There's a wonderful old Italian joke about a poor man who goes to church every day and prays before a statue of a great saint, begging, “Dear Saint—please, please, please... give me the grace to win the lottery.” This lamment goes on for months. Finally the exasperated statue comes to life, looks down at the begging man in weary disgust, “My Son—please please please..., buy a ticket.”
Prayer is a relationship; half the job is mine. If I want transformation, but can't even bothered to articulate what, exactly, I'm aiming for, how will it ever occur? Half the benefit of prayer is in the asking itself, in the offering of a clearly posed and well-considered intention.
(Eat Pray Love, Elizabeth Gilbert)
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