Endigar 939
From Courage to Change of Jun 30:
While walking through the woods one day, I was surprised to hear a child’s voice. I followed the sound, trying in vain to understand the child’s words. When I spotted a boy perched on a rock, I realized why his words had made no sense: he was repeating the alphabet. ‘Why are you saying your ABCs so many times?’ I asked him. The child replied, ‘I’m saying my prayers.’ I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Prayers? All I hear is the alphabet.’ Patiently the child explained, ‘Well, I don’t know all the words, so I give God the letters. God know what I’m trying to say.'”
Years ago, when my grandmother told me this story, it meant little to me, but the spiritual life I’ve found in Al-Anon has given it new meaning. Today the story reminds me that prayer is for me, not for God, who knows what I’m going through without explanation. With prayer I say I am willing to be helped. The meaning behind my prayers comes from my heart, not from my words.
Today’s Reminder
Prayer is my most personal form of communication. I can pray by consciously thinking, writing, creating, feeling, and hoping. Whether I reach deep inside myself or turn outward toward the majesty of nature, it is the spirit of prayer rather than its form that matters. Today I will let my heart speak.
“God meets me where I am . . . If I am just willing, He will come to me.” ~ As We Understood . . .
END OF QUOTE—————————————
For me, prayer has always been complicated. Speaking words into the silence feels like tossing stones into a void and pretending they land somewhere sacred. It’s a communication that, when stripped down to just verbal language, becomes sterile—like trying to explain a dream using only math. It feels one-sided, incomplete. Honestly, it often feels fake unless I engage something more whole-brain, more musical, more alive.
I don’t always know the words either. I just know the ache behind them, the longing for connection, for alignment, for help. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe offering up the raw materials—my thoughts, my images, my scribbles, my quiet humming—is prayer enough. Maybe the divine hears me not through my vocabulary but through my willingness.
In recovery, I’ve learned that prayer isn’t performance. It isn’t persuasion. It’s participation. It’s me saying, “I’m here. I’m open. Help me.” Sometimes it looks like writing. Sometimes it’s a melody that slips out while I’m folding laundry. Sometimes it’s just me staring at a tree and letting my heart do the talking.
Today, I don’t need to have the right words. I just need to show up. To offer the alphabet of my inner life—broken letters and all—and trust that something bigger than me understands the message I can’t articulate. That’s enough.
Today I will let my heart speak.
Daily Reprieve 
Leave a comment