Why I Pray

Last night after dinner, James and I were sitting on the couch chatting. Once a thought was nicely tied up and spoken, James paused for a moment and then said "I want something" with a question mark in his voice. "Are you still hungry?" I asked. "I don't think so." "Do you want something to drink?" "I don't know." "Do you want something emotionally?" "I don't know."

"Prayer helps." I said, because I knew exactly how he felt. Probably we all do. A moment of longing for something that you can't identify. An unnamed desire of the heart striking like a gong and silencing everything else for an instant.

I remember feeling this when I was a child. I didn't know if I wanted a hug from my parents or if I was just thirsty. In the end neither parental affection nor a cup of juice would quite suffice. What I wanted was to feel a connection to a source of love deeper even than any person can satisfy.

Maybe you call the source of love God. Maybe you call it human interconnection. Maybe you call it something else or nothing at all. But I think you know the thirsting, hungering, wanting that won't be satisfied any other way.

And that's part of why I pray. To lean in to the longing. To make space for it in my day. Otherwise what many have called the 'God shaped hole' in the soul begins to fester. We try and fill it with a thousand different things that only fall through the gap.

What if instead of papering over that hole, we widened our hearts and made it even bigger? All the more room for love... God's love and yours too. I think prayer can do that. If we work really hard at it. If we don't give up.

God is sitting next to me, knitting

One thing I love in any continued relationship is the time that eventually comes when you can sit together quietly, doing different things, but feel together while doing it. I've experienced this with family, with friends, with my husband. You are sitting on the couch together, and you are reading a book and she is reading the newspaper. Or you are in the kitchen cooking something and he is sitting at the table doing some work. And you're not saying anything, but the love that binds you together in that moment is palpable. You are distinct but connected. It feels comfortable and safe.

A few days ago, for a moment I found that with God. I sat down to pray and meditate, and an image came powerfully to mind. I was sitting on my cushion on the floor, a chalice lit in front of me, my breath coming evenly. And I imagined God as an older woman, sitting next to me in a chair, knitting. We weren't interacting, but underneath our sitting and our knitting was a current of confident love. I knew she was there, with me, and we would sit there as long as we needed.

Now I can't wait for the time in the morning when I can go to my cushion and sit with God for a while. And maybe she will knit me a pair of socks, to keep my feet warm.