The Place of Prayer

Funny thing, this answer-to-prayer business.

Sometimes, we don’t even realize we prayed. 

To us, it was just… a sigh. That deep waiting-to-exhale out-breath that escapes our lungs apart, even against our will.  

What was THAT all about?!?!!

Oh, nothing… it’s just a… sigh.

Oh! O.K. Glad you are fine. And we are both greatly relieved that the sigh was a nothing and not a something that we may need to face or talk about.

Or, it might be a tear. A single tear that rolls down the cheek, we surreptitiously wipe away before anybody else notices.

Or, we feel an overwhelming sense of powerlessness and confusion we can’t make sense of any of it, much less put into words. 

Or, like a drowning man, we shoot out a plain old yelp for help, in desperate hope against all hope that it will somehow, somewhere pierce the impenetrable darkness of the sky.

There are many languages in this world, but the language of prayer is by far the most fascinating, the most diverse, and truly, the most unifying of all.

Sometimes, we forget we even asked.

Sometimes we forget what we asked.

I do both.   A lot!

Sometimes the answer comes, but we are so set on how we expect the answer should come that we miss, or almost miss it.

Because it comes in such…how shall I put it?... gentle and... unassuming way.

But, then, there is this imperceptible pat on your back. Like a quiet knock on the soul's door.

And you look up, and look again, and there it is! You see it, really see it, as if for the first time.

I admit I almost missed it.  There was such a ruckus, such disorder inside the courtroom – the Editor, the PR Manager, the Facebook Prosecutor, the Defense Attorney, the Judge - all insisting on the value of their own particular point of view – that I almost didn’t hear the little voice, and I almost didn’t feel the tiny hand inside the palm of mine.