As a child, I said a silent prayer before going to bed almost every night.
Raised in a Latter-day Saint family, hometown, state… Prayer always came before meals, there were prayers before bed, and even in the morning. Though I cannot say I did morning prayers.
Not long after my parents divorced, I began praying from my top bunk of the red bunk bed my brother and I shared. My grandmother had walked me through my nighttime prayers before we had ever moved in. Somehow it had stuck, because I started praying on my own each night. Since nighttime prayers became something I did nearly every night, I pretty much remember what my prayers would be like:
Dear Father in Heaven,
Thank you for this day. I thank you for my loving family. Please bless and watch over mommy, daddy, brother, grandmas, grandpas, my aunts and uncles. Please keep me safe in the night, keep the bad dreams away, and only give me good dreams. I thank thee lord for all my blessings. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
Once my paternal grandmother had passed away when I was seven and my childhood dog ran away, I always added:
I hope that Grandma and Lacie are with you and that they are safe and happy. Tell them that I love them and miss them.
Now I think back on that little girl and see how beautiful, wise, and precious she was.
To know that a Greater Being was listening. Saying these prayers, night after night, without help or accountability from anyone. Praying as some kind of anchor in a very uncertain world where her mommy and daddy were no longer together. Where she and her brother were cared for by a village of family members and babysitters, so her mom could work and finish school.
She didn’t kneel at her bedside like so many do, but she closed her eyes, lay flat on the bed, sometimes with her hands clasped over her chest. Then, she said the silent prayers in a whisper to the darkness, often broken by the light from the hallway.
I wonder if she realized just how powerful those prayers could be. Somehow she knew that she was heard. Looking back, I love that little girl so much for doing something so simple, so faithfully, with hardly any outside influence. Somehow knowing that something was holding everything in her world together. That these prayers brought her peace and comfort before she lay down to rest for the night. A salve for her sadness and uncertainty. A way to share her love even if she couldn’t see everyone she cared for as often as she could.
At age 10, when my lifelong dog ran away, I asked God to watch over her and bring her home safe. Then I learned that old dogs often run away because they know their lives are coming to an end. I still remember the feeling I got when I had asked God if she was still alive, and the lump in my throat said she wasn’t.
Prayer became a lifeline of connection and certainty in an uncertain time.
I said those nightly prayers for a long time. At some point, those nightly prayers became sporadic and rare and few between. They usually emerged when I was sad, scared, or anxious about something. If I was concerned about someone and wanted God to keep an extra eye on them and to help where He could. Asking for uncertain situations to be taken care of and that everyone would be okay. Asking for ill family members to feel better.
Somewhere down the line, likely when both of my parents were happily remarried, my nightly prayers settled down. They were helpful to the young child and they could be helpful for a teenager, but my teenage self didn’t rely on them as much. Teenage me discovered journaling instead. Not to say teenage me never prayed; she did, it was just less often. Same MO–quiet prayers, lying in bed, sometimes even falling asleep while saying them (still guilty of that).
In my early 20s I explored my own spirituality through the Mormon faith, the one I practically grew up in but hadn’t been baptized yet. That’s how I rediscovered prayer and feeling connected to something greater than me. I reawakened that faith from the little girl; somehow it was restored, as were prayers. And it was prayers that further directed me onward. My spirituality and faith continued to expand beyond that particular religion as I grew up and grew away from my hometown.
And I realized that my prayers could come with answers. With spiritual clarity.
With a peace I didn’t realize as a child, but as an adult, I know that’s why those child-like prayers lasted as long as they did.
And now, prayers are a regular part of my spiritual practice. Like a brief blessing over my food. Or my protective prayer that I use before I fall asleep (can’t tell you how necessary that is for me). The prayers I send up to the ethers when something awful happens, and I want to send peace and love to those affected. They don’t have to be long, and in fact, prayers are almost constant some days.
In my adult prayers, I still ask that my family is blessed and to know that I love them. I still give a shout out to my loved ones who have passed on from this realm. I ask for peace and love for the world over. That violence and hate will cease. And that everyone can feel like they belong and feel loved. I may not subscribe to any particular faith at this time, and I love learning the wisdom and values inherent in all of them. Despite this, I know my prayers still have power.
However, I’m not very confident in my ability to pray out loud. I feel so self-conscious that it never feels as genuine as it does when I do so silently. Yet, hearing prayers always feels good to me as I repeat them in my minds’ eye as I listen to transmute their power more widely.
All these years, and I’m just now recognizing the power and resonance prayers have had for me. The importance. The solace, peace, love, and protection. An anchor through storms. A place of gratitude and celebration when things align. The connecting thread through everything.
The book that stirred this story within me today is, “The Dance of the Dolphin” by Karyn D. Kedar. A section about the thread of Divine light that connects us all–the Source of everything. Kedar is a Reform Jewish rabbi and author. She talks about the light and source of all things is a baseline of every religion, though it may look and sound different. At the core, all the guiding principles are the same.
And I think that light awakens when we pray.
It’s through this light that our prayers can spread to the light that’s within those we pray for. The prayer starts the spark of connection between ourselves and the Greater Divine. We are always connected to the light; it’s within every being. What matters is engaging with that universal connection how ever suits each of us. Whether that’s through prayer, meditation, journaling, yoga, or other practices. This light… It’s love. Universal love.
Now I see that the little girl I was could feel that light and trusted it enough to speak to it every night. I can only hope I can keep that going.
The light in me honors the light in you.
Namaste.