No matter who you are or what you believe, you are a spiritual being. The diversity of belief in my circle of acquaintances and friends is vast. Sometimes I find myself hesitant to write or talk about my personal belief because I don’t want to offend anyone or get caught up in defensive debate.

I start most of my days practicing some form of prayer or meditation. This morning before the sun rose I found myself on the patio with a heavy heart. My spirit is full of intense emotions: joy, hope, fear, sadness. It feels as if I forgot to give myself my testosterone shot, but I didn’t. Some of my reactions to life’s experiences can’t be regulated by hormones or drugs. Sometimes all I can do—the most I can do—is pray.

My cats, both Fred and Ming, join me on the patio as the sky brightens while I prayed. Mr. Hummingbird eats his breakfast, as does Samantha the three-legged deer. I’m a little jealous of the simplicity of their lives. I laugh to myself as I took a picture of my feet for this post. Who ever heard of feet folded in prayer?

When I pray, really pray, this is the place that I pray from and to: I believe that there is a God who wants for all of us the best of what is possible. I’m constantly confounded by my lack of imagination. I seldom see these best possibilities until after the fact. When I pray, really pray, I let go of my wish lists, my fears, my control, and I open myself to God’s possibilities.

Sometimes, like this morning, this is hard work. My fear, my hope, my sadness is so great that there’s not much room for God. Even though I need to stay here longer I can’t. I’ve already made myself late for work. The second that thought enters my mind I don’t have the discipline to keep praying because I’m too distracted. I have to shower, pack my lunch, and make a forty-five minute commute.

I have to let go and trust that God will work for the good despite my unfaithfulness. I have to believe that all will be well.

There’s nothing left to say but amen.