The Second Sunday of Advent

What do you fear? When we’re running out of hope, God is at work

God in the Kitchen

I called home my first semester of college. I told my mom I was fine,

but I was homesick. She must have heard the truth in my voice.

The ache ate at me. It was a long, slow song, a million tiny ants

slurping the juice from a peach. I was tender and bruised,

in the doldrums of it all. But she could hear all of that. So three states away,

she preheated the oven. Three states away,

she tossed blueberries in a thin layer of flour. Three states away,

she dusted a layer of streusel over the soft peaks

of a dozen warm muffins. And three days later,

I unboxed a package from home—

a dozen blueberry muffins, a love letter with my name on it,

a reminder that I was not alone.

If you’re running out of hope, count to three.

God is in the kitchen. She’s just waiting for yeast to rise.

Prayer by Rev. Sarah A.  Speed | A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org

The Third Sunday of Advent

What do you fear? Even in our fear, We are called forward.

The First Step

Watch any parent. It starts with the first step.

They kneel down. They smile with anticipation.

They reach for their baby, calling and cooing them forward.

And then before they know it, they’re running behind a bike. They’re yelling,

“Keep pedaling! You got it! I’m right here!” And they’re jumping up and down,

because that little red helmet passed the mailbox.

And then, just like that, they’re driving circles in the church parking lot.

They’re giving instructions about easing on and off the pedal.

They’re having conversations about curfew and heartbreak.

And then, before they know it, they’re standing in a hospital room.

Their heart is bursting. And they say, “Put her head right here.

Rock her gently. Do you remember the nursery rhymes?

You were born for this.”

The first step is always the hardest,

but you, beloved, were born for this.

Prayer by Rev. Sarah A.  Speed | A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org

The Fourth Sunday of Advent

What do you fear? When you’re afraid, give me your hand

Tethered

When we were children, we fell asleep

with walkie talkies tucked under our pillows.

All that separated us was a bathroom,

a hallway, a few feet of empty space,

but as children, even small distances can feel like miles.

So after the parents whispered prayers over our skinned knees

and spelling tests, after they kissed our sweaty foreheads

and tucked us into bed,

we’d pull the walkie talkies out from under our pillows.

We’d roll the dial on the top of the transceiver.

We’d sputter that invisible tether to life.

And with a few crackles in the quiet of the night,

you’d whisper my name.

I’d press down the button.

I’d promise I was close.

As an adult, I don’t know what ever happened

to those blue-grey walkie talkies.

But I know,

that even today,

if the monsters in the closet feel too real,

and you whisper my name,

I promise I’ll be close.

Prayer by Rev. Sarah A.  Speed | A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org

Christmas Eve

What do you fear? Good news is louder than fear

Honeysuckle

There is an abandoned house on my block.

Maybe someone owns it and is just waiting to fix it up,

or maybe it belongs to a family that simply cannot let it go.

Either way, the yard is an overgrown tangle of weeds—

crabgrass and yellow nutsedge, horsetail and clover—

unforgiving and entrenched.

Over the summer, a honeysuckle bush crept

from that forgotten house over the fence and through the yard.

It spilled out in broad patches on the sidewalk. As a result,

you could not pass that mess of a house without the taste of honey in your mouth.

You could not pass that mess of a house without being engulfed in the sweet scent

of something good. It was almost as if the earth was saying, sure, things are chaotic here,

but pause for a moment. Pull a flower bud off in your fingers. Break the stem.

Slurp the tiny bead of honey at the base. Remember that even when bad news is unforgiving

and entrenched, good news grows out of its cage, across the sidewalk, just to get to you.

Prayer by Rev. Sarah A.  Speed | A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org

First Sunday After Christmas

What do you fear? Let fear fuel a fire for justice

Until We Reach the Sun

Buffaloes are the only animals that run into a storm.

They can smell the snow coming. They can feel the temperature change—

deep in their bones. So they gather together, a pack on the plains.

And with their large lumbering bodies, they run.

They run through snow and ice, wind and rain. They do not stop

until they reach the sun.

When you are afraid, because this world is cruel and harsh,

or because humans are deported and shot without reason,

or because we cannot remember how to talk to each other civilly,

I will be your pack. I will stay by your side. I will run with you

until we reach the sun.

Prayer by Rev. Sarah A.  Speed | A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org

Epiphany

What do you fear? Fear Doesn’t Stop Us

A Step Toward Home

I will not tell you to buck up,

to tough it out, to ignore the fear

rattling around in your chest.

I will not tell you that all shall be well

or that morning will come quickly.

I will not ask you to march into danger

without first repeating your name in my prayers.

But if fear stops you in your tracks,

if fear makes it hard to breathe,

hard to move,

hard to think,

then I will remind you

that even one step with shaking knees

is a step toward home.

Prayer by Rev. Sarah A.  Speed | A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org