i tend to pray when things get stormy. 

my prayers often surprise me.

they’re often addressed to Jesus, 

often they are more ask-y than i would ever explicitly admit.

they are child-like. selfish. they want to be saved.

now.

i was feeling so desperate this weekend, like someone in withdrawal,

needing a fix or a hug.

i sobbed a lot. big deep longing cries, that came from who-knows-where.

i went for a walk “to calm my nervous system” on the trail beside the shooting range.

sometimes it is good when the outside matches my inside.

and there, i held a tree. pressed my face to the scaley white pine bark,

and prayed with my whole body.

without words, i prayed to feel better. to know what to do. to let this go.

i prayed for the next right step. for relief. for calm.

i was asking to be held, as i held her.

my niece told me she got a talking tree, instead of a therapist.

her wisdom has deep roots.

my prayer didn’t fix anything.

i didn’t feel that much better, though lighter, maybe, for a moment.

i still sobbed more, though my body wasn’t wracked.

i was left with a dull ache, the same longing –

quieter but ever-present.

lately, i keep thinking about a ‘god-shaped-hole’

about physical solutions for spiritual problems

about the things we’re all trying to fix, the things i’m longing for,

the places i am desperate to fill.

prayer isn’t the filling – i don’t think.

i think prayer is reaching in another direction.

away from myself, away from him, and it, and them.

the hand out of the cookie jar, a glance at the sky,

the space between shallow breaths.

today, the storm has passed, and that in itself feels like a prayer,

rather than an answer.

and, for the next 40 days, i want to wonder about prayer…

i want to wander from my head to my body.

i want to practice praying, not the way i was taught to –

eyes closed, head bowed.

i want to pray wide open.

to pray myself open.

“prayer as…”

this is my exploring.