I shift my weight on hard wood floors, beneath middle aged knees, offering pleas to the air, because he’s in the air, God is, for my children. There are a whole litany of requests and generalities, but sometimes things specific and so guttural I can barely get the words to pass over dry lips. There are prayers of thankfulness and scripture that are repeated because it is truth and is as much a prayer over my babies as it is story from long ago. And it’s in these moments I find myself, as Barbara Mahany suggests in her most recent book, Motherprayer, wrapped in the “shawl of prayer… with utterances that come from our most stripped-down essence.” (4)
You can read the full review at Englewood Review of Books.