We pray in different ways.
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I oftentimes wonder how people who don't write handle their feelings.
But even when I'm thankful for being able to let words flow onto a page, sometimes even that is not enough.
And I pick up my camera.
I woke up this morning feeling a sadness for the deaths that the man who occupies our country's house in Washington DC has caused.
The many who are dying right now.
This very minute.
And their loved ones.
I feel helpless and am fighting feeling hopeless.
And, I have no words.
But I have tears.
I think those tears are a sort of prayer.
My prayers come in simple forms.
I am not one to sit amongst people in a church.
Organized religion is not for me.
That is not to say I'm not a believer.
But I believe in my own way, I guess.
It's not unusual for me to whisper a quiet "Thank You."
I have whispered it while sitting on our deck looking into the woods behind our house.
I have whispered it while standing in Notre Dame in Paris.
Beauty moves me to whisper "Thank You."
And I trust that it's heard.
Today I whispered it to the trees while Annabelle and I sit on the back deck. And I cried.
Cried for the Kurdish.
Cried for those of us in the rest of the world who believe that America, at the hands of a monster, is the cause of the deaths that are happening right now.
Right now as I sit on my back deck pondering the beauty of the trees in our backyard and purity of the peace I'm usually able to feel while sitting here.
Right now as I realize there are many on this earth who have never, in their entire lives, felt this kind of quiet peace.
And I pick up my camera, and say my inadequate "Thank You"
I whisper, "Forgive Us"