On the eve of election day, I offer a revised post that was originally written following the January 6th attack on the Capitol: When the Best I Can Do is Pray
The last number of years, I’ve been praying every day. For safety. For courage. For peace. It has become part of my routine, like drinking tea in the morning or brushing my teeth. Most often, I lie quietly on the couch, but sometimes I pause along my daily walk; I sit on a log or a park bench and I close my eyes. I listen to the mallards slurping in the eel grass, the song sparrows, the insistent chirps of the phoebes, the gentle ebb and flow of the bay rippling along the shore, kayakers calling out to each other in their faraway voices.
A mere three minutes every day, I pray for myself and for my family. For my children and grandchildren who will be facing a perilous future. I pray for the women in states that have banned abortion and with it, basic healthcare. When I was in my late twenties, I had a tubal pregnancy, but it was a different time. I had a doctor who could act promptly and was not required to wait until I was nearing death. Who imagined we could be so cruel?
In the evermore existential climate crisis, I pray for the birds and trees and the earth. For the victims of floods and fires, hurricanes, tornadoes. I pray for those who have been harmed. For anyone I have harmed. I even pray for a few of the people I struggle with. Fervently, and with as much attention as possible, I pray for Vice-President Harris. I wish I could pray for her opponents, but for now, I leave that to others.
Mostly my prayers are humble and unassuming, as if I am standing on the edge of our vast universe. May I be safe. May I be healthy. May I live in peace. My inner voice is quiet and tentative. I pray with reverence and hope and awe.
And then I stumble.
Sandpipers along the bay
I am brusque with a salesperson, stingy and unforgiving, jealous of what others have, even though I have everything I need—and more. I disappoint myself over and over again because I have forgotten that we are all trying to do our best. And besides, who am I to judge?
Sometimes it feels like the best I can do is to pray (and vote), which is not to suggest that prayer—or voting—are little things. On days I’m feeling scared or overwhelmed, my prayers are more like the pleading of a lost child. Please, may we be safe. May we be healthy. May we live in peace. I pray for the renewal of trust, and the safekeeping of our dreams for a just world. For the strength and stamina to face each day. For comfort and contentment.
In desperate times like these, when we fear for our democracy, my prayers, that are even more urgent, are not for me—or for those close to me—but for others. Our election officers, judges, and elected representatives who are so courageous in the face of disinformation, lies, and death threats. I pray for calm and clear-thinking. I pray for reason and empathy and strength. I pray that we can all pause, long enough to figure out the right thing to do, and the best way to get there. I pray for forgiveness and compassion. I pray for accountability without revenge. I pray for justice. I pray that we all respect the will of the people, without retribution or violence.
Today we will vote and whatever the outcome, I will continue to pray: May we be courageous. May we be bold. May we be wise.
I invite you to read related blogs including Hope Arrives Like the Tap, Tap, Tapping of a Woodpecker and Thin Places: The Possibility of Transformation. And my novel, Thin Places, and Cross Body Lead that are available locally at Volumes of Pleasure in Los Osos and on Amazon in paperback and Kindle.
