Remind me to tell you about Dora the Explorer and the Snow Princess. Somehow, some way, somewhere…. Dora and company (pulled by a blue Mexican bull) in a SLEIGH, set off to save the Princessa. From WHAT, I do not know. Got me. En route they encounter the Pirate Piggies. Yes, piggies. *sigh*, and…I’ll just stop right there. I’m not the kind of chick that watches Dora, yet NOW, I do. It’s a first. One of many. Tonight was a pajama party conga line through the kitchen with my Lily to deter her from getting into the fridge and rearranging the salad dressings on the bottom of the door. Those salad dressings are like baby-crack. She cannot stay away. That, and the ketchup bottle. Takes ‘em out. Puts ‘em back in. She’s hilarious. My little girl completes me in a way I didn’t know I needed completing. Perfects me in a way, as to finish and continue to make me whole. Lots of mothers talk incessantly about the love they have for their children. It’s okay to do that. It reads boring at times. I can tell you about Lily, because I don’t consider that I was ever the kind of girl to be a mother.

And here’s where we get to it.

I watch ‘Private Practice’. Not all the time, it’s on late, but I do watch. More recently. Amelia is really bugging me. She’s a neurosurgeon, has been sober for 10 years, watches her best friend die and now she’s drinking, using all kinds of drugs, stealing, and sleeping around. I am on the edge of my seat hoping that girl will get saved. I feel that way because I can relate. Too well. I used to be a bartender. True story. So, if you think I’m writing from some sort of lofty, mystical platitude- I’m not. I’m shocked and surprised by what God’s done in my life. He did for me what I did not have the power to do, what I could not have planned, and didn’t even dream of. His plan was so far afield from my limited ideas, I can’t even begin to describe it.  I used to drink.  I loved it. Really loved it. My whole attitude was turned toward drinking. It was the way I relaxed. The way I celebrated. The way I broke the ice. Felt a part of.  Attractive. Happy. Young and alive. Notice I said my whole attitude was turned toward drinking. It’s how I got the power to feel alive. I prayed to booze.

I was young. I made mistakes. I began to be out of control and things happened. I frequently disappointed people and embarrassment followed my actions. At night, I kept a notebook. I’d drink, drink, drink and when I came home, late in the evening, or early in the morning- depending on your point of view I felt moral despair, spiritual pain, desperation, and loneliness. I don’t remember a lot of what I did or what I wrote, but I do remember waking one morning to see that amongst some horrible admissions, vulgar drawings, and tormented thoughts, I had written a prayer. A prayer? I didn’t pray, I drank. Yes, a prayer. Even with all the scotch, my soul longed for God. It took being in an impossible situation to bring enough suffering, to realize I didn’t have the power to be perfect. To live up to imaginary expectations. To be YOU. I didn’t think much of me, and the more I drank, the more I was sure I was right. My insides cried out that night for help. And I wrote in swervy, boozy letters:

Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory- forever and ever. Amen.

HOW did that happen? My spirit had called out to God. My way didn’t work. I asked him to help, even if it was just in a notebook and not out loud. Eventually that prayer was answered. God answered me and I don’t have to drink today. It’s been a real long time since then. I’ve spent the past fifteen years growing up. His word was written on my heart, somehow and it saved me. In the literal sense of the word. My attitude turned from scotch. Through prayer, my attitude turned toward God. And that’s what prayer is for me. Turning myself in His direction. Getting God-focused. 

So when I express delight at my daughter running through the kitchen trying to evade a diaper change, or get super excited over her new tooth, or the first time she said, “juice”; take it from me…from where I was to where God has placed me now, I can’t help but be overwhelmed. I don’t deserve the life I live, yet I am blessed just the same. God has loved me and kept me safe. He does the same for my daughter. And, I daresay the same for you. My heart wanted to love. He provided. His word is written on my heart and it was written in that notebook in 1990-something…prayer works.

Proverbs 7:1-3 NASB

1 My son, keep my words
And treasure my commandments within you.

2 Keep my commandments and live,
And my teaching as the apple of your eye.

3 Bind them on your fingers;
Write them on the tablet of your heart.