Prayer Is My First Response to Everything
As a boy, I sometimes had vivid nightmares that would frighten me to my core. I’d be too afraid to fall back asleep and reenter the world I’d just escaped. This was not a singular occurrence; it happened regularly. I did the only thing I knew to do then: I prayed. I would ask that I not have nightmares or that I would not remember them on awakening. The funny thing is it worked. I began to sleep through the night in comfort and would wake well-rested. This felt like a miracle to me. I’d found so much relief. At some point, probably in my teenage years, I’d decided that being a man did not include something so childish as prayer. I’d lumped the practice in with imaginary friends and night lights and let it all go. I pulled on my big-boy pants, so to speak.
I had no idea what a mistake this would prove to be. I trudged through life, godless, prayer-less. Things felt more difficult, but that’s adulthood — right? It seemed like there was no magic left in the world. I coped as best I could, often running from difficult emotions that seemed to be surfacing more and more frequently. I had friends but felt utterly alone. I didn’t think anyone could understand how I felt inside. I grew more isolated every moment. Inside, it felt like I was dying. I was doing it wrong but damned if I could figure out my mistakes. I tried everything I could think of to remedy how awful I felt.
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