{Originally published  at Graceful}

A few weeks ago I realized that I am getting better at praying.

We were canoeing in the Boundary Waters, a remote, uninhabited wilderness in northern Minnesota. I should preface this by admitting that I am not a canoeist. Prior to this outing I had canoed twice in my entire life, both times when Brad and I were first dating (that alone speaks volumes). But Brad wanted to take the kids on a little adventure while we were in Minnesota, and I wasn’t going to be the only stuffed shirt who stayed home.

We glided across the glinting lake, our paddles dipping rhythmically in and out of the water. The kids dangled their fingers in the lake as we wove around lily pads and through golden lake grass, undulating like ribbons just beneath the surface. Noah admired the lavender iris springing from the edges of the marshy shore. It was, in a word, Heaven.

After about two hours of easy paddling, we pulled the canoe onto an island and portaged (i.e. lugged really heavy, cumbersome canoe across dry land while being viciously attacked by massive swarms of mosquitoes) to the other side. But as we rounded the corner on the far side of the island, we were surprised to find ourselves nearly knocked flat by a gale force wind. Somehow the wind that had been a barely perceptible breeze at our backs had escalated to Hurricane Andrew.

Brad and I secured the kids’ life vests, and as we plunged in, pushing off the rocks lining the shore with our paddles, it took about 30 seconds for me to realize that the return trip was not going to be relaxing. Though I was paddling as hard as I could, when I glanced at the shore, it wasn’t moving; we were literally paddling in place. To make matters worse, the water was no longer gently lapping but was instead gushing over the bow of the canoe in a torrent, and every few minutes the canoe threatened to turn broadside against the waves.

“Michelle! Michelle! ” Brad yelled over the wind from the stern. “You have to paddle faster, paddle harder! The canoe has to stay against the waves, we can’t get broadsided!” The kids were terrified, and I was afraid, too (not sure about Brad; he doesn’t let on in situations such as this). When I looked over my shoulder, Noah was clutching the sides of the canoe with a steely grip, his eyes wide like he was witnessing Loch Ness rear out of the lake. Meanwhile Rowan was screaming over and over, “We’re all gonna die! We’re all gonna die!”

I tried to console them. “No, no, no, everything’s okay, we’re going to be just fine, everything’s going to be just fine, it’s just a little wavy, that’s all.” The problem is, you can’t really speak soothingly in hushed tones in a 30 mph wind. As I screamed reassurances, my voice pinched and shrill, the kids just looked more terrified.

And that’s when I prayed. I’ll admit, it was a combination of cursing and praying…but this is progress. A year or two ago, it would have been entirely cursing. So when I wasn’t blasting Brad in my head – “Stupid, stupid idea. Mr. Stupid Nature Man dragging us out here in this god-forsaken stupid wilderness.” (you get the idea), I was praying, “Please God, please God, please don’t let the canoe turn over, please help us get to shore safely, please give me the strength to keep paddling, please keep my children safe.” I even thought about suggesting to the kids that we pray out loud, together. But I ditched that idea when I realized it probably would have panicked them further. “What??? Mommy’s praying? Mommy’s praying! We’re all gonna die!!!”

We made it to shore; I lived to tell about it (and complain about it). And when it was all over, I realized two things in the aftermath. One: that I was seriously lacking in upper body strength; so much, in fact, that turning the knob on the radio dial would require two hands (one hand to turn the dial and the other to brace the arm of the hand turning the dial) for a full week. And two, that I could turn to God, that I would turn to God, in a time of distress. Sure it was a desperation prayer, but those count, too – especially when you feel in your heart that those prayers will make a difference.

Editor’s pick by Michele from Sparks and Butterflies.  Michelle is a new-to-me read. What attracted me was her simple, matter-of-fact approach to describing her relationship with God, as well as her honesty in the direction and changes this relationship has had. When I read her, I feel like I’m reading truth – warts and all. Please check out her original post, and then be sure to subscribe to her feed.