It has been months—I don’t know how many—over three for sure, and that was on the phone. In this year it has been a lifetime—ages and eons on another planet, separate from the world I once called home in my heart, apart from the dreams that carried my spirit on the wings of the day. Then tonight, in an instant, it was there again. I didn’t mean for it to be, didn’t think it could be, but after a pause longer than a conversation for some, my mouth opened and the words came out—“Lord…” I didn’t know what to say. How long has it been since I sat in a couch holding the and of a friend and coming before the throne of God? I guess in August, an the Sheraton in Pasadena, my good bye prayer with Robin—then a couple more on the phone and then it was gone. Until tonight—until Terry said, “you want to do some praying tonight?”

Yes!

“No, I can’t.”

YES. Desperately. Deep down. Yes, I want it back.

“No. I don’t do that anymore. I can’t do that anymore.”

Yes.

And I became the irony about which I have been teaching my kids this week. A contradiction, the textbook says. Yes, I want to pray. No. I can’t.

Ever patient, Terry closed her eyes and sat there. And sat and sat and sat. I laughed. I told her I could almost see Robin across the room saying “You go, Terry!” I sat silently, wondering where the words were.

And then I remembered years ago, on that Saturday afternoon in October when Robin and I prayed our first prayer together and my life changed forever. And that was how I felt—as nervous as if I have never done it before.

Finally I opened my mouth. And then everything went haywire.

It was EASY. The words flowed out as if they never left. And that was almost scary. And Then I cried. I finished and I cried—and I cried and cried and cried. The only reason I am not crying now is because I am writing.

This is how it was supposed to be. This was part of the dream. Why didn’t it happen? What would have been different?

And then the fear. Can it ever be again? You don’t make things like this happen. And darnit, I love it too much. My emotions are so raw right now, sitting on the surface, tender to the touch—and they were touched. What do I do with this? I thought I better just bury it all over again. I need it too much to want it.

In one moment I felt the old feelings—I became me. I could imagine, I could actually imagine that glory again. It was easy. And it is gone. Make it for yourself—oh, how I have tried. I told Terry the story of Sue tonight. That is what happens when I try.

So I tasted it—and now my heart is exposed. What do I do with it? What a wonder it would be to go to church Sunday with this open heart. To once stand in that sanctuary free before I go. But experience tells me, it will close too soon. You can’t sustain an agreeing heart alone. There is early prayer alone in your room; there is the prayer group you join, but there is nothing as tender or as special as the two hearts that join to enter the throne room together.

I forgot for months but remembered in an instant. And now it is like being reborn and dying all over again. I sat amazed at the level of feeling rising within me, permeating the core of my soul and spirit. I cried. I know Terry could see it but didn’t know the whole core. I told her, though, no it is not okay, like you say. It gets me in trouble every time.

But for a moment it was nice to remember—even if the ache to remember is there again.

I guess I am still alive.

Please don’t pinch me; I don’t want to wake up.