And yet I speak

What does it mean to pray? I find the question quite daunting as well as the action simply ridiculous. What should say and how often am I to say it? At what point does my sentence become prayer?

One man cries, "Oh God" and the other "My Lord God". Who am I to say which man prayed? Is it the Hearer hearing that determines prayer? Is it the intention of the sayer saying that assigns the title?

When do my words sweep horizontally and when are they drawn upwards? How often are the internal cries of my heart presented before the Eternal Healer? I did not give them, but could they truly be an invocation better left never said?

Can prayer be taken from me? If so, then why must I ever open my lips? Why does it matter that I pray for you or even for me?

I wonder if prayer is not for Him or for you, but for me. My words are surely to Him and about you, but what I do, is it not actually and really for the growth of me? I think that were I to be conscious of this as I pray, then my heart would swell with either pride or pity. However, it seems to me that when I pray, it might be sincerely about you and yet effect both of us. For me speaking to Him changes me and may change you, but certainly me every time.

Yet in this whole process, I may long to see you changed, healed, or held while all along praying my own transformation. Even the faith that my prayer is being heard is strengthened when I willingly confess.

If I have ever desired to pray, do the times when I lack such desire pass by without a prayer from my heart? If so, then it seems that it would be better to give to God what I think He would want and not what I am truly feeling. That is to assume a wooden ritual of bent knees and lofty words are what the God of Heaven desires more than the groanings of honesty.

But I do not think this the case. I see true and formal prayer to be the honest confession of desires that are being painstakingly conformed to those of Christ. And this honesty, as far as I can grasp, includes a recognition of impure motive and the desire of its refinement. And I see true and informal prayer as the honest acknowledgment of feelings that are being painstakingly reformed to desire Christ. And this honesty, as far as I can grasp, includes a recognition of misguided feeling and the desire of its refinement.

I have questions and I have very few conclusions. I am from here moving forward and I shall not resist what I believe to be a good work. And so, even when I am confused as to what my prayer is doing, either my heart or my mouth will still speak. I suspect, then, whether by word or not, I have just uttered my supplication.