They Are a Hundred Miles Away- but Prayers Don’t Worry About That
Today, a very kind older gentleman gave me a book entitled Prayers for Your Children by James Banks. He had kept it in his car for the past five months — it’s been that long since I last visited the local coffee shop where I met him. The last time we spoke, we talked about our children, and he felt inspired to share this book with me for my son.
He was clearly a religious man. And even though I no longer identify with a religion, I didn’t mind him giving me a book on prayers. I continue to pray myself, especially for my son. I do believe in prayers. Because somehow, my “prayers” have been answered, and usually in far better ways than I am able to conceive.
Who do I pray to? I still don’t really know. It is not a person… or a personality… at least that has not been my experience. But I’m quite certain the God this gentleman prays to is essentially the same as the peace I have begun to know in my heart — the same vastness as the infinite sky, and the same wind that perfuses all of life.
When he approached me today, I was on the final leg of completing an application form I had labored over for the past week. One challenge after another — a 28-page form that seemed easy at first had turned out to be so difficult. It was the kind of experience that unleashed my self-doubts. Am I supposed to be doing this? Can I really? I must be crazy.
Doubt. Fear. Worry. These are so uncomfortable to wear — like invisible jackets that wrap you in a limiting cocoon. I didn’t even know I had them on, until now, when he politely handed me the book. He said he didn’t want to disturb me. That he had just come to pick up his coffee, and was glad he could finally give me the book that had sat in his car for months. A well of emotions stirred as I received it in my hands.
He walked away, and I opened the book to where he had inserted a note. The note said:
“I have two sons, and five grandchildren… they are a hundred miles away, but prayers don’t worry about that.”
But prayers don’t worry about that...
I repeated the words in my head — But prayers don’t worry about that... — as if they were really important, as if they wanted to be understood.
In the next few minutes, I was able to complete the form that had been my battleground for days. I hit the “send” button, knowing that submission may have just propelled my life in an amazing direction.
The icy exterior around me melted, and tears gently flowed. My body started to soften, as if it was safe to breathe once again.
Lightness returned, and everything seemed brighter. The doubts and fears fell aside, and all the lofty dreams and all the exciting uncertainties came back as my fast friends.
I re-read his note:
“God bless you, and God bless your son. With respect, sincerely, Rod.”
His every word did feel like blessings, shaped with respect and sincerity just as he stated. He might have thought it was a five-month delay, but the book reached me exactly when I needed it.
Today.
In this moment of calm, I remember Rod. And I imagine him and his family — joyful, thriving, and together. It is my version of a prayer. I seal my blessing with gratitude and send it his way, with no doubt that it will reach him. Even if he is miles away.
Because prayers don’t worry about that.