When my friend Ginny called to say her husband and daughter had been in a terrible car accident, I felt the blood drain from my head. “They’re okay,” she said quickly. “But Anna has a broken pelvis so she won’t be coming over to play with Jody tomorrow.” Compared to having a brand new mahogany casket, a broken pelvis sounded pretty good. The long and short is, no one died, the car was totaled, and in a kid, a broken pelvis isn’t such a big deal. As most moms suspect, kids are made of rubber. I got off the phone much relieved and told the family. “We should pray for Anna,” said Jody. So of course we did. I was glad someone had thought of it. I’d been too upset by thoughts of near-miss fatalities, airbags and flying glass, and how our own car is really old, and maybe we should seriously consider getting a newer one, as in, tomorrow. It’s been one of those weeks, and not just for my friend. Wednesday I found out that my deaf father is going blind as well. The same day Marty’s dad was diagnosed with a form of dementia similar to Alzheimer’s. His mom broke her femur getting out of the tub Saturday night. She’ll be in the hospital for a while. Monday I finally pulled myself out of denial and admitted that I need surgery on my right elbow. I’m on the O.R. schedule for next Thursday. Let’s see. Anything else? I think that’s it for now. And I’m not whining, honest. Our lives are very, very normal. We eat, we work, we sleep, all the regular stuff. We get good news and we get bad news. In every single case this week, when my husband or I gave bad news to the kids, one of them said, “We should pray,” and they were right. Why wasn’t it my first response? I’ve been thinking about it for days. I’m a do-er. When something happens, I want to do something about it. My mind goes into turbo problem-solving mode and in a little while, after I’ve figured out everything, I cool the engines and remember that I need to pray. A lot of other things seem to come first, though, like whether or not to call the travel agent for Marty, or looking up the Internet Alzheimer’s support bulletin board, or figuring out how I’ll finish up my writing assignments before I go under the knife. Prayer is important, but sometimes it doesn’t feel as if I’m doing anything, and besides, it’s hard for people like me to sit still except at a computer. How could I be so stupid? It took a twelve-year-old kid to remind me. “We should pray.” She was right. A few minutes afterwards we were praying the Angelus together for all our loved ones in need. I want to learn to pray first, despite the fact that my head is in high gear and every fiber of my flesh says do, because when we pray, we are doing the most we can do for anyone, in any situation. Prayer is not the last resort; it’s the first. I’m working really hard on this. Pray before doing. When I find myself charging to fix something without stopping to pray first, I hear the words of Jesus: “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things” (see Luke 10:41ff). It’s comforting to know I have something in common with a saint. It’s been one of those weeks. I’m grateful for the reminder of “the one thing necessary” (v. 42). And I’m grateful for my two great kids who have helped me put a bad habit on the run, again.