not proper but honest

Not Proper, But Honest

I prayed on a Sea-Doo. Just put a woman on the back of a jet ski, with a reckless husband driving full throttle, and you’ll see a woman who’ll surely add some pray to her day! We’re in the with my son Mike, his girlfriend Leslie and her parents Doug and Kathy. Mike lives here on the island and he sent us an invitation to come and visit this week with a mysterious imperative: “it is very important to me that you come, Leslie’s parents will be here.” Of course, like any Jewish mother— I jump to conclusions and figure my baby is getting married. The biggest surprise over the weekend was that there was no surprise. Oh well, maybe in the fall.Back to the spiritual experience. It’s an amazing rush to be on the ocean and looking out at nothing but blue skies and green water. Along with feeling the wind in my hair, I was terrified for the first few moments when we cruised along at 50 mph. I was praying for my safety, (purposely excluding David, because he was the one sea-dooing way too fast) and I paused to give thanks for being able to have this experience. I then noticed the guide motioning us to slow down. We were nearing . In the middle of the Caribbean, off the coast of Grand Cayman is a magnificent sand bar. We got off our vehicles and were able to stand in the water and play with the large and very friendly fishes, who ate our squid offerings and gave us kisses with their mouths and back rubs with their large fins. Like seeing a rainbow after a storm— it was a miracle.

The rest of the ride didn’t go nearly so well. I was thrown from the vehicle twice, the first time was not so bad. The water was warm and it was kind of cool to be floating inside of my life jacket in the middle of the ocean waiting to be saved. The second time it happened—I was p#!sed off! Every bone in my body ached, my arms were like rubber, and I had a king-sized headache. I prayed again. This time alternating my prayers between holding back my increasing nausea and praying to puke—projectile all over the back of my husband who talked me into this adventure. I’m not so sure that’s a proper use of prayer but it’s honest.

Praise to You
Who whispers to us in a spring breeze,
in the sigh of leaves overhead,
in the chuckle of a running stream.

Praise to You
Who cries out to us in the roar of waves
endless, ever present, all encompassing,
making You known.

Praise to You
Who calls to us in the pop and creak of ice,
in the thump of snow sliding in the stillness of a frozen day.

Praise to You
who puts Your song in the hearts of the birds
and in all who gather to sing to You.
Praise to You.