Praying by Example

My mother and father ran an independent insurance agency for many years. It became a family business with all of my sisters and me becoming employees at various times. All of us though, started at the bottom - janitor. Weekend by weekend, then summer by summer we would work our way up. The office, filled with sixties avocado green and seventies golden-rod yellow metal furniture was such a grown up place for a twelve-year-old.  It always took me longer to clean the office than my sisters because I would play office for awhile along the way, my own imaginary world of business.  Each desk had a plastic mat with a swirly chair - everything had a place and everyone had their own spot. I longed for the job with machines - the old fashioned adding machine with tape, the postage meter with the big crank, and the new typewriter that had a ball instead of keys - how I loved the feel and sounds of those machines. The vacuum was not my idea of an office machine but I enjoyed being there in the quiet, empty office surrounded by desks, file cabinets, supply closets, I was in awe of the business of business.


It was this work of my parents that would provide for our family, make it possible for all of us girls to go to college, travel and find our place in the world, not in the insurance business. My mom was the bookkeeper and managed the office staff, while my dad managed the agents and was the namesake of the business. Now, they would have titles of Chief Operating Officer and Chief Executive Officer, but back then, they were just John and Wini or Mom and Dad.

I watched them constantly, doing everyday things, managing a business, an active community and church presence and managing a home. I would see the good moods, the dark moods, the worry and concern at the dinner table when the business was straining and growing, listening to the inevitable joys and sorrows of personal insurance - new families, broken families, births and deaths of loved ones. While there were lessons taught (ok, the occasional lecture, too) and homework done, I realize there was a greater unspoken lesson, learning by example.

Looking back, into that home of hard-working parents and four active girls, I see now it was prayer that sustained my parents and in turn that taught me to pray.

When my mother would leave the office to pick me up from school, she would be smartly dressed and have a list of office errands we did together. I liked this part of the business too, it was forms, stamps and orderly offices with my mom conducting her seemingly complex business transactions. Usually it was the bank and the post office - but on the way home we would always make one extra stop - church. Not our parish church, but the Catholic Church nearest the post office or the bank. It wasn't time for Mass or any other event but we would park and walk into a still, shadow-filled church. I can still remember the slight chill in the air and how dark it seemed until my eyes adjusted from the sunshine. And there it was - the glowing corner. A small alcove of prayer, lit with candles in red glass underneath a statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus or Mary. Silently we kneeled on the scratchy red kneeler and offered our prayers. I know mine were simple prayers then, but today as a wife and mother I know my mother's prayers must have been far from simple. We never stayed very long, there was work to do, but those brief moments imprinted me forever. The warmth from the candles, the enveloping church pointing toward the light; time slowed and there was an embrace of peace. This peace gave my mother strength and helped teach me. 

Watching my Dad pray was harder to do. While friendly, he is a man of few words and cautious with conversation. During Mass, when I should have been looking forward, I would watch him from the corner of my eye - he was bowed low over the pew, fist on his chest - humbled before the Lord. This was profound for me because my Dad had a large presence in the everyday world, it was in the way he carried himself and the tone of his voice - some vestiges of the tall Marine and police officer he was before he was a business man. And squished together in the pew - I remember how this big man bowed both in gratitude and petition. To this day my father has the same body language at Mass. The contrast between his physical presence and body language has faded with age, but I still see it and it inspires me.

These reflections give me pause because I wonder what are my children 'seeing' when I'm not 'showing' them? Do they see my strength comes from my faith and personal prayer life? Am I humble in my presence before the Lord? Are my motions filled with purpose and conviction? This is my prayer, that my words and actions in those watched and unwatched moments carry my faith to the deepest part of the heart of my children. May I teach the way I learned, praying by example.

May the prayers that we say involve our hearts as well as our minds and voices, so that we can participate fully in "the living relationship of the children of God with their Father who is good beyond measure, with his Son Jesus Christ and with the Holy Spirit" (2565). Catechism of the Catholic Church