Pray

Our main man, JC

El Imperio (2021) by Bony Ramirez

The other night, right before bedtime, while still tidying up the kitchen, my toddler pulled me aside, brought my hands into prayer pose and said “Mommy, let’s pray.” 

His prayer went as follows:

Dear God,

Thank you for a great day. Maybe tomorrow will be great too.

Amen.

As my son prayed I became overwhelmed with my current status - I think of myself as some dried up husk, mulling over negativity, generalizing the world as an overall terrible place. Somehow I’ve gone through most of my life this way, or at least I don’t remember how I was before this. 

Some days I'd think I have a good sense of humor (meh), my self-sabotage streak is happening less and less (not entirely true), and I’m finally starting to balance myself out after having kids (not true whatsoever.) I’m on a winning streak; my feelings, my words, my trajectory are now completely linear (seek more therapy). But when my son prayed, and when I’m exposed to children so much in general, I realize how dried up my husk is, and this is a small reminder on how I cannot, for no reason at all, turn them into this dried up husk. After his prayer I thought, maybe each day can be a new chance to view things a little differently.

So my kid prayed with me and I knelt down and witnessed his prayer and for the first time spoke with JC (Jesus Christ) in the most earnest way yet:

Dear God,

Just wanted to say sorry I’m such a bitch to you all the time. I have a problem with projection.

Amen.

So my husband and I gave each other a wide eyed look after our son’s prayer. Like, Okay? How random was that? We continued on with our night, and prepared him for bedtime. As we went on with the bedtime routine I felt conflicted. I don’t want to push my sons into the church because that’s what was done to me and that could therefore explain why it’s such a weight-y topic. 

As a veteran Catholic school girl, I have a lot of mixed feelings on religion. I’m not sure I needed to be so deeply immersed in it. I don’t think I needed to be going to confession every other week. It certainly didn’t need to be my entire personality growing up. But on the flipside to all this, I’m an expert at religion. How is one an expert at religion? Easy!

You can rely on an A in religion, knowing it will boost your GPA compared to the rest of your grades.

Your internal clock knows when lent is coming up, as you begin to feel more guilty than usual.

You already know how many Hail Mary’s and Our Father's needed to recite from the rosary depending on the severity of your sins.

You don’t need to sit in an anonymous confessional, you can sit face to face with a priest because to you, he was your first therapist. 

The book of Genesis feels like something out of a big budget sci-fi movie yet it is the foundation to our belief system(?)

You know so much TMI about Moses he feels like your long lost uncle who turned crazy and so you rarely ever hear from him again.

But in the year of our lord 2023, the year JC is looking at us from above with pure distaste, I can’t tell you to pray. Tell me your greatest sins and I will tell you to go online and find some poems by Ocean Vuong. I will tell you to rest your heavy, confused, crowded brain on a silk pillowcase and watch the second season of Arrested Development. I will tell you to go to the mall, get yourself a pretzel from Auntie Annes and a slutty going out top from Zara. One of my roommates asks for an ice cream cone whenever he comes down from a tantrum, and maybe he’s cracked the code on something. We’re covered in sin and overwhelmingly basic. We’re here for a good time not a long time. You know? Does that make sense? There are different ways to be present.

**

All of the pews in this church are empty. The ceiling is 50 feet high. The stained glass tells us the same story over and over. The holy water is cold to the touch. The candles from the votive station are slowly burning out. The dim lighting feels as if it’s there to protect our anonymity. I’ve spent a lot of time in this place asking why my faith isn’t enough to sustain me. I’ve felt bad for just wanting to wander around and question things and fuck things up a little bit. But I was young, still am, and I just don’t want to be so palatable, you know? The problem is that I come back around when I wander too far, or ask questions that cut too deep, or the fucking up gets a little too fucked up. The problem is that it’s all a little too straight-forward for me.

Suspend all of your strife. We’re doomed if we succumb to this guilt all the time. Dare to be present. Keep your demons at bay, even if for a short time, tucked away behind the balustrades. If you tell me you’re doing your best I’ll believe you. Kneel down in front of your kid and say At first you were my demon and now you're my savior. Dare to say I love this SOB JC.

A few months ago I got upset at my writing teacher. I told her I wanted to try some new things, that I’m bored, that I can’t handle how I find different ways to uniquely embarrass myself time and time again. I told her everything needs to change and I need something new and shiny and positive. So I told her I wanted to write fiction. I told her there are made up stories that live in my head and why not just put them on the page, you know? Why not just escape the hard stuff since it’s all impossible to put into language anyways, right? She paused, seemingly trying to find the right words to bring me down to earth gently. The room got quiet and for a few seconds I could hear the rumblings of winter outside. She told me to stick to what I know, stick to my postpartum experience, that it’s not easy to jump around and just start writing fiction. That if I keep up with my postpartum experience, I can find myself somewhere. 

So, at first I was really, really mad at her. I spent days mulling over our conversation. I felt as if I was put in a box. The box of postpartum that I’m desperately trying to claw my way out of. I think everytime I think about my kids I feel something rising up in me that I desperately try to talk myself down from. I think when I think about the church I feel something similar. Religion tells me this: to be alive is to adapt to constant sacrifice. My kids show me this: give an inch and they’ll take a mile. And what I wanna say is this: There’s only so much of myself that I can give away. There’s a small semblance of me that I'd like to keep sacred. There’s parts of me I can't let go of. I’m not trying to be a martyr when I say this but, I’ve sacrificed a shit ton already, okay? I don’t even fuck things up that much, just enough to keep things a little on the edge. Me and my flaws? We’re doing really well lately.

We’re at the starting line again. Everyday is a new chance. Who’s going to show up for you? It’s just you, your demons, and JC. It’s just you, a little bit of awareness, and a lot of regret from all the slutty tops from Zara sitting in your closet and memorized lines from Arrested Development. It’s just you, your past, and the idea that you could be a better person if you hadn’t wandered so far. It’s just you, your tired but able body, and your kids that make you question everything you know. It’s just you, your fantasies, and this boring rhythm of sinning and praying and skipping communion because you're drenched in wrongdoings. Now my kid is praying to the man directly. Now I want to walk into a church and repent? Could it be that simple? Could I gracefully fall flat on my ass with my foot in my mouth? Do I need to keep my anonymity when I tell the church I’d rather keep it at arms length?

I haven’t held a rosary in years. It never rolled seamlessly through my hand during prayer the way it did for others. I could never grasp it properly.