Being Still

My conversations with God start before my feet hit the floor in the morning. Most times, before I even open my eyes. I am a person that prays, a lot.

I like to run through a list of things I am grateful for. Most mornings I have several things. Sometimes, if I am still tired and grumpy that my alarm is going off (which happens because I am a terrible sleeper and could always use another hour) the only thing on my gratitude list is being alive again and I say “Hey, thanks, God, I’m glad I am alive again. Lucky lucky me to get another day on this earth, in this house with people that I love. Sorry I am so grumpy, I’d really love to sleep better.” Then, I get up and start my day.

I talk out loud to God while I am driving. I imagine I look like a crazy person chatting away to an empty passenger seat or maybe it looks like I’m singing. I don’t know, but what’s really happening is I am chatting out loud to God or whatever that bright light of forgiving, beautiful energy is that is around me all the time.
I say thank you.
I say I’m terribly sorry for calling so and so a jerk. For the record, I would be a less grumpy name-caller if you could help me sleep better.
Sorry for wanting to kick the cat when he scratches my chair when he has $200 worth of scratching posts strategically positioned all around the house.
I pray for the ability to clearly see opportunities I can learn and grow from when they present themselves.
I pray for guidance.
I pray for my child to always be watched over.
I pray to have the insight to trust my intuition.
I pray to remember to put a pencil and a notebook into my purse so I can write down a good idea. I can’t tell you how many times I have pulled over to the side of the road and written parts of a poem or essay on the back of a receipt, hoping my hand writes fast enough to remember it all before the words fall through the cracks and are lost.
I pray. And I feel like God listens.
My God has evolved throughout my life. It’s no longer the heavy all-knowing hand that scared me when I went to Catholic school as a child. It’s a bright sparkly light that never leaves my side.
It’s sunshine.
The rain.
It’s the sound of Lily’s voice.
It’s the laugher of my sisters.
It’s the color of Chad’s eyes.
It’s everywhere if I slow down and am quiet enough to look around.

Once in a while, when the days feel too busy and I rush from one thing to the next, I pray to be home. “Please God, can I stay home today and not have anywhere to go?“

Here it is. I am at home. I feel safe. Healthy. Afraid. Nervous. I have nowhere I need to or can be and my seemingly self-absorbed prayers have shifted.
This morning, I prayed for my neighbors and this small town I live in.
I prayed for the safety of my 94-year-old Nunny who is probably at Wegmans right this minute buying herself eggs and milk even though I have offered 100 times to drop them off at her door.
I prayed that my parents stay at home and don’t get sick.
I prayed for the Mom who might not have a pantry full of food to last for a few weeks.
I prayed that all the Doctors and Scientists who are way smarter than I’ll ever be and look to for guidance, remain healthy.
I pray that the term ‘social distancing” and “flattening the curve” will soon be something of our past and something that we learn how to live our best lives from.

I’ll continue to say “thanks, I’m alive again” every morning. I’ll continue to be grateful to live in a home I love and to be able to go to a job I enjoy every day. But I think I’ll stop asking for a boring day at home. Instead, I’m going to keep it simple all by myself. I’m going to pray I always remember to slow it down and linger at home over another cup of coffee and read another chapter in my book just because I can and want to. I’ll make time to feel the beauty of stillness when it is not accompanied by fear and global sickness.
I’ll remember this forever as my lesson in being still–the lesson that in the course of 5 days shifted my perception of what I thought my obstacles and challenges were.
It is Spring.
My Hellebores, a gift from my dear friend, have bloomed.
There is hope.
I have hope.
I have faith that the God I spend all day chatting away with hears me praying for all of us.