Can I pray?

Tomorrow, the Lenten season of the church begins. All of our Alleluias will be buried deeply in their liturgical tomb, wrapped tightly in burial clothes. But I feel like I am burying a shriveled corpse. I haven't had much Alleluia in my life lately. It's been more like Ahhhhhhh! Let me sleep, will ya? This is not the life that I want to live. Not the person that I want to be. Not the sister, daughter, roommate, friend, colleague, student that I want to be. The cultural lack of sackcloth and ashes force and allow me to hide my lament and anger at the state of things.

I'm not sleeping because there are important and terrible things asking for me to pay attention to them. Terrible conditions of my brothers and sisters in far away places, geographically, emotionally, economically. Terrible treatment of my brothers and sisters who, in attempting to be faithful, are derided and excluded for their lives, their views, their hearts by those who claim to love them. I lay awake wondering if there is something else I can do to help myself see another more clearly, if there is something I can do to help them see me more clearly, if there is anything else I can plead to God to do to help us bring healing and restoration in this gaping wound of the world.

I lay awake wondering, but I often do not pray. I do not pray because I'm afraid to go there. I'm afraid that if I talk to God, God will answer me and it will not be beautiful, but it will be cross and nails and stony paths. I do not want to walk down that path. I do not want to cry anymore. I do not want to break. I do not want to lose it.

I do not want, but my want has failed me.


This post has been crafted alongside my fellow synchrobloggers from the Creative Collective on the topic of "What Moves Me."  Check out their writing here.

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