Thursday, January 9, 2014

prayer without words

she presses into me, small limbs still overflowing my far-too-narrow lap. too narrow because i want to gather her up and never let her go, i want to rock her until she's forgotten whatever made her so desperate for this much love, this attention she craves from all of us but most especially me. i've become her favorite, this little dark-haired, winsome eyed girl with the too-jaunty smile, the ecstatic hugs and the quiet looks that let me know this one isn't any different from the others here.

she's been through the fire, and she's survived.

so i sit behind her on the floor, let her press herself into me even though i probably shouldn't--someone will get upset with me, surely, think i'm breaking rules--but this is the ranch, where kids are sent to be loved into knowledge of god's grace and their true potential. so she presses herself inward, the beat of my heart feeling loud and hard under her head. her hair rasps against my chin, the neat braid with its little flower, pressing into my cheek when i rest it on top of her head.

she curls her sparkly converse boots closer against my legs, pulls my arm around her. i pray for her, almost on reflex, pray love and healing and whatever else she needs into the tiny body that's wrapped itself against mine. the prayer is not so much words as simple impressions--as if by simply forming the intent of words in my mind, they will become so (but isn't that truly prayer without ceasing; sending every thought, like a rare bird, toward god, bringing every one of them into the substance of something worth going before the throne?).

in that moment, with the little ball of warmth against me and the unspoken prayer and the constant reminder that she should listen to the teacher instead of playing with my fingernail--or at least more obviously multi-task--i think i could do this forever. i could sit on a hard floor that's barely covered by ancient blue carpet, surrounded by kids who've been through things i could never imagine, for the rest of my life. i could do this, could pray prayers without words, could smile and laugh and gently guide, could pray some more when it seems nothing's going right.

and in that moment, i feel my heart open a little more, my dreams and hopes and plans flying away a bit more properly. i am content, i suppose, is what i'm trying to say. content to stay here, to love on what's in front of me, to pray the words that must be prayed. and i imagine this feeling will go away at some point and i'll be left desperately wanting out of my hometown, away as far as i can get, to the reaches of the earth, in places i can't speak the language and don't know how to eat the food...but for now, i am content with whatever is in store.

- Kyla Denae

Sunday, January 5, 2014

new year (pt 2)

it's been months since i last wrote here. i wish i could say that during that time i'd figured out some magical formula for True Happiness, that i'd managed to achieve greatness, write a book, travel the world, that that hand had come down and written great things for me.

life doesn't seem so easy. and don't think i'm going to be all gloom-and-doom in this post, because i'm not.

today, the preacher at my church talked about a lack of new year's resolutions. how only 8% or so of people keep their resolutions in any given year. how we try and fail and eventually just get so discouraged that we make the paradoxical resolution to not make any resolutions at all, come what may, and spell our own failure out in the guise of our success. instead, he proposed, we should change our environments. environments--the ways and surroundings in which we live our lives, the patterns we style ourselves after--change us. we have to acknowledge that, he said, recognize it. then we have to decide to do something about it.

that got me to thinking, as it usually does (a nasty habit; i'm trying heartily to ingrain it in my consciousness), and i wondered if perhaps environments weren't so much our actual surroundings--our houses, the people we hang out with, our coworkers, our day job, our fantasies, the books we read, movies we watch--but rather a state of mind. the state of mind that made a difference between saul the religious zealot and paul the christ-follower, abram the stable nomad and abraham the man who crossed continents to follow god, peter the fisherman and peter the evangelist.

perhaps all that is needed to change our lives isn't a radical five-step plan. maybe we don't need some kind of fancy planner, or a self-help coach, or the benefit of a shelf full of books about becoming a better person (TM). at the risk of sounding trite (and potentially acting like i'm forgetting that there are real problems that can arise that can't be wished away i'm not that naive thank) is the simple acknowledgement that yes, i don't know what i'm doing. but that's okay. because every day i have a chance to do whatever i think is best, letting god guide my steps...and the only thing i can control about most of that is my attitude about my choices and the decisions that face me.

i'm reading the book one thousand gifts for a bible study i do with some ladies from my hometown. not only is it an absolutely phenomenally written book, which is always a plus, but she dares to propose something i'd never heard before: that thankfulness, thanking without ceasing, being in a state of everyday gratefulness, is powerful. she phrases this idea as eucharisteo, the act of remembering and thanking god. it is the word from which we gain eucharist, the last supper, the meal that reminds us of christ's sacrifice. eucharisteo, the thankful remembering of what god has given us, every day, every moment, every single breath that passes. joy is so often found linked with thanksgiving in the scriptures, as ann points out--the leper, the messiah, people throughout the ages who found their joy where they found thanksgiving.

and i wonder. is it that all that's come before can be made better--or, at least, not so daunting--if i take care to find the joy in it? if i seek eucharisteo wherever i am?

so yes. hi there. i'm kyla. i'm nineteen years old, living with my parents, and my car perpetually seems a few stray bolts shy of being shaken apart on the interstate. my plans have gone horribly askew. i'm back at the fast food job i left a year ago, having come little farther in my life. i have never found true love, not even the beginning glimmers of it. i blush too much. i have a propensity to use profanity. my talents are scarce, scattered, a layer of mediocrity in a world where you have to shine bright like a diamond. 

i'm kyla. i'm nineteen years old, getting the chance to live with my family for a few more precious months, see my parents every day, kiss small children, wake up late and yawn into a familiar bedroom full of things that are a jumbled mess of mine and theirs. i have managed to find steady employment, i am making money, i am planning and praying and hoping and waiting.

and this year, the only thing i can truly control is my attitude, my every day eucharisteo, my inner environment. and so i suppose that is the one grand thing i have to tell you all after three months of silence. my new year's resolution is to change my environment, paradox and all.

- Kyla Denae