Not long ago, a friend of mine, I’ll call her Susan, went on a trip and brought home a gift for me (she does stuff like that). It was a pair of work gloves—I had mentioned my gardening hobby to her. The gloves are white and sturdy and on the back of one of the gloves, stenciled in large, black capital letters, is the word PRAY. I will never use the gloves.
I put the gloves on the top shelf of my gardening rack. It stands on the front porch and I pass the glove several times a day in my comings and goings.
Each time I pass the glove I pause and see that word, I pray. I don’t have a prepared prayer I read somewhere in a book. I don’t pray for my friends, for good weather, for world peace.
I do this. I alert myself to the presence and responsiveness of my Higher Power and all creation.
Now that cold weather has come and gardening chores are few, I have brought the glove indoors. It sits on a small table near the front door. I pass it several times a day and think a little prayer. I have two: “Thank you for keeping me sober today” and “Help me get through the day.”
I am reminded what it is not: my Higher Power is far, far away someplace up there and I am just down here tied to the ground. We are not separate. We are the singer and the song.
I will never stop using Susan’s glove and it will never wear out.