Prayer is a Bell Curve
The voices were a bell curve. Some version of each word is always a bit ahead and behind and then in the middle, the muddled rest.
I spoke, listening to the others for pace. We all did. And so we adopted the pace of us all, the pace of waiting and following both, the pace of wanting my voice to fall with all the others and at the same time appreciating those who spoke loudly and late or quickly, eagerly, ahead.
Only half of it is speaking. The other half is, of course, listening, to the guy in front, the lady beside, the bright-eyed child in his mother’s arms, finding a place between to say my words. The listening is much harder than the saying and can cause stumbles and misspeak.
But without listening, I can never know the fullness of the prayer.
