We can pray for things (“Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes-Benz”). We can pray for people (“Please heal Martin’s cancer.” “Please help me not be such an asshole”). We may pray for things that would destroy us; as Teresa of Avila said, “More tears are shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones.” We can pray for a shot at having a life in which we are present and awake and paying attention and being kind to ourselves. We can pray, “Hello? Is there anyone there?” We can pray, “Am I too far gone, or can you help me get out of my isolated self obsession?” We can say anything to God. It’s all prayer. — Anne Lamott from Help Thanks Wow

Early in the cancer journey a coworker, in telling me she would be praying for me, alerted me to a prayer thing that I didn’t know was a thing.  Praying at a particular time.  I’ve done it, of course. I pray for people traveling when I know they are in flight, I’d pray when I knew a friend or family member was in the midst of a medical procedure.  I just thought this was a thing I did; as if I had some control over the Universe and could make something happen right then at the exact moment the prayer would be needed. (I have rather high expectations of myself, apparently.)  I learned when the coworker was asking me exactly what time my surgery was scheduled for that other people do this, too. I later confirmed with others. It’s a thing, I just didn’t know.
I don’t know how we learn about prayer. Church, I suppose. Practice, too. I think that individuals who aren’t particularly church driven pray, too, maybe in different ways.  Like putting a thought into the Universe knowing it will land where it needs to land.  I just suspect that some people don’t think of that as being God doing the landing, where I happen to think it is.  I don’t remember kneeling down beside my bed to recite prayers, though I think we must have done that as kids. I tend to be a let-it-flow-when-it-needs-to-flow kind of girl. There isn’t a set time to pray. Prayer happens constantly. It’s such a simple thing, but putting a “help,” “thanks,” or “wow” out there really is it’s own prayer, and I thank Anne Lamott for giving this idea words in her Help Thanks Wow book.
Early in the cancer diagnosis I was still in my “thanks” phase.  I’ve long tended to start prayers with some gratitude. Thanks for the strength I have, thanks for the wisdom; please help me do good by it. It doesn’t make sense to ask for something without having first offered gratitude for what I have, right?  There was a point amid diagnosis when I remember my prayers shifting to “help.” Help, why is this happening? Help me to understand a purpose. Help me to be strong. Help me to not fall apart. Help. We waited for news about the spot in my arm that had “lit up” in a scan. If it was malignant, everything would be different. It would have meant the cancer had already metastasized, it would have meant different treatment, more surgery, less optimistic results. I remember laying in bed late at night just …  please. “Please,” I prayed. I didn’t even know how to end the sentence. It was a one-word plea:  Please. Please. Please. Help. The spot in the arm turned out to be nothing. I learned about it while in a car. And I recall the prayer changing immediately: Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
I realize there are times the words aren’t there. Or, they are too horrible to give over to conscious thought. For those times, it’s just the feeling. I might “please” or “help” or “thanks,” and can only trust that what’s in my heart is known where it needs to be known.
There’s not much of a point to this; just a curiosity.  There have been times when I wondered, am I doing this right? Am I praying correctly?  I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s all correct. There isn’t a wrong way to communicate your heart to God.  It’s your heart; it is what it is and what it is is perfect. Still, one doesn’t want to be greedy. I hope I’ve kept it on the up and up, and not gotten too selfish in the process.
I might pray that my blood tests results are okay to let me go camping next week, but I accept that my prayers might not be answered. I don’t promise there wouldn’t be considerable pouting and perhaps a well-placed hissy fit; but I’ll try to be accepting. I believe there’s truth to the words Garth Brooks sang, “Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers.”
There’s a thing we say at work sometimes. Whether it’s systems thinking or planning: trust the process. Trust the process (and the facilitator) and the right thing is going to evolve. Maybe it’s like that. I mean, there’s a whole lot of my youth that is better for what God gave me versus the prayers I prayed at the time. I wouldn’t change a thing. I’m still not sure why this big thing has happened to me, but there have been a lot of really good, really positive lessons as a result; so I have to have faith that there’s a purpose in it. I’ll trust the process and continue to practice welcoming what is.