P&S May 2022 GIFT

.........................................................6 ....................................................... 32 ............................................................38 ........................................................... 44 .......................................................50 Click on the section to jump to it

Elrena Evans

“W

hy are we so quick to let go of wonder?”

Tonya Salomons asks this question in her reflection this month, and I love it.

We often talk about childhood as a time of wonder… but what if there is just as much wonder, now, in our adult lives? What if the difference is simply that we are too quick to let go?

The theme for this May issue of Paper&String is prayer. And prayer is a wonder, isn’t it? Think about it: prayer is communication between the finite and the Divine. What could be more full of wonder than that?

If you’ve ever thought—as I often have—that you’re terrible at prayer, Jennifer Goodyer has a reflection (and a book!) just for you. She writes:

What if there wasn’t a right way? What if God wasn’t “out there” but already closer than you possibly imagine, inviting you just as you are in whatever way feels manageable to you right now? What if you didn’t have to do anything to make God draw near but could trust that God truly delights in any and all of your responses?

When I read her piece, I thought, what wonderful, gentle reassurance flows through these words. It is a blessing to share them now with you.

And I pray you feel that gentle reassurance. I pray that your prayers might hold wonder, and that you won’t be too quick to let go.

Praying On The Other Side of “Should”

by Jennifer Goodyer

“I

’m terrible at prayer.”

The words echoed in my mind and made me swallow hard as I sat in a circle with this group of people who seemed to know exactly the words to pray. The closer it came to my turn, the more I wanted to run. It seemed that I was faced with the choice to either fake it, or let my turn pass and risk being judged as someone with a terrible prayer life who didn’t know God at all. As I mumbled some words, when it got to my turn, I felt a pang of shame. I desperately wanted to be outside in the garden where I could fling myself face first into the sweet, wet grass and let my tears speak for me.

On that day I felt truly alone. But as I have continued my prayer journey I have realised that this lonely, shame-filled place is familiar territory for many. One of the gifts of being a

spiritual director has been learning how shared our struggles really are. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard the words “I’m terrible at prayer,” or some version of them, in a spiritual direction session. Sometimes they come with a sigh, sometimes with tears, sometimes with a dismissive laugh. Always, I pay attention to the way in which these words are offered because, while the struggle to pray may be universal, the stories behind the struggle are unique and the body’s reaction often provides a way in.

There are, however, some common themes. For some, the struggle comes from not knowing how to pray, from an uncertainty about how to get started. This isn’t only the case for those who are new to faith, but also for those who have believed in God their whole lives but have never felt able to respond directly besides, perhaps, a rote saying of prayers. For others the struggle to pray is a sign that prayer isn’t feeling the same as it used to and has either

lost its attraction or its consolation. This may happen in the wake of a significant event or a faith shift and may signal an invitation to a different, perhaps deeper way of being with God. Often, though, when someone says “I’m terrible at prayer” what they mean is that they don’t pray the way they think they should pray.

Digging deeper reveals that they do have an awareness of God’s presence and that they do respond to this awareness, but for some reason they Underlying it all is a fear that are struggling to name their response as prayer. there’s a way to Lurking underneath are get prayer right usually some lingering yet and a way to get unhelpful beliefs, perhaps it wrong. that God is “out there” and there’s something they need to do to make God draw near, or that the method matters and that other people, not them, are the ones who know what that

method is. Underlying it all is a fear that there’s a way to get prayer right and a way to get it wrong.

As soon as I hear these familiar concerns, I have to take a deep breath because a myriad of questions rise up within me and compete with each other to be released from my lips. Most of the time I’ll only ask one question (maybe two, if I really can’t rein myself in!) but what I really want to do is to unleash the tide of questions and say: What if there wasn’t a right way? What if God wasn’t “out there” but already closer than you possibly imagine, inviting you just as you are in whatever way feels manageable to you right now? What if you didn’t have to do anything to make God draw near but could trust that God truly delights in any and all of your responses?

What if there was freedom to explore and respond in your own way? What if Teresa of Avila is right and prayer is more about letting

yourself be loved than about making an offering or a request?1 What if you trusted your own experience of God and followed it and let it show you the way to move deeper? What if you let yourself be curious, spontaneous and open in prayer? What if you dared to be guided by what draws you into the present or brings you alive or returns you

In his book Sadhana: A Way to God, New York: Bantam Doubleday Dell, 1978, Anthony de Mello offers this, perhaps apopychral, anecdote: “When Teresa of Avila was asked what she did in prayer, she replied, ‘I just allow myself to be loved.’”

1

to the flow of love? What if crying into sweet, wet grass really is a perfectly wonderful way to pray?

If all these things were true, what would loosen in you? Would you still think you are terrible at prayer? Or would you, perhaps, feel a little braver to take a step into praying not as you think you should or always have but how you deep down want to respond to God, that loving presence already surrounding you and abiding deep at your centre?

I want to ask all these questions not because I consider myself an expert on prayer but because I know exactly what it’s like to feel that I’m terrible at prayer and how constricting and limiting that feeling is. I want to ask these questions because these are the friends who have punctured that illusion. I want to ask these questions because I know that on the other side of “shoulds” is a delight and freedom in prayer that is precious, wonderful and good.

I want to ask these questions because I believe

that the only thing terrible about prayer is the cage of shoulds that keeps it small and confined and tame.

Because prayer is wild and big and delightful. It has all sorts of facets and pathways to explore.

There are manifold ways to pray and respond to God, and all you need to do is smile at the diversity and join in how you feel led. You don’t have to draw attention to your approach (in fact Jesus invites you to let it be between you and God2) and you don’t have to pick a way and stick to it rigidly (unless that is what draws you at this time). All you need to do is make a start and take a step.

This doesn’t diminish disciplined approaches to prayer or mean we can’t learn from or join with the prayers of others. There is a beauty about being faithful to a path we feel invited to walk, a joy in community and a gift in being Matthew 6.

Margaret Guenther, At Home in the World: A Rule of Life for the Rest of Us, New York: Church Publishing, 2006, p13 2

3

constant in our approach. But, like Margaret Guenther, I think healthy discipline is more like a trellis than a cage, a structure for a prayerful life to weave itself up and through.3 There is always more to God and there is always more to prayer. It is good to be willing to be surprised.

So deeply do I believe that there is refreshment in taking an expansive and playful approach to prayer that three years ago I began to weave together the array of spiritual practices from various traditions, times and experiences that I was joyfully collecting as someone finally free from the cage of shoulds. Initially I intended this collection to be a booklet or pamphlet that would gently challenge assumptions about prayer and would invite the reader to expand the parameters of prayer and be open to experiencing more of prayer and more of God. But, as so often is the case, one nudge led to another nudge and now my weaving looks like a book, which I’ve titled Playing in Living Water: Practising a Prayerful Life.

You won’t find “musts” and “shoulds” inside these covers. Nor will you experience someone telling you how to pray. What you will find is an encouragement to say “yes” to the invitation to pray as you are in unselfconscious freedom.

You will find essays, reflection questions and practices clustered around various ways of praying, including with Scripture, in nature, with our bodies, through the story of our lives, in community with others, through our creativity, by employing our imaginations, through technology, and in the company of silence. These aren’t offered as a spiritual to-do list but as a multitude of pathways into being with God which you are welcome to explore in your own time and your own way. My hope is that when you close the book, when I close the book, we don’t so much feel as though we have read a book about prayer as that our very reading has been prayerful.

As I was writing the book, the image that sustained me was the image of a twinkling lake on a hot summer’s day. Much like people will find their own way to enjoy the refreshing water of a lake, so I believe we are welcome to enjoy the refreshing living water of God’s presence as we feel led. We aren’t in competition with each other and comparison has no relevance. What matters is our willingness to be present, curious and open; to let the connection between playing and praying be more than just an approximation of letters.

I write in my opening chapter, “It is into the abundance of God’s presence that we are invited in prayer. Much as a vast lake welcomes all who seek to splash, float, swim and play so the living water of God is offered to all who come, whether tentative or confident, loud or quiet, restrained or wild. We can bring our words and our silence, our bodies and our feelings, our memories and imaginations, our creativity and our wounds.

We can be ourselves right here, where we are now; all is welcome and we need not hold back or try to perform. And much as a lake holds water enough to refresh, cleanse, soothe and wash, so the living water of God’s presence offers all the refreshment and healing that we need. It may take time and it may take some effort but all that our souls long for is already enfolded in a life of prayerful presence.”

Click here to watch Jen read a chapter from her book Playing in Living Water: Practising a Prayerful Life Click here for a sample practice from Jen’s book For more about Jen’s book, including additional sample practices, visit www.jennifergoodyer.com

Do you love Paper&String?

Do you appreciate this celebration of faith, creativity, and beauty in its many forms?

The Black Barn is committed to the ongoing sustainability of this care package, and to ensuring that the writers and artists and creators featured here are compensated for the tremendous gifts they bring. And you can help! All you have to do is tell a friend… or two… or ten. Each new subscription brings us closer to the point where we can offer our contributors something more reflective of the value of their time and talents, as we create this care package each month.

Our hope for this third year of Paper&String is that it would be a growth year for us. Would you help?

SUBSCRIBE NOW | GIFT PAPER&STRING

I’ve spent years raving to friends about the books, shows, and films I love and why. They don’t have to be recent to catch my eye.

They only have to be a new way to see the old, old story of light vs. dark.

This never fails to move me.

While not every review will be for every person, my hope is that these move you too.

Songs of Common Prayer

by Greg LaFollette

Available: On Spotify, iTunes or wherever you listen to music Rating: G What You Need To Know: If you and your faith both feel at a loss for words these days (raises hand) then you need this album on repeat as much as I do. It sets already-ancient prayers from the Book of Common Prayer, many of which are based on David’s ancient Psalms, to music… and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Diving In: In the most significant month of the church calendar—celebrating the passion of Holy Week and the deliverance of Easter—the global church follows in the footsteps of tens of thousands of faithful across generations as we remember the betrayal, death, and resurrection of Christ The Songs of on our behalf. I have Common Prayer always loved how the are a kind of deep act of reading these calling to deep, that sacred texts out loud felt like directions in public connects us home for my lost to the disciples who lived them and wrote and homeless soul. them down for us.

This is a season where we are reminded that our faith is lived out in community. We are not islands. We are not inventing the wheel. The great comfort of the Christian faith is its connective tissue

throughout history. Generation upon generation of believers have stood in these same stories, anchored to the same hope we celebrate on Easter Sunday. So, as we share the same Scripture, I long to share the same worship, too. For that reason this album has been on repeat for weeks in our house.

Greg LaFollette is a musician and producer in Nashville, Tennessee. He is the resident artist at a local church plant, Grace Story Church, and serves as their director of arts and liturgy.

A self-confessed “wannabe monastic,” he has combined his love of liturgy with his gift for music and paired his gentle, original melodies with the Book of Common Prayer’s ancient and still always deeply relevant liturgical poetry.

To sing these prayers is to feel connected to the ancient believers who very likely sang their prayers, too.

At a time when the world feels fractured and relationships fragmented, there is a deep longing in my soul for a faith more timeless,

more ancient, more rooted than the transient memes of social media or the passing popChristian hits played ad nauseum on the radio.

The Songs of Common Prayer are a kind of deep calling to deep, that felt like directions home for my lost and homeless soul.

When asked what his own favorite was in this collection, Greg’s answer surprised me, since it’s the same one I would have given. So I will share his words, letting them lead us into this season of repentance and deliverance, as corporate worship has always led the church: I wrote a song called “We Cry Mercy” that features Sara Groves. It’s a simple lyric with a call and response treatment.

“Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.

O Lord, have mercy on us. We cry mercy.”

That’s it

I wrote this song for the person who shows up at church in frustration, confusion, or pain; who feels like all they can genuinely offer God is lip service. I sing this song as someone who has exhausted his capabilities to manage life and is desperately hoping that God is real and that what the Bible says about his love is true.

I wept as I performed this song, considering my suffering and asking God to take it easy on me—to give me a break. With the psalmists before me, I want to create safe spaces for those who might feel similarly; places where honesty and vulnerability will invite communion and healing; the ground where relationship deepens.

May you meet Christ in the midst of your own suffering or questions, pain or confusion this Easter season, friends. May Christ have mercy on us all.

with ANNA GRIST

Who Walks With You?

I

take a lot of people on my walks. Some days I feel like just my own company and God. Sometimes I take podcasters like Lisa-Jo and Christie, among others. Other times, especially if running is going to be involved, it’s Taylor Swift who walks beside me.

I pay attention to what my mind, body and soul need on any given day to figure out who to take with me. What I’ve discovered is most important is knowing if I am looking forward to taking myself along. If I don’t pause to ask myself if I’m feeling comfortable in my own brain, I can instead try to drown myself out with music or podcasts, rendering them harmful instead of helpful.

Instead, I remember to ask “What is my body or mind or soul trying to tell me first?”

Being present with myself is the first step before I can truly “be still and know that (God) is God.” If I’m not even listening to myself, I find it even harder to listen to the Spirit speaking.

So before I walk, I take a minute to stop and breathe and listen kindly to my own heart, and then enjoy a walk with the rest of the company I choose to keep, in delight and openness and slow growth in the right direction.

Playlist: Songs of Prayer / Songs as Prayer

By Elrena Evans

I

n November of 2021, I held a memorial service in memory of my biological mother. I put together the following playlist: songs of prayer, and songs as prayer. The Bible tells us “the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans too deep for words” (Romans 8:26) ... and sometimes I think the Spirit intercedes for us through music.

May these songs be prayers for you.

Click here to listen to the Spotify playlist!

App Review: Pray As You Go

by Amy Knorr

F

or years, I have enjoyed the Pray As You Go app off and on. I appreciate not being in the driver’s seat, not having to be the one to lead the thing, not being called on to find the words to pray. I simply push a button, and several other voices guide me through ten minutes of prayer and contemplation. This is my go-to app for on-thego pause when I need words I don’t have, when I need re-anchoring and refocusing in a world that constantly seeks to tip the boat.

This year, as school began, I lamented a schedule that left our family with little of the restful contemplation and prayer time we have had in past years. For two weeks, I struggled to find ways to offer us places of rest together with God. One morning, as I backed out of the driveway, I was already thinking ahead to the ten minutes of Pray As You Go prayer time I would spend on the way home from school drop-off. In one of those foreheadslapping moments, I wondered aloud, “Why am I being so selfish with this prayer time?” At the entrance to our neighborhood, I stopped, opened the Pray As You Go app, and clicked the play button for the daily guided prayer. As the music began, I told my girls that I’d like us to try something, I’d like us to try praying together for ten minutes on the way to school.

We have not looked back. Every morning, we drive out of the neighborhood, and I push the play button. Voices, sometimes soft and gentle, sometimes deep and powerful, guide

us through a musical selection, a scripture reading, reflection questions for contemplation along the way, and a final reading of the scripture passage, finally ending with a short closing prayer from the Book of Common Prayer or other resource. Sometimes, we hate the music and erupt into laughter with abundant eye rolling. Sometimes, at the end when we pause to share with one another what stood out to us, we realize we were simply looking at the green grass flying past the windows and that was enough. And sometimes, a question or noticing, or wondering so profound slips into the air surrounding us that we can only sit in communal silence, our prayer time extended and deepened in ways that make me want to fling off my shoes even as I press the gas pedal propelling us on toward the real world of daily living.

I am a big believer in resources that help us in the formation of our souls, in practices that strengthen the foundation of our living, in disciplines that deepen our breathing and sharpen our gaze. Pray As You Go is such a resource, practice, discipline for me, for my girls, for us together. I wonder if you might find it to be helpful as well? Eyerolls and invitation to gaze at the color green are all welcome if you decide to give it a try!

I hope you’ll let me know what you think? I’d love to hear how this or another app has met you. You can continue this conversation and others in this issue of Paper&String each Tuesday in the Black Barn Online!

The Thin Place from Tonya Salomons

Y

ou’ve felt it before, right? The surge of rising anger over things you cannot control? It ruins a perfectly good and peaceful mindset and before you know it you’re slamming doors, muttering under your breath, or taking it out on some unsuspecting family member or friend.

Sometimes I need to walk it out. There is a creekside trail ten minutes from my house.

I often go there to clear my head. There’s running water, birds, ducks, even coyotes.

Along the trail is a bridge over the creek, and beside the bridge stands a grove of trees. I call it my cathedral.

For the past five years I’ve watched this grove transform each season. The blur of green at the beginning of spring to the verdant canopy of shade in the summer. During the autumn the leaves turn yellow and float to the ground.

Winter is perhaps my favourite, the stark trunks and limbs rising to the sky, the sun casting shadows on the snowy blanket below.

Often, I’ll perch on an old stump and listen to the creek babbling under the bridge.

This cathedral is a thin place, a place where I am awakened to the longing I have for the closeness of God. I don’t know how to describe a thin place, but I know it to be part of my faith-walk. This natural cathedral has beckoned tears and rage and inexplicable joy and it’s not unusual for several minutes to go by before I can bring myself to leave.

Each time I turn to leave, I hold fiercely to the experience, as if I could take the trees with me.

I try every time.

Re-entry after these walks is challenging. I’m never certain what to do with myself.

Sometimes I’ll brew a cup of tea and try to sit in silence. Usually though, my hand reaches for my phone and I mindlessly scroll. Invariably, something will catch my attention and every calm and reasonable thought will evaporate.

It begs the question: why are we so quick to let go of wonder? Why do we rush to immerse ourselves in the fleeting, the temporary? These are questions for which we may never find answers. They are the questions that keep me longing for the thin places—the places where God meets me with wonder.

Download the recipe as a letter-size page or a recipe card, just click on the images below!

Oatmeal Pancakes

from Jonathan Purifoy

T

his is a great recipe to fill your stomach up before going outside and working all day in the garden.

Download the recipe as a letter-size page or a recipe card, just click on the images below!

with CHRISTIE PURIFOY

T

rue meadows are the unicorns of the gardening world: incredibly special and beautiful but also exceedingly rare. In reality, most grasses are much more robust than wildflowers, and unless the soil is quite lean and parched, grasses will grow and romp and generally crowd out the more delicate flowers.

Growing our own meadow is a challenging proposition (despite what the instruction on those “wildflower meadow” seed mixes say), but growing our own “flowery mead” like the one seen in the famous late medieval

tapestry The Unicorn Rests in a Garden is– perhaps surprisingly–a much more attainable proposition.

Flowery meads were an essential element of medieval European garden design, at least if the artists are to be believed. A sort of stylized meadow, flowery meads were areas of cropped green grass studded with jewel-like flowers.

The tapestries like the one depicting the unicorn were even called mille fleurs— or “thousands of flowers.” In The Decameron, the 14th century writer Boccocio echoes the phrase in his description of a mead: “In the midst of the garden a lawn of very fine

grass, so green it seemed nearly black, colored with perhaps a thousand kind of flowers.”

A thousand kinds of flowers is an ambition perhaps best left for paradise, but if we are willing to reduce the picture from thousands to several, then the old-fashioned idea of a flowery mead has a profound contemporary relevance. Recent estimates suggest that in my own country, the single, largest irrigated crop is lawn grass. And while we use the term “landscape” for our beloved green grass lawns, experts in ecology and entomology have another, much more descriptive term: deadscapes.

Ouch.

But if the typical green grass lawns, fed with chemical fertilizers, doused with poisonous insecticides, and sprinkled with copious water are almost entirely devoid of pollinating life, then the antique beauty of a flowery mead can offer us a new yet

old-fashioned and much more flourishing way.

Call them mille fleurs if you like, but you’ll find seed mixes and planting tips if you search for phrases like “bee lawn” and “pollinator lawn.”

The idea is to replace our perfectly beautiful but intensely needy lawn with a lively swirl of green grasses and low-growing flowers like white clover and creeping thyme. These “lawns” need no fertilizers or pesticides, no watering once they are established, and can be mowed once a month or as seldom as twice a year.

I find the whole idea of a lawn that requires so much less maintenance yet gives so much more beauty and life to be enormously exciting. I’d like to try cultivating a pollinator lawn here at Maplehurst, but I think I’ll call it our unicorn lawn.

To download this printable page, click here!

what the Bible saysto about hisyou love If I really wanted pray I’ll tell whatisI’dtrue. do. I’d go out into a great big field all alone or in the deep, deep woods and I’d look up into the sky—up—up—up—into I wept I performed song, thataslovely blue sky that this looks as if thereconsidering was no end to its blueness.

And then I’d justto feeltake a prayer. my suffering and asking God it easy on

- Lucy MaudWith Montgomery, me—to give me a break. the psalmists Anne of Green Gables before me, I want to create safe spaces for those who might feel similarly; places where honesty and vulnerability will invite communion and healing; the ground where relationship deepens.

May you meet Christ in the midst of your own suffering or questions, pain or confusion this Easter season, friends. May Christ have mercy on us all.

Tell me a story about prayer...

I

’m terrible at prayer.

Jennifer’s opening words to this month’s feature essay struck a chord with me, because this is something I also think about myself. Even though I write prayers, the spontaneous, wordsflowing-from-my-mouth thing has never come easily to me. When I was younger, I thought I would get better at it when I got older. But what I’ve come to learn instead is that the way I pray is fine; it’s just different.

Like Jennifer falling down in her garden and crying into the sweet grass as a prayer, my prayers most often take the form of movement, or breath. Sometimes both. A few years ago, I told a dear friend I’d pray for her… and I really meant the words-flowing-from-my-mouth thing, “Dear God please” and et cetera. But I couldn’t find the words. So I went to my dance studio, and there, in movement, I prayed for

my friend. And I recorded it and sent it to her.

I told her, this isn’t a dance performance, it’s just me in my street clothes, praying for you.

Because prayer doesn’t have to be words, prayer can be movement or breath or whatever it is in our lives that draws our attention to God. So this is my prayer for you.

Click here for Elrena’s prayer video

“I

’d go out into a great big field all alone or into the deep, deep, woods, and I’d look up into the sky-up--up--up--into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was no end to its blueness. And then I’d just feel a prayer.” - Anne Shirley, Anne of Green Gables Anne gets me. I recently started rereading this beloved series, and Anne is a kindred spirit, as she terms it so aptly. I pray best in nature, it’s the space I slow down, listen, and am my most honest self in. I don’t stumble over my words

like I do praying audibly with people. I don’t worry I’m wasting time or not communicating exactly what I mean. The Spirit is able to just take my groans and sighs and I just gesture with my hands wildly and the Lord gets it. I can cry and the moss doesn’t judge me (though the geese give me the sideye). I can stomp along on the trail as I vent and dump my frustrations out to the Lord who goes beside me. I find my voice and cadence near firs and aspens. I hear the voice of God falling over beaver dams and rocks. I’m still on solid ground in hiking boots.

The Team!

Christie & Jonathan Purifoy

live at the old farmhouse in Pennsylvania called Maplehurst and built the Black Barn. Christie earned a PhD in English Literature from the University of Chicago before trading the classroom for a picket-fenced garden and an old writing desk. Now she writes books and raises kids and chickens and tends the trees that gave Maplehurst its name.

Lisa-Jo Baker is a

third culture kid, former attorney, reader, writer, and storyteller. Every Wednesday on the Out of the Ordinary Podcast she and Christie explore the surprising ways that cultivating ordinary life leads to extraordinary stories. She is endlessly fascinated by people and how loud her children are.

Elrena Evans first had the dream of

sending you a care package from the Black Barn. She’s a writer, editor, and dancer, a mother of five, an ally and an advocate. A new Paper&String care package every month is her gift from us to you.

Allison Sheeler Duncan studied English

and theology at Eastern University and is now a writer and editor at a university in southeastern Pennsylvania. She enjoys growing flowers and heirloom tomatoes, watching superhero movies, and trying new recipes.

Anna Grist is the western Canadian in our

midst, working on Paper&String from the Rockies near Calgary. She creates all the design and layout and contributes a few illustrations and snippets of writing as well as laughter and well-timed GIFs. She’s a wife and mother to two human children, as well as twins Quill & Ink (pictured).

Amy Knorr is an educator, speaker and

writer who loves to create contemplative spaces in real life and online. She is in a Nonprofit and Spiritual Formation graduate program with a spiritual direction certification.

Amy has shared a nomadic married life with her husband, Dan, for 21 years. She is mom to two girls growing tall and a son she will hold again someday. She enjoys a good laugh, a quiet moment, a furry doggy face, a challenging trail and a cup of hot tea.

Anna Kocher is an artist living and working

in the greater Philadelphia area. She’s an art teacher, a painter, and mother of three. When she’s not teaching, painting, or parenting she can be found reading, tea in hand and Ella Fitzgerald on the record player. She lives in a creaky old house with her husband, her kids, her dog, Mystic, and Edmund the cat.

Tonya Salomons

lives with her husband in Canada’s largest city.

During the day, she works as a registered social worker, but at night and on the weekends the kitchen is where she finds the space to recharge and finds her joy, feeding not only the body but the soul. She admits to reading cookbooks like they are novels while sipping copious cups of coffee and eating chocolate chip cookies.

by Elrena Evans

May the breath that brings us to consciousness be a prayer May the coffee grind, the daily grind be a prayer May the packed lunch, the commute, the parking spot be a prayer.

May the blinking cursor be a prayer May the stretch and roll of tired shoulders be a prayer May the to-do list—impossibly—be a prayer.

May the witching hour before dinner be a prayer May the dirty dishes be a prayer May homework, laundry, vacuuming be a prayer.

May the plumping of pillows be a prayer May charging the phone be a prayer May the last breath before sleep be a prayer.

God, make all of our lives a prayer.

To download a printable version of this prayer, click here

paper&string founders

elrena e vans executive editor c h r i s t i e p u r i f o y c o l u m n i s t & p h o t o g ra p h e r l i s a - j o b ake r columnist •

a n n a g r i s t a r t i s t i c d i re c t i o n | g ra p h i c d e s i g n & i l l u s t ra t i o n s troy cady • jonna fantz • jen goodyer spiritual practice contributors a m y k n o r r s p i r i t u a l p ra c t i c e s a n n a k o c h e r i l l u s t ra t i o n s p a t t i o l s o n a d m i n i s t ra t i o n j o n a t h a n p u r i fo y subscriptions & finances al l i s o n s he e l e r d u n c an copyediting t o n y a s a l o m o n s re c i p e c u ra t o r all inquiries contact: p a p e r a n d s t r i n g @ b l a c k b a r n c o l l e c t i v e .c o m p.o. b ox 8 0 1 3 , w e s t g r o v e , p a 1 9 3 9 0 u s a

click here to subscribe to paper&string! click here to gift paper&string! a l l c o n t e n t © B l a c k B a r n C o l l e c t i v e • a l l r i g h t s re s e r v e d