Do you pray?
Earlier this month, I posed the question to some friends at work.
“No.” Andrea shakes her head quickly. “My dad’s a deacon at a church. My whole family is super religious so I grew up with prayer. But I don’t pray.” She balances her tupperware of chicken salad in her hand”. My friends are enjoying their lunch on the “veranda”- an arrangement of overturned milk crates encircled by picnic chairs set up outside at the side of our school. Never underestimate the resourcefulness of teachers.
Lately, they lower their food whenever I drop by, trying to be respectful of the fact that it’s Ramadan and I’m fasting.
Perhaps, because it’s Ramadan, I find myself reflecting on prayer more than usual. What is it that moves people towards or away from prayer?
“Why don’t you pray?”
“I’m not against it. It’s just not my thing. I realized that working hard gets me results. There’s nothing to pray about.” Andrea disengages from the conversation. She rushes to finish her meal because she is focused on preparing lunch time physical education activities for our students. She always goes the extra mile to care for our students’ health and well-being. I see that as part of her life’s prayer.
“As Muslims we’re obligated to pray five times a day. I believe that prayer is powerful. But sometimes, I’m absent-minded about it and I just feel like I’m doing it because my parents do.” A rush of guilt comes over me as the words spill out.
“I don’t go to church to pray as often as I should. It takes so long. I feel guilty about saying that.” Fiona slouches in her chair. It’s like she’s struggling with the weight of her words. “But I want my children to pray and learn Bible stories.”
“Why?” I wonder what moves this mother to want for her children what she struggles to hang on to for herself.
“I just do.” The surety in Fiona’s voice makes me think of my mother.
I learned to pray from my mother. Like other faith traditions, Islam establishes certain rules for prayer. For my whole life, I’ve watched my mother observe these requirements – standing still, with her head bowed, flowing up and down into and out of the prescribed postures. I’ve heard her recite Quranic verses, trying her best to follow Arabic pronunciation rules, which can be a challenge when you’re South Asian. Through prayer, I’ve witnessed my mother’s greatest expression of gratitude, patience, and dedication to an unwavering belief.
I pray every day, but my prayers aren’t always focused. Sometimes when I pray, my mind drifts to “to do” lists that give way to yawning or a George Michael earworm. Once in a while, I realize that I’ve recited a Quranic verse incorrectly, or have forgotten verses altogether. So I begin all over again. At the end of my prayer, I often sit ruminating over the inadequacy of the rushed conversation that I just had with my Creator. Then, I check praying off my list and carry on with my other daily routines.
“I think your life is your prayer.” My eldest brother said that to me once and it stuck. “And so, through our daily thoughts, speech and actions we serve God.” My friends gesture in agreement.
For now, I seek comfort in the Islamic prayers that my mom taught me. During Ramadan, I’m even eager to join extra nightly prayers in congregation at my local mosque. It’s filled with worshippers standing side by side. All there for their own reasons.
I walk away from my friends enjoying their meal on the “veranda” as I set out for my daily afternoon stroll.
I still watch my mother pray. Now, her rounded back and her up and down motions are supported by sitting in a chair. Her prayers have gotten longer, her Quranic recitation louder.
I wonder if the desire to pray will stay with me as long as it has with my mother.
Rania Mirza 