Prodigal Magazine

Learning to Pray

September 4, 2013 By Michelle

As a kid and teenager, I relied on two basic prayers: begging prayers largely related to algebra and boys, and the prayers I’d memorized in Saturday morning catechism classes: the Our Father, the Hail Mary and the Act of Contrition. In college I stopped believing in God, so I stopped praying altogether.

When I came back to faith in my late thirties I struggled with prayer. Often I forgot to pray at all, and when I did remember, I worried I wasn’t doing it right.

I didn’t talk to God like he was an intimate friend or a beloved parent. Instead I approached him like I would a CEO – politely and respectfully, but on-guard. I felt like I needed to be on my best behavior with God.

…I’m writing about prayer over at Prodigal Magazine today. Join me there?

When You Can’t See Jesus in 3-D

June 19, 2013 By Michelle

This is not Magic Eye Jesus. In fact, I have no idea what image is hidden beneath these colors, because of course, I can’t see it.

“I can’t see it,” I sigh, slowly pulling the card away from my face, my eyes trained on the blurred image. “It’s there,” says my husband, “you just have to look beyond the actual picture.”

I’m attempting to see Jesus buried in the 3-D Magic Eye postcard my kids brought home from Sunday school. I’ve tried eight times, and so far, I see nothing but a kaleidoscope of colors.

“Hold the front of this postcard right up to your nose,” the directions state. “Then very slowly move it away from your face. Try not to blink. A 3D hidden image will magically appear.”

I try again, this time drawing the postcard away even more slowly.

Nothing.

“Try it in better light,” Brad suggests. I hover under a lamp, bring the card to my nose, draw it slowly away from my face again.

Nothing. And now I have a headache.

… I’m over at Prodigal Magazine, writing about what it feels like when you can’t see Jesus and it seems like everyone else can. Meet me over there?

When You Feel Like You’re Singing a Different Song

April 10, 2013 By Michelle

My husband and I shopped for a while before eventually settling on a largish church in town, namely because it was big enough for me to get lost in the crowd. After all, I wasn’t exactly a model church-goer. I wasn’t even sure I believed in God. Stepping across a church threshold after a twenty-year hiatus was a big enough step for me.

I’ll never forget the day we attended the new member orientation. The class went smoothly – in fact, toward the end, I learned over and whispered to Brad, “I can’t believe this is all I have to do!” I’d assumed, as a former Catholic, there’d be more hoops to jump through – papers to sign or creeds to recite. I’d wondered if I would even have to be re-baptized as a Lutheran, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

Just as I was gathering my purse and coat, though, the pastor asked us to join him in song to close out the class. “Let’s sing ‘Jesus Loves Me’,” he suggested. Right on cue, twenty brand-new members joined him, singing lyrics as familiar and comforting to them as their favorite childhood stuffed animal.

… I’m over at Prodigal Magazine with the rest of this story. Join me there to find out what happened the day everyone sang the same song…

When Love Changes

March 13, 2013 By Michelle

Two shoeboxes, one stacked on top of the other, sit on the top shelf in the back of the basement closet. Each is filled to the brim with love letters, written more than 18 years ago when Brad (who is now my husband) and I were first dating. He lived in Minnesota, I lived in Massachusetts, and we wrote to each other once a week, sometimes more. It was the early ’90s, pre-email. The letters are hand-written on lined paper torn from spiral-bound notebooks and legal pads. I saved every one.

Even after I married the man who wrote me two shoeboxes full of letters, the correspondence kept coming. Not only for birthdays and anniversaries and other special occasions, but for any old reason. Or for no reason at all.

And then the letters stopped.

…I’m over at Prodigal Magazine today, writing about marriage. Join me?

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Where to Look When Jesus Goes AWOL

January 15, 2013 By Michelle

“It doesn’t feel like Christmas down here,” says Rowan, my youngest, as we sit on the wicker couch looking out at the bay. I know what he means. The house we’re staying in for the holidays in Florida doesn’t have a Christmas tree, or lights or stockings or even a fireplace for that matter. We didn’t bring the ceramic nativity that sits on our coffee table at home or our stash of Christmas CDs.

Not only is the decorative accoutrement of Christmas lacking, I’m also missing the everyday spiritual scaffolding that props up my faith. Even though I’d packed my Bible with the best intentions, it sits in the bottom of my suitcase, unopened. On vacation I forego my early morning quiet time and sleep in instead. We skip church and get lazy with dinnertime devotions. I forget to pray. There I am, two days before Christmas, and it feels like Jesus has gone AWOL. Without my routines I feel spiritually unmoored. Christmas feels hollow, empty. Suddenly I don’t trust that I can find God without a host of carefully orchestrated rituals.

…I’m over at Prodigal Magazine today, writing about where to look when it seems like God is missing. Will you join me?

Click here to get posts in your email in-box. Click here to “like” my Facebook Writer page. Thank you!

Prodigal Magazine

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