I don’t consider myself a religious person. In part, because religion – as an institution – has repeatedly let me down.
I do, however, consider myself a very spiritual person – and there is no convincing me that there is not a God or some form of higher power. I don’t care if it’s ‘logical’ or not, it’s one of the truths about me that exists to the core of my being.
I pray regularly – though I don’t always call it that. But the essence of it is that I connect to the ‘other’ that is not me – which is, boiled down and stripped of religiously charged words – what prayer is.
Last night, feeling miserably sorry for myself, head sore, throat raw and painful even despite pain relievers, and nose streaming with snot, I prayed. I’ve done this before – in roughly the same situation – and always asked for healing. I pray when I need things – which is part of the human experience, I’d venture to guess.
And that’s when I had my ‘moment’. Outwardly, absolutely nothing changed – I was still sick, still hyper-aware of every swallow. But, like a parent does with a child that’s whining after a long day, I had it pointed out to me exactly how much I had to be grateful for, and the true abundance in my life. I started out complaining about a common, minor, illness, which I knew I’d recover from within a few days but merely wanted a faster turnaround than that, simply because it suited me. But I finished at a completely different place. I was able to burrow in my warm bed, just the way I like it, in a safe, warm, and dry house we own, and with the only thing troubling me a fleeting virus. I was still sick – but I felt good.
That is what my spirituality means to me.