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.