Travel Prayers

Dearest Rachel –

I don’t know what it is about travel; maybe it’s the upset involving time zones and having to get used to them, or perhaps it’s the fact that I’m sharing a room with Daniel, whose sleep cycle is that much more out of sync with my own than even yours, especially on nights when he takes it into his mind to ‘bathe’ in his own special way, leaving a light on in the room to trigger me awake in the wee-est of hours. But there’s something about travel that causes me to spend a little more time in prayer in the night.

Don’t get me wrong; this no praiseworthy piety that develops amidst the beauty of nature that leads me to commend Him that much more than normal. Nor is it any sort of modified Stendahl syndrome, wherein I feel that much smaller when surrounded by the works of man, whether awe-inspiring or on the verge of crumbling, and call out to Him in my despair or some such. It hasn’t even had much to do with Dad’s final passage, because while it may have come a week or two too soon for my liking or expectations, I’d resigned myself to the fact that this was in His hands already; there really wasn’t much more to be said on the topic, and any wish I might have to prolong his days would have been selfish, cruel, and ultimately somewhat pointless, given the descriptions Mom gave of his unresponsiveness in those last twenty-four hours or so.

No, this is a form of modified pragmatism that has me building upon the one His Son taught us to use as a model. Basically, it’s a deliberate win-win setup; I either speak to Him a little more than I usually do (though still not as much as I probably ought to) or, should the devil wish to interfere with these efforts to do so, to fall asleep that much faster in the process.

It’s even somewhat designed to accomplish the latter more than the former, based on the fact that I will often get hung up on phrase after phrase along the way. “Hallowed be Thy name”? Seriously? Even setting aside the archaic wording (I usually just say “may Your name be holy” or “Your name is holy”), what exactly, can we humans do to make that happen? Can we truly ask for it somehow to be that much more holy or something? It’s a weird request, and I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to parse it, and questioning what He wants us to say with it. For the time being, I’m of the belief that He just wants us to acknowledge that He, and His name, are, in fact holy; and maybe, while we’re at it, to consider what it means to be ‘holy,’ and why it qualifies.

As I understand it – and bear in mind, this is pure, off-the-top-of-my-head opinion, with no research whatsoever in the moment – the word implies a state of being ‘set apart’ from others. As Christians within the general mass of humanity, this is a state we are to strive for, but God being the one and only God, He fits this description by definition. There’s really nothing we could say that would affect that; our words don’t alter facts, after all, on e way or another. But again, maybe the whole point is that we think about that; what it means, why it’s true, and acknowledge it to His face ourselves, rather than letting it just be some sort of intellectual understanding.

If you got through those last two paragraphs without your eyes glazing over, honey, you have my respect. At the same time, you probably still can see how, as I mentally write a conversational catechism in my mind like this in a given night as I address Him, how it might be quite sufficient to cause me to nod off like I really want to. I’m not particularly proud of these machinations, but they accomplish the task for which they’re intended, with the added bonus that I actually do some thinking about these very things that, in real life, I’m often too distracted to ponder.

This particular trip has offered a earthly parallel, too, especially in terms of addressing God as Father; and I mentioned this in a previous letter, I think. When we were in Japan a couple of months ago with Jack and his other subscribers, it hadn’t occurred to me to phone home on a regular basis. Now, he never said anything to me about it – it’s not as if I made a practice of calling him on previous trips, either – but I’d gotten wind from elsewhere that this time around, he was somewhat disappointed not to hear from me in real time. And I’m glad I did, because I made a point of setting up a system by which I could, in fact, reach him over the internet, and Daniel and I could do so on a daily basis. Until his last twenty-four hours, we managed to contact him at least once a day while we were out; if I hadn’t heard about his supposed disappointment, I might not have done so, and this trip would have been full of much more regret than it already has been.

The point of that story is that, just as my Dad wanted to hear from me, even as there was nothing he could do about what I was doing but take it all in – and even as I was broadcasting about places I was visiting, both on this site and YouTube – so too does our heavenly Father want to hear from us, despite already being completely aware of what we’re doing. Just as He is holy – and knows He’s holy – he wants to hear from us acknowledging that fact ourselves. He may not be thrilled that I’m occasionally using it as a sleep aid, but He’s at least pleased to hear from me – and in my own words, rather than trying to follow some script that I’m reading as if off a teleprompter or some such.

Of course, it’s not as if it counts for anything; this isn’t some religious duty that’s supposed to be applied to my credit. After all, my debt to Him – as with all of humanity – is so great to Him that it can’t be offset by human actions, and it’s the peak of arrogance to think otherwise. But at least, I’m making the connection with Him that I should be keeping open constantly (like, say, a wi-fi hookup) as part of my everyday walk with Him. What I do doesn’t save me; I should be doing this because He saved me.

At least, that’s the way I look at it, in the light of day, after a night of (relative) rest. I’d ask what you think about these conjectures, honey – since, on your side of the veil, you have all the answers – but I suppose that, if you were to send them to me, there would no longer be any need for faith. Still, if you could keep an eye on me, and wish me well, I’d appreciate it. After all, I’m still going to need it.