I learned to pray at A.A. Meetings. I did not belong there and neither did my mother as I often thought. But, she found comfort in the contrasted room of faces: white, black, male, female, old, young...not quite as young as me...but still, at age ten I found comfort in being there with her. I had nowhere else to be. I was certain my choice of powdered donut and the Styrofoam® cup, filled to the brim with sugared down coffee and cream, helped me look the part.
My mom would always inform me of who was leading that night. I would learn that a "lead" is when one individual would courageously deliver their story. The story that led many, broken to this church basement--encircled in cigarette smoke, but also in support. Their story often rewritten upon admittance; recognition; strength; mistakes; forgiveness and redemption would always unfold before my eyes and ears.
Whether you agree with my young presence in this atmosphere is not up for dispute, I thank my mother. She was doing the best she could as she has often implied. As I sat appearing busy coloring on paper, I observed and honed my listening skills. From the stories of others (many years my senior) I knew that I had choices in life to make. I knew there was bad in the world even if it wasn't in front of me directly. I knew the bad could consume me if I let it.
I HEARD the words of the rote Serenity Prayer spoken. For much of my adolescence I often fell asleep each night saying this prayer - I committed it to memory but also to heart and head. It offered me guidance in life. Guidance, with hopes of making informed choices and changes yet accepting that we are not always in control of circumstances.
Recovering faces often seek these choices and changes after their battles have been waged and won. The words of prayer were not empty for me. Sometimes I attended church services with a neighbor friend's family. I often felt out of place within traditions that I wasn't subjected to normally. The familiarity of The Lord's Prayer spoken secured me however. Never until now did I let on to learning that prayer at A.A. meetings. Today, thirty years wiser I understand that judgment is not upon us. There is no shame in how I came to learn that prayer. I am witness to its teachings put in to play. I remember the contrasted faces -- from every race, gender and age -- holding hands, including the hands of a ten year old child. Together, we recited The Lords Prayer with conviction and unity in those smoky church basements.
Although, I have no plans to take my children on any field trips to A.A. meetings...my wish for each of them is to understand and examine how the words and work of prayer can offer a moral compass. And, how spoken prayer invites a private spiritual communication with a power greater than ourselves. I do believe that the power of prayer encourages clarity in the seemingly hopeless and provides faith among intangibles. I believe in the power of prayer.
