The Voice Heard in Silence

The Voice Heard in Silence

Prayers are said; some deeply felt, others as though rote response is all we sense.

And when we pray, what then?  Is formality in order, as if we are praying and the Queen of England is listening to our “Thee’s and Thou’s?”

I hope not.  I’ll confess – I pray.  The amount

per day and the style and body position in which I pray shall remain private.  I’m not here as some specimen on prayer for you to emulate.  I just want to muse for a bit.

I love what Mary Oliver said in her poem “Praying”.

“Just patch a few words together

and don’t make them elaborate”.

Oh my.  That resonates with my soul.  I am not the most eloquent of pray-givers.  I love her words “just patch a few words together.”  That’s more my style.  And you know what?  God gets my prayers in that style.  He gets me and my minds desire and my heart’s longing. 

Mary continues:

“… this isn’t a contest

but a doorway into thanks,

Hmmm … a ‘doorway into thanks’.  How about that!  Man do I have a bushel basket full of circumstances for which to be thankful. 

And the wrap-up:

and a silence in which

another voice may speak.”

To think that God himself wants to speak to me.  I’m nobody in the grand scheme of things.  I’m 68, I have surgery scars on my body, I move slower than ever, and to think God may want to speak to me during my prayers?

I think I shall pray now.  I just may hear the one voice that speaks life and sense into my troubled world.

I’m going to sit here in my chair with my feet up.  Join me if you wish.  Just be still … with me.

This is my morning reflection.

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