The Prayer
My father was a religious man, a good man, solid, safe and secure. He died when I was a child but he left me with a few memories to which I would cling.
One memory has been ever present. Each night before bed, I'd kneel and pray by his chair in the living room. I remember feeling the warmth of the turf fire, the soft carpet and his strong hand on my shoulder. I would kneel there in a row with my little sisters and we would say the same prayers in the same order. Now this may come as a surprise to anyone who knows me since I'd be known more of a bible burner than a thumper, but this is a memory that returns to me time and again when my world goes dark.
This year, without question, has been the darkest I've experienced. I've come to realize that real evil exists and there are people out there who are wicked and if given a chance they take pleasure in creating pain rather than love. I've come to believe that there is more in this life than we can see, not all of it is good and many are not strong enough to endure.
For those who feel that's it's become too much, find a place in your past where you felt truly safe. Take your mind there, for that's where your truth, your center, exists. Let the world take its best shot. I'll close my eyes and feel His hand on my shoulder and feel His peace.
