Home Prayers -- for my husband

The day can be crazy.
Besides the fact that the commute 
and a few of the coworkers do drive you crazy,
there's also the work.

The paycheck I contribute
is earned in the best possible way, I think --
by caring for those in crisis,
helping them navigate their choices
as they find a clearer vision for their own
tomorrows.
It can be hard, of course,
letting their stories into my life,
a collection of anecdotes based on the
rawest moments I've witnessed.
I feel rooted in a long history of human experience.
I love the work, and its heaviness.

And you, you're almost exactly where you want to be,
helping to build a future made of systems and clouds,
and so many things I'll never remember the names of.
You are so deeply passionate about the prospect
of pushing beyond the boundaries of human experience,
exploring possibilities, boldly going where no one has gone before.
You love the work, and its fast pace.

But I know you also worry a great deal.
Your mind races imagining our future
as it is shaped by every new day and bill and paycheck and dream.
Your own future, too, just you
and the man you want to be, who I already love.
My mind often feels slapdash and exhausting, and worse
are the dark knotted places I go when left to my own devices.
I worry too -- mostly about the past, things said years ago or done yesterday.

Then we come home,
and we are present.
And I realize that in this house,
in this room, in this bed,
we have built a sanctuary,
made of pillows and blankets and some good love.
It's where we talk through everyday events,
and the ends of every fight.
It's where we each try to imagine what the other experiences in a given day,
and we again give up trying to see clearly
and try instead to listen.

Where the cat purrs as if in prayer,
and the dog howls a hallelujah,
as we quietly worship the peace we have found.