For whatever reason, I’m not getting much satisfaction lately from the Liturgy of the Hours. It’s always been the “main course” of my spiritual food and I am bound to it as a Catholic Deacon. I think I’m also bound to it, well, just because it has been part of my spirituality for so many years. I know it will always be like a good friend to me throughout my life.
Still, lately I’m not seeing any fruit from it. I’m sure the fruit is there, growing, unknown to me and that some day it will be revealed. But for now it’s just the routine of prayer. It’s putting my time in. It’s walking on the treadmill exercising the prayer muscles but not getting anywhere.
Tonight I finished evening prayer, again not getting anywhere. Luanne was watching a movie I didn’t have much interest in so I decided to sit out on the back deck and have a cigar (something I’m inclined to do from time to time). As I sat out there I began to realize that my prayer had not ended with the blessing from Evening Prayer. I found myself having a conversation with God as I puffed my cigar.
Most prayerful people might not think this is out of the ordinary, but for me, to step out of the normal routine of the breviary or the rosary is kind of extraordinary. I don’t often have “conversations” with God, at least not the kind I’d have with another human being. But that is exactly what happened, out of the blue, while smoking my cigar on that deck. It seemed completely natural too, as though I were out there sharing a smoke with my friends. It could have been Mike or John out there with me – that’s how natural the conversation was.
I don’t recall exactly everything I said, though I know I asked that my faith be increased. I know I told Him that I loved Him. I remember wondering if I were really sincere in my prayer and in my relationships. Am I a fake? You know what he said back? If I were a fake I wouldn’t be asking that question.
Still, as a human being, not yet filled completely with grace or as holy as God wants to make me I know that there is still some selfishness; some things that I hide and that I hide from; love for God and others that is incomplete and a laziness when it comes to the spiritual life.
In my prayer, out there in the dark, puffing on a good cigar, I became aware of my parents. My dad went home to the Lord many years ago and my mom only a few. I know that they are with the Lord and that where they are now they can see things more clearly than they could while they were alive. I had a conversation with them too. I forgave them for any mistakes they had made and for any abuses or neglect that we may have experiences as children and teens. I told them I understood that they were doing the best they could under the circumstances. I acknowledged to my mom the hard life she endured at least psychologically. I thanked my father for introducing me to church music. It kept me connected to the Lord even when I was running from Him. It may have saved my life.
And I apologized to them for any heartache or concern I may have caused and recalled the only time I remember my father hitting me. I told him I deserved it.
In the end, regardless of anything my parents my have done or not done, said or left unspoken they left me with the one gift that I cherish above all others – my faith; my relationship with Christ and the tools to help that relationship grow.
As I finished my cigar and my conversation with God I was grateful for the experience and told Him so.
This was so unlike my usual prayer. I must do it again and add it to my prayer arsenal. When one form isn’t working for me it’s always good to know there is something else that does. God does not leave us to run on empty.
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