The trucker's prayer

The cashier pulled my attention back, but by the time I had paid for the pizza, the man had gone. From across the room, Scott mouthed an, "it's ok" and we worked our way out of the truck stop.

How amazingly odd...... bold, really. I was touched, and to think it is the second time this week I have been privileged to see it.

C approached us two mornings ago and asked, "Can I give dad a prayer?" It was a humble, singsong prayer filled with, "........Jeshush loves me, bless that A will let me in his room, please bless dad............ Amen." and she skipped out of the room. It was simple, pure and leveled us to tears.

So, this stranger passes Scott, stops and says, "Liver?" Yes. I am waiting for a transplant. "Oh, you need a prayer." He holds Scott's arm, gives an earnest, humble prayer, bears his testimony of Jesus Christ, and walks away.

Wow.

I believe in God. I believe in Jesus Christ. I believe in The Resurrection; in grace through The Atonement. I even pray for strangers. (Well, bikers mostly........ although, it doesn't seem very charitable to be praying for them to donate their organs should they die.) But, I'm not sure that I will ever have the kahunas to grab a stranger and pray openly. I should, at least, be inwardly praying for them; sending faith out on their behalf.

I guess what really made these prayers impactful is that they were shared. I wonder, what is wrong with me that I would be afraid to pray and bear my testimony? Especially after having been sustained and supported by God, and the faith and prayers of so many other people, is it that hard? Really, if a child can do it........

Anyway, we are home; kids are with the cousins; church is at 2:00; no imminent worries........ I am going to have to find a pair of runless nylons, and strangle myself into them. That, in itself, could warrant a trucker's prayer.