If I were to create a chart, a graph of my emotional stability and my prayer life, I think I would see some direct correlation. I’m not that nerdy though.

Alas, the last few months, I have coasted, trying to regain my balance and did not dig deep into introspection and prayer. I talk to God briefly, saying hi, winking at him, smiling at him, and going about my day, like a teenager who has everything taken care of and doesn’t even know how good she has it. The responsibilities are well defined and limited. Because the hard work is done while she’s sleeping. Unaware. Blissfully unaware. We can tend to the earth, sow, clean, water… but the real magic happens in the growth that is out of our control.

I have beeb too emotionally raw to have the courage to look wide eyes in the mirror and call out the mess, the dishevelment of self.

I started cleaning one are of my life at a time. Starting with remembering why I fell in love with my husband. I am not one to shy away from hard work. But lately it felt like this is all I do. I serve others and it never ends. It does’t get easier. I am working myself into the ground. I found my physical limitation and I let others step up. Asking for specific help.

J came back from a three days trip. She brought left her suitcase in the hallway. Opened. I told her it’s her responsibility to sort through what she wore and needs to be washed and put it in the hamper. Three days later the suitcase was still there. I saw it and I didn’t let it bother me. Using my stern voice I told J it’s time to unpack because if she has any damp clothes they will get mildew. So she took care of it.

Someone or something reminded me of the power and purpose of prayer. We don’t always get answers. I’m been discouraged with Jackie’s scoliosis. It feels stagnant and I’m frustrated with the lack of visible results, especially as she wears the uncomfortable corset and does stretches everyday.

Still, one of these nights, as I lay in bed, instead of letting my mind wander, I started bringing my worries, my pleading, my complaints, at the feet of the cross. Ah, the joy of unburdening. There is something miraculous about praying and believing. I have friends I told I’d pray for them, praying for my daughters and my husband, their health or lack their of, the safety and salvation of family… I have felt surrounded by a shield of prayer since my childhood. I have been in dangerous situations, physical or spiritual, social and emotional. But my mom always prayed for me. I saw her. I heard her. I knew and believed. Never discount the power of a mother or a father’s prayer. I worry for my daughters often. Their future, their healing journey, the surfacing of trauma, their beliefs, and personalities. I walk alongside them and constantly remember that they belong to God. Prayer frees me of my control. May I never forget the power of prayer.