Each morning that I’m gifted with a new day of life, I jump start my day with a moment of silence, reflection and prayer — just before I settle into my daily routine of drop-offs, pick-ups, and drive-by errands. As a woman and mother, I find myself praying for the well being of others. I pray for my son’s protection, health, focus and ability to maneuver through life’s bullshit; often delivered by manipulative teenagers who are bored with insecurity and self doubt.
My prayer for my mother, father and my Bae, is that their mind, body and spirit is armed with the presence of the Lord, and their immune systems are armored with heavy duty resistance. I extend the same spiritual security for my sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, and BFFs, and pray that their challenges result in victories.
The other morning, I had a revelation… a moment of clarity, yet confusion. With all of my heavy duty prayers and meditation, I never include myself. I discovered this realization after my body was weak and discombobulated, and one of my BFFs informed me that she prayed for me. I paused with appreciation and a simultaneous epiphany. I thought, “Even through my weakness, I didn’t think to pray for my well being”. I was angry at myself, but gracious that someone that I’ve prayed for has done the same for me. A void of loss hovered over me, as I began to realize that I had lost a piece of myself, because as a woman I’ve instinctively focused on everyone else but myself.
In a sense, I’m ashamed that it took me this long to realize the love I project outward to my loved ones, ricochets back full circle to me. The same people that I pray for, in turn sends the prayers back to me.
I vow to promise to take time to remember myself in my daily prayers. However, when I begin to slack off in the midst of being a loving woman, and forget that I exist; I’ll thankfully remind myself about the army of praying hands hovering over me, picking up the baton that I’ve left behind.