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Oh, God of Many Moments

A newborn baby's hand is held gently by an adult hand.

Oh God of many moments,
of night gliding into day,
and day seeping into night,
of infant milky sleeping breaths
and wrinkled, crinkled aging eyes,
of the starting beauty of sunlight
gazed upon a tree
and mournful moonlit vistas,
call us from days of doing
into instances of being,
remind us of the certainty of love
and the neighborhood of grace
which binds us to each other
each and every day.