Let us pray…

It’s been a rough day. If we’re looking for fuller disclosure, it’s been a rough few months, and I’m not talking about the typical life issues; this roughness stems from stresses above and beyond the normal elements and issues of life. Nonetheless, it was today’s issues that let me to tonight’s entry, and here I am. The gritty, intensive details of the whole mess don’t need to be detailed out, but what it all led to was a call to my grandmother and father. My dad was, unsurprisingly (his job is something of true evil, no hyperbole here, and I hate that job, because it’s sucking the soul from my wonderful, gentle father) abed and sleeping, but thankfully, my dear, dear Nana was still up. I love this woman so very much. She’s so much more than a grandmother to me. She’s probably the only woman that I have any kind of maternal relationship with that actually stems from my childhood, and she’s been my School of Hard Knocks instructor more than once, and I would thank her on my knees if I could for those lessons. She has been there for me, supported me, encouraged me, and loved me when I needed her the most, and there really is no “thank you” that is adequate for that. Anyway, I’ve wandered from my topic here. Tonight, as I lay in bed and cried abject tears of fear, brokenness, perceived failure and defeat, I called my Nana, and asked her to pray for me. I think when I made the request, I had the notion of her doing it with her bed-time prayers, but my Nana, in her wisdom, chose then and there to pray for me. She listened for a long few minutes, as I poured out all my fears and sorrows through hiccoughs and quiet sobs, as I did when I was a smaller girl, with much smaller troubles. Then, with my tears still flowing, my breathing still stilted and uneven, my Nana began to pray.

Now, I’m not Christian anymore. My belief is not in the teachings of Christianity, though I hold intense and profound respect for people like my Nana and Dad who still believe and follow not a religion, but the faith and teachings of the Bible and Christ. No, I’m somewhere in the realm of eccentric paganism. I pull from this and that, traditions and beliefs from all walks, to create what is an intensely personal relationship with the Divine that is solely mine and deeply personal. That said, I believe in prayer. Be that prayer to Christ, Buddha, Isis, Odin, Cerridwen, Allah, or any other deity, I believe that there is immense and incredible power behind honest prayer. I’m not talking about the stuff people remember as kids, being forced to say Grace at dinner while your mind wanders all over the place, anywhere but to the words being spoken. No, this is the kind of prayer that is fervent and meant, drawn from a place deep in the soul. That energy, the emotion and feeling that is behind that kind of prayer? Of COURSE it does something, makes a difference, changes things. That energy is sent out into the world, and whether it goes through a higher power or a direct route I couldn’t tell you, but I know it makes a difference. I don’t ascribe to the theory that only one religion is correct, or that there is only one “True Way”. I think people have the right to the religion, faith, and belief that allows them to connect with the Divine, in whatever way It draws them, and I have a fierce respect for other faith traditions, and for the people that practice those traditions. Just because *I* do not connect to the Divine, do not feel a spiritual presence through those traditions does NOT make them less valid in any way. My Dad and Nana taught me that I did not have to agree to respect.

So, back to my story. As I listened to my Nana’s voice over the phone, curled in bed and dejectedly crying, something happened. As she entreated her God to watch over me, to grant me peace; to watch over my son and help him; to help guide his doctors in finding and applying the best treatments for him, I was able to catch my breath. I felt a calm settle over me, an inner peace. I was able to let go of some of my fears, and reminded that, as she said in her prayer, I am not a bad mother, and I have not failed my son. Did I feel the Hand of God moving in my life? Was I touched by Christ, and my fears and worries eased by Him? Did my Nana’s prayer, heart-felt and sincere as it could be, allow me a moment to refocus, and connect with the Divine in my own ways? I can’t answer any of those, but further- I don’t think it matters. What does matter is this: my Nana’s love for me, sent out through the depth and power of her prayer, helped me tonight. Her prayer helped ease my pain, grant me clarity and, most importantly, peace.

Am I still worried? Yes. Do the issues that led up to my call to my Nana still exist? Most certainly. These things don’t magically disappear. However, my Nana, one of my most important, earliest, and dearest teachers, reminded me of a lesson I learnt a long time ago tonight. Faith is important. It’s a vital thing in people’s lives. Everyone, even the most hard-core atheists, has faith in SOMETHING, and it’s what we, as human beings, lean on in times of internal crisis. There are some things that no outside source, no matter how devoted, loving, or understanding they are, can fix. Some problems must be solved from inside, some crises managed internally. For these things, we lean on our faith, as it acts as a mirror for us to assess the situation, look at it without the rose-coloured glasses (or at least less deeply tinted ones), and really resolve it. Our faiths give us strength when we think we have no more, shore up our resolve when it wavers, and steadies our steps when we falter along our paths.

Nana said she was going to pray for me again when she goes to bed. I feel so blessed to have her in my life. She is a strong woman, and so good to me. Tonight, when I called her, I wanted to feel her arms around me more than anything else in the world, to feel the warmth and safety there that was so welcome when I was a child, which could mend and soothe any injury. I wanted my Dad, to feel the security and strength in the arms that chased away my monsters when I was a little girl, my knight in shining armour that no demon could ever even imagine standing up to. Both Nana and Dad are still those things to me. There are no more monsters under my bed, and I can bandage my own skinned knee with nary a tear. No, now my demons and hurts are of a different variety, and there is none but myself who can conquer them. I know, however, that they are always in my corner, and that gives me strength beyond description. I know that, when I fall, on nights like tonight, I can call home, and even though there are almost 1200 miles between us, I can get a hug, a word of love and support, and a powerful prayer.

Thank you, Nana, for your prayers tonight. I love you.

 

~ by Kelly on October 21, 2012.