She sought us out Sunday morning before the service started.

Hugged us with genuine affection and greeted each one of my children by name.

She was excited – legitimately excited – to see our faces.

She told us Tuesday.  Tuesday was the day she prayed for us each – by name.

Who knew that would matter so much?

And that it would, of course, remind me of my mother.

My mother, who also had a written down list of people for whom she prayed.  My mother, who drove to her job as a nurse at an assisted living facility and prayed down that list as she drove.  Name by name of real people whom she loved.

That’s a treasure, right?

To be named.  To be prayed for.  To be loved.