If prayers are measured or weighed in lbs. of frosting, then our cake for Claire is worth a couple of novenas. Before you think you'll pass out in a diabetic coma just from looking at this cake, I have to say that, in fact, it tasted better than it looks. Really! I'm reminded of the Footsteps Prayer. You know the one where the supplicant and Jesus have a conversation and in the end Jesus fills her in on a little secret: that solitary set of footprints in the sand aren't a sign that He abandoned her, but that He has been carrying the soul all along. When I was young , I did appreciate that people offered to pray for me. I knew that I needed them. But, now that I'm over 50, prayers take on a whole new significance. Partly because I know now how life can throw us curveballs. but also partly because I know how much the older folks love the younger ones and how much we want life to be sweet and full of blessing. Our prayers are fervent. It is a funny aspect of youth that life is experienced as if one walked alone ... but the experience of age is that one knows how dependent one is on: God's grace, the generosity of others, the presence of angels, the good condition of new appliances, the inspiration of new life, on your dentist, patient drivers, and the mercy of so many... for the youngsters and the oldsters, for faith in that companion's presence through it all.
1 comment:
I think you hit the nail on the head that the old ones love the young ones. But conversely, the young ones NEED that so, so much, and they do feel that love. They can't begin to return it because they're young. You just hope they pay it forward. Beautiful! You have a way with words. Oh, and we do love each other - us old ones, too. And even love the olders and we become older.
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