Lessons, Learned and

It wasn’t the best of times.

In a way, it could be called the worst of times.

There was a war, and there was a depression.

And there still were no cures for many illnesses.

We lived in a neighborhood not called Main Street, USA, but named Hell’s Kitchen for a reason.

However, it was the place where we were taught to pray.

And that lesson lingered throughout our lifetimes.

Many of us had prayer books, not devices nor cell phones, and we never learned to text.

Although I suppose the prayers we said nightly could be described as a text to the God we had leearned about early in life.

And as we aged, the prayer books began to fall apart.

Mine is currently almost threadbare, yet it still serves the purpose.

Aunt Helen always made certain I had a new copy of the little black book I use nightly when I prepare for sleep.

I still had several of them when she died twenty years ago, and vaguely wondered then if they would survive as long as I did.

This is the last one I own, and it is aging rapidly. I think of Aunt Helen nightly as I open the weathered black cover, and if thoughts are truly prayers, she has mine daily.

The book really doesn't matter, I suppose. I know the prayers by heart, yet it is an ingrained habit to read the words as I lift my heart and mind and pray.

I have prayed for many things throughout the years I have opened this book. I prayed for those no longer here; I prayed for help with family health and safety. And yes, there were times when I prayed for assistance in relationships and I remember asking for a possible miracle. Many, if not all of my prayers were answered, but that one wasn’t.

My prayers now are for the young ones; the elders are comfortable in God’s care, and yes I still pray for one reconciliation. That may or may not be, but I will continue asking for a final miracle.

I learned to pray early in life, and now late in life, It is no longer a habit or a requirement, but a nightly comfort.

No it wasn’t the best of times, and yet, most of us learned wonderful lessons that lingered on the road we journeyed, and found comfort in what we had been taught.

I wonder what lessons we will leave behind that will provide comfort to those who remain. I don’t believe texting will do that.