This deviates somewhat from the dissertation itself, but when you think about writing as my form of prayer, it's not too far off (dissertation as prayer, blogging as prayer). What follows is probably a disorderly mess of thoughts, but I had to "put pen to paper" as soon as I stepped out of the shower this morning. I had a revelation of the sort that only interaction with my son can bring, but I'll get to more of that later.
In 1 Thessalonians 5:17, we are encouraged to "pray without ceasing," and for the longest time I couldn't fathom it.
As a child, I always thought of prayer as communal or at the very least, "heads bowed, eyes closed." Trying to combine this and praying without ceasing resulted in me running into a few walls while walking, a few puzzled looks from others watching this, and a heart-felt exasperation that to pray without ceasing must mean one must become a monk or nun (I didn't know at the time that Monks and nuns had tasks in a monastery outside of prayers). When I was in later elementary school and began singing in choirs and writing my own songs, I heard from members of my congregation, "that's such a beautiful prayer." Oh! I thought--prayer can be in words that don't require me to lose my bearings and run into things? I spent much of my middle school years singing whenever I could (which probably explains why I was nicknamed "Opera lady" by a classmate and found myself alone a lot!)
High school and adolescence changed things. I didn't feel like praying or singing for a long time and when I did, I found solace in quiet places. My flute music was my prayer as my mom battled a scary diagnosis, and it said "thank you" the doctors shook their heads and decided that the original diagnosis was wrong. I ran into the woods at Durley camp with a couple of friends to climb and swing and sing a quiet prayer or two when cliques and rumors overwhelmed me. I stopped praying my junior year when the color drained from my world, one of my favorite mentors passed away, and I felt God calling me away from music and into something else (I still think about "Aunt" Harriet Whiteman constantly and how she may have shaped my calling in many ways). I started dreaming dreams of about a new calling, but was scared--if I prayed through my music and it was being taken away from me, how would I pray? How could I let God know how heartbroken I was and how much I needed him when he'd taken my voice from me?
It happened in inches and in miles, really. My voice returned to a degree, and my love of music and new calling combined in strange ways. IYC 2000 in Colorado was, in retrospect, one of the most important events of my life. It was there (or on the way, actually) that I met Josh and Chris. Like me, Josh had been raised on "old school" CCM, but felt called to be a computer programmer. It was a passion and gift--as was his ability to play the piano and sing Keith Green songs. Even to this day, though I remember him (and Chris) trying to explain to me RPGs and what it was like to program for them, it's the Keith Green songs that we shared that stick with me: "Oh God, though I have wandered so far, you know that I'm still a man after your own heart." He'd managed to combine a love of music (and music as prayer) with his calling, so why couldn't I? It was strange that in the year to come, I was able to go on a music ministry and ESL teaching missions trip to Japan. These kind of combinations don't happen often--and it was there that I fell in love with ESL and really felt called, both to teach and to minister through working with immigrants.
And still the Keith Green song stuck with me, appearing out of nowhere in my thoughts and acting as a prayer often my freshman year of college. As I discovered "The Celebration of Discipline" that year, focused on fasting and new forms of prayer (laying down and taking up), I started seeing how prayer was intertwined into the lives and regular actions of my professors and developing in the lives of friends I made at college. It's a strange thing when it finally clicks, that prayer is how we live.
True, Leopold Weiss' words from yesterday help--that he saw in the Muslims he met that life and prayer and vocation couldn't be separated as words of prayer and relational words to God were a part of everything they did, but this isn't often how we teach or model prayer for our children.
And yet, T (my 2 1/2 year old) seems to have picked this up. We have said prayers with him since he was about 2 months old, but it's only been lately as he's had more words that we've asked him who he would like to pray for. He now has his list ready, happily and overflowing from his mouth. Some people are listed repeatedly, and I often have wondered if he's just delaying sleep and ask if he's done. We say "Amen" and call it a night. This morning was different. This morning, in the shower, he started in with his prayer list. I have to admit, I was a bit shocked. Was he not making the connection to the names and when we pray?
But I think he knows better than I do sometimes. He already seems to understand that we can pray anytime, anywhere, out loud, in our heads, in our music or even in our computer programs (buttons!) or teaching. He's learned that prayer without ceasing is possible and does not have to be an awkward interjection into our lives, but should be the outpouring of our thoughts and feelings to God--it is a life well lived with caring and concern for others, full of thanks and praise for the gifts we've been given, and joy for the journey he has given us.
I'm learning how to pray without ceasing from my 2 year old--even if he is a hyper-active teacher.
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