Public speaking often stirs up a great deal of anxiety. A friend of mine, who frequently trains others in public speaking, had a way of calming nervous speakers before they took the stage. She would reassure them by saying, “Don’t worry, it’s in your bones.” What she meant was that they were sharing something deeply familiar to them, something instinctively known.
Sometimes, we need others to remind us of what is already instinctive and so deeply embedded in us that we may not even be aware of it.
So, what is in your bones?
In one of my spiritual formation courses, I was assigned to slowly and thoughtfully pray through the Lord’s Prayer (Matthew 6:9-13). It’s a prayer many of us know so well that it can easily become routine, recited without much thought or meaning. The assignment made me reflect on an experience with my father during the final hours of his life.
My dad was restless, physically uncomfortable, and speaking about things that weren’t happening in the room—mentioning an oil spill on the floor and asking us to clean it up. After a few moments of calm, I paused, silently praying for guidance, and the thought came to me to pray the Lord’s Prayer aloud. I took a deep breath and began, “Our Father…”
What happened next is hard to explain. My father, who had been so frail and weak, joined me in the prayer. His voice was strong and clear, with a confidence I hadn’t heard in months. It was as if time had turned back, and I was no longer in a room with a man in decline—I was praying with my vital father. Each word flowed effortlessly, without hesitation.
Our Father, Who art in heaven,
hallowed be Thy name
Thy kingdom come;
Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven
Give us this day our daily bread
And forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those who trespass against us
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
Amen
The experience was profoundly human and sacred. I realized that this prayer was so deeply embedded in my father that the words came alive and gave life when it was most needed. In that moment with my father, we connected to something instinctive, something “in our bones,” which is the power of shared, deep-rooted faith and memory.
The Lord’s Prayer is one of those things many of us know so well that it can feel routine. Yet, as my story reveals, in moments of great need, it surfaces as more than just words — it becomes a source of strength, unity, and peace. My father’s response, joining in with a strong and sure voice, showed that this prayer was deeply familiar, even as his body weakened. It is remarkable how the power of prayer, especially one so ingrained, can transcend physical limits, providing a connection that moves beyond the moment into something eternal.
This experience speaks to the heart of spiritual formation: how repetition, familiarity, and prayer can create a foundation that remains with us, even when all else seems fragile. Sometimes, it takes moments of vulnerability — like those final hours with my father — to remind us of what is “in our bones,” and of the strength and grace we carry, often without realizing it.
When you think of what is in your bones, you might reflect on what experiences, prayers, or beliefs guide and sustain you, especially when words fail or the future feels uncertain. There is often something deep inside that we are unaware of until we really need it — a truth, a strength, or a hope that has always been part of us.
May something as familiar as the Lord’s prayer be one of those things for you that is in your bones, offering comfort and connection when you most need it.