The Prayer The Garden The Manna

 "Oh teach us to pray!" the disciples yearned:

As children try on language, stumbling, awkward,

We long to speak with words our God, our Maker, will hear.

In settled calm, He teaches us, "Pray:

    "Your will be done. Here in me, on this earth,

    Do as You will, as it goes in Your homeland."

First He teaches; then, He shows, "This is how:

    I come to a Garden. Remain with me, Pray for me.

    Pray with me. My prayer is still, 'Your will be done.'"

To stay with Jesus, here, now, in darkness, uncertainty,

    Can I pray, "Your will be done." ?

"You found me sleeping," I confess.

"Your spirit is willing; your flesh is weak."

    My struggle is held with grace.

He taught us once to pray, "Give us this day our daily bread."

Then later, He breaks the bread: "This is my body: I am the manna."

 I need this daily bread! The bread given. In it, I am forgiven.

How God is for giving!! He gives His Son; He gives Himself.

    "Forgive us!" is my cry as I take this bread, given for me. And I also forgive.

I do not understand this garden - a place of calm, beauty, repose:

A backdrop for anguish, a ready soil to drink fresh tears.

I remember His prayer: He prays it now with different words: 

    "Not as I will, but as You will."

Will I enter the darkness with Him?

    He enters it with me.

"I will never leave you," He has said.

        Will I ever leave Him?

        May it never be!