Under the blackening sky, I pray the same prayer I’ve been praying for months: for an experience of love so big I’ll have to change my life to comprehend it. This is a new way of praying for me. I was raised on Catholic prayers, recited them like lists. When I was little, my favorite bedtime prayer was naming the apostles: Peter, Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, Thomas, James, Simon, Judas the brother of James, and Judas the Traitor. I zipped through the list every night, so proud to have come up with this prayer myself. As an adult, I drifted away from religion. I’m still not in sync with the Catholic Church, but in recent months I’ve been feeling pulled back and found a progressive church with a progressive priest I’m trying to learn from, not about ritual, but about a real relationship with love. This is new for me, too. Growing up, the nuns at school terrified me with the threat of God’s love, how it could take me out of the blue the way it had taken them. “I never thought I’d be a nun. Then one day, I got the calling. You have to be ready, girls. The calling could happen to you.” For years I added to my nightly prayers: Please God, please, please, don’t make me get the calling.