How I Pray

Even though I’m not sure I believe in god

I don’t believe in God with a capital G. And I’m not sure whether or not I believe in god, although I’m always looking. Even so, every morning when I wake up, I pray. I don’t get down on my knees and put my hands together like I did as a not-very-observant Catholic child. This is not a master/slave relationship I’m trying to foster, or queen/subject. It’s an invitation for grace to enter into my life, an announcement of my willingness to receive it.

Here’s how it goes. I lie in bed, look out the window, and think:

~Thank you for this breath, for this body, for this day. ~Please be with me today. Fill me with your grace. Help me to see you and feel you around me. ~And please grant me the gift of ‘right action,’ so I know the right thing to say and the right thing to do in every situation to bring about the best outcome for all.

Saying this prayer reminds me of things I want to remember — whether or not god exists. The words are homegrown. I came to them slowly, after years of reading spiritual texts and looking in many places for god. They work for me today. They may not work tomorrow, but that’s okay. In fact, that’s part of their beauty. They aren’t rigid doctrine which I might test and find wanting. They are flexible and changeable and endlessly improvable, like life.

Let’s walk it through.

Thank you for this breath.

No matter my current circumstance — no matter how unhappy I am, or disappointed in myself, or frustrated with others— I’m glad I woke up. I’m not ready to die yet. I want more time.

Thank you for this body.

As a woman, particularly, I’m used to disparaging my body, to wanting it to be different. It’s a constant state of mind. As my youngest son says, “You’re always on a diet, except when you’re eating.” :p ! And now that I’m older, I feel aches and pains, see wrinkles and age spots, find more areas of my body to disparage than ever before. So I want to remember how glad I am that my body works. I can still get out of bed, walk around, lift and carry things, go outside. That won’t always be the case. I’m grateful for my body, whatever shape it’s in — I’m grateful to have a warm and functioning place where my soul can reside.

Thank you for this day.

Like everyone else on the planet, sometimes I make mistakes, do or say things I regret, or simply fail to live up to my potential. But each new day is another chance to get it right — a do over. And I’m glad for that.

Please be with me today. Fill me with your grace. Help me to see you and feel you around me.

Thich Nhat Hanh inspired this sentence. Hanh is an expat Vietnamese Buddhist monk who believes in meditation but also acting in the world to address injustice, not just retiring to a monastery. My favorite book of his is Peace is Every Step.

One thing he talks about is the desire for wealth and status — how we Westerners, in particular, often want to travel, grow rich, accumulate goods, ‘succeed,’ and consequently we’re perpetually in a state of want, unfulfilled. Even worse, when we’re in that state of spiritual hunger, we’re blind to the beauty that exists all around us, such as the flight of birds, or the smile of a child.

In this section, I ask to notice the riches around me — to fully interact with the world I live in, which offers itself to me every day. Even things or people I might normally avoid may turn out to be graceful, if I pay attention.

Just recently, for example, I was using string to hang signs on trees in my local park (to avert the death by chainsaw planned by the Department of Public Works). It was raining, and I hadn’t thought my technique through, and the signs kept falling while I was getting wet and upset. Many people walked by, but they were in a hurry. Then a homeless man stopped and offered to help.

As we moved from tree to tree in the rain, successfully hanging the signs together, I noticed the dirt under his fingernails; his greasy, unkept hair; and the large pile of goods under a bit of tarp which he had left by the first tree in order to help me. I also noticed how pleasing our interaction was. Working silently together under the shelter of the trees, the rain became lovely, its sound and scent soothing. That small human connection was a balm between us, a small exchange of grace that nourished me for the rest of the day.

Noticing the grace that surrounds you takes practice. Hanh recommends summoning “aimlessness” as we move through the world. “The idea is that you do not put something in front of you and chase after it, because everything is already here, in yourself,” Hanh writes.

“Often we tell ourselves, ‘Don’t just sit there, do something!’ But when we practice awareness, we discover something unusual. We discover that the opposite may be more helpful: ‘Don’t just do something, sit there!’”

“Often we tell ourselves, ‘Don’t just sit there, do something!’ But when we practice awareness, we discover something unusual. We discover that the opposite may be more helpful: ‘Don’t just do something, sit there!’”

His thinking reminds me of a line in the holy book the Tao te Ching, another resource I treasure. (I like the Stephen Mitchell translation best, because he alternates between “he” and “she” pronouns, which he explains in the forward that Chinese language allows.) Here’s the line, from poem #33: “If you realize that you have enough, then you are truly rich.” In my experience, that’s true. My prayer in this section is that I will realize that I have enough — more than enough, great riches.

And please grant me the gift of ‘right action,’ so I know the right thing to say and the right thing to do in every situation to bring about the best outcome for all.

The term “right action” comes from the Noble Eightfold Path to Enlightenment in Buddhism. According to the Seven Pillars Institute, that path includes (1) Right View, (2) Right Intention, (3) Right Speech, (4) Right Action, (5) Right Livelihood, (6) Right Effort, (7) Right Mindfulness, and (8) Right Concentration.

I’m particularly interested in “right action,” because I often do things wrong with a beloved family member, let’s call him my brother, who has a major mental illness. I am an intelligent woman, and I put a lot of thought into trying to help my brother, yet he’s quick to take something I’ve said or promised and turn it against me, claiming that if I don’t buy or do something he’s requesting at that moment, I have done him wrong.

And maybe I have.

This part of the prayer asks for guidance in the moment — in every moment that I’m communicating with him (or anyone else). To back it up, I carry a small notecard in my pocket, which quotes the following from #15 of the Tao te Ching.

“Do you have the patience to wait until your mud settles and the water is clear? Can you remain unmoving until the right action arises by itself?”

So often, the trouble I get into with my brother stems from rushing forward too quickly, acting (or reacting) impulsively, trying desperately to fix a problem, to make him happy, to make the world right. But guess what? I don’t have that power. And my first idea is not always my best idea. And sometimes just listening is a better solution than offering a probably inadequate fix.

Not surprisingly, that same impulsivity can get me in trouble with my husband, friends, colleagues and other relationships. So I ask for help in slowing down my emotional reaction time every morning, and most days, I receive it.

Because god is listening. God is present. God is available to help you, whether she exists (in a form that you can explain or understand) or not.

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