Back on Track
John ShoreBesides here on Crosswalk, John blogs on JohnShore.com.
- 2007 May 04
The whole thing takes about twenty minutes.
Sometimes, though, Cat and I don’t say our “morning prayers.” You know how it is: You go through phases. You start doing it; you keep doing it. You let it slide; it keeps sliding. Weeks and even months can go by either way. They can for us, anyway.
If we’re in a phase where we’re skipping our prayers, it’s always for the same reason: Too Busy. And in fact we very often are radically, life-trashingly busy. Cat works for a local nonprofit organization that feeds and cares for the homeless and protects families fleeing from domestic violence. (Thus ensuring that she does more good for more people in one day than I know I’ll ever do for anybody in my whole life. I try not to be bitter about that, though.) She goes through long phases where she puts in 10-12 hour days, doing stuff that is so emotionally wrenching I imagine Mother Theresa looking down on her from heaven, and going, “How does she do it? Oh, wait. I know. Never mind.”
And then there’s my work. And I often have … um … well, a lot of sentences that need punctuating. And let me tell you, some of those sentences can be pretty darn lengthy. Sometimes I have to divide them up into shorter sentences. It can all get awfully exhausting. You wouldn’t believe how often my work forces me to watch a little TV and then take a nap.
Anyway, Cat and I have just gone through a very long phase of not saying our prayers. I don’t even know how long that phase lasted. Maybe five months.
So yesterday morning we started again. And (of course) yesterday we both had the best day either of us has had in, oh, I’d say at least five months.
Today we again said our prayers.
When we opened our eyes after our final meditation this morning, we both found ourselves looking at this small painted wood cross from Mexico that we keep hung on a nail above our kitchen door. The cross was being illuminated by a perfect circle of golden sunlight. We’ve lived here for a year, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a perfectly rounded beam of sunlight hit that or any spot in this house. And I know I’ve never seen one so tightly and exactly surround that little cross. Which, thusly illuminated, was practically singing to us.
Today I feel as calm as I’ve probably ever felt in my life. I feel healthy, energetic, centered, and optimistic.
For months now I’ve been deeply entrenched in much turmoil surrounding some work I’m doing. I now see exactly what I need to do in order to regain my practical and emotional control over what has for so long now been keeping me consternated and concerned. All of my concerns about this work have evaporated.
It’s like a light has been shined on my problems.
Or, more exactly, on my answer: The cross.
When am I going to learn? You give 20 minutes of your time, and in exchange get the magnificent relief and joy of God’s direct, clear, no-doubt-about-it presence in your life.
How flat-out dense do you have to be not to take a deal like that? And it’s not like saying morning prayers ever brings me a result any different. It’s not like the quality of my life doesn’t always increase about a zillion times whenever I start logging in that time.
If I wasn’t so absurdly stubborn and relentlessly self-centered, I’d be the smartest, happiest person God could make me.
Lesson #1: Let go, and let God.
Lesson #2: Let go, and let God.
Lesson #3: Let go, and let God.
Yeah, baby! Yeah!