Crickets would be no exception to my general dislike of bugs, were it not for the fact that I never actually see them:
Crickets are nocturnal, pleasantly heard but not seen. As importantly, they aren't aggressive and they don't bite. The males rub their wings ceaselessly together in an effort to attract females. Their collective chirping is a familiar sound at night, growing ever louder as the temperatures rise. Their collective sound is impressive given that each cricket only weighs about half a gram (about the same as a raisin). Among all bugs, crickets are among the best.
Also among the best of Florida's impressive variety of species is the Live Oak, The Live Oak is so named, because it doesn't lose its leaves in winter, thereby appearing to be alive when other deciduous trees appear to be the opposite. According to Smithsonian magazine, the Live Oak "embodies the American ideal of individual resilience." Sturdy, strong, solitary, and sprawling, the Live Oak has historically provided a safe harbor to people and animals during hurricanes and itself is largely invulnerable to hurricane-force winds. Recently, the latest claim to fame for the Live Oak is its exceptional ability to absorb carbon in the atmosphere, making it a friend to anyone who believes in and fights against climate change. As a tree hugger, I love the Live Oaks in Florida as much as I love western Red Cedars in the Pacific Northwest.
It's not much of a surprise, given my love for both crickets and live oak trees, that they were the first thing that came to mind when the following questions were posed at my book club:
Where do you find your best “quiet and still” time to facilitate heartfelt prayer? Is that time static (are you physically still) or dynamic (are you doing something) or a combination of both? How can you tell when your spirit is becoming still enough that you will be able to hear "the still small voice" of God?
One of my biggest challenges to regular prayer is finding a place to calm my schedule and mind long enough to pray with sincerity. I can say the words and use the language that I've heard others in the church use but in the end, I often stop midway through these futile efforts to force prayer. I realize that I am not fully attentive to what I'm saying, that at some level I am just going through the motions. so I just stop.
Yoga helps me to center. Even while twisting my body into various forms of a pretzel, I can focus more on meditating -- quieting the million things running to and fro in my mind and body long enough to get within sight of intimacy with God. More often than not, though, yoga class ends and reality returns before I get there from where I started. Hubbub and conversation erupts in the room immediately after class ends. To me, conversation is the last thing that I'm thinking about after an hour of connecting mind, heart, body. I guess that's an introvert thing. And from the looks of it, I guess I am one of very few introverts doing yoga these days.
And so the search continues -- to find a proper centering place for meaningful prayer. It's out there -- but in the strangest of places.
While in Florida, I sleep in a bed that is surrounded by windows on all sides except for one (unfortunately, I have to get out of bed in the morning somehow). Late in the evening, when my neighborhood has calmed down and the neighbors are asleep (as are their lawn tools, vehicles, and other noisemakers), the sole remaining sounds in the night air are courtesy of a convention of crickets. To hear them better, I often stick my head out the open window as far as it can go without pushing the screen out (hence why this blog is not called "The Cricket, the Mosquitoes, and the Oak Tree") to hear them more easily. While the crickets chirp in song, the two large oak trees in my postage stamp size backyard reach their massive canopy into the night sky, dappling the ambient city light onto the lawn below. And these are my moments -- centered and still. On the luckiest of nights, I also hear the still small voice of God.
In those moments, it's the easiest thing in the world to pray.
Weird.