I'd fallen out of the habit of church. During the winter it's impossible to really get into the church with the wheelchair. The church is located in a really residential area and often the plows simply don't get much of it removed. So while Joe went I'd stay home. I'd make a big pot of tea, curl up on the couch under my favourite blanket and read. This little ritual became more and more important to me. But when Joe asked if I'd come to church on Sunday, I could hear in his voice that he'd like me there. So I agreed. Reluctantly, I'll admit.
We got there very early so that we could get me in, get the car parked and not be rushing about. I don't like hurry as I find it gets in the way of so much. As the service began I enjoyed the whole thing. The music, the pagentry, being read to ... all of it seemed to be exactly what I needed. Then it came time for prayers. I am a regular prayer, I believe in prayer ... so why is it that when someone asks me to bow my head and pray, I never can. It seems a bit contrived, like being forced to chat with Grandma while my mom goes for a pee.
So I bowed my head and thought about what to pray for ... nothing came. Then, suddenly, from somewhere deep in me came a prayer I tried to stop. It was a prayer for the two guys who had ridiculed me yesterday. It was a prayer for them to discover kindness. It was a prayer for those around them, for their kids, their wives, their friends, their family. We, each of us, need people in our lives with the gifts of kindness and compassion. Some day, some one will need something from those guys, something that requires a heart that works. I prayed that each of them, I could picture each face, would learn gentleness so that their lips could one day kiss away an accidental fall or even bruised feelings from a bullies taunt.
When I was done I wondered, 'Where did that come from?' I don't know if my prayer will ever be answered but, even so ... the idea that it might gave me hope.