found on a pillar in the Abbey of Issoire
Translation Louise Thunin
Fold your umbrella, brother. Prayer is no umbrella.
God doesn’t deal in umbrellas. He likes wind too much.
I was afraid of getting wet. I thought my prayer umbrella had me covered.
But you splashed me from underneath, Lord. The gust came from the side,
And my umbrella turned itself inside-out.
I had believed, beneath my umbrella, that You were there too ; You the master of Spirit.
It was my little corner of paradise ; I thought I was lucky…
I opened my eyes : there was nobody under the umbrella.
No one but me. A man in the dryness, a dry man. With my knuckles white from gripping the handle of my prayer umbrella.
Come, master of wind and Spirit. Carry off to the four corners of the wind my silly umbrella, my prayer umbrella.
You, God of the umbrella-less, push me outside, into the wind. Get me wet, Lord.
But at the same time grant me the strength of those you drench with Spirit.
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