Here I comes again, another daily wish.
This time something which will make my day easier,
An expected compliment,
Some reward, expected, but not too expected.
Like butterflies in my head,
In My own little garden of Eden.
However, wishes, like butterflies, are often fleeting,
Requested by my ego, to make my life,
Even more perfect.
I often call them hopes as well,
And when I really want them, hopes and wishes.
However, they have little to do with hope,
At least hope as it comes from God.
How long have I misunderstood this,
That hope is confidence,
Not confidence born of me, but of God.
This gift is given freely,
And is always available, unlike my butterfly wishes,
Which often only serve me, even when disguised through petitions.
Turning off the wishes faucet my make me aware of the other source.
The one which controls the light in this darkened room.
And fills it with grace and love.