February 28: Feeling Much Better, Flying Spaghetti Monster, Prayer

Santiago finishes his prayers . . .

"Hail Mary full of Grace the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen." Then he added, "Blessed Virgin, pray for the death of this fish. Wonderful though he is."

With his prayers said, and feeling much better, but suffering exactly as much, and perhaps a little more, he leaned against the wood of the bow and began, mechanically, to work the fingers of his left hand.

The sun was hot now although the breeze was rising gently.

Like Santiago, after praying, I often feel better, even if nothing in my life has noticeably changed.  I think it has something to do with unburdening.  I carry around all these worries and fears and irritations all the time, all day long.  That's a lot of alls.  When I pray, I hand these things over to a Higher Power.  Call it what you want--God, Jehovah, Yahweh, Jesus, the Flying Spaghetti Monster (yes, that's actually a deity), or the universe.  Once I perform this great handoff, the next step is the hardest:  trust.  I have to trust that my Flying Spaghetti Monster will take care of me.

Today, I said a little prayer on my way to work.  It sort of went something like this:  Great Flying Spaghetti Monster, please watch over everyone I love today.  Grant me wisdom and strength.  Help me not to fuck up.  In the name of oregano, parmesan, and the holy cheese.  Amen.

And then I trusted.  I sat in my office.  Did my work.  Accomplished a lot.  Came home.  Fed my kids.  Cleaned at church.  Picked my wife up from work.  Got in my pajamas.  Sat down on my couch to type this blog post.

I did not experience any major catastrophes.  Everyone I love is safe.  My puppy sat in my lap for a while this evening, licking my face and then sleeping.  To the best of my knowledge, I did not fuck anything up today.  The Great Flying Spaghetti Monster came through for me.

Prayer is a good practice to get into.  If you don't want to call it prayer, then use a different term.  How about meditation?  Or centering?  Or preparing the pasta?  The term doesn't matter.  What matters are those few minutes of reflection on what you able to do and what is out of your hands.  In twelve-step programs, that's known as the Serenity Prayer:  "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference."   

I trust the Great Flying Spaghetti Monster, the way that Santiago trusts the sea.  Or Billy Pilgrim trusts Tralfamadorians.  The way writers trust words to take them where they need to go.  That's what prayer is for me.  It's like crossing your hands on your chest, closing your eyes, and falling backward into the spaghetti arms of God.

Saint Marty just hopes those arms aren't too al dente.