Above: A labyrinth walk, a way to pray. I had never seen one until Saturday, at a venerable old church in Montclair. This take on a medieval labyrinth with a pine needle path is in Portland, Maine. I want to go on my next trip up.
I’m not talking about the kind of prayers I turned to over the years, when I phoned a friend in the sky to make a plea. As in, God, please:
- Let me go to sleep without being afraid of what might happen in the dark, like Mary might appear at my bedside in a moonbeam and ask me to be a nun, and I don’t want that, and how would I say no to the Blessed Mother? People are chosen for vocations. Please don’t let her ask. Thanks, God.
- Help me and my friends arrive safely on this big plane to California (that flight in our 20s).
- Let Dan and me have a baby.
- Help me ask for a raise effectively, without panic and fear. (That day at Good Housekeeping Magazine, I also prayed to the Blessed Mother and thought of my Italian immigrant grandmother, Rosie, and how she would be proud of me. Not sure if they intervened? I knocked over the wastebasket on way into my boss’s office.)
- Bless Sis.
- Guide and watch over Figgy.
- Guide and watch over Punch (and also, J.)
- Bless Dad and keep him safe.
No, this week my prayers have been different. I’ve landed on a deeper, more spiritual path.
On Saturday, I did an indoor labyrinth walk for the first time ever with my friend Sunny (blog name). Powerful, v. powerful. A man sat near for the two-hour window (11 to 1, but you set your time) playing the Celtic harp. So very beautiful: “Amazing Grace,” “How Great Thou Art,” “Be Not Afraid."
Today, I caught a ride to 8 a.m. Mass at the historic Catholic Church on North Fullerton Avenue and then centering prayer for Lent with a small group of women, led by my fun-loving yet deeply spiritual friend Susie (blog name).
Open to prayer, open to grace. Back at my desk now.
How about you? Do you pray?
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