When I first sat down to write The Prayer Chest, I thought it would be best received in a fictional format; one perhaps bordering on the fringes of a fairy tale. This would give any skeptic an out in terms of having to accept a power greater than themselves actually interfacing with a prayer process, hence their imagination would engage and the child that was taken from them by virtue of becoming an adult, would resurrect itself.

The original fairy tale manuscript served to embellish upon the debut of receiving my first Prayer Chest in celebration of my birth. The scenario was quite complete in its description with the fairy-like godmother floating in during my mother’s sleep. She lovingly placed an antique gilded victorian jewel box at her bedside. It once held vintage love letters and the old remnants of Belgian lace baby booties. Then like most ephemeral apparitions she departed; an emissary in the night.

In truth, as an infant I did receive my first Prayer Chest in a somewhat, yet not quite so theatrical manner. It was an antique little box that had held precious love letters, fine jewelry, sachets, locks of hair and vintage memorabilia. The hand painted image on the cover was of a childlike woman gazing into the mist. "The Age of Innocence, The most famous Picture of Childhood" was inscribed on the front; an Italian master’s miniature portrait of an aspiring 17th century’s Madonna. The birthday box was primarily gold and trimmed in a lace-like etching. The years had left it tarnished. This added to its charm and beauty. When I first recall opening the lid, being a child of curiosity, I discovered it was filled with a crumpled antique gilded tissue that resembled a priceless paper gold dipped in black tea. The inside was lined in velvet and satin. And safely tucked beneath this tissue mountain lay a small gold charm. It was a lovely gold heart-crowned skeleton key on a chain so fine that a butterfly could have worn it and not felt distressed by the weight.

This charming box rested for years atop my dresser, gold tissue and all; with its earliest beginnings in the nursery and then later it fit quite nicely amidst all the lace and fluff one finds in a young woman’s boudoir. Upon entering my bedroom, it was the kind of ornamental treasure that got lost easily in the magical menagerie of cherished collectibles. However, in spite of its disposition among the others, it possessed a unique reputation. The curious thing being that this charming little box, quite regularly, seemed to find lost things or rather lost things (size permitting) seemed to take residence inside of it without any assistance from anyone. It had its own way of summoning one to come and look inside of it to retrieve what had been deposited; throwing thoughts out to those that passed by peering into the room.

It was a Monday morning; probably around the Spring of 1961 in Phoenix, Arizona. Although it was only 7am, I felt the warmth of the sun come through my window as my mother pulled the draperies. "Morning Sunshine", she always chimed; the sound of unconditional love. I could not even begin to imagine life without her. The diamond shapes etched in the windows cast sunlit images over the dresser on the far wall. One was easily distracted by their performance. While focusing on the collage of prism reflections dancing before me like a choreographed lightshow, my attention was drawn towards a gold glare that bounced off of the Godmother’s box from the sunlight. I imagined, only being eight years old, the glow to be a symptom of some small ball of glory trapped inside; the light serving as its voice crying to let whatever out.

As a child, I thought a lot about light. Sometimes I would spend time in front of the mirror, which I believed at the time to be the grocery store or at the very least the savings and loan association for light. I’d shop its aisles by staring into the pupil of one my eyes until I could see a starburst of light; this excusably being the reflection of the bathroom lightbulb shining from the fixture above my head. Unknowingly, I would fix my gaze on it in hopes to follow it to where it once came. This silly game of chasing the light would afford me many curious experiences in years to come.

Years passed, laced with serendipitous moments too many to recall. Then in 1991, my mother died while I was rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery. My life changed forever. Everything that I knew to be true and constant shattered like glass breaking apart into millions of light particles seen in a fourth of July fireworks show. And in the brief recovery period following, I started processing information in a way that never had been available to me before. Grief and pain often affords us this kind of opportunity to get outside of ourselves and become an observer of something greater than the "I". It is this kind of gift that shakes up our world and challenges the very essence of who we are. Suddenly we are faced with our own reflection; naked and with no place to hide.

"Soul upon Soul"

The Prayer Chest does not carry advice about life, how to live it, embrace it or dodge it. It carries history. Everytime we begin creating a Prayer Chest, we start layering soul upon soul. The paper, fabric, ribbon, stones, music, and more all have a history that they bring to their assignment in the Prayer Chest. When we include a small stone gifted to us by a loved one, there is a history there. It brings up love and empowers the moment. Soul is empowering and soul upon soul is power-full. The Prayer Chest is a seasoned vessel. It holds ancient knowledge by honoring this historical process of co-creation.

What’s in a Name?

I don’t know where the name came from; just that I have known it to be always "The Prayer Chest" dating from early childhood, even before I had any religious understanding. In fact I understood and accepted The Prayer Chest much better before religious belief systems entered my thought processes. Of course, I was a child and had not yet been influenced by all of the wonder and woe life tends to serve us. I did however accept calling it The Prayer Chest without any question. It seemed to make perfect sense; it’s a mailbox. If you wanted to correspond with God you put it in The Prayer Chest. The angels, naturally, would pick up any communiqué that needed to be shared. In short order they would wingedly soar upward and lay each thought in the lap of God. Given this method of delivery I’d say the term Prayer Chest continues to describe the tool at hand. Oddly enough though, when I went to register the name for this book online, the term God Box had been taken. I was assigned Thegodbox.com incorporating the word THE in my registration process. An organization, AA, has been using the God Box concept for years in offering an alternative or addition to prayer. Their recipe is similar in intent and absolutely divine when it comes to being purposeful.. I say "divine" because God is truly at the epicenter of this wonderful vessel. I’m sure there are many successful variations of this practice, as all would surely have some positive effect on the betterment of the whole providing the intent is pure. It’s the intention behind everything that is initiated in life that will inform us of what is godly and what is not. Christians spend their lives striving for truth in this regard; allowing them to pursue their dreams with integrity. I have always considered myself a Christian. I accept God into my life daily and with each opportunity, I renew my commitment by continuing to serve others on his behalf. The Prayer Chest, like a child that is uninformed of earthly doctrines, is non-denominational and serves all of God’s children.

Having been raised an Irish Protestant-Catholic with close Jewish friends and shipped off to Southern Baptist Vacation Bible Schools in the summer as a child, I had a somewhat curious outlook on religion. My level of tolerance was exemplary and I’m confident that God was pleased with my willingness as a child to always seek his counsel in most matters. As I grew older, I was torn between the mystical splendor of the Catholic faith, the sensible here and now basics offered in the Protestant religion and the fundamental southern comfort preached from the Baptist pulpit. Whether I got the message via the homily, the liturgy, a sermon, or the gospel, I always envisioned myself growing up to be Saint Bernadette married to Oral Roberts, taking communion from Rev. Mueller and hostessing the annual luncheon in La Jolla during the Song of Tubishvat with Rabbi Haim Solomon.

In spite of my eclectic exposure to faith and ever-present reserve of naivete, I became very sure of one thing…there was God and there were angels. I had no doubt whatsoever. One of my favorite verses in the bible illustrates the magnificence of power behind all of this effort. In Matthew 25:31 it is written that "When the Son of Man comes in HIS glory (his majesty and splendor), and all the holy angels with Him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory." It is this image of majestic benevolence that infiltrates the devotion used in honoring the power and the glory of God’s will in our lives. Manifesting and co-creating by, for and with the grace of God is what The Prayer Chest is all about; the power of his love. The Beatles said "All you need is love" and Emily Dickenson said "Love is all there is." Others too have recited the inherent truth that lies at the heartbeat of this word "love" often sidestepping the creative power behind it all. For if we were to really understand the power of God’s love in all of its grandeur, our little minds would become overloaded with such humility that it would be difficult to fulfill God’s will. We would be immobilized, glorified and probably levitating. Given this likely outcome, I believe that we are spoonfed so as to aid in our ability to digest. Perhaps this recipe for a simple postal service resembles an infant’s introduction to solid foods. As we continue to grow and grow throughout this lifetime in our understanding of God we develop a dialogue of what appears to be truth; an exchange which can be shared via prayers, song, journaling, dance, serving, and then of course there is…. The Prayer Chest.