Holy is the dish and drainThe soap and sink and the cup and plateWarm wool socks and the cold white tile
Shower heads and good dry towelsAnd frying eggs sound like psalmsWith bits of salt measured in my palmIt's all a part of a sacramentAs holy as a day is spent
Holy is the busy streetThe cars that boom with passion's beatAnd the check out girl counting changeAnd the hands that shook my hands today
And hymns of geese fly overheadAnd spread their wings like their parents didBlessed be the dog that runs in her sleepTo chase some wild and elusive thing
Holy is the familiar roomAnd quiet moments in the afternoonAnd folding sheets like folding handsTo pray as only laundry can
I'm letting go of all my fearLike autumn leaves made of earth and airFor the summer came and the summer wentAs holy as a day is spent
Holy is the place I standTo give whatever small good I canAnd the empty page and the open bookRedemption everywhere I look
Unknowingly we slow our paceIn the shade of unexpected graceAnd with grateful smiles and sad lamentAs holy as a day is spent
And morning light sings providenceAs holy as a day is spent
--Carrie Newcomer
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