Grace is This

I can still glimpse my mother’s Daily Word  booklet on her bedside table, along with a flashlight and other treasures within my memories. Reading it daily to uplift and ground her into Spirit. Imagine my surprise as it caught my eye immediately in my future mother-in-law’s pink and grey kitchen. Opened to the day, her Daily Word booklet next to her cup of tea. A feeling of familiarity, home, wiggled its way through the back door of my heart. The front door was still only ajar, after going through intense heartbreak with two former boyfriends. I had only just begun dating her son. This time, I reminded myself that a revolving door was something that might occur over time with trust, a sense of safety, and steadfast care for my heart. Not something to be used as a door mat to wipe one’s feet upon, yet to be cherished and held ever so gently.

Prayer, affirmations, mantras, meditation, silence, each of these just a few of those moments that beckon us to move out of our egos, the chaotic and controlling mind, and into a vast oasis of spaciousness, nothingness. I recently discovered a gem of a woman, Andō, whom I am only just becoming acquainted with. She honors prayer requests in the most beautiful of ways. It was an idea she borrowed from Lourdes Grotto, in France, where she heard that prayer requests could be submitted. You may discover more about her on her Substack.  Silentium.

Andō shares: There is so much, yet so little that can be said about prayer.

Our silence tells it best — always.

These shrines are a wordless expression of that.

Slow down, come to stillness, and from this still, eternally unfolding place, simply allow prayer to unfold.

I remember clearly the first time I met this deep stillness, aged just four and a half, when I discovered the silent side chapel of the convent I studied in during my primary years. Parents — know that your children are not too young to know this silence of which I speak. It is not a silence of a faith, but a silence before even a sense of I arises.

There is no greater prayer than the Prayer of Quiet — God’s prayer, given to us, it’s a fruition of our good intentions expressed through our practice. This prayer, gifted out of our giving ourselves fully to the silence, gifts us a silence unimaginable.

Silence tells it best — always.

I felt compelled to reach out to Andō, with a prayer request, and within a day she replied:

The shrine, right now, displayed in the picture

Dear Joanie,

Thank you for your prayer request. 

I have written a prayer card and placed it on the shrine, with a flower offering of simple local hand picked daisies. A votive has been lit, and another will be lit, maintaining the light offering through the night, offering prayers up even while I sleep. A stick of Japanese Frankincense is burning, and will be followed by others. 

Know you are held, more so during this season of your life. I'm grateful you find peace through the offering that is my life's work. Long may that continue.

Much love,

Andō 

A weightlessness washed over me because my request was being held and prayed over by another. We are not meant to live in isolation, and I recall Daily Word, had a phone number one could call to share their request, and my mother did it often. Afterward, they would send a little card, letting her know that they had received it, and that prayers were being said.

I had a friend who made it very clear early on in our friendship that it brought her absolutely no comfort, nor did she ever want anyone to say they were praying for her. I was relieved and grateful for her to not withhold, and clarify immediately what was helpful and what was not. Honoring that I could change my wording, to not cause her any added distress.

When my mother shed her earth suit I felt as if one of my most fervent prayer warriors had vanished from my side.

She reassures me that none of her petitions have ceased, and that she has a straight wire now. When I inquired about her prayer life as a child, she replied without skipping a beat that it was always an ongoing conversation, including a time of silence to listen. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, as I have embraced my mother’s wisdom. If the shoe fits, wear it, yet we are both barefoot lovers, so that simplifies things now, doesn’t it?

We think we're on a journey — that we're headed somewhere.

But we never left home, yet still we keep looking for it — in all the wrong places.

Call off the search. ~ Closing reflections by Andō