a place of prayer

I dropped my phone and broke the screen at the time
I was working on this painting. 'Broken' has a bad
reputaton in our perfection-driven world, but as I looked
at the painting through the shattered glass, it seemed
fitting as it added depth, dimension and meaning
beyond what was originally intended. 

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?!?!!"

"What?!!?? Oh, THAT! It's really nothing... it's... just a sigh."

"Oh. O.K. Glad you are fine". With that, both of us are 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 silence 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 came in such gentle and unassuming way.

But, then, there is also this imperceptible pat on your back you can't miss. Like a quiet yet unmistakable knock on the soul's door. 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 so much ruckus, such disorder in the courtroom - the Editor, the PR Manager, the Facebook Prosecutor, the Defense Attorney, the Judge - all insisting on the indisputable value of their own unique perspective - that I almost didn't hear the small voice, and I almost didn't feel the tiny hand inside mine.