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Prayer of the Shy Forest
As a child, when I closed my eyes to pray I saw a hissing wall of TV snow.
Jennifer L. Knox
I remember when I started to pray. I was young and prayer involved swinging in the park in my neighborhood and singing church choir songs at the top of my lungs. I was convinced I had a direct channel to God as long as I was singing. I was sure God heard every word. I never really questioned the existence of God — a force of love I have felt throughout my life. My clarity and confidence has survived deep questions. My clarity and confidence has needed no absolutes. My clarity and confidence has required no resolution. My clarity and confidence has wide open hands and heart. My clarity and confidence lives in the same space in my soul that believes in love.
Like poet Ruth Forman suggests we can wear prayers like shoes. What that means, for me, is prayer is an active practice. Prayer supports. Prayer protects. Prayer gets me from one point to another. Without prayer, everything hurts more. Prayer is a daily, sometimes more often, refuge. Prayer softens my steps. There are as many ways to pray as there are styles of shoes. That is comforting in the way that running shoes are no better than work boots or flip flops.
Shutting my eyes, taking a deep breath, and being open to the presence of God reminds me that the center holds. When my heart breaks, I take a deep breath (which can feel like a journey of 1000 miles) and the center holds. Sometimes it takes a long time for me to find center. Sometimes I have to find it again and again. Sometimes praying with others helps. Sometimes center shakes and rattles, but ultimately it holds.
About Katie
Born in Louisville. Live in Atlanta. Curious by nature. Researcher by education. Writer by practice. Grateful heart by desire.
Buy the Book!
The Stage Is On Fire, a memoir about hope and change, reasons for voyaging, and dreams burning down can be purchased on Amazon.