I saw a little girl climb up onto her father’s lap on a Zoom call the other day. He was reclined in a large chair. At first, she lay her head on his chest. His body enveloped hers. Her whole self was held, protected, loved.
She stayed put for approximately three seconds.
And then her head popped up. She looked around. She wiggled. She sat up. She lay back down. She turned over. She looked around again. And again.
You get the picture.
This idyllic scene lasted for all of three seconds. The distractions and readjustments and motion made up most of her time.
And all I could think of is prayer. How I go to rest in God’s presence, to lay my head upon God’s chest, so to speak, how I am so very ready to melt into that safety and belovedness, and then—I pop my head up with alarm over the thing I’ve forgotten, or I adjust my position because I’m feeling restless or unsure. And how, over and over and over again, God is still present. Still steady. Still safe. Still loving me.
Prayer is rarely idyllic.
Prayer is returning to safety and rest and love, as many times as it takes.
More with Amy Julia:
- Peeking Behind the Cosmic Curtain
- FREE RESOURCE: Body Prayers
- Three Ways to Bring Prayer to the Body
- A Life-Changing Daily Prayer Practice: Prayer of Examen
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