Praying My Head Off

I am a praying mother. I pray for all sorts of things. I pray for the safety of my family, good health, guidance, for the Crazy Cabbie not to kill me, for God to put a hand over my mouth at certain times, or for God to please stop me from strangling my husband because he CANNOT load the dishwasher the way it is to be loaded, which is my way.

My first intense prayer – what I call those desperate, soul shucking prayers – came when I was an 18-year-old agnostic. I was suspicious of God, but I dropped to my knees in the stale chapel of a dirty VA hospital to sob, plead, and bargain with Him to spare my grandfather, who lay dying on the operating table. He was spared seven more years.

I think the most intense prayer of my life came while Liam was having a debilitating asthma attack. We were sitting in an examining room at his pediatrician’s office when it happened. Nurses administered a super-strength nebulized medicine (at a strength we’re not allowed to legally purchase) which a listless Liam inhaled through a plastic alligator mask. It wasn’t helping. His skin was ice-white, his breaths were laborious and painfully shallow. His lips began to turn blue. The nurses alerted Children’s Hospital and told us to get ready. Chris and I took a quiet moment right there in the doctor’s office and prayed. Soon afterwards the pink crept back into Liam’s cheeks and his eyes brightened. I don’t know if our begging prayers helped; I know that sometimes, something is going to go a certain way no matter how much you argue with God.

But we were grateful.

I’ve been in D.C. on business for the past four days and I’ve engaged in two intense prayers: One on the plane ride over and the other during my dance with Crazy Cab Driver Man. I am sissy-afraid of flying. It didn’t help when Elisa, a reader who also happens to be a flight-attendant, commented that I shouldn’t sit by the wings because that’s where the fuel is and if something happens, the fire and heat from the fuel will disintegrate me quickly. Like ash in the wind.

Awesome!

THANKS ELISA.

I sat so far away from the wing that I was almost not on the plane. I took the window seat so I could watch and make sure that parts of the plane didn’t fall off mid-flight. My prayer went something like this: “God, PLEASE don’t let me die. Please. Don’t. Let. Me. Die. PLEASEDON’TLETMEDIE. Don’t let anything fall off the plane. I will stop thinking mean things, and you know how, like, hard that is for me JUST DON’T LET ME DIE.”

I prayed MY HEAD OFF when I climbed into a cab driven by the most unstable human on the planet. Crazy Cab Driver Man rolled down his window and literally screamed at people blasting “SUPER PUMPY MUSIC, THEIR MUSIC IS EXPLETIVE DELETED,” or hip hop, in his barely-audible Middle Eastern accent. He asked me if I preferred the super pumpy music and I was all, “Uh … Nelly is from my town … .” I’m geographically obligated to prefer Country Grammar.

Traffic laws were merely suggestions to Crazy Cab Driver Man. I stopped counting the number of times he pulled out in front of a wall of oncoming traffic, ran a red light, or honked pedestrians clear off the crosswalks. The monologue in my head went something like this: “God, I know that I talked to you before and promised that I wouldn’t think mean things anymore, but I’ve got something else that may interest you: If let me live through this I will be a more courteous driver JUST LET ME OUT OF THIS CAB ALIVE. And I haven’t thought a really mean thing yet.”

I don’t just pray when I think there’s something I can gain from it, I do it regularly. We pray before we eat. Sometimes people look at us like we’re bowing over a cauldron when we pray in public, sometimes we see other families praying, too. Liam will naturally say grace prior to starting his meal; he’s done it for so long. Ewan tries now, also. It’s a part of our family routine as much as eating, breathing, and pooping, but with a lot more reverence than that last one. We pray even if we don’t have anything to say other than “Thanks God, for each other, the roof over our head, this nice electricity, our health, and the love of those around us.”

I don’t pray about soap operas or for the Lord to be with me as I vacuum off the stairs. However, I think it’s important to acknowledge appreciation and converse with God. It’s a tenant of our faith and I think each “Amen” stimulates spiritual growth. I hope to teach the boys to do it out of reverence and not out of blank habit.

Comments

[Lori Mcf]

I'm serious, this ClubMom thing is gonna kill me (or get my fired) from all the good blogs. I'm looking forward to reading yours and hearing what you have to say!

(Crazy homeschooling lady haaaa!!!)

(.....kidding. Like totally.)

[Beth]

We take pride in our crazy cabbies here in D.C. - you must have gotten one of our best.

[Rebecca]

pray on sista. somdays that's all we've got to hang onto.

[Stacy]

I laughed so hard that I cried about your airplane trip, not to get joy out of your pain or anything.
I have said that prayer many times, apologized to God for repeating myself, and then prayed it one more time for good measures. I'm glad to know I'm not the only one.