I’ve been praying as long as I can remember talking. Before bed, before breakfast, lunch or dinner, in hospitals, before trips, after trips, in school, around flagpoles, in public, in a closet, in valleys and on mountain tops (literally and figuratively) – there has never been anywhere that I would not join God in conversation.
Until recently. It hasn’t been an outright boycott of prayer. It really wasn’t something I was actually doing consciously. I don’t feel a sense of rebellion or anger against God that would cause me to attempt to give him the silent treatment. What I feel is incongruency. I’ve embarked on this whole personal journey to bring a sense of congruency between my perceived and felt genders. In the process I’ve created a sense of incongruency between my ideology and the spiritual culture in which I have lived and worked my entire life.
I wasn’t really aware of this until a friend asked if we should say a prayer over a meal the other day. Gender didn’t matter. It was just about expressing gratitude for what was infront of us. It was the first time the wall that I felt between my relationship with God and my awareness of self was breeched.
It was a simple blessing that reached pretty deep.