How long do I pray, is that what you’re asking me? I don’t hold a stopwatch when I get on my knees (which is a challenge in and of itself, since my osteoarthritis makes kneeling uncomfortable.)
But I will come up with a reply, in a roundabout manner, since this morning I’m not feeling too well and don’t want to occupy my mind with much of anything more than skimming the surface of my very superficial thoughts.
Yesterday I was at the local supermarket across the street from my building, Fresh Market, getting a fresh baked cheddar/jalapeno bagel for my breakfast (I love having one smeared with smoked salmon flavored cream cheese and a couple of green onions, with a big cold glass of milk.) As I strolled down the condiment aisle, gazing in fascination at the varieties of vinegar, hot sauce, dill pickles, olives, ketchup, mustard, worchestershire sauce, fish sauce, soy sauce, pickle relish, pickled peppers, cooking wine, and bottled capers, I noticed the pharmacy had a sign up saying GET YOUR FLU SHOT HERE. That reminded me that my doctor didn’t give me a flu shot when I went in last week cuz they didn’t have the full strength stuff, and when you turn 65 you’re supposed to get full strength, cuz now you’re officially old and feeble and liable to keel over at any moment without it. The doc said to get a full strength shot at any pharmacy I wanted, but to get it soon. So I asked the Fresh Market pharmacist if they had full strength, she said yes, I asked how much, she said free with Medicare, so I said shoot me up, doll. Then she recommended I also get a Hepatitis A shot, and I suggested I also get a shingles vaccination -- cuz under Medicare those two cost just two bucks each. (I’m beginning to love Medicare.) So I got three shots yesterday morning, and this morning I’m feeling especially woozy and indolent, and my shoulders ache like H-E-Double Toothpick. So my prayers have been rather truncated, at best.
I remember in Thailand President Morris really emphasized long, detailed personal prayers each day. So I made a list each morning of everything that was on my mind for the day -- investigators, diarrhea, conflicts with my companion, finding a new chapel when I was up in Khon Kaen, what comedy bits to do with the Singing Group at our next concert, etc. Those prayers lasted about 20 minutes apiece. As I mentioned each item on my list I paused to check it off with a red pencil.
But for most of my life as an active Christian I guess my prayers ran about five minutes on average. I remember a real long prayer I said with Amy one stormy evening after she threatened to walk out on me because I liked to play Monopoly with the kids on Sunday; rather than yell back at her that she was a certified loony, I swallowed my anger and fear and invited her to kneel with me in our bedroom to seek the Lord’s help in getting over this problem. I prayed a long time, asking for help and understanding to be considerate of Amy’s feelings and for forgiveness for not taking her thoughts and opinions serious enough -- when I had finished we were both in tears, and hugged each other. The spirit was very strong, but, alas, a few weeks later, after our last child Daisy was born, Amy decided I was too wicked to raise our children, so she left with them and filed for divorce. I believe now she was suffering from a serious case of postpartum depression, and was egged on by some of her brothers and sisters who had a long-standing animus against me which they hid with false smiles and hypocritical bonhomie. The momsers.
My prayers were pretty short after that. Usually a perfunctory flop by the side of the bed in the morning and evening with a rote thanks for the day and a plea at night for some sleep. I took a lot of melatonin, on the advice of my therapist, which didn’t do much good at all. But that’s okay -- if he’d prescribed something stronger I’m pretty sure I’d be an addict to this day. I have a friend who is a prof up at BYU who has been hooked on prescription sleeping pills for twenty years, by her own admission. And she’s considered a ‘pillar of the Church.’
(We now pause a moment so I can finish my can of Mountain Dew and take my feet out of the tub of ice water I have had them in since starting this reply to you -- I just got up from my first nap of the day -- starting at 9:30 in the morning! -- and couldn’t revive myself without a jolt of caffeine and a shock treatment to my tootsies.)
There, that’s better. Now where was I?
Oh yes, how long do I pray? Well, yesterday when I oozed out of bed onto my knees I spent about 3 minutes in thanksgiving for a decent night’s sleep (only up once to pee), for my apartment with a kitchen and a soft comfortable bed (it wasn’t all that long ago that I was living in an unheated basement with no cooking facilities and sleeping in a $30 recliner from DI), for the proximity of many of my kids and grandkids, and for the opportunity to write and share some light verse to make people laugh. I have been telling the Lord for many years now that I don’t think I could live if I couldn’t spend time trying to make people laugh -- it’s what I’m on earth for, in my own estimation. Plus I have prayed really hard, and, I hope, humbly, for His help in finding appropriate news stories to write about and to refrain from being just insulting and snarky and critical -- to have a light touch like Stephen Leacock and a crazy touch like Robert Benchley and a mischievous touch like S.J. Perelman. My literary idols. I sincerely believe He has heard my prayers for help and inspiration and answered them so that over the years my stuff has gotten better and seems to enjoy some favor with professional journalists now. But I doubt I ever spend more than five minutes on my knees in prayer, even when I’m feeling good. It gets too painful. I’ve tried saying my prayers while sitting up with my head bowed, but I’m not comfortable personally addressing the Lord that way. Never have been.
My prayer last night was very short and contrite. I wanted a cheese omelette for dinner; when I pulled the egg carton out of the fridge it slipped out of my hands and crashed onto the kitchen floor, sending shell and yolks all over the place. Furious, I loudly took the name of the Lord in vain -- several times. After I cleaned up the mess and got my omelette toasted I dropped to my knees by my bed and asked for pardon and for help in controlling my tongue better in the future. That was about a two minute prayer. I felt so discouraged at my failure to live even the simplest basic commandment that I hadn’t the heart to keep on going with anything else, like please bless me to sleep well or please keep my kids and grandkids safe and sound.
So there you have it: the length of my prayers, in excruciating detail. I wonder why you had to call me and leave a message with that question instead of just emailing me? This reply of mine, as fine an example of logorrhea as ever disgraced the pages of literature, is of course going on my blog site. But you knew that already, didn’t you? Maybe that’s why you didn’t dare email me in the first place . . . ?
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