Like a prayer

My mother's devout religiousness both makes her proud and humbles her all at the same time. She is a genuine servant of her faith who belies her age with how ardently she strives to become a better person.

Because her faith is such a source of comfort, she regularly incants God, the Angels, Archangels, and Saints, as if they were just wise members of an extended family. This causes her to speak in little prayers throughout the day; seeking counsel and strength in no special parlance.

Early this morning, we were driving through the neighborhoods of my hometown. (Mom—not so secretly—enjoys driving dangerously close to the banks of leaves piled on the side of the suburban backroads.) She leaned into the steering wheel and began wringing it as she does when her thoughts are occupied with anxiety. She looked up through the top of the windshield and, in a loud enough voice to get his attention, continued her conversation with God, saying:

"Ok, God... [sigh]... thank you very much for this day.... Please don't let me screw it up."