The many ways I pray

Not every prayer looks like hands pressed together. Some times it is just a sigh you bury in your pillow,  or that weird ache in your chest you can't shake off. Sometimes, it is just a hope that floats out of you, wordless, and you cross your fingers the universe is listening. 

Honestly, my whole idea of prayer has done a complete 180 degrees over the years. When I was a kid, I figured praying basically meant asking for good marks on exams - and may be the occasional wish for a new toy. The I got older, and prayers turned into "please let things go right"or "just keep my people safe." Real original, I know. 

Back then, I would rattle off prayers with the right words at the right time, like I was following a manual Checklist: complete.

But life? Life doesnot really care about perfect timing or textbook anything.

Now? I find myself praying while I am elbow deepp in dishwater or folding laundry. Or just standing there in the dark, watching my kid sleep like he is the last peaceful thing on earth. It is not aways about asking anymore. Sometimes it is a "Thank You," sometimes it is just me, letting go, sometimes it is just...breathing.

Some prayers are desperate for strength, some are just me begging for a little clarity. And - let us be real - sometimes it is just a small, shaky "please" when the guture looks like a giant question mark.

And yeah, there are those prayers that don't get answered. Ot at least, it feels that way.

But with time? I have started to see that those unanswered prayers were not the universe slamming the door in my face. More like it was steering me somewhere else. Protecting me from stuff I could not see. The widest part? Things I once wanted so badly. I am now ridiculously grateful I never got. 

Prayer's not a vending machine, where you punch in your order and wait to delivery. Nah. It is a connection. Me reaching out to something way bigger, way wiser, and definitely more patient that I will ever manage to be. 

When I am scraped raw and words fail, prayer is the language, I fall back on. It is the invisible lifeline. I grab when I am unraveling, the hand I reach for in the dark.

And what is kind of magical? Prayer does not care if you do not have the right words, or if you are a mess. You just have to show up. Heart open. No filter.

Because somewhere, something hears you. Even if, in the  end, it is just the softer, braver version of yourself you would forgotten was there. 

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