You can pray on a trampoline and not even say Amen.

I pray with every breath that I breathe in and breathe out.  Except when I don't, and I am distracted by life.  I pray when I feel lonely and overwhelmed, and I pray when I feel thankful. Sometimes I find myself not praying at all, because I know that God sees and hears me anyway.  I do not have a faithful prayer life.  I am not strongly disciplined nor am I religiously schooled.  I am not a good example. But my children are.  

There was a chilly spring day, when a young boy who had stayed with us a short time, was jumping on the trampoline.  After a while, he came in, took off his boots, and said these words:

"When I was outside, I laid down on the trampoline, and I prayed to God. I prayed that he could put a thought in my mom's head so she knows I love her. I prayed that she finds a bigger house so that I can get with her again. I prayed that if she gets hurt that He will heal her. I prayed for some basketball teams to win too. Before I got taken from my mom I didn't know how to pray. Then someone taught me. Now I can do it all the time. Do I HAVE to say amen at the end? I did, just in case." 

Amen.  AMEN. And AMEN.

We can pray while jumping on the trampoline.  And we don't even have to say Amen.  We don't have to know how to pray.  Someone taught this boy that he could talk to God.  That's all he needed to know. He could talk to Him.  Whenever he wanted to.  Wherever he wanted to.  

Another day, my 12 year old son taught a little girl how to shoot basketballs while jumping on the trampoline.  She struggled with the basic tenets of life, but she blossomed on that trampoline.  Her smile beamed, and her heart soared, as she enjoyed a game with our son.  

The trampoline in my backyard is somewhat of a holy place for my children.  They leap, bound, and flip toward Heaven.  Their cares are naught.  Their prayers are lifted.  

Prayer on the trampoline on a chilly spring day.  The ordinary meets extraordinary.  A little boy communes in prayer while playing in my backyard.   A littlle girl learns to shoot baskets.  He didn't know what he was doing, she didn't know what she was doing, I don't know what I am doing.  Except letting the divine intercede with the mundane, letting light shine through darkness, letting extraordinary mix with ordinary.    


Amen.