Prayer

Some of my first memories of praying by myself largely revolve around my early fears of what lurked in the darkness.  When I was younger, I was terrified of pure darkness, needing a night light until I was probably nearly 10.  (My brother would confirm this – once, when sharing his room because a guest was in mine, he was so disgusted by my need of a light in the room that he insisted that the main bedroom light was going to be left on all night.  Pretty sure my parents turned off the light once we were asleep, but the preceding fight has stuck with me…)

I was so afraid for a time of what might be under my bed or in my closets that I would only lay on my back, so no one (or nothing) could sneak up on me without me noticing.  I had plans, too, for a small hidey-hole in the wall (as I had a false sense of how thick walls between bedrooms were) that I could crawl into in case an intruder got into our house.

I was afraid of our house catching fire, of people lurking at the bottom of the stairs, of someone stabbing me in the back (because I was laying on my stomach).  And I was afraid of these things every night.

But, obviously, something had to give.

At some point, I remember convincing myself to try sleeping on my stomach.  And the praying began.

I prayed that God would give me the confidence to sleep the way I wanted to, and that I would trust God to keep me safe.  And that if it was my time to go (because someone had stabbed me), God would take me to heaven.  I prayed that if the house did catch on fire, that the smoke alarms would go off and I would wake up.  I prayed away the devils hiding in the closet, and replaced them with guardian angels hovering in the four corners of the room. 

At some point, I asked my parents to turn off the night light in my room when they came to bed at night, to train me to sleep without it (though, I still needed it to actually fall asleep.)  I gradually went downstairs enough during the night for a drink to prove that there was no one waiting on the landing to grab me.

And then, I started loving nighttime.  It’s when I prayed most, particularly as a child and teenager.  I’ve always had a hard time falling asleep (see why above!), so here was time magically set aside to let go of things.  I visualized boxing up my worries and sending them off to God, cutting any strings that wanted to stay attached to my wrist.

The habit of praying before sleep comes and goes these days, dependent often on our living situation and the opportunity for “alone time.”  But prayer remains a go-to solution for figuring my way through fears, practicing letting go of worries, and preparing my soul for rest.  Prayer is a therapy with unknowable blessings and consequences, but it seems a natural part of life – a place for quiet, for questions, for breaking down, and for getting on with things.

So be it.