I See The Moon

I See the Moon

Every night before bedtime when we were small, my sister and I said our God-blesses with our parents close by. “I see the moon and the moon sees me,” we’d begin together. “God bless the moon and God bless me.” Then we’d leave the moon for still more distant lights: “I see the stars and the stars see me; God bless the stars and God bless me.”

Our God-blesses started big (the heavens!) then got sweetly small as one by one we’d name every member of our extended family—grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins—and ask God to bless them, too. It was the surest liturgy of my childhood, and I can’t remember more than a handful of nights that it was missed.

I don’t say my God-blesses anymore. My prayers these days are less scheduled and a lot more complex. But they’re not any more profound or true. Those childhood prayers were the alphabet that taught me to piece together prayer’s language, and although I add more words today, the subject/verb/object structure of yesterday is still at the very heart of it all.

God is, and should be, the subject of my devotion, the recipient of my requests, and the acknowledged one who blesses all that is (and who are) blessed. It’s just that simple. Even now. So when my mind is jumbled or my heart is troubled, when I can’t find the words to order my grown-up prayers to God, I’m thinking that “I see the moon . . .” might not be a bad way to start.

Oh, I know the moon doesn’t really see me. But the moon’s Maker does. Tonight his moon is waning just a shade past full, and as it sits low and golden in the autumn sky, I plan to whisper, “I see the moon and the moon sees me; God bless the moon and God bless me.” Then, because he really is the one who sees us all and holds within himself the power to bless us, I’m going to name as many names as I can call to mind and ask him to do just that.

Maybe I’ll even be saying yours.

In times of trouble, may the LORD answer your cry. May the name of the God of Jacob keep you safe from all harm.

Psalm 20:1