Some days my friend Andrea comes late to class. OK, most days. Almost every day. Being on time is not a big deal in this culture and for her it is almost an impossibility. She may be late, but she is conscientious about studying. A few weeks ago she missed the first hour and a half of class, but asked me to catch her up after everyone else left. I was happy to, except that meant that lunch got moved from 2:00 until almost four. By then Rachel had given up on us and made soup and tortillas to feed us while we worked.
Rachel asked me to pray, so I did, thanking God for helping us learn to read and for taking care of us. I ended with the typical, “just like that…that’s it” and then started to pick up my spoon. Andrea said, “I will
say something to God, too.”
“Dad God, here I am talking to you. Thank you that Rachel is bringing me this plate of food. Actually, it is from you because you give us good things. I would ask that you would give us luck in school. Make us smart. Make us work hard. Make us pay close attention to be able to read what you said. That’s it…that’s all.”
Listening to her speak casually to her father, a God she used to believe women couldn’t talk to, warmed me up more than hot soup on a cold day and was more satisfying than a good lunch after a long wait. Thank you, indeed, Dad God for giving us good things.