I hold my hands together clasped in prayer and I’m not sure anymore what I ask for or who even hears. But I was raised on miracles and we would count them out on our fingertips when we retold the stories. We hoped in the retelling we would get passed a little grace. Auntie got a miracle baby. Joey got cured of cancer. Mama lived out
her days without worrying about keeping a man around. 1.2.3. All I want is a little hope and a whole lot of peace. I worry that is too vague of a request, but it is hard to know what to ask for in these times. So instead I ask for grace — give us refinement, give us any kind of movement. I pray we can keep counting out the miracles on our fingertips, so we can keep reciting the things that keep us alive. What’s going to be the fourth? What’s going to be the fifth?