...About That Book...

I was laying in bed this morning, trying to get back to sleep after letting the cat out. It was early, and Sunday, and sleeping seemed like a good thing to do. Except that my darned brain started thinking about what my daughter and I had talked about the night before. She was telling me how when she feels ashamed of something, and prays to God about it; the bad feeling doesn't go away until she comes to me and tells me whatever it is that is weighing her down. Which got me explaining/speculating that God actually tells us to go to one another with our burdens. That her gut was telling her right, and that instead of God being an emotion-eraser or lucky rabbit foot, his wisdom suggests that people are meant to confide in other people. It's his idea in the first place.

Which got me thinking about prayer.

Which got me thinking about the book I just finished: Take This Bread by Sara Miles; who was raised atheist and stumbled upon Christianity unexpectedly. There is something enviable about such a fresh approach to discovering God--unencumbered by a lifetime of churchy-ism.

I appreciated how she described writing ligury to God, aided by David's Psalms; thereby baptizing herself constantly in ancient wisdom and questions, fears and reassurances. I loved how she didn't see God as a puppet or personal employee. There was a lot more that I loved, but my memory stinks and this post isn't actually about Sara Miles and her book. It's about raising kids.

So, as I was laying in bed this morning trying to fall back asleep, I thought about prayer so far in my little family. I haven't exactly been the praying warrior mom in the sense of teaching my children how to go to God with their stuff. That's because I refused to feed them stuff that didn't make a lick of sense to me, and I refused to teach them stuff that would make God look like the Great Santa of the Skies. So, it's been pretty basic. At mealtimes I thank God for food, and occasionally in a loud voice thank him for children who've decided never to fight and argue again. At bedtime, I sometimes pray; "God bless you and keep you, and may the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you his peace". I can't pray it every day, although I would love to because it is my favourite benediction. But my kids think I am weird when I pray that one too often, so I'll just pray the basics, that we are grateful that God is good; that we are grateful that He loves us, and that we want to live our lives in love for others.

Which got me thinking about growing up in my family of origin. How at every meal we would take turns praying "Come Lord Jesus, Be our guest, and let this food to us be blessed, Amen". (weird. Isn't God omnipresent?) But the kicker is that at bedtime, just before drifting off to a restful, peaceful sleep, we would recite the following prayer:

Now I lay me down to sleep;
I pray thee Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray thee Lord, my soul to take.

HUH?!
Doesn't exactly instill confidence and peace now, does it? Let's just break this thing down further. Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray thee Lord my soul to keep. Okay, so what happens if you fall asleep without saying those ritualistic words? Will he forget? Does he need sticky notes, or a blackberry, or does he like to torture his children with the necessity of asking and asking and asking and asking?

If I should die before I wake.... Okay. Am I laying down with the bubonic plague or something? A fever of 404? Is a bad guy about to come into the house and kill me in my bed? Is that access door to the attic that happens to be in my bedroom closet finally going to burst open and release teethy beings hellbent on my destruction?

I Pray thee Lord my soul to keep. Because I'm pretty sure you've already forgotten what I prayed two sentences ago. And it's my soul, and I'd really like you to keep track of it. Don't give it away or anything.... Just in case I die in my sleep.

Yes, we prayed that nightly, as part of a comforting night time ritual. Mom would read us a bible story about God-endorsed genocide , pray that God wouldn't misplace our souls, and then exit the blackened room, (past the attic door,) with the low german wish of "Schlope Schein" (sleep well). And I'm telling you that she was a loving, well-intentioned, God-fearing woman and a mother who cared deeply for her children.

I think we even did "schlope schein". And like I said in my other chapter, aside from being crazy, or migrainy, or cancerous, or addicted, or brilliant; we all turned out just fine. Parenting isn't perfect. Good intentions are only just that. We are all, every last one of us, dysfunctional in one way or another. I think we should just lower our expectations and hope that our children won't make it on "America's Most Wanted", or "Extreme Make-Over", or "What Not To Wear", or "Sewing With Nancy" or "Hour of Power".

And then send them to boarding school and blame all their problems on someone else.