Category Archives: Prayer

Nap Party

21 Thursday Jan 2010

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I admire how easily dogs fall asleep.

Is it their freedom from worries?  Or could it be their lack of preoccupation with tasks that lie in wait for them?  Or perhaps it’s their constant practice at the fine art of good sleeping?

As I contemplate my morning readings, Maddie snores by my side with nary a care.  Her body forms to the sides of the chair, her head rests on its arm.  I look around to see that it’s this way with my other dogs too — all are completely at rest.

I wish I could rest this easily.  I didn’t sleep well last night, though I have no worries or preoccupations that I can point to as sleep-nappers.  Sometimes I just wake up at the indecent hour of four a.m. — and no matter how much I toss and turn to put myself back to sleep, sleep evades me.

Often, Max hears me stirring, and when he’s not already in bed with us, he jumps up to keep me company.  Without need of invitation, Max  drapes all forty-six pounds of his body on top of mine.  I wonder if he’s trying to anchor my tossing with his weight or trying to bring me the comfort of his presence.

Perhaps Max just desires the comfort of my presence, since a minute later, my poodle comforter is snoring comfortably while I lie underneath him hot and wide awake.  I feel Max’s body form to mine, with the full force of his weight shifting to me.

With no intention to do so, I begin to think thoughts.   Thinking removes the last hope of my return to sleep.   But thoughts come and this one was important to me, as I compare Max at rest to prayer at best.  My dark night encounter with Max invites me to grow still, settle into a warm, comfy spot and allow whatever is weighing me down shift to God.

With prayers expressed and forth-six pounds of weight shifted, I shake awake Max to begin my day.  Max is always happy to get an early start, as my day begins with his food bowl.  I feed the dogs, make my coffee and find a comfortable chair to hold me.  And there, resting in God’s word, I too fall sound asleep, in spite of the coffee.  Thirty minutes later, I wake refreshed, ready for the day.

Now, with morning chores behind me and no worries or preoccupations pressing upon me, I’m wondering if I might indulge in a dog nap or two.  Already I’m missing one good nap party behind me.

With the day still young and my dogs true party animals, I’ve no doubt there will be other nap parties to crash.

Like a River

20 Wednesday Jan 2010

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“I’ll wait for you no more like a daughter
That part of our life together is over
But I will wait for you forever
Like a river…”     –  Carly Simon, “Like A River”


Like a river of life, Carly Simon’s music courses through my veins.

It has been this way since the earliest days of high school.  Carly shares her life so freely in song that it has always brought me comfort — she feels no need to cover-up the love or joy or pain.   I believe she grew stronger for the sharing of all her ups and downs;  and if not, I can say for sure that her openness made me stronger.

Carly’s songs invite me to lean into her experience, which prepared me to ride across similar rough waters of my own life.  So it is with Like A River, a song Carly penned in the mid-nineties about the fresh passing of her mother.  I listened to this song, along with all the other recordings released on Letters Never Sent, as I commuted to and from Houston in the late 1990’s.  Even now, I can see myself turning off of State Highway 288 on to south US Highway 59, listening to Like A River with tears in my eyes, as I got use to the idea of losing Mom long before I stood on the precipice.

Listening to Carly’s loss evolved into a longing to listen to others facing similar losses.  Though there are informal ways to offer the gift of a listening ear, I chose a more formal path, one that prepared me to become a Stephen Minister.  I sought training because I grew weary of feeling inept and uncomfortable around those grieving the loss of a loved one.  I wished to comfort however I could.  While I had no intention of becoming commissioned in the beginning, it  felt right to do so in the end.

Over the course of thirty months, I provided care to two different women.  Odd enough, both were facing the loss of their mother.   I cried with them and I prayed for them and with them.  But most of all, I just sat and listened and invited them to express their grief and their fears and ultimately their love, the love that would flow into eternity with their mother.

Long after the formal grieving period was over and all the family had returned home to pick up the doings of their own lives, I continued to visit them.  I came to listen to my care receivers, to offer them a safe and confidential space to express their grief in whatever way they wished.  And I didn’t stop coming until they felt their grief work was finished.

I gave up the ministry when I moved to Oklahoma.  But the Stephen Ministry led me to to explore spiritual direction which led me to create a contemplative prayer class, which has led me to pray for Connie, another daughter preparing to say good-bye to her mother.

Like a river, the stories of a mother’s passing are part of life itself — and like all life, the stories deserved to be shared.

Table Grace

17 Sunday Jan 2010

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“Forever, forever, you’ll stay in my heart
And I will love you
Forever, forever, we never will part
Oh, how I’ll love you
Together, together, that’s how it must be
To live without you
Would only be heartbreak for me”

— Burt Bacharch & Hal David

Borne out of a dream to align all the stars in my orbit, the movable feast is doing its job of pulling the entire family together once a month.

Everyone takes turns playing host, and today was Kara’s turn to name the gathering time and place.  This no-muss, no-fuss style of entertaining may prove my best idea yet.

Today’s installment  of family dining was a new take on an old favorite — Tex-Mex on a very blue Lake Hefner.  If only the weather had been just a touch warmer, we could have enjoyed a lake view out on the patio.  But perhaps it’s just as well we stayed inside — what view could be better than being in the midst of all those faces I hold so dear?

Here’s a quick spin around our table’s Lazy Susan to give you a small sense of the people behind the faces.

Sitting next to me is the love of my life, the guy who at one time or another, has managed to keep most of us sitting at the table anchored in reality; even our son-in-laws Joe and Glenn received his wise counsel before they took our daughters as wife:  “Happy wife, happy life,” said my husband of few words.

Then there’s Kyle and Kara — you can usually find my youngest son and daughter sitting close to one another — these tender souls appreciate each others creativeness — there’s even talk of writing a children’s book together  — perhaps some day they’ll stir dreams into reality.

Then, yep, there’s Kara’s husband Joe strategically positioned to watch whatever sport happens to be playing on television.  How does Joe do it? — he’s always one step ahead of the game, whether its keeping tabs on our table-talk or the play-by-play on the screen.

Then there’s our resident lovebirds Bryan and Amy — Amy’s just back from a month-long family visit  —   and Bryan isn’t even trying to hide how happy he is to have Amy back.  In spite of all that goes wrong in the world, love breathes hope that everything will turn out all right in the end, even when our distant vision is cloudy.

Finally we have Glenn and Kate, who keep me in stitches with their repartee — if they every get tired of practicing medicine, they can take their comedy gig on the road.

There’s always a few conversations going on at once, and I try to listen in on as many as I can since it will be another month before everyone comes together again.  Bryan is talking about his new accounting internship.  Amy is talking about Super Mario.  Kara is not feeling well —  probably another pesky childhood illness, a job hazard of teaching kindergarten.  Joe is talking about a quarterback he now views as a traitor since the quarterback no longer plays for Joe’s favorite team.  With Kate rolling her eyes, Glenn is talking of how he knows how to fix their broken toilet stool — but that he hasn’t quite worked up to it yet.

There are some sorts of table talk our movable feast hasn’t quite worked up to yet… like this impromptu sing-song conjured up  in a a familiar Julia Roberts movie, captured in the clip below.  Should the desire to sing ever fall  upon our movable feast, there may be many people —  and not just those sitting at our table —  who may be moved to say a little prayer — or two.   But oh how my heart sings in the truth of this wonderful Hollywood table grace!