the unspoken prayer

no, i’m not talking about the requests people put in when they want to be discreet or private.

i’m talking about the kind that are spoken with silent screams, streaming tears and unconscious beats of an aching heart. lately i’ve thought myself to be rebellious by not getting on my hands and knees and addressing issues and naming names, but really…the prayers have never stopped. as i think about it, it doesn’t have to begin with a salutation of “Dear God/Father/Lord/etc.” or close with a “In Jesus’ Name,” like a formal letter. it’s every thought i think, every action i consider, every emotion that commandeers me…all of it is filtered, all of it is communicated and heard. whether i like it or not. i can’t hide anything, i can’t not think about it. there’s no running, hiding or ignoring…no matter how much i try.

prayer has been my everything through everything. it has drawn me closer to Him, it has softened my heart towards others, it has shaped me as a person. while it does little to change anything around me, it does shift my perspective. still, that’s hella frustrating as a human being, sometimes. lately, whenever i have the presence of mind to purposefully direct something upwards, it’s generally a throwing up of my hands in the air and a heart-felt “whatever.” this after a season of those heartfelt prayers on my hands and knees, begging and pleading and saying the same things over and over in any way i can so maybe i’ll finally say it the right way and believe it the right way so that maybe there will be a difference. with every fiber of my heart, body and being i did this. every damn day. now, i just shrug my shoulders and sigh. it is what it is. que sera, sera. and move along. there’s nothing for me to do.

i have no regrets. none at all. i would do it all over again, the same exact way from beginning to end. i’m assuming this is the natural course of things as as a protective shell of indifference coats my being and a surge of motivation pushes me forward. the biggest battle i have right now is my own thoughts. my mind maze, as i like to refer to it. are any of you a fan of the BBC sherlock series? if so, you know how he refers to his mind as a mind palace? well, mine is a maze. mentally talking myself out of dark corners that i get trapped in, keeping myself from going down unnecessary trails, finding that motivation to keep going when i hit a wall — the same wall — over and over again. it sounds silly, but lately that visual has pulled me out of some very dark corners. it’s sometimes easy to forget what that truth is when you’re lost like that…but you leave yourself some bread crumbs to remind you what the realities are, and to guide you back on track. it doesn’t even matter if i believe it at the time.

i prefer the rawness, now. there’s more boldness in it. maybe that’s what i needed.

sara

 

 

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One thought on “the unspoken prayer

  1. God knows our every thought. He knows us. And yes, I believe we can talk to him without the formula prayers we have been taught. Tonight, I walked circles around my living room, talking to God about my daughter’s cat and crying for my daughter to be comforted. My daughter lives alone, works hard, and comes home to a 14 year old cat, that meets her in the driveway and follows her into the house for the night. From Kentucky to Florida, for fourteen years this cat has been a vocal companion, expressing her delight that my daughter arrives home for the night. She has curled beside my daughter on the couch and slept at the foot of my daughter’s bed, only to ask to be let out each morning. Today the cat is struggling to breathe. The vet, a friend of my daughter, says it’s perhaps cancer from what he can see in the x-ray, fluid buildup. He said to wait and gave her shots to reduce the fluid, etc. There’s not much hope, and my daughter is hurting and making a rough decision. I told my daughter to call at any time during the night, if she needed me. That’s what God wants from us…call at anytime, anywhere, and pour out our griefs or thoughts. I’m broken-hearted tonight for my daughter’s grief and the quiet house she will soon come home to. She knows that I understand, because just a couple weeks ago, we had to let our cat go. He was a very elderly cat, but still sweet. It hurt. God understands human pain and sadness, that’s why He understands our unconventional ways of pouring out grief, anger, and hurt. He understands rants and tears that don’t hold to the standard prayers. God understands what our path in life has been and where we walk today. He sees the path before us and if we ask–he will walk with us.

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