When you’ve done something all your life, it can be hard to pinpoint when it all began. So, thinking way back, I must’ve been six or seven years old. That’s when once a week after school, I followed my older brother, Ray and walked along the dirt path from West Union Street to Columbus Avenue bypassing the sign for St. Mark’s School up the road to go to catechism class. Teaching us the core beliefs of Catholicism, it’s where I first learned about Jesus, the Ten Commandments and about Faith. In these CCD sessions which I attended through 10th grade culminating in my Confirmation, I also first learned to pray.
Beginning with Our Father (Lord’s Prayer), Hail Mary, and Glory Be, followed by the Apostles’ and Nicene Creeds and the Act of Contrition, I recited each one every night to commit them to memory. I was expected to learn these prayers and I wanted to. I wanted to know them by heart so I could say them correctly on Sunday mornings along with the symphony of raised voices at St. Mark’s Church, and especially on the occasional Saturday afternoon when I humbly entered the Confessional and had to tell Monsieur Johnson my sins.
As a child, teen, and young adult, my habit of reciting formal prayers also included things I hoped for, and words of praise when I got them. I prayed for a guitar for Christmas in 6th grade and I recall thanking my parents and God when I received it. I prayed I’d get asked to the junior high prom and was grateful to the Lord when Ricky B. asked me. Applying to colleges, I prayed I’d get accepted to the first choice on my list and nodded to “The Man Upstairs” when I did. As I matured, my prayer practice deepened while my world view widened. I not only would pray for a more spiritual connection with God, but ask for guidance and direction, protection for myself and loved ones, and help and comfort for those in need that I didn’t even know.
From my journal: November 8, 2018, Newbury Park, California
“…waking up to a nightmare. There was a mass shooting @ the Borderline last night…13 people are dead…have been crying and praying for the parents of those killed and for all the people in our town…the shooter’s mom lives four blocks away from us…so sad, praying for her, too…”
I still pray today. Though it’s not just before I lay me down to sleep. I turn to prayer in the middle of the night when my mind is trying to work something out. And I wake each morning saying a few prayers before my feet even touch the floor.
Hail Marys and Our Fathers are still in my invocations along with my personal words of thanks that I say any time of day. When I hear birdsong all around, see strong trees rooted to the ground, and smell the delicate scent of flowers bowing in the breeze, I smile. When I see and hear children laughing and shrieking as they climb up the ropes and slide down the chutes in our nearby park, I laugh. When I see the sky turn into pink, yellow, and orange streaks before the sun sets in the west, I sigh. All give me reason to pause and praise their existence through prayer.
When I read about the people in L.A. who are still dealing with the aftermath of the devastating Eaton and Palisades fires, I worry. When I see news coverage of the ongoing protests in Minneapolis in which citizens are hurt and killed, I grieve. When I hear details of the rising death toil in Gaza due to the Israeli-Hamas War, I despair. All give me reason to pause and hope for ease in their suffering through prayer.
Having faith that I am heard, I always have and will continue to, send up my heartfelt prayers.
A Journal Journey 