Ira would kneel on the floor every night, his elbows
resting on the mattress of his bed, bony hands clasped together and his head
bowed. His eyes were closed and he spoke out loud.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” he would begin and … he’d
spend a good half hour thanking God for most everything, even the things that
were not that great. Then he’d start naming names. One after another he called
on the Lord to be present in their lives because of sickness or infirmities,
temptations or travels, blessings or curses.
“Forgive it all,” he would loudly say wrapping it
up.
Finishing, he would thank God for listening and for
sending Jesus before saying Amen. Then he’d crawl into bed and go to sleep.
Edith waited until she was in bed. She’d lay there
staring in the blackness of the night and speak softly as though she were
telling secrets. She mostly named names too though she didn’t ask for much
until something really bad was going on; rather she would just focus on people’s
faces and love them and ask God to love them too. That’s how she would fall
asleep.
My grandparents worshiped God.
I worshiped my Grandparents.
Staying with them as often as I stayed at home,
every night I was witness to their prayers. They prayed without ceasing,
grounded in love and they simply believed with everything in them that God
would take care of everything.
This morning I opened a Facebook message from a friend
asking me to pray for him. Without ceasing, I wrote back “Absolutely.”
Last week I got a text from someone I’ve never met
asking me to say prayers for her. Dire things were going on and she understands
that I am a person of faith and while God may not listen to her, well … God
might listen to me.
“If you’re looking for some safety-in-numbers support, I’m with you,” I replied.
A grandfather comes to see me to explain that his
granddaughter is having surgery and his voice cracks while his eyes grow moist.
“You are a person of God,” he says almost as if he’s
begging, “please pray for her.”
What do you do?
The fact is I pray like my Grandmother Carver did. I
conjure up visions of the people, regardless if I know them or not, and try to
send feelings of love and support. I figure throwing in good Karma can’t hurt
so I do that too. I think about God and try to nudge an intervention or two.
And I leave it at that.
I understand my limitations.
Homeless people used to have me in court to testify
on their behalf and I’d sit there waiting for the Judge to ask me if I knew
them and what I thought of the situation.
“I like him,” I answer under oath. “He tries hard.
He’s screwed up a lot but I think he’s really working on it.”
The Judge would eye me over and there was always a
long pregnant pause.
Some considered my words and gave the poor guy another
chance. Others threw the book at the book at ‘em having the bailiffs haul his
ass to jail in handcuffs.
Either way I did my best for them.
I still do though I’m incorporating more of
Granddaddy in my prayers speaking out loud.
“Hey God, that’s just wrong!” I’ll say. “Nobody deserves
that. She’s doing her best! Give him a break!”
