"Prayer," explained God, "matters."

A friend asked me - "do you remember the prayer you wrote when the book first came out?" She continued - "I keep that prayer on my desk."

I do remember it, of course, but I also remember something else. The book publisher shared this prayer on their wider forum in social media and it received a lot of positive responses. Except one. I felt so bad for this one person because I knew he was exactly where I had been for a long time after Charles died. It

wasn’t personal. He just was not interested in a prayer, any prayer. He was angry, and he was done. The "don't give me any false - it doesn't make any difference - when you can show me" kind of done.

There was no way to know his story, but his hurt was heart-breaking, and it pierced the digital spaces. I did not think it would help for me to point out what he was missing about this particular prayer. He was not in a place to recognize that this prayer has no expectation and asks for no tangible result. This is not the prayer that I, and so many others, prayed when my husband was in the ICU. This is not a prayer for family or friends or forgiveness or a Ferrari. It’s a prayer that simply asks to be granted the ability to pray. It is personal, and the praying of the

prayer answers the prayer. It seeks the restoration of comfort and an open heart, and eventually joy and happiness and peace. It's a prayer for wherever you are at the moment. But it's especially a prayer for you if you're where that man was. It's a start.

Thank you, my friend who keeps the prayer on your desk, for reminding me that we all have to start – or start back – somewhere.