It was Thanksgiving, 1980. I had a three-year-old and a six-week-old baby; and for some strange reason, I volunteered to host Thanksgiving for my husband's family. Sleep deprived as I was, I don't remember stuffing the turkey. I don't remember making the pies. However, I do remember going to the library to find a prayer to read before we ate.
I went to the library to find a prayer to read.
That still seems bizarre to me almost 34 years later. How could I not know that I could use my own words to talk to God.