When in Doubt, Pray

All my mother’s children were born on Sunday. At home, with the assistance of a midwife and my father. We did not grow up going to church. But I sure do pray on Sundays.

I grew up going to various places of prayer: churches, temples, synagogues, and finally in my late teens; I determined that Nature was the most sacred place for me to go and feel the Source, the Sacred Connection, the Ineffable.

In travels, through challenging losses, and for special occasions—I have found myself in tears, on my knees, in reverence of the human spirit, in a humble bow to acknowledge how small I feel, am and how big the human need for connection is.

In recovery, I discovered that prayer was the single most sustaining and humbling act I could demonstrate my need for faith, my desire to be supported, my wish to be held in God’s grace.

I had a boyfriend who once challenged my relationship with God because I wasn’t affiliated with a religion.

Without defense or resentment, I explained I pray anywhere and everywhere. Me and God are tight. And wrong or right, I felt that truth in the hardest moments of sobriety— a simple moment in the day to pause pray would guide me back to the light. In my darkest hours of withdrawal and shame, guilt and doubt, I was reminded: everything is going to be ok. And I prayed.

Nature is my Church. Love is my faith. And being sober is the way.