by Patrick Caneday

Created on: March 17, 2009   Last Updated: March 20, 2009

I pray. There, I said it. I pray. I am not a good pray-er by any means. In fact, I am rather bad at it.

No, I am not going to rally City Hall to make your kids take five minutes each day to pray in school; nor am I going to knock on your door and ask if you'd like to come to church with me. I am not here to write another column about faith and God. I am here to shine a bright, unflattering dentist light on myself in hopes that you may read this and think, "Thank God I am not as naive/vain/shallow/misguided (pick the adjective that best applies) as that guy." It is a public service and you are welcome.

My most frequent place of prayer is in the car as I pull out of the driveway and head to work five days a week. That prayer, chanted in a whimpering, small voice, is rather pathetic and usually goes something like this:

"Please, please, please help me today. Oh, please, please, please, please help me."

After I repeat that about 10 times, I may veer into something like this:

"Please help me not to scream (too loudly) at my co-workers, wife, children or the strangers that may wander into my airspace today. Please hold my tongue and keep me patient and calm during the very frustrating things that I know will come my way today even though it would feel so much better to just explode in a venomous rage. Please keep me from going insane or having a psychotic episode today. Oh, please, please, please, please help me."

I told you it was pathetic.

Unfortunately, I only have a five-minute commute, so this is about all that gets squeezed in.

Every once in a while, but not often enough, I pray for other people: friends, family, co-workers, Britney Spears.

If you know me and you are reading this right now, yes, I have probably prayed for you once or twice. If you were getting married or divorced, having a new baby or trouble with your teenager, moving to a great new job or getting laid off, I probably prayed for you.

Don't get all warm and fuzzy though. When I pray for others it is usually because I hit a red light and can't think of anything else about myself to talk about.

There is a story that I love, a parable if you will.

A man sits in a bar telling the bartender how he crashed his plane in the remote frozen tundra and thought he was forsaken. He called out to God and waited in vain for divine intervention that never came.

When the bartender asks how he finally got out, the disgruntled man tells him that some stupid Eskimo eventually came by and helped him.

Churchgoer or not, most

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