Blessing the Baubles

They are, in truth, just wood, glass, petals, ash.

Knots tied by tired hands

touched by countless fingers that flit

And…

they are so much more.

They are tears…

awakenings…

tethers to the day.

They are youth when we feel old,

wisdom when we feel like fools,

a way back when all seems lost.

They are touchstones of time and place,

Artifacts of those we’ve loved,

Reminders of all we mostly know….sometimes.

And so,

Oh God,

we ask you bless these baubles…

Bless the hands that work them,

the minds that mind them,

The hearts touched open bead by bead….

Thought by thought…

Decade by decade…

through every cross we bear.