For all of us who get up and go out into the world each day, quaking sometimes, fearless other times ..   I bring s imple words, the kind you write in the midst of travel---again. The kind you write when you have stood up in front of a lot of people over the last months and you still don't quite know why . . . When people have listened to what you say and write, and you still don't quite know why . . . .  and when more lies before you.




I am going now to a conference, the best of its kind---The Festival of Faith and Writing (Grand
Rapids, Michigan.)  To hear some of the brightest writers I know of. Famous people. Smart people. (But not all are such. I am speaking too.) I may write about them, about what happens when you gather 3,000 people from around the country and beyond who love words, books, poems, plays, stories, God and one another.   


                                            Jeanne Murray Walker

Here are two prayers for us, for all of us who crawl from our beds each day to go out into the world, scared yet  faithful enough to speak a word of good, of truth, of love, of Christ, toward another. A prayer f or anyone who falters; for anyone who does not trust her own words; for anyone who trembles with her own unworthiness. For anyone who has seen into her own heart and found darkness there and pride. For anyone who believes that God Himself can yet overwhelm us with His Spirit and shine light through our inky blackness.  

From Bishop Daniel A. Payne, an African-American AME clergyman from the 19th century.




Lord, You know my weakness;
be my strength.


You know my ignorance,
be my wisdom.


Teach me,
that I may not be a blind leader of the blind,
but a scribe well instructed about the kingdom of God.




Oh, let not the people see me;
let them see You in Your vesture dipped in blood!


Let not the people hear me;
let them hear You in your voice of saving truth!







adapted from The Faithful Preacher: Recapturing the Vision of Three Pioneering African-American Pastors


And this one I write now, in this shuttle on the way to the Festival:

Our Father