First Prayer

Truth is, I’ve been adrift for a very long time. It’s why I kneel here now, bare knees on the wooden floor, trying to be as respectful as religion demands. It’s hard for me; I’ve never done it before. I’m kneeling before two icons which’ve been in this apartment longer than I have. I’ve always pretty much ignored them, feeling guilty about it, but now that I’ve realised I’m helpless in the pursuit of my own life, the Virgin Mary and Jesus seem pretty welcoming. 

I shuffle uncomfortably. The floor is hard and my knees already hurt. But I guess I’m supposed to suffer through the pain. Right? I’ve never read the Bible, but I’ve heard that opinion before. Not sure how right it is, but here goes. 

I open up my chats and access the link my friend gave me. It’s an akathist. It worked for her when she needed a new job, so here’s hoping Mother Mary pulls through and helps me out too. Save for the atmospheric candle I lit up, the room is dark, and the phone screen throws stark shadows everywhere. Mary seems to disapprove, but Jesus doesn’t. 

Maybe I’m projecting. 

I start reading. The akathist is… long. I wasn’t expecting that. I don’t know what I was expecting, but reading it aloud is effortful, and my knees hurt more and more the further along I get. My mind drifts. I force it to return to present. Look at Mary, I think. Look at Jesus. You’ve ignored them your whole life. Now that you want something, you might as well look them in the eyes and ask properly. Be respectful!

I try. I really do. But my knees really hurt now, and so I clear my throat and get up, half apologetic. My cats watch me, concerned. They have no idea what I’m doing, but thankfully they’re not getting in the way. Last thing I need is a tail to catch on fire. Not sure that’s the kind of blessing I want. I snatch a pillow from the couch and return to my prayer, abashed. 

I’m not sure if Christians are supposed to kneel while praying. I know Muslims do that, but I’ve never seen anyone kneeling in our churches. But it feels right to me, so I don’t linger on the thought. I think it’s the respect that counts. 

Jesus and Mary stay quiet. I start reading again, stanza after stanza. It’s so boring. And there’s so many words I’ve never said aloud before. I don’t understand any of the references or history, and I start feeling foolish. I’m not speaking from the heart, I’m just reciting an akathist from orthodoxchristian.org. How are they going to know why I’m here, kneeling for the first time in thirty years? I’ve been baptised, so I know that technically they ought to know who I am, at least. But can they see into the heart? God knows all, right? 

What does God see? I’m asking for a job — quite desperately, actually — but… is that what I really want? Am I really kneeling before the Virgin Mary and Jesus and God and everything and asking for a job?

What do I want? Why am I reciting an akathist that means nothing to me, in search of something that I don’t want? I want to be free, is what I want. I want to know what I should be doing. I want to know which way to go. I want something to give, and break this deadlock I live in. What’s my purpose? Who do I want to be in five years?

I put the phone down, and the screen turns off. The light gets warm again. It’s easier to kneel with the pillow under my knees, and I sit quietly for a moment, hands folded. The icons watch as I gather my thoughts. The candle flickers. 

I know that it’s very rich of me to gallivant as I am and then come begging to be saved. But it’s not like I’m doing it on purpose. I’m just trying to live. And I’m here now, and I feel so bogged down in everything that’s out of my control. I’m so tired. I’m unhappy. I fail constantly and my own life feels like it isn’t mine. I want to know what to do. I want to be shown a way. I hear you’re gentle and accepting, and you won’t turn me away. I hope so. I hope that you’ll show yourselves to me, because I really, really need some guidance. I’ll keep an eye out. I’ll recognise it. Just… please, help me out. 

The icons stay silent, but they don’t feel as judgmental. 

Maybe I’m still projecting. Even though my soul feels raw, I settle in more comfortably. Now that I’ve opened the floodgates, it all keeps coming. 

I feel guilty I haven’t finished the akathist. I don’t know if I will, to be frank with you. None of it means anything to me, and I think that I should be able to speak to you from the heart, right? So here I am, doing just that. I don’t really feel so foolish anymore. 

I trail off and twiddle my fingers. No one’s rushing me to keep speaking or move along, like that priest did at Easter that one time when I was still small. I still remember how fast I had to go under that table, and when I got to him for confession I had the distinct thought of, ‘I’m eight. I guess I sinned because I lied to my mother?’, and so that’s what I told him. And he kind of put his hand on my head, said something, and ushered me away. I guess I don’t blame him. It was Easter. Kind of a busy day, on account of, you know. 

You dying and then coming back to life. 

Maybe that’s disrespectful to say to Jesus. But I think he appreciates a sense of humour, and it’s not like I have any bad intentions. 

Either way, I digress. I don’t know what I want, is the truth. I guess I’d like to know, and I pray you’ll help me find a way. I’ve always been a lucky person, and I don’t know if that’s attributable to you or my star sign or just pure chance, but it’s made me optimistic. I don’t have any more strength to keep it up, though. So, please, help me out. Give me a sign. A direction. 

I pick up the phone again. Now that I’ve gotten it all off my chest, I finish the rest of the akathist. The second half doesn’t feel as difficult, nor as boring. And it’s the least I could do on account of my word vomit from earlier. I’m sure no one’s judging me, except for me. But it feels good to do a hard thing to the end, anyway. 

When I’m done, I kneel for a few moments longer. I do the cross three times. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Then I blow the candle out, and the room plunges into darkness. 

The warmth takes a while longer to fade.