On My Knees
Today I am grateful for Oliver and our quiet time together in the mornings. I am also grateful for the supportive friends I have in recovery.
Yesterday I mentioned getting into position to ask for help. I meant that literally.
As I grew into adulthood, I balked at praying with hands folded, on my knees. I was tired of the ritual and routine I had grown up with. My attitude was "I'll pray when and how I want to." I became a prayer rebel. It helped me to move beyond the idea that prayer was just a group thing and I realized the most important part of prayer was my mindset and my words, not my physical position. My rebellion paid off and prayer took on more meaning, but I was still holding back.
When I was going through a difficult time in my early 30's, hurting over a relationship that had ended, I went back to my roots. I wanted this relationship to work out, instead it became a great example of an unanswered prayer in my life. He was not meant to be the one I stayed with. I was meant to meet and marry Darcy. It was a painful time, and a friend (Thanks Jan!) suggested I get on my knees to pray, as a form of surrender and letting go. Again I balked, but I was in enough pain that I decided to give it a try. It worked and I still do it. Each day I try to start on my knees. It puts me in a better place for prayer. This act of surrender brings a humility that allows me to be more prayerful, that allows me to remember I am not in charge. It makes asking for help palatable and possible.
Anne Lamott's chapter on "Help" is full of many good words, lines, paragraphs. Her books are always like that for me. It was easy to pick a quotable passage. It was hard to pick just one. But here goes:
"In prayer, I see the suffering bathed in light. In God, there is no darkness. I see God's light permeate them, soak into them, guide their feet. I want to tell God what to do: 'Look, Pal, this is a catastrophe. You have got to shape up.' But it wouldn't work. So I pray for people who are hurting, that they may be filled with air and light. Air and light heal; they somehow get into those dark, musty places, like spiritual antibiotics. We don't have to figure out how this all works--'Figure it out' is not a good slogan. It's enough to know it does." (p. 16)
Prayer as spiritual antibiotic. I love that. Air and light do heal. And I firmly believe tuning in to gratitude in our daily lives contributes to the healthy air and light. Onward!
Yesterday I mentioned getting into position to ask for help. I meant that literally.
As I grew into adulthood, I balked at praying with hands folded, on my knees. I was tired of the ritual and routine I had grown up with. My attitude was "I'll pray when and how I want to." I became a prayer rebel. It helped me to move beyond the idea that prayer was just a group thing and I realized the most important part of prayer was my mindset and my words, not my physical position. My rebellion paid off and prayer took on more meaning, but I was still holding back.
When I was going through a difficult time in my early 30's, hurting over a relationship that had ended, I went back to my roots. I wanted this relationship to work out, instead it became a great example of an unanswered prayer in my life. He was not meant to be the one I stayed with. I was meant to meet and marry Darcy. It was a painful time, and a friend (Thanks Jan!) suggested I get on my knees to pray, as a form of surrender and letting go. Again I balked, but I was in enough pain that I decided to give it a try. It worked and I still do it. Each day I try to start on my knees. It puts me in a better place for prayer. This act of surrender brings a humility that allows me to be more prayerful, that allows me to remember I am not in charge. It makes asking for help palatable and possible.
Anne Lamott's chapter on "Help" is full of many good words, lines, paragraphs. Her books are always like that for me. It was easy to pick a quotable passage. It was hard to pick just one. But here goes:
"In prayer, I see the suffering bathed in light. In God, there is no darkness. I see God's light permeate them, soak into them, guide their feet. I want to tell God what to do: 'Look, Pal, this is a catastrophe. You have got to shape up.' But it wouldn't work. So I pray for people who are hurting, that they may be filled with air and light. Air and light heal; they somehow get into those dark, musty places, like spiritual antibiotics. We don't have to figure out how this all works--'Figure it out' is not a good slogan. It's enough to know it does." (p. 16)
Prayer as spiritual antibiotic. I love that. Air and light do heal. And I firmly believe tuning in to gratitude in our daily lives contributes to the healthy air and light. Onward!
Comments
Post a Comment