The Prayer of Listening

You might want to avoid me. I'm feeling a little edgy tonight. A little mean. A little bitchy.

Someone told me today that we've been in their prayers.

That's what made me grouchy. "You've been in my prayers."

It wasn't really the words. It was the circumstances, the delivery. The niceties were observed with "you've been in my prayers" and the topic was exhausted for the friend on the other side.

I wanted to say, "WHEN? When do you listen enough to know what's going on in our lives, in our minds, in our hearts?"

I know I sound ungrateful. I don't want to keep score. "Sorry, pal, but you owe me more than that. It's going to take some uninterrupted listening, a wet shoulder and a couple of chicken casseroles before we're close to even. And, by the way, I'm three prayers for you up on your one for me."

I guess I do keep an emotional tally.

I don't want to discount prayer either. We've counted on the prayers of many many people through this and continue to do so. We'll take all we can get.

But what I counted on from my friend was to be heard. To be listened to. To be active, be engaged. To give a damn about my feelings, my hurts, my fears, my loss. To be physically present for me.

I don't "get" prayer, I'll admit it. In some ways it remains an enormous struggle for me.

I do get this much though--if God hears all prayers, then he knows a thing or two about listening. Sometimes the best prayer is listening to someone.