without repudiation, i am a prisoner of hope

My mother prayed. Fervently with supplication and dedication, I would listen as she and her prayer circle covered every family member from the youngest to the most infirm, asking God’s grace and healing over their lives.

My mother prayed. I listened to her words. Memorized her pleas. Later folded them into my own.

My mother prayed. It sounded like a symphony. Her supplication a complete chorus of strings. Arduously she gathered crescendo after crescendo.

My mother prayed. Her solicitation to the Father a dance I would hum against in my youth patiently awaiting the diminuendo of her entreaty.

My mother prayed. It taught me perseverance. It taught me determination. It taught me tolerance. It taught me love.

My mother prayed. Into the night, her words would wrap our home in a blanket of devotion, resting on each of our shoulders the faith of her foremothers.

My mother prayed. In the morning as she rose, a solemn ‘thank you Jesus’ begat a rousing ‘with this day’. I mimicked her. Learning to talk with God.

I pray. In the rush of each day I fold Jesus into my mornings asking that He walk just be a bit closer with me.

I pray. Late into the night when every eye has finally closed and every breath slowed. I lift my eyes and I say, “Thank You.”

I pray. With each turn of the key that permits me entrance to a home I should not own and the car I could not have or the office that I would not have been given.

I pray. When that first cough comes and is followed by a second and then a third…”Your Will be done, Lord. Your Will be done.”

I pray. In knowledge that what I ask may not be what I need so please Heavenly Father just use me.

I pray. In solitude and quiet. There are no prayer circles. Not here.

I pray. Walking. Sitting. Lying down. Driving. Running. Washing dishes. Folding clothes.

I pray. With the fortitude of my foremothers I continue a faith walk I have not always understood.

I pray. My relationship with the Father. Personal. Intimate.

Turn it over to Jesus, I tell him.

Ask God to help you, I say.

Believe and receive it, I instruct.

Have I shown him enough? Now I lay me down to sleep was never a preferred supplication. Instead we speak of God as here. As now. In this drum. In this chair. In this spider. In the air. Surrounding me. Enfolding me. Protecting me. Guiding me.

He prays. I teach him to do so out loud. For now. But each day I see. He reminds me so much of me…God in this flower. God in this sun. God in this moment. God, who calls me son.

Me and the side kick hanging out at a Kirk Franklin concert. Plus we took a walk today.

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