Thanksgiving Prayers

Aden's Covid test came back negative yesterday so she will come home this afternoon to celebrate Thanksgiving. In a few minutes I will attempt to thaw my small turkey in solidarity with home chefs across the country. We won't be seeing anyone outside of our immediate family unit, so Zoom calls and cooking rituals will have to take the place of in-person connection.

Our family will change our usual dinnertime grace at the Thanksgiving meal to include the following two prayers. My mother sent uplifting verses from Emerson, which I've included first. The second prayer was recommended by Nicholas Kristof in the New York Times. The "Cadet Prayer" is bracing, fortifying. It raises our awareness and appreciation of the people around the country who are choosing the "harder right instead of the easier wrong." Both leave me feeling grateful for first responders, all healthcare workers, election officials who did their job and stood up to power, and for each of you.

Thanksgiving Prayer

For each new morning with its light,

For rest and shelter of the night,

For health and food, for love and friends,

For everything Thy goodness sends.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

West Point Cadet Prayer

O God, our Father, Thou Searcher of Human hearts, help us to draw near to Thee in sincerity and truth. May our religion be filled with gladness and may our worship of Thee be natural.

Strengthen and increase our admiration for honest dealing and clean thinking, and suffer not our hatred of hypocrisy and pretence ever to diminish. Encourage us in our endeavor to live above the common level of life. Make us to choose the harder right instead of the easier wrong, and never to be content with a half truth when the whole can be won.

Endow us with courage that is born of loyalty to all that is noble and worthy, that scorns to compromise with vice and injustice and knows no fear when truth and right are in jeopardy.

Guard us against flippancy and irreverance in the sacred things of life. Grant us new ties of friendship and new opportunities of service. Kindle our hearts in fellowship with those of a cheerful countenance, and soften our hearts with sympathy for those who sorrow and suffer.

Help us to maintain the honor of the Corps untarnished and unsullied and to show forth in our lives the ideals of West Point in doing our duty to Thee and to our Country.

All of which we ask in the name of the Great Friend and Master of all.

Amen.

West Point Cadet Prayer

Thoughts on Pink Tape

I have bright pink racing stripes on my ass.

When I dropped trou a cautious few inches to show the kids, their eyes widened impressively. “Wow, Mom, will that help you win?” asked my youngest.

When it comes to a marathon, I won’t be winning anything except a victory over my mental barriers and gut-level fears, but the racing stripes do look cool, I admit. I have to take them off today, as the KT tape unravels at the ends, leaving a sticky, unattractive residue which tends to pull on my jeans. When I told the physical therapist I might have a hard time reapplying the tape on Saturday she asked if I had a friend or relative who might help. The thought of Abby or Carol volunteering to “stripe” me made me choke on my Emergen C, but perhaps my mother might help out. She’s a veteran of taping tushies.

The pink racing stripes serve as a much more entertaining memento from Tuesday’s trip to the PT office than do the bruises and aches where the dry needles prodded and provoked my knotted muscles. The dry needles have helped me a great deal but they are not comfortable. In fact, they put the exclamation point on the masochistic element of my training, which has been a blend of self-indulgent hedonism and crazy self-punishment.

The discipline of the journey did provide rewards, though, far beyond my skinny jeans’ fitting so well. I’ve met talented, knowledgeable people, received wonderful support and this week the assurance of lots of prayers for Sunday’s race. I plan to spend a lot of time praying during the 4 + hours I am treading Chicago’s asphalt; offering prayers not only for finishing safe and whole but for friends, family members, world situations, and thanks for such cool opportunities.

I wish I had permanent pink racing stripes for my contemplative self; they could kick me in the metaphorical ass and bring the same discipline to my spiritual practices that I had in the marathon training. (So weird to have the words “ass” and “spiritual” in the same sentence). But for this weekend, the tape will provide some muscle stimulus for my body and the marathon itself – an emotional climax to this six-month journey – will provide a lengthy and welcome opportunity to ask for help and to give thanks. No matter how I finish, I have definitely won.

Prayer as Satellite Transmission?

“But prayer can also be an opportunity to contemplate your presence within the divine All. God is the One through whom everyone and everything is joined to every one and every thing.” Kabbalah: A Love Story by Rabbi Lawrence Kushner (125).

I flew to Boston last Thursday and as I sat waiting for takeoff, I felt the adrenaline spike and sweaty palms that usually accompany my departure. Familiar refrains formed in my mind, “God, please help me be safe, please be with the children (the children aren’t ready to be without me).” I prepared to send the words into the ether, out and up in the childhood direction of heaven, as to a satellite dish that would magically beam them back onto the plane as it attained 37,000 feet.

Mid-satellite transmission, I stopped. I’ve been reading about several mystical and Eastern religions which have no room for this “God – as – dial-up” imagery. In these religions God, or the Tao, or the Spirit, or the Atman, is a creative current of life that runs through each individual, which we can only attain by going inward. So I halted my prayer, took a few deep breaths and tried to go deep (difficult in a crowded three- seat row with large neighbors). I remembered that I had said “I love you” to each of my children and to my husband, had left notes for all and baked banana bread as my last act before departure. I had really done all I could to leave a loving presence behind. I felt a peace that I was OK in this moment, and that if a crisis occurred I would hopefully rise to the occasion, as would many others on the plane who had the spirit within them. It was a lovely thought, and it got me through take-off, at least.

During my trip I was surrounded by love. I renewed wonderful relationships with old friends, immediate family, and new family – one of whom my dearest new nephew, only seven weeks old. That sweet baby had me immediately wrapped around every finger and a few toes. We sat in awe, six or seven adults at a time, watching baby sleep, or yawn, or – most joyous of all – practice a few tentative smiles. A baby seems a manifestation of inner prayer; after all, he is born new and agenda-free from his mother’s body, fresh from creation and lacking both ego and desire for control. So baby nephew was my prayer for the weekend; just holding him and watching my brother hold him filled my cup to the brimful.

I’m home again now, distracted by the needs of children who missed their mother and by routine demands of the household. Early morning wake-ups and homework, piano practice and playdates already threaten my inner balance. As I swing from one responsibility to the other I am tempted to turn upward in my prayer and requests for help, seeking my strength from someplace out and up – as a tire swing whirls from a fixed point on a solid branch. The memory of my airplane epiphany pulls me back to my reality, though, and reminds me that my fixed place is inside, a place where the dear faces and loving feelings from last weekend and all good weekends reside.