'OhGodOhGodOhGod'

Yesterday I had a new experience. I drove through the mountains from Banff to Abbotsford, by myself, with only a voice reading Philip Yancey's book on prayer to keep me company. It was quite an amazing 10 hours. I left a brisk autumn Banff morning,the sun was shinning, the ground was brown and the air was vibrant. The mountains were so closely leaning over the road I could feel their breath on my car. Two hours into my drive the mountains disappeared, snow and fog had stolen them from my sight and I drove on, only able to see the car in front of me and the mysterious winter around me . In a few hours I passed through winter and on to a spring, so to speak, here I was met with pelting rain, the return of the jagged mountains and emerald lakes. This took me into a certain summer, filled with sunshine and intriguing valleys that finally led me to the Chiliwack river whose mountainous treescape shared their evening rain with me until I arrived here in Abbotsford.

Quite the trip. During this drive I thought about a great many of things, I listened to the voice from the CD sharing Yancey's thoughts on prayer and considered my own thoughts on prayer. Somewhere along the trip, the words of Yancey's book made me think of a conversation I had had with a friend not too long ago. She was commenting on prayer language. She had noticed that everyone who prays semi-regularly seems to revert back to favourite phrases, praises and pleas. Between them and God there exists a unique dialect of commonly spoken words. And I wondered; what is my dialect, what are my beautiful words?

And it struck me, more than any other prayer God receives from my heart is the 'Oh God.' prayer. But it is more like 'OhGodOhGodOhGod.' This is the prayer I often pray at night. Nearly every night I lie in my warm bed, covered by a cozy quilt and my mind takes me back to wander the streets of East Hastings in Vancouver, the North End of Winnipeg, the alleys of Regina and other dark places my heart has seen. And I curl myself into a ball and the only words of prayer that can spill out of my mouth are 'OhGodOhGodOhGod.'

This is also the prayer I unconsciously pray in dire situations. A few summers ago I can remember driving (way too fast) down a gravel road in the middle of the Southern Saskatchewan prairies, only to feel the rear end of my car start to fishtail. Soon I was being flicked from one side of the gravel road to the other and what prayer fell out of my mouth? Yes, the 'OhGodOhGodOhGod' prayer made another appearance...

Countless times I have prayed this prayer, when holding a wailing friend whom I can do nothing physically to help, God receives an 'OhGodOhGodOhGod' prayer on their behalf. The prairie sunset, the mountain stream view, the new born baby all of these wonders invoke in me a loss of words and I simply pray the 'Oh God' prayer.

I have to admit this is not the beautiful dialect of prayer I was hoping to discover. There is no poetry or rhythm to these prayers. Upon first glance they lack the maturity that should be evident in prayer. Or do they? They are simple. They are not over dressed. They are always heartfelt. They are childish. And it softly occurred to me as I breathed those familiar words yet another time as my car rounded a mountain to take in another glorious view, that my prayer dialect is probably the most honest thing about me, and that honesty is what makes it beautiful.

Rain, Lint & Thanksgiving

I am not sure what to write to you right now, I am not sure that you exist and therefore I feel in some ways my indecision about content is wasted. Most times I take great comfort in writing into the internet's abyss today, however I crave a responsive smile, good coffee and a solid embrace.

Perhaps I should put my mood in context, I am in BC. It is raining. It always seems to be raining - which I like. I have jazz music playing, which I also like. In front of me is a creamy cup of hot chocolate, ok a now empty cup, also something I like... and I find myself staring into nothing, watching lint floating from nowhere to nowhere, wondering how much of that lint falls upon me without my consent.

Today is Thanksgiving Sunday - the day of my family's celebration. Today is the day where my sister and I would usually find a quiet moment of indigestion and slip off in a beat up truck. She would drive like a maniac through stubble fields, windows rolled down and heater cranked up because I can't handle the cold. I will have stolen my brother's favourite jean quilt, which always upsets him. I would be wrapped in that quilt, sitting beside my little sister as she whips us through golden fields which now resemble a military haircut, because harvest is finished and the long stalks of grain have be taken. I would lean back, flip through my journal, twirl my pen and imagine what words I might transfer from my brain to those pages.

We would return, much to Gramma's relief, alive....completely wind blown, I would sneak some extra sugar to my entertainingly rowdy little cousins and sit and have a good cup of my mom's coffee. Letting family chat swirl around me, smelling harvest on my own skin and still considering the string of words that I never did write down....my sister would anxiously flounce about- while my father, brother and I would make a concentrated effort to get a rise out of Gramma. My aunt would laugh loudly and my uncle would smile quietly taking in the sound of her voice. My tiny sister in law would eat more food than humanly possible arming everyone with jokes about how someone so small could consume so much and never gain an ounce. My great aunt and uncle would quietly take in the expressions of their family because their hearing has long since left them and I would enjoy dancing about the kitchen with and around my mom - refilling wine glasses and coffee cups. The house would be hot, but few would notice...and I would soak in Thanksgiving.

I am not complaining. I am not even terribly sad. I am seeing the present and the past in one glance. I can smell wheat fields and yet when I look out my window I see streaks of Abbotsford rain. Perhaps I am looking into the future and accepting it will be filled with vivid memories combined with foreign sights and sounds...I don't necessarily need to have the past in my present. What do I need?

hmmmm, like I said a smile, a coffee and an embrace...