I pray. In fact I pray a lot throughout the day. If one of my friends on Facebook is going through something personal or health wise and makes a post needing prayer, I pause and pray.

That being said, I do not like praying out loud. There are several reasons for that. One; I don’t like the sound of my voice and I can’t help but hear myself when I’m praying.

Two; I panic when I hear my name called on. Perhaps it’s because whenever I heard my name called as a child I had been caught doing something I shouldn’t have. Or maybe it was because I hadn’t done my homework. Nevertheless, if I hear my name called I panic, and then my brain goes blank.

Just shoot me. It would be better and less painful for both of us. Trust me.

Three; After going completely blank when I hear my name called upon I’m likely to just make up stuff that I think others would expect to hear. And then I panic afterwards wondering what God thought or what I may have said wrong. I’m an over thinker.

Four; I feel more in tune with God if I’m alone and quiet.

I could go on and on, but you probably get my point.

That being said, prayer came up the other night while one of my daughters was visiting us.

She mentioned the bedtime stories I used to tell her and her sisters at night. The stories varied from off the wall nursery rhymes to stories of my childhood on the farm in Mississippi.

When story time was over we said our prayers. Invariably I began with; Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake I pray the Lord my soul to take.

Then we began blessing everybody. And I mean everybody. Family, friends, the dogs, the cat next-door, the lady that drove the school bus. Anyone and everyone.

It was their stall tactic. I knew it and I’m certain they knew I knew it. But it was part of the bedtime ritual.

When we ran out of people and things that needed blessing I would kiss them good night and try to slip out.

Most of the time they wanted to critique the story I had told them.

“Were there really leprechauns and trolls on that farm you grew up on?”

“Yes.”

“What ever happened to your dog, Tippy?”

“He tried to run a car off the road.”

The questions were endless.

We had a good laugh about those nights I put them to bed before she told me that my prayers scared them to death.

“Really? Why?”

She explained that after I walked out of the room they used to lay there, terrified of dying in their sleep. Was the Lord going to come along in the middle of the night and suck their souls out them?

She said she and her sister would either cry or they would crawl beneath the covers together and they’d listen for something rambling around out there in the night that may have been looking for a soul to steal.

Then she turned and asked, “Why on earth did you pray that awful prayer with us? It was terrible!”

After thinking a moment I said, “Well, it was the same prayer my mother used to pray with me when I was a kid. I just thought it was what all parents were supposed to share with their children.”

She looked at me, “And you weren’t scared when you heard it?”

“You know something, I was always terrified at night. Come to think of it, that prayer scared me to death, too!

“I used to wonder if something was hiding beneath my bed and was waiting for me to go to sleep so it could slip out and steal my breath away or do something awful.“

“Yet you said that same creepy prayer with us! How could you?” She was laughing and serious all at the same time.

I just shook my head, “I don’t know. Maybe because I lost that ‘How To Raise a Child’ handbook they handed me on the way out of the hospital when y’all were born.

“Perhaps I should have left off that part and gone directly to the God Bless so and so part.”

Irregardless, I tried. But if God decides to give Tina and me another child I will refrain from the “Now I lay me down to sleep” prayer, and mark it up to lessons learned.

After all these years I think I’ve finally figured out the real reason I prefer silent prayers.

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Rick Algood
January 11, 2022