Cultivating Prayer
With the coming of Lent, I found myself reflecting on my prayer life and its beginnings. Growing up, God and church were always there — woven into the fabric of my life — through Sunday Mass, grace at dinner and prayers before bed each night. Even so, as I grew older, God felt distant to me. Loving, yes, but far away. I imagined God and Jesus somewhere beyond the clouds, tucked into a place called Heaven that felt abstract and removed.
Cancer changed that. It brought God down to earth.
I was eighteen years old when I was diagnosed. One of the first things my parents did was place my crucifix and a small wooden statue of the Virgin Mary on the bedside table in my hospital room, quiet witnesses to what would soon unfold there. They also gave me my first set of rosary beads, which included a pamphlet on how to pray it. “It’s time you had some of your own,” my father had said.
Having the rosary beads on the table beside my hospital bed, reminded me of my father’s rosary on his own nightstand at home. Their presence, along with my crucifix and the Mary figurine, felt like a giant hug. They were a symbol of not only my parents’ love, but also of their faith and trust in God.
That first night, holding the light-blue, glass beads in my hands, watching the fluorescent light bounce off the beads’ facets with a sparkle, I wrapped the rosary around my hands and began to pray. Praying the rosary felt comforting and reassuring. The familiarity of the Bible passages that accompanied the mysteries and the repetition of the prayers soon became a refuge, a source of calm amid the fear and upheaval of my diagnosis.
Before long, praying the rosary became my bedtime ritual; a chance to connect with Jesus and Mary and an opportunity to allow their example to shape my life. Soon, I found myself spending more time talking to God and the Blessed Mother. Though I didn’t know it then, I was building the muscle memory for a more prayerful life, a life closer to God.
At that time, I wasn’t the only one praying. The people around me also prayed. My family and friends stormed the heavens on my behalf. Friends of friends prayed. My church prayed. My great‑aunt’s entire convent prayed. Faculty and students at my college prayed. Even people I had never met prayed for me and my family. Prayer seemed to gently slide into every nook and cranny of my life; and slowly, unmistakably, I began to feel its power and grace.
Now, years later, as Lent is about to begin, I find myself returning to those hospital-room prayers with gratitude and humility. I realize that the prayer life that took root in that hospital bed long ago, continues to shape my days, drawing me ever closer to God who is still very much down to earth, present, and listening.
May your Lent be a season of reflection and renewal, and may you grow in your relationship with our God who is not distant or abstract, but here by our sides.
Deb Egan grew up in a Catholic family. Throughout her adult life, she has participated as a church volunteer in many capacities, including teaching Religious Education, being a Eucharistic Minister and Lector, Ministering to the elderly and homebound, and Facilitating Small Faith Groups. She has been trained by Evangelical Catholic and became a member of the Build the Faith Team in April of 2017.
