The power of prayer is beyond measure… but in these past months, what has turned my heart in all directions, has been the undeniable and constantly growing, beauty of prayer.
I grew up learning the Ave Maria and Padre Nuestro as if it were part of my daily language. My abuelita constantly hosted rosaries at her home and I recited prayers at mass every Sunday. Years later, I learned every one of those prayers again, in English.
When I graduated St. Mary’s and found myself in the streets of Monte Sinai, I realized that prayer does not only refer to all those prayers I once learned. I invited my heart to be open to new and creative ways of entering into conversation with God – whatever that could mean.
These past 7 months have been an invitation to dive into that – viewing life metaphorically and understanding prayers that go beyond words.
While this year is very much rooted on faith and prayer, for the past 7 months, I have had to learn to interpret prayer in 100 different ways. Throughout this time, I have had to find the courage and passion to recognize my daily encounters, my conversations, my writing, the hugs I receive, the food that nourishes me, the tears and even the silence, as new forms of prayer.
At work and in my neighbors’ homes, I have to be fully present so that I could listen to the Spirit speak to me – through the stories of brokenness, the crying babies that rest their face on my chest, the stunning hospitality my neighbors offer, and the holding of our hands – and it became one of the most beautiful ways to feed my understanding of prayer.
This past month was tough – physically, emotionally and spiritually. The suffering I witnessed was taking over me. Often times, I was taken over by emotions, powerlessness, and tears. It seemed as if all the bad news came all at once, knocking me down pretty badly.
Lia Amelia, my neighbor Juana’s, daughter, was born a month ago. Jess and I had the privilege of witnessing the crazy adventure of the night she was born. It was 1:30 in the morning and there we were – running out on the streets of Sinai, looking for a taxi that would go pick her up and then take us to the hospital. The streets were empty, there were no cars at sight, it was scary, and Juana had already started to walk. Finally, we found one. We spent the entire night in the hospital, waiting for the news that Lia Amelia had finally entered this crazy world of ours.
Complications arised, but thankfully, she was born the following morning at 6:30AM. When we finally got to see her at 1:00PM, our hearts were so full. Getting to hold her and know that in that moment, we were holding so much of God’s unconditional and unceasing love, but also so much of the suffering that Juana had experienced the past 9 months was just so overwhelming.
Unfortunately, at only 8 days old, Lia Amelia found herself in the hospital fighting for her life. She spent a whole month in pain and in fear. Juana was devastated. And how could she not? The doctors were preparing her for the worst. She saw her sweet baby daughter fall into a coma. She heard her in pain. And she herself was hurting.
One day, she came to Sinai to check up on her 4 daughters who were at home alone. As I listened to her pain and despair, I felt my heart breaking little by little. What she said next blew me apart. She said she had been praying so much, she didn’t know what to tell God anymore. So she asked me to write a prayer for her.
While this may not seem like a big deal to some, my heart was in disbelief. What a raw invitation that was to enter into her pain… and what an invitation to discover more profoundly the beauty of prayer.
Every time I called Juana to check up on them, she’d say, “Le estoy leyendo tu oración a Lia todos los días” / “I’m reading your prayer to Lia every single day.”
How can I forget such moments? To think that my most sincere words of faith and hope were being read aloud through the voice of such a strong and courageous woman to a precious, little warrior of God as palabras de fuerza y aliento, blew me away.
Weeks later, Lia Amelia was released from the hospital and got to go home. Some may think otherwise, but I truly and fully believe that God listens to our prayers when we offer him all our pain and fears. I remember Juana’s voice when she called to say she was being released – full of excitement, gratitude and love. “Tu oración funciono, tu oración funciono!” / “Your prayer worked,” she said, “your prayer worked!!!” as tears flooded her voice.
I firmly believe it was the many prayers of the community of believers – all over Ecuador, all over the United States and many other places – that love Lia Amelia so deeply, that gathered in the Holy Spirit, asking God to intercede.
But what left me in awe was how much a prayer meant to someone who was in pain. Someone whose pain I had begun to feel for myself.
As Henri Nouwen says, “True prayer always includes becoming poor. When we pray we stand naked and vulnerable in front of Our Lord and show Him our true condition.” I can’t help, but be amazed and humbled at the fact that it is in these moments of prayer, that I am able to give of myself and of my neighbors to God, in which He can see us the clearest.
Later on during the month, one of our weekly spirituality nights in which our community gathers, we were invited to write our own prayer – a prayer for someone who we know is struggling.
In addition to the numerous other struggles being faced by my neighbors in Monte Sinai, a good friend of mine here has fallen back into his drug addiction. He is a young man who I met through his sister. I spend a lot of time at their shop, so consequently grew to appreciate their whole family in a very special way. Though I knew that at 12 years old, he had first become addicted to H, I also knew that his family and him had done everything to get him out of it. He is a man who brought joy and energy to my days. The way he teased me reminded me of the relationship I have with my brothers, the way he shared with me his chisme reminded me of my strong bonds with my friends, there was just something about him that made me feel so comfortable.
Around Christmas time, he was not doing well. After that, things only went downhill. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the first time I saw him after the new year - pure skin and bone, skin the color of a dusty yellow. What hurt me the most however, was that the mirada that always energized me and cheered me up, was no longer there. He was the type of guy that laughed through his eyes, the best kind of laughter. But it was gone.
As I continue to fight feelings of pain and sadness as I witness his family hurt and the powerlessness that comes with that, I found myself inspired to write my prayer for him.
A prayer that I later realized, not only spoke to his fight, but many of all our struggles.
Querer es Poder
La vida es para amar,
Para soñar,
Para luchar.
Yo quiero sentir,
Y quiero vivir.
Dios, tu eres mi fortaleza,
Eres mi defensa.
Tu voz – es luz.
Es paz – no más.
De esta guerra quiero salir,
Para poder sonreír.
Dicen que querer,
Es poder.
Señor, ayúdame a entender.
Dame ganas,
Dame alas,
Para volar y gritar a todos,
Lo mucho que me amas.
Amen.
Prayer has taken an entirely new meaning for me this year – that I know. The way I understand it, the way I view it, the way I engage in it, the way I actively feed my prayer life, it’s constantly changing which causes a transformation within me. More often than not, I am taken aback by the ways in which I feel restored, filled, nourished and sustained by prayer. It’s not easy, however because I have to bring myself to a space in which I am willing to put all my burdens at the foot of the Cross and say, “Te entrego todo esto, Señor.” and I’ll be honest, that sometimes, it takes a while before I reach that space.
But the way that prayer also allows me to enter into the lives of the people I love so dearly here blows me away. The way that I can connect to my brothers and sisters here and back home, through prayer is beyond measure.
But I think that’s the beauty of prayer…
I can live with my neighbors in Monte Sinai as long as I want, but if I am not willing to pray with them and for them and invite them to hold me in their own, then there’s something that I will never be able to put together myself. For only the beauty of prayer can tie us in such way.
Henri Nouwen says, “Prayer is the ongoing cry of the incarnate Lord to the loving God. It is the eternity in the midst of mortality, it is life among death, hope in the midst of despair, true promise surrounded by lies. Prayer brings love alive among us. So let us pray unceasingly.”
I hope you too, can pray unceasingly and bring love alive.