The spring set to open

"Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you." — 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

There is a kind of prayer that does not ask for anything.

I have been doing it more this year and I am not sure I decided to. The asking prayers are still there — Edna's hip, Dan's knee, Caleb, Hannah, the woman at church whose name I say every morning and who is doing better than I expected and not as well as she pretends. I say them all. Same order, same names, same chair.

But after the list is done there is a minute lately where I just sit.

Not listening for anything. Not waiting for an answer. Not even being quiet on purpose, the way you do when the pastor says to close your eyes and be still. It is more like the prayer ran out and the sitting did not, and so I am still there, and there does not seem to be any reason to get up yet.

Paul says pray without ceasing and people tie themselves in knots over that. I did for years. How is a person supposed to pray without ceasing when a person also has to teach third grade and put up beans and get Biscuit to the vet? The answer I came to, and it took me until about sixty-five to come to it, is that Paul is not talking about words. He is talking about posture. A screen door is not open or closed — it is on a spring, and the spring's resting position is closed, and you push it open when you need to and it goes back when you let go.

Prayer without ceasing is the spring set to open.

I do not know if the sitting minute counts. I do not know what it is doing or if it is doing anything at all. But the morning is cooler now and the light comes into the kitchen later and the coffee is hot and the list is said, and there is a minute where I am just here, and I do not think God minds it.

Lord, here is the minute. I am not asking for anything. I am just here.

Ruby keeps a collection of prayers at her kitchen table. You can find them here.