But if not, what a fantastic mistake I have made. Forgive me.)