Prayer. The power of prayer. It is an odd thing. An untouchable topic. And HIGHLY personal. So blog? Right?
First of all, when I have prayed, I certainly did not look like the beautiful, serene, women in the picture that I found on google. My favorite prayer spot for years, decades almost, has been in the shower whilst having a good cry. Not really a photo-op kind of situation.
I can remember a few distinct times when I would be overwhelmed by life, or depression, or whatever and find myself in that place. Either sobbing or inert. And prayer was something I did- not naturally, but in hopes that it would help; in hopes that I would begin to feel something again; in hopes that it would give me clarity; in hopes that it would just make me less sad and awful.
These sessions ended, inevitably, with me leaving the shower, exhausted, and empty of everything. Then, I would sleep, usually. So… was that the divine calm I was hoping for? Or was I just tired from the sheer exhaustion of the thing. Was I just drained from the depression itself.
I have not had one of those crying/praying/struggling moments in a LONG time. And since I began this journey of questioning and seeking answers, I have been more aware of my lack of a prayer life. But yesterday, I watched my son hop on a skateboard for the first time, and I thought to myself, “oh God, please don’t let him get badly hurt.” Whaaaa??? It would seem that for all my self-aware introspection, I still have a knee jerk reaction to appeal to the divine when something spins out of my control.
Not big things, because there are elements of my life that are wildly out of my control, and I just wait, hope, and anticipate the day when they reach resolution. But there was something about my baby on a skateboard that elicited a tiny prayer to the God I am not sure I believe in… It would seem I have a great deal of questioning ahead of me.