It will not escape my notice and my notice will not let me let it go.
I’d love to say it didn’t matter. I’d like to be able to see differences and responses different than my own and be okay.
It bothers me that I am different.
Bothers me only because of the surprise of its realization.
That, when prior to “purposeful thought” and invocation, I had the courage to ask that we pray for the ones grieving, shocked and tousled by unforeseen tragic death of son.
And yet, we didn’t.
I’d love to not be bothered by this avoidance, this uncomfortable, unexpected and possibly, I suppose unnecessary sharing of my asking that we sort of go a little askew of agenda.
Not a word spoken, awkward sideways glances to see my face.
More surprise over my suggestion.
More surprise than consideration or sympathy or even pause to consider the sorrow, the struggle, the sadness of another.
I wish this could be uplifting, that I could offer observation on compassionate one towards another concern.
Instead, I reviewed the minutes from the meeting and the order was quite wrong.
“Lisa shared a sad story” after invocation,when actually, yes quite intentionally, it was before.
Pray, I say pray one for the other.
Pray without ceasing and without boundaries, pray without pause, without notes and without reservation and open to interruption.
I pray I continue.
I pray I continue to pray this way.
I cannot imagine any way other.
Other than different, different in a way that doesn’t bother me after all.
Only surprised me, confounded me, caught me a little off guard.
Pray about everything. No notes required.
Now Jesus was praying in a certain place, and when he finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.” – Luke 11:1
I am different, I am realizing.
Different in an unwelcome bold and unafraid way, initially a surprise and now, after thinking, a sort of okay, yes, good, okay, acknowledgement of better way for me.
This world is not my home.