A Paultry Prayer for a Fine Friend

Dear God,
I'm a lousy pray-er.  Not that you didn't know that already.  But, really, I am.  I mean, while other people turn to Benedryl or Ambian to get them to sleep at night, I have always turned to prayer.  Give me thirty seconds of celestial thinking and--POW!--I'm out.

Then again, I'm also comfortable stopping, mid sentence, in a really good book if REM is knocking on my nocturnal door.

Clearly, I have few skills in this department.  Not that you needed any reminding.

But, the thing is, I've got some folks I'd really like to say a word or two about.  People who, come tomorrow, will be walking into a brand new chapter of their lives, a chapter filled with surgery and blood and pain and healing and all kinds of things that I frankly can't really imagine.

How to say the right prayer, though?  It often comes down to that.

It's not that I don't think you are capable of pulling a rabbit--or a cure or maybe even a miracle--from your hat.  But I'm not sure I'm the one who should be asking you to do those things.  Maybe it's my Midwestern roots, too humble, too non-confrontational to get pissy or bossy or demanding with you.

It's not the first time I've faced this spiritual quandry.  What to ask for?  What to ask for?  I really struggled with that when my friend Tracey was winding up her life and I wondered what it was I could seek from you.  That's when I settled on the kind of noncommittal word "healing," as though I could toss a warm, comforting blanket over all the needs and fears that Tracey and her family faced during those long days and nights.

Maybe, I told myself, "healing" could mean "acceptance" or "strength," or "laughter" or "peace."    And so, that's what I asked of you during those hard days.  For a little of what we all want--the strength, the laughter, the peace to get through our days, all wrapped up in a Godly sheen that made it seem like something bigger, something that could be "enough."

So, anyway.  Back to my friend, Mary Kay.  You already know that she is funny and smart and irreverent (but in a really good kind of way).  You already know that she's just an all-around terrific and awesome person and that--because she is who she is--she even was kind enough to pass along those same qualities to her offspring and husband. 

Yeah, she's got cancer and that pretty much sucks.  But she's approaching it with the same attitude she has approached her ridiculously-involved family's schedules all these years--with humor and practicality.

Any chance you could send a few other things their way?  Like strength and peace and heaping helpings of hope?  And, while I'm at it, I'd appreciate it if you could give her surgical team a really good night's sleep, along with some awesome dreams and maybe even some bacon and eggs tomorrow morning, so that they are feeling "in the zone" when they show up for their first patient.  Who is my very good friend, Mary Kay.

Whom I think you already know.  Probably really, really well.  Yeah, she's that kind of person.

I'm sending these thoughts your way and I haven't even had dinner yet.  That's because, come 8:30, I am simply too weak and pathetic to form complete sentences to send your general direction.  I hope you'll excuse the breach and do what you do best.  You know, give folks the strength to put their feet to the floor tomorrow morning.

And for many, many mornings to follow.

Sincerely,
Jane Holt
Your C Student on Woods Avenue