I was raised to pray for people I can’t help. A lady on the bus yesterday was having some kind of episode, ranting, yelling at her daughter. Her poor daughter, about 20, was in turns trying to ignore her and then yell back at her. I prayed silently “God give her peace and let me feel love for her.” I added the last bit because she seemed completely unlovely. What if I was out of my mind and found no mercy?
Another woman, an angel, tried talking to the crazy woman: “I like your shoes. Where did you get them?” The woman was too far gone to answer the question. She said “That’s my daughter. She’s going to turn me in. The bitch!” The angel said “She’s pretty.” The disturbed lady didn’t respond directly to anything the angel said but the two kept having a disjointed conversation. The crazy woman said “Matt bought me crayons for anxiety.” And “Replace your frying pan.” The angel made soothing, agreeable sounds. If this angel isn’t a detox nurse, she has surely missed her calling.
All I do is offer a feeble prayer; I’m too timid to interact
Matt, I hope you bought her the 64 count box; such a royal array of colors.