Kenda Autumn
I was honored—and a little floored!—to be asked to talk about prayer during our Lenten series. The question from Worship Committee was, how do I pray, and what does prayer mean to me. As I was working on this, I felt like I was giving a “mini faith story!”
I think my prayer life has always been on a slightly off-balance journey. Growing up as a family, we did pray together before meals. In restaurants, I remember that we might have held hands for a moment, but that might have been more common at extended family gatherings. I do not remember praying before going to bed.
At some point in my adult life, my prayer life has come to find expression in lots of different ways. On this journey, I feel like I have been searching for a deeper connection with God. And I thought I might get to this place of deeper connection by spending time in prayer. That, “spending time in prayer,” is what has changed over the years.
Prayer started to become a major part of my life in high school. When I was a junior or senior, some of my friends and I started a morning prayer group. My interest in praying in a group probably came about because of my previous leadership at a Mennonite Camp, MennoHaven. I enjoyed leading staff devotions there, and decided to bring some of that to school. At any rate, it was like a club—we even had an advisor. This was right around the time of the “no prayer in public schools” debates. We would have some kind of devotional together, people would share, and then we would pray for each other. So here I was, carrying my Bible into school, and leading this prayer meeting. It only lasted for about two months—but our intention was good. I remember thinking that this was how a person needed to pray—with this kind of structure.
I do not remember if it was the changing of the law, or lack of interest, but at some point the group stopped meeting. My Mom was all about fighting these laws to keep this group going. That is when I pulled out the argument about “If you would fight for prayer in schools, than you would need to fight for a group that wanted to pray to Satan.” She never did know what to do with me!!
At some point, between high school and now, I started to realize that when I simply thought of people—that this is “praying” for them. It has helped me to see that I actually do have an active prayer life. It has allowed me to not beat myself up because I am not sitting and doing some guided devotional. At the same time, I also realized I would like that kind—and would find a peace with that type of prayer. But I know I do not need to berate myself for not having any meditative prayer practice, either.
Now, prayer for me is when I think of someone and lift them up to God. I hold people in my heart and wish or pray or think of God’s arms wrapped around them, loving them, and caring for them. For me, this is a meaningful way to pray. This way of holding people does not happen for me at any regular time of day. It may occur when I’m doing some repetitive function, and need a way to engage my mind. For example, when I’m working out at the gym early in the morning. I also do this form of praying when I’m biking through the Panhandle of Golden Gate Park, on my way to work. Often, this turns in to a prayer of thanksgiving:
“Thank God for the beauty of nature.”
“Thank God for all the shades of GREEN!”
I moved to the Lower Haight last June. And in the rainy months, I ride the 21 bus to and from work. On my way home from work, I am blessed to get off the bus at Hayes Street—at the top of Alamo Square Park. I am always amazed when I look around. I stand and look out over the city skyline—as though I am seeing it for the very first time.
“Thank God I live in San Francisco!” is the thought that runs through my mind.
And every time I drive over the Golden Gate Bridge and enjoy the rugged landscape, I am in awe of creation, of God’s awesome power. I see these signs of beauty, and find them to be reminders of God’s love and care. I am reminded of the passage in Matthew, about the lilies of the field, and how God cares for them. And God’s care for me—for us—is much greater.
Moments such as this—a glance, a glimpse, a view—are very grounding for me. This form of “Thanksgiving” prayer helps me to remember my blessings in life. It helps keep the challenges of living and working in perspective.
I also think that it’s only been recently that this process has become true prayer for me. I think my turning point around this was probably my year of grief, when a previous relationship ended. At that time, I realized that my thoughts were the same as talking with God. It was the simple act of letting go of my control, and receiving peace. I felt like I was given a deep sense of peace when I was able to release my own thought processes and make this discovery.
During this time, I was writing a lot in a journal. I was writing about my pain and my loss, and for it to be taken from me. I wrote about wanting to be held. I remember asking to be held in an embrace of love and comfort. Not really feeling the comfort, but believing I was truly being held—like a parent would hold a newborn or a small child. The act of writing about it helped me realize that I would be fine. I had a strong sense that if I could get the negative thoughts out of my own head and heart, then they could not eat at me—or consume me—and grow. If I could release the hate and offer it to God, then I knew that it would not engulf me. So journaling, also, became a key form of prayer.
During this darker period in my life, I was spending a lot of time on the beach at Crissy Field. This, too, allowed me to find joy in God’s creation. I would stand on the beach and sing—lines of different hymns that would bring me comfort. “Great is Thy Faithfulness” is one that came to me frequently.
It was this time of remembering blessings that started to allow me to be thankful for the different parts of my life. It has shown me that prayer happens all the time when we allow God to be present in us. Prayer happens all the time, when I allow God to be present in me. For me, the still small voice is God—the Spirit of strength and peace.