We spend our lives wishing things were lighter...

We hurry through familiar days
And miss the life beneath our tread.
A thousand quiet miracles
Pass softly overhead.
The moments asking least of us
Are those we mourn instead.

What did we think was waiting there
Beyond the life already here?
The weight of ordinary things.

The hurried meal.
The left-open door.
The passing day...
Was always more.

A light still glowing down the hall.
A voice that calls us in to eat.
A hand that reaches without thought...
The patter of feet.

We never hear the ordinary...
Until it falls silent.

The hurried meal.
The open door.
The passing day...
Was always more.

The photograph recalls a face.
The face recalls an afternoon.
The afternoon recalls a laugh...
That vanished far too soon.

We thought we'd know what we would miss...
We never knew the weight of this.

Nothing becomes sacred...
when it's gone.
We simply discover...
it was, all along.

While standing where love stands,
We spent our lives pursuing more...
It was always in our hands
the weight of ordinary things.

No bells were rung.
No banner flew.
The sacred was...
the life we knew.

The hurried meal.
The left-open door.
The passing day...

There was never more...

Let me stay for the meal.
Let me hold open the door.
Let me stand inside the passing day...
Let me carry
the weight of ordinary things...

and mourn the weight
when it is gone.