I’ve been praying. And I just keep thinking about Maria.
When I hit my afternoon lull and feel the comfy couch calling, my brain on IG zone mode, I see her. I wonder what she’s weaving right now. I wonder if her daughter is playing outside. I wonder if she ever gets a headache. And does she just go to the cabinet, pop the cap of some Advil and swallow quickly down?
Sometimes I’m driving when my noonday chime sounds. I turn down the music. A kid in the back says, “time to pray.” We pause. Does David have a car on his list?
I love being a small part of the story of Embemebet up on the mountain. Does she know how beautiful she is?
I love having these brave men and women teach me even though I am thousands of miles away from them.
My prayers for them are reminding me to see. I can see my wealth. I can see healthy kids. I can see opportunity.
I see my own entitlement. My lack of persistence. My appetite for quick fixes and immediate relief.
I see how little I really suffer.
They don’t need my prayers as much I need to get low, get grateful, get serious about seeing the world– a world that wouldn’t get the way of my life. My air conditioned, insta-satisfying, Advil popping life.