The Prayer …

I pray you'll be our eyes, and watch us where we go.
And help us to be wise in times when we don't know.
Let this be our prayer, when we lose our way.
Lead us to the place, guide us with your grace.
To a place where we'll be safe. –- Celine Dion & Andrea Bocelli

I grew up as a good little Episcopal girl who attended church every Sunday. I was baptized and confirmed. I attended and later helped teach Sunday School. I was the head acolyte and an active participant in Youth Group … and then I went to college and became a regular parishioner in the Church of Sleep.

And for nearly nine years, I maintained that if God wanted me to go to church, there would be a service at 2 p.m. (I still maintain that the Catholics were onto something when they started the whole evening Mass concept.)

And over time, church – and, really, religion in general – became somewhat an afterthought. It was just so easy to sleep in on Sunday morning after getting home from work at midnight. The holiday season was already hectic enough without factoring in Advent. And it really didn’t help that my mom changed churches while I was in Pullman so I no longer actually belonged to one. I still went to church on Easter, but it was more for a sense of obligation. It wasn’t that I stopped believing, more that I had become apathetic.

So what changed?

I am going to be completely honest and admit that after my miscarriage, I was angry at God. I didn’t understand how He could have let this happen. I was a good person, and I had loved and wanted my baby. What had I done to deserve such a horrible fate?

Slowly, in time, my heart healed, but I still found myself unable to broach the topic with Him. I could have prayed to become pregnant again, but I didn’t, save for a few isolated moments at times when my period was late.

And then, a year ago this Saturday, the stick turned blue.

Talk about a religious experience.

So, for 38 weeks and 2 days, every night without fail, Chris and I would pray together. On nights when he fell asleep before me (pregnancy insomnia), I would wake him up when I came to bed. I was convinced that God would keep Truffle safe if we asked Him.

We prayed for our baby to continue to grow and thrive, and for Him to watch over our loved ones. And occasionally, there were some unique additions – praying for the Cougars to win (He didn’t always listen) or, during the December snow, for all the animals out there to have someplace warm to sleep.

Through prayer, I felt my relationship with God becoming stronger.

And then came May 30, 2009.

On that day, I knew that He clearly granted miracles.

I knew that our faith had played a major role in our son being born healthy and strong. I had battled everything from bleeding to high blood pressure, and yet here he was.

It was time for a change.

Seeing my husband and son baptized together on Sunday was an incredible experience. I had always said that I wanted to baptize and raise my children in a good Christian household where they knew the words to “This Little Light of Mine” and where Christmas and Easter meant more than presents under a tree and hunting for Cadbury eggs. And I most certainly didn’t want them learning about Noah’s Ark from Larry Smiley. But really, talk is cheap. Unless I was practicing what I was preaching, my words were ringing pretty hollow.

So when we had our baptism prep at my mom’s church, Father Paul asked how I would feel about renewing my baptismal vows at the same time Chris and Collin took theirs. I loved the idea, not only because it made it the process feel so much more familial, but also because it meant something to me to be giving my word to God, rather than have others speaking on my behalf, as when I was baptized as an infant.

It was a great experience to be able to renew my relationship with Christ, and to see Chris and Collin welcomed into the Christian faith. The baptism itself was beautiful, and to my great surprise, Collin didn’t scream when they poured water over his head. (Bath time can be touch-and-go in our household.) And having our family there made it even more memorable. Scott and Christy were here from California and stood up with us as Collin’s godparents. And Lill added a godson to her cache of goddaughters by being Chris’ sponsor.

It means so much to us to have people in our lives who love and support us – and not just those present on Sunday. I have some wonderful friends who have provided a sounding board and encouraged me as I have worked through my issues (religious and otherwise) in the last year. And I want to do the same, not just for them, but for my family, too.

I admit I am not always the best Christian, but honestly, who hasn’t broken a commandment or two? I do want to make a bigger effort, though, and I should probably get a Bible that isn’t produced by Precious Moments. I’m not saying I will make it to church every Sunday – Collin pretty much guarantees that won’t happen – but I didn’t renew my baptismal vows for show. I renewed them to be a better mother, a better wife and a better Christian.

After all, as I watch my son sleep, I’d say I owe Him one.