I spoke in church today.
I read a talk that I composed on my laptop from articles on the Internet and then presented it through Evernote on my tablet.
The man that spoke after me was an adorable grandfather who gestured at my Xoom and said “I don’t have any idea what that thing she just used is called.”
He talked about technology and how connected we are today.
About how “Sometimes smart people with smart phones do dumb things.”
Amen to that. (Politicians.)
I came home and googled a thing or two.
And those numbers aren’t slowing down.
He went on to say if we can believe that this kind of connection can happen even though we barely witness a sliver of it ourselves, is it really so hard to believe that whatever higher power we believe in listens to us when we talk to Him/Her? (Of course in our case it’s God that’s listening and we talk to Him through prayer.)
Roaches are pretty much the only things that have been around longer than prayer in some form.
When I’m having a hard time it’s really easy to come here and write. To call a friend an talk. To make brownies and eat. But sometimes it’s best to hit my knees and pray.
It really is the oldest form of therapy and connection.
It’s free, you don’t have to shower to do it and it never breaks or suffers from technical difficulties.
Unless Heaven or the being you believe in starts selling Missoni, you always have an open line of connection with someone who loves you and will always listen without interrupting.
All you have to do is start talking.