Unusually for me, I have been unable to sleep.
I observe this phenomenon with a certain degree of antagonism. I am a gold star sleeper. I believe I inherited this gift from my father, God rest his soul, and it is priceless. Waking at 3 am is not unusual, necessitated by an ageing bladder, but I am usually able fall back into the arms of Morpheus in an instant.
Not this week.
There seems to be no reason for my wakefulness. There are no pressing issues, no anxieties, nothing disturbing my conscience. I know this because night after night, I lay awake interrogating my wakefulness with a grudging curiosity, drawing a blank.
I am a little slow on the uptake, by day four I realised there was a work to do here. Pray.
Of course! My sleep deprivation episodes began immediately following a bible study on the Lord's Prayer, where I retold the story of Penny and the Vacuum Cleaner to explain for sure that I have absolutely no idea what prayer is, or how it, "works".
Penny and I often sat together in what we grandly called, The Prayer Room at the Mission Hall, but was in fact, a tiny space en route to the toilet. Our role was to pray for the Mission workers and our friends who had dropped in for coffee and a snack in a warm and hospitable environment.
Penny prayed with fervour, with deep faith and with profound intent. I said Amen. My contribution, was to vocalise the mystery by praying in tongues, don't ask me to go there, you either believe it, or you don't, let's leave it at that.
Do I 'believe" in Prayer? I do. But I have no ides what I'm believing in. Back to Penny. She became very sick, "I'm praying for a miracle," she told me, and I prayed that she would know what her miracle was before she died. You hear the difference? She died in peace, so I am sure that she did.
I held the notion of a miracle open as an option, I know that amazing healings are possible having received one. I held out real hope for my friend.
So yes, I prayed, and when Penny died, I cried.
Two weeks before Penny's death, I am cleaning the Church Office feeling very virtuous about it, when I hit a snag. The dust canister of the top-of-the-range cordless vacuum cleaner wouldn't budge. 'OK, I said to the Cosmos,I'm here doing a good deed, so show up and fix this thing!"
To be absolutely clear, I am venting frustration, this is not a conscious prayer. Someone calls my name. It's Mary, asking for a key. I look up from the trash can where my struggle with the Dyson was playing out. The guy with her says, "I've got one of those, do you need help with it?'
Look, there are coincidences, and there's this.
You might think I'm grateful. I'm not, I'm furious.
"My friend is dying of cancer, and You fix the bloody vacuum cleaner?! I just don't get it."
I don't. I think that's the point. "Not my will, but Thine be done."
Now that I've worked that out, I expect to sleep soundly tonight. I'll let you know.
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