navigator’s (B)log
navigator’s (B)log
Learning to Pray
Thursday, May 26, 2016
(The events in this blog occurred in 2004. I am happy to say I have not experienced this kind of despair since; not even close.)
On my way that morning, the traffic was heavy, but thankfully, most of it was going in the other direction. I was headed for a meeting with my friend Mary, a Roman Catholic nun, a Sister of Mercy. I had been serving on her spiritual center’s advisory group. After an advisory meeting I blurted out to Mary, “Do you do spiritual counseling?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Can I sign up?” I asked.
I felt childish; I had no idea what spiritual counseling really was and my use of the phrase “signing up” revealed my discomfort. I wasn’t even Catholic. But I was willing to take help in any form, and I needed it.
As I made my way to Mary’s residence that morning, my inner weather was profoundly at odds with the sunshine around me. I had been depressed for the past few weeks, consumed day in and out with clouds of foreboding and doom. That morning, like so many preceding it, I got up and muscled myself into my day sheerly out of habit and work ethic, not any sense of purpose, plan, or commitment.
After many years of self-employment, I found that I could not support myself any longer. I convinced myself that my business had failed and that it did so because I wasn’t clever enough to keep it afloat. In fact, the environment in which I was functioning no longer rewarded the self-employed, solo professional, at least for what I wanted to do. Big, brand name firms were getting the work I wanted. I had also changed the focus of my work a number of times and it seemed my clients lost focus on what I was good at. For two years, I made regular incursions into savings to pay the bills, growing more and more anxious. I was having physical sensations I had never experienced before, including a perpetual knot in my stomach. I learned that depression is an insidious thing; it pervades every perception. It slimes every compliment and douses every happy thought. I had experienced sadness before and periods of discouragement in my life, but never anything like this.
Driving to the appointment, I considered calling Mary with an excuse and turning back. I had no idea what I would say to her once I arrived at our appointment. She did have some sense of my struggle in transitioning to a job I had taken recently as I had shared this with her before. But I had never told her that I was feeling like a total failure. Surely I couldn’t start off like this; it would just be too pathetic and needy. Finally, I hit upon it: I would ask her to teach me how to pray.
The minute I stepped from my car I felt a shift inside myself, not physically, but emotionally, into an attitude of openness unlike I had experienced in a long time. I would be in the presence of a person who had devoted her life to giving. She cared for me. And today, I would take whatever gift she had for me.
We sat in a beautiful library. Mary lit a candle and wrapped herself in a colorful shawl. I was fidgety. After we sat in silence for a long time, Mary said a few things about me, about prayer, about suffering, about God. To tell the truth, I couldn’t repeat any of it. But I do remember this: she told me things that helped me understand that life—everyone’s life—involves suffering. Still, we can know and feel peace even in the midst of the struggle. We can even experience a sense of confidence during chaos if we are quiet enough to hear those inner voices that remind us of our goodness and value. Without giving me a trace of advice, Mary created an unforgettable moment of healing and acceptance. I felt blessed and will be forever grateful for that moment.
Making my way back to the city, I had an urge to call a new work colleague that I had come to like. Her name just popped up in my mind. I dialed her on my cell phone. “Where have you been?” she cheerfully chided. “I’ve been missing you!” I realized that I had missed her too. And I had missed me.
Later, to celebrate the moment, I wrote this poem:
Learning to Pray
Mary was gone, but God showed up—
A fair if startling trade.
I had come to learn to pray.
An hour of need, as they say.
Let’s light a candle, she said.
And invite the spirit in.
We closed our eyes.
Perhaps a minute passed, then surely ten.
I snuck a peek.
Wrapped in her shawl, eyes closed, painter’s light all ‘round,
Mary was gone.
Listening to the distant clock and the merest sound of breeze,
I peeked again.
Still she was gone.
But in the silence, God was loudly there.
Fluttering open at long, long last,
Her kind, smiling eyes reached out and took me in.
I still don’t know how to pray.
But I surely had,
Appreciatively, if furtively,
And forever blessed.
(Learn about beautiful Cranaleith Spiritual Center www.cranaleith.org.)
You can go from Victim mode straight to Navigator mode. I know thanks to my friend Mary.
“The Navigator Among the Others” © 2007 Richard McKnight