Cover Me

Fingers let go of a tray long enough to brush a shoulder.

Pray for me?

She turns startled from her dinner conversation, the laughing joking noise, at this touch that is groping for a lifeline to hang onto.

What did you say?

Pray for me.

There is no time to explain; paths cross for only an instant here, then diverge. But it is okay that way, okay when you have fought many battles before together.

What's up?

You'll see.

The two are swept apart in the wave of action, anchored by the thin invisible unbreakable cord of prayer in an ocean of memories and uncertain future.

The request for prayer is a quiet admission of humility. Of trust.

I'm going in/So cover me...
I've always been strong/Can't make this happen

[Breathe You In, TFK]

And the prayers offered up in a loud, crazy dining hall reached the King of the Universe and He cupped His hand around His broken children and healed.

And it was good.


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