Surrendered

Dear Source of Our Being, I need Your help to do the Impossible.

I am inadequate. I lack stamina. I lack discipline.

All I have is flexibility, but I fear even my flexibility is inadequate for this task!!!

So basically, I may as well have nothing to offer.

But the task cries out from the ground, persistently.

From earth and stone the groaning stirs and justice demands her satisfaction.

And you have made it so.

And from the heavens, angels call and beckon. "Come to The Feast!"

I am poor, a man of the byways.

My garments are threadbare, my pockets empty.

I am unworthy and unfit to enter the Courts of the King.

Yet. In my arms I hold a cloak to me gifted.

The Prince himself passed by one day and gave it to me.

I have held it and washed it and pressed it many a day.

I have wrangled it from those who tried to pull it from me, even the woman I loved.

I hold it tight in its fold and am not game to unfold it...

to check if it's still intact and fit to wear. 
 

I need Your help!

If it is incomplete--a sleeve torn away--send me a generous silk merchant

to spare me some cloth.

If it is damanged--a tear or pull--send a skillful tailor

to help me mend it.

What I have is clean,

but it has been roughly handled.

What I have is from the Prince,

but I haven't worn it again since that day.

Oh Great Lord. Send a stylist

to help me put it on again with confidence!

That I may attend your Feast and bless you!