I prayed everyday for the power to fly.
I was such a devout little Catholic girl. I knew if I prayed furiously, on my knees, rosary in hand…my prayers would be rewarded because that’s what I was taught.
My prayer was to fly, responsibly of course. I needed wings to get heaven. There was no other way.
I promised to avoid airplanes. I promised I wouldn’t let anyone see me fly so as to avoid causing the evil sin of jealousy to creep inside their hearts.
I cried my prayers into my pillow each night. Surely He could bring me to heaven even for just one visit!
I wrote a letter and tossed it off the side of the deck. It would fly to heaven on the wings of angels and God would see there was a little girl down here that needed to fly.
Time passed and still no wings.
Were they invisible? Perhaps my prayer had been granted in secret.
I climbed onto the patio chair and faced the sky.
Again…and again…and again…for nothing.
I had prayed for my Dad to be cured and I was not rewarded. And now I would not be granted visitation rights. I clenched my teeth at this hard new reality.
My husband brought me to church last Sunday and he watched me bristle when the pastor asked us to bow our heads and spoke about rewards for those who pray.
“What’s your problem?” he drilled me on the ride back home. “Why don’t you believe in prayer?”
I don’t tell him it’s because I can’t fly.
“They teach prayer wrong.” I say and I swallow that girl back down.