when prayer is a back rub

May 20, 2018

It had been a rough week. With the end of the school year looming, tension runs high and patience, too often, runs low. In our household, we were feeling the extra pressure that Peter has at this stage in the game, when one of his least favorite parts of work (running sound for performances) is amped up with occasions such as graduation to plan and orchestrate. My own library end-of-year demands are a bit less public, so my personal stress in this period tends to revolve more around a wifely-worrying mindset. I find myself torn between the desire to care for my husband’s needs and a tendency I have unfortunately discovered in my married self: an inclination to sulk when his personal state of mind makes him less attentive to my own needs!
But back to this week: specifically, to secondary chapel. Peter was at his customary post in the back, behind the sound desk. Towards the end of the chapel talk, I came over next to him to see if his water cup needed refilling. At this point, a closing prayer was announced. As heads were bowed and eyes closed, I had the urge to rub his shoulders. Beginning what I thought would be a quick rub, I then realized that this was going to be an extended period of prayer time. I decided then to take the opportunity to sneak in a good massage for him, while others were occupied with more spiritual matters, and he was stuck at his post but not needing to do anything particularly demanding for the duration of the prayer. I got into it, launching into full official massage technique mode, getting onto my tiptoes for better leverage as I kneaded and pounded. Looking up, I realized that one of the students had turned around and was watching me. She didn’t have any particularly noteworthy reaction, so far as I could tell, but is a student I get along well with; so I looked her in the eyes and nodded my head in acknowledgement of her presence. She nodded back and then, a moment later, turned back around in her seat. Should I feel guilty right now? I then wondered. Am I being a bad example while others are dutifully folding their hands and bowing their heads? Should I . . . ?
I don’t know if I should or not but, truthfully, I did not. And I still do not. Unspiritual as it may be, I cannot help but suspect that this back rub was, in itself, a prayer.

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