Maggie and I made a stop at Trader Joe's on the way home from the clinic Wednesday. I have taken to asking her if she wants to wear a procedure mask when we go places. There will come a time when I don't ask, but her ANC is solid this week.
She wore a pediatric mask as we shopped, garnering smiles of support and looks of fear and a reasonable amount of healthy indifference. As I loaded the trunk and went to buckle The Magster in, a woman nearby said, "Excuse me. What is your daughter's name?"
"Maggie, " I replied. The woman was about my age. She had been loading her own car.
"What is her condition?" she continued.
Then she said a simple and amazing thing: "Our church will be praying for her."
That's it. A stranger decided to cross the gulf that separates us all and assert her faith into our lives. She didn't prequalify us by asking us about our faith. She took a chance that I'd recoil from her in disbelief or disdain or distrust. But she approached confidently and not alone. Her faith community was with her. Her God was with her. She did not ask my permission, but wanted me to know they would raise us up in prayer.
I thanked her for her prayers. I told her how much they meant to us.
Jesus bless those who pray for us today. Their prayers add new depth to our hardship and joy. And open our eyes to others who suffer so that we may pray for them, too. And maybe they for us. Amen.