Lead with Love: Do you pray?

His eyes were desperate, grasping for something. “Do you pray?” he pleaded with me.

I stared blankly. I wanted to say “Yes!” and grab his hands to bring some comfort to the terrifying situation in front of us by connecting to a higher power and asking for help, but I searched inside myself and didn’t have any reference for prayer.

“No,” I said, pulling away slightly and immediately regretting it. I had missed an opportunity to connect with another being and to bring some solace to all of us gathered there on the side of the river that day.

I imagine the man I was with must have started praying but not out loud. I visited helplessly with the emptiness inside of me, searching in vain for something to say or do as a man we didn’t know drowned in front of our eyes. I watched this man take his last breath after struggling for several agonizing minutes being battered against a rock wall in Skull Rapid on Westwater Canyon not too far from Aspen. The only sound above the deafening, thunderous water crashing over rocks was the wailing of a mother. His mother. I will never forget the sound of her voice. It echoed through the canyon: “Noooooooooo!”

I will never forget the emptiness of not knowing the power and solace of prayer in a moment like this. That woman’s aching “Noooooooooo!” watching her son drown in a rapid in front of her eyes and my “No” as I searched for the answer to the question “Do you pray?” changed me. It didn’t feel right to say “no,” yet I didn’t know how to say “yes” and to connect to a higher power that I had no relationship with.

Even if I did pray, the man would have still died in front of his mother. His foot was trapped in some horrible way underwater that made it impossible for rescuers to get to him. I know this because my boyfriend at the time was a whitewater rescue technician, and he and all his badass boater friends could not free this man despite their heroic attempts. They spent the night on the river with that wailing mother. None of us were ever the same after that. A stretch of deep, red canyon walls with playful whitewater that we had run dozens of times with various levels of sobriety and a lot of levity became dark.

Since that day, over 20 years ago, I’ve been searching for a way to pray that feels authentic. Church and the dogma of religion doesn’t. I simply can not buy it. As a family, we did not pray. We did not go to church. While our home was filled with a lot of love, warmth, and laughter, we were not connected to God in any traditional sense. As a matter of fact, I inherited a cynicism for God that came from my dad who lost all faith when his 5-year-old daughter Michèle, my sister, died of a brain tumor after countless prayers and candles lit in church. Pointless prayers perhaps? I think not, but the residue of the dashed hopes and prayers of my parents left a mark. Who could they blame for the death of their innocent child but God? What kind of God does that? 

How could I pray to that God? I couldn’t.

What I’ve learned about prayer in all the years since I watched that man drown on the river in front of my eyes is that praying is not about getting what I want; it’s about connection. My prayers likely would not have saved that man, and my parents’ prayers certainly didn’t save my sister, but it did connect them to hope, and that hope got them through the hardest times. It gave them something to do when there was nothing to be done. 

For me, the prayers that leapt out of my heart in my darkest, saddest times of life gave me a connection to a part of myself I didn’t yet know. The presence I sensed when I felt lost and alone is the presence of God, and that presence is everything. God is not our personal errand boy running around answering our prayers; God is the knowing we are never alone, and prayers are a way we share that truth and let others know or remember they are not alone, too.

If I could grab that guy’s hand on the side of the river today, I would say, “Yes, I pray, and I am with you, and you’re not alone.” And we would have watched that man drown, together. 

Gina Murdock is the founder of Lead with Love, an Aspen, Colo. based non-profit org dedicated to shifting culture from fear to love and a board member of CASA of the Ninth dedicated to advocating for children who are neglected and abused. More info at www.ileadwithlove.org