Prayer and the faith in a living God, who always wants the best for his children, is implanted in me from I was a baby.
Nevertheless, I tend to want to fix my own life as best I can.
"Mother, don't pray for me, I want to win this tournament by myself," my brother instructed our mother as he was entering a major chess competition. With his sense of fair play, praying to win was equal to cheating.
Yesterday not only did I pray, but I engaged my entire family and the circle of blog Sisters of the Traveling Scarf to pray for daughter Serina's safe return for Christmas.
She rode her little car over two mountain ridges, via three car ferries and two under water tunnels ( running three hundred meters under the fjords), for 12 hours, through storm and ice in arctic darkness, and she turned up at our front door the very minute she was expected. Completely safe and sound, while four buses and a trailer were blown off the road in her track.
Seldom have I felt so small as when following the news on the internet. Seldom have I felt the blessing of my tiny, wobbly belief so complete. I couldn't to anything, but leave it all to God, his angels and my co-prayers.
I needed to believe then and every day.
The- nut- shell- sailing- on- the- Pacific- feeling, is a spiritually healthy experience.