I resisted because it made me feel a little crazy; praying in the rain at 6 a.m. on your knees is like that. It’s not a matter of not liking early morning. I am proud.
I pray to God---my life a prayer---and wait for what He'll say and do. My life's on the line before God, my Lord, waiting and watching til morning, waiting and watching til morning. Psalm 130:5-6 (MSG)
I look down at the wet wood under my robed knees. Planks needing paint, patterned and scratched, scraped. Yes, I kneel on the back porch. Surrendering my cozy couch comfort and my idea of the best way to hear from God. Get your toes wet.
God talks to me, in my head---it feels audible. He pushes me past the french door stainless steel handle, out onto the plastic pronged mat that stabs my feet. I bend my knees down and rearrange my robe. A quick check to ensure neighbors are not watching. Thank you God for the leafy hedge.
That day I prayed in posture. Sometimes I pray in black ink, maybe a morning dim whisper.
To make your life a prayer, you must hear it, see it, say it, do it. BE IT.
As Anne Lamott titled her book with three small prayer words, Help, Thanks, Wow, maybe a word is all you have. Exhaling frailty starts as a seed in your soul.
Prayer seems daunting. Where to start. I forget to start. If I start, I might never end!
Pray small. Pray questions. Pray answers. Show up early. Show up late. I bring Him hard stuff, easy stuff, stuff I don't want. Bit by bit, a giving over, dependence, the sky itself is lifting into morning. The rough night fades, sometimes a whole lifetime of rough nights fade too.
I am full of expectation in this space between dark and light.
- Christina H.
