Prayer

Part of the point of prayer is to learn what to ask for. I have had received little help from screaming, "Fix this for me, God!" (Actually, i don't think i've said that very much. More accurate would be, "PLEASE LET ME SLEEP FOR MORE THAN 45 MINUTES JUST ONCE THIS WEEK!!!" It was a constant prayer for the first six months of A's life.) I've found it much more productive to be more specific, less flailing. Like praying for strength to get through a hard time, instead of asking for the hardship to be removed (in a pinch, post-partum zombies can be almost as strong as regular zombies). I have been experimenting with the way i pray for things i need. Experimentation requires looking at the problem from different angles, seeing it through the eyes of God, remembering that i have a very imperfect understanding of how God thinks, then imagining how He might be different from what i expect. Thus prayer becomes a whole new way to analyze a situation, and just by trying to pray about a problem i come to understand it better.
Then sometimes, i am at a complete loss. I am boggled by my predicament and buried under it. So an idea comes to me, to ask my Heavenly Father what i should pray for. If i am humble enough, a conduit to Heaven will open before me, and my spirit will know the questions to ask.

Sometimes, I wish I was famous

I just watched "I'm Reed Fish." I get bothered by these small-town-hero movies; they make me wonder if I should be disappointed in myself. Aren't there people back in White Salmon who expected me to do something?
I thought I was full of magic and visions when I stepped out of that school, with my honor chords and scholarships and a whopping seventy-six other students in my class. My transcripts looked great, my GPA was almost perfect (let me take this opportunity to tell the world that I scored a 30 on the ACT); all signs pointed to me being a success at something.
Perhaps I've reached that part of growing up when I see clearly where my foundation is made of confetti. I'm not really indebted to that long-haired people-pleaser with a rubber chicken in her backpack. I don't have to live her dreams any more than I have to live anyone else's.
What a concept. What a concept for someone who avoided her 10-year reunion because she'd gained 50 pounds since graduation. Guess I have some more growing up to do.
Now to figure out what I really want to do with myself.