And what if… I give up on prayer?
It’s been some time since I’ve prayed.
It seems to me to be a series of incantations and pleading, sent forth to a coldly distant diety, who deigns to listen, let alone look upon me or others.
Of a surety, I believe his hand brought me to Texas from the East Coast; I’m also sure that, after he dumped me here, he turned slowly away and hasn’t checked on my life since that time. I’ve given up on asking for direction, for guidance, for the smallest crumb from him, since it has become obvious he’s lost interest.
There’s been too many cases of close friends calling upon him, of being led (and promised) to believe one thing or another, only to find it ripped from them, leaving them homeless and reeling.
Oh, they have a house, make no mistake about that, but it is a cold, empty house and is no home to them; ‘home’ being a place of warmth, love, companionship, laughter, and such.
There’s other stories of similar note- requests sent forth, promises given regarding them, yet years later, they are in worse circumstances and no way of seeing those promises being kept.
So. Does prayer avail much? I no longer believe so. Praying in tongue still feels somewhat sacred, I’ll own that, and yet there’s a sense of hopelessness about it to me. A language of mystery, but there is no one to hear it; no one listening to the deep heart of what is being brought forth, and so this, too, is an empty gesture.
It hurts. An ache inside. A unknown, deep well of hurt that occasionally roils over into every day life and spews forth a rank ugliness that isn’t me, only it is because it’s coming from within.
So, I’ve given up on it and try to see beauty in the small moments around me and believe that the I Am still Is.