How shall I pray? Are tears prayers, Lord? Are screams prayers, or groans or sighs or curses? Can trembling hands be lifted to you, or clenched fists or the cold sweat that trickles down my back or the cramps that knot my stomach? Will you accept my prayers, Lord, my real prayers, rooted in the muck and mud and rock of my life, and not just the pretty, cut-flower, gracefully arranged bouquet of words?
