I remember a time long ago when I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep until I had said something to God. I called it prayer. But mostly it was half conscious mumbling before falling asleep at two or three in the morning.

It was like a final confession or some sort of relief to get the guilt of not praying off my back.
I’m not sure why it was associated with guilt, but I felt as though I’d be a half-ass Christian..or whatever we “Christ-followers” call ourselves these days..

“Well…I mean, I believe in and love God…but….I, ya know, believe some other things too…but I do love Jesus and God..” - this sorta happens and could well be where I’m at most days. Oh, the connotation of the word: Christian. [But that’s for another day.]

I felt that prayer was the only way God would hear me. There was some combination of my closed eyes plus a quiet environment that made me feel God could hear me better and with more intent than any other time of the day.

This habit became not so much of a habit as soon as college night life and other environmental factors took over.
But..I still talked to God.

At least, I believe God listens when we are intentional, right? No organ music…no alter call…just thinking about God…and passing on a few desperate words. 
It’s an awful shame I can’t devote more, most days. I should know better I feel at peace the more so I do…I just can’t seem to legitimize much of what I want to say.

I feel so very selfish. 
I understand God is just.
But sometimes it feels so damn complex. 

Things are changing a lot in my life…as we speak. New ownership. Being demoted. Interviews for a new [and exciting] position with Stumptown Coffee Roasters here in Portland. 
I’m uneasy about it all.

It’s change..and as most change goes, it’s incredibly uncomfortable. It’s like a new pair of pants that just don’t fit as well as the ones you’ve broken in. It’s unfamiliar…and seemingly all things, “un”.

So I talk to God…and I say this:
“God…I know this seems quite petty…but I would love so much this new job…and if you could help me seem a bit more confident..it would just be so nice…to have this job and to not worry so much…”

And yadda yadda…

But this is where I’ve come these days…
“…and I fully understand that even while I pray for this job..I may not get it and there’s a decent possibility I won’t get it…that’s the reality. So I won’t be angry at You for not hookin’ a brotha up..


ps. [and what it comes down to..]
but it really would help…love you!”

Lately…I’ve found prayer to be more about peace than something beneficial. 
Most times, when I get the courage to deeply contemplate on God’s love, I can’t get past a few seconds without almost completely breaking down. It’s an odd thing…this sort of confession. 
It’s the realization of how little I really am. It’s the brokenness of my humanity staring back into watery eyes… 

I’m thankful, for this uncomfortable change and how it allows me revert back into a sense of reality and how the world doesn’t owe me anything. I can think of a few billion people that deserve a better life than me. 

I remember Anne Lamott, as she refers to most of her prayers, “Help me, help me…”
And as life moves on, she eventually responds, “Thank you…thank you…thank you..”

for the lifting of heavy burdens,
for the food in my belly,
for the love of humanity,
for peace and justice,

thank you.
thank you.
thank you.