{"id":591,"date":"2010-07-12T23:32:56","date_gmt":"2010-07-13T06:32:56","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/mamamonk.com\/?p=591"},"modified":"2010-07-12T23:32:56","modified_gmt":"2010-07-13T06:32:56","slug":"prayer-and-the-stream","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/michaboyett\/2010\/07\/prayer-and-the-stream\/","title":{"rendered":"Prayer and the Stream"},"content":{"rendered":"<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC \"-\/\/W3C\/\/DTD HTML 4.0 Transitional\/\/EN\" \"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/TR\/REC-html40\/loose.dtd\">\n<html><head><meta http-equiv=\"content-type\" content=\"text\/html; charset=utf-8\"><meta http-equiv=\"content-type\" content=\"text\/html; charset=utf-8\"><\/head><body><p>I\u2019ve spent my life loving the mountains. Growing up, if the Boyetts took a vacation, it was to New Mexico or Colorado for a camping trip. And if my brothers were fishing, I usually flocked behind them, clutching my fly rod as best I could. I\u2019ve always been terrible at fly-fishing, never really learning how to tie a fly onto my leader, pathetically holding out my rod to my dad so he would do it for me. But I have all the gear: waders, polaroid glasses, a little clipper that hangs from my vest, and, of course, a zipper pocket in that same fishing vest that\u2019s big enough to fit a book in, so I could secretly sit down by the stream and read, which always ended up being my favorite part of the fishing process.<\/p>\n<p>Don\u2019t get me wrong. I\u2019m an \u201coutdoorsy\u201d girl in the broad sense of the term, meaning: I like the outdoors. (Not meaning: my wardrobe is made up of Columbia fleece and <a href=\"http:\/\/www.chacousa.com\/US\/en-US\/Home.mvc.aspx\" class=\" decorated-link\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"nofollow\">Chacos<\/a>.) But I do love being outside, especially in the mountains, where the quiet feels holy.<\/p>\n<p>So, yesterday, our last day of a big family trip to Colorado, I joined my brother Brooks and my dad for a couple of hours on the river. Lamely, I watched Brooks tie on the fly to my line. Then my dad took me out for an \u201cit\u2019s been four years since you\u2019ve fished\u201d tutorial in the stream. I needed it. My cast was terrible. I was pulling my rod back far past where it should have been. The line was crumpling into a knotty mess in the water, scaring off the hungry trout. And after about 10 casts, my arm already ached.<\/p>\n<p>It took a few minutes, but once I realized what I was doing wrong with that cast, it was incredibly easy. My arm wasn\u2019t aching. The line was elegant as it unfolded over the water, landed with a splat and slid downstream.<\/p>\n<p>As I stood shin deep in the South Platte, overlooking prairie that eventually collides into mountain, I felt the sigh that usually arrives for me near the river. It has nothing to do with catching fish. (I can assure you, I never do.) It has more to do with the rhythm. The cast, the fly\u2019s meander downstream, my control as I pull it back over my head and place it again in the water.\u00a0 There is a certain silence, filled up only by birds, the sound of the line slapping the water, and uncertain squish of my boots on the rocks.<\/p>\n<p>And today, in that rhythm, I had two thoughts. One, fly-fishing is like praying the rosary: slowly moving through each bead, being led into prayer by a physical act. It\u2019s the repetition, the sameness of coming to God with simple words (or no words at all) that opens my chest to God, especially in those moments when I\u2019m closed off.<\/p>\n<p>Two, casting correctly is a lot easier than doing it incorrectly. And I know it sounds like a cheesy sermon illustration, but I\u2019ll say it anyway. I felt like God was reminding me that prayer is not as hard as I make it out to be. Over and over, lift and unfold. Lay that line out, let it meander a little. Do it again.<\/p>\n<p>So, no, I won\u2019t be getting my smiley face on next year\u2019s Fly Fisherwomen of America Calendar. But it\u2019s <a href=\"http:\/\/mamamonk.com\/2010\/03\/09\/introducing-thankful-tuesday\/\" class=\" decorated-link\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"nofollow\">Thankful Tuesday<\/a> and I\u2019m grateful for prayer: silent and wordless. Because that\u2019s the kind of prayer that occurs least in my life.<\/p>\n<p><strong>What are you thankful for? <\/strong><\/p>\n<\/body><\/html>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>I\u2019ve spent my life loving the mountains. Growing up, if the Boyetts took a vacation, it was to New Mexico or Colorado for a camping trip. And if my brothers were fishing, I usually flocked behind them, clutching my fly rod as best I could. I\u2019ve always been terrible at fly-fishing, never really learning how [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":999,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[121,233],"class_list":["post-591","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-spiritual-practice","tag-thankful-tuesday"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v21.1 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Prayer and the Stream - Micha Boyett<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"I\u2019ve spent my life loving the mountains. Growing up, if the Boyetts took a vacation, it was to New Mexico or Colorado for a camping trip. 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