To Whomever You Pray
Three Mondays ago, I had a few minutes to spare before a noon appointment. I was in Santa Ana, California, and I knew there was a botánica in the vicinity. If you’ve never been to a botánica, it’s a Latino shaman shop—a place to get everything from candles, saint statues, incense, spells, or a curse lifted.
Our Lady of Guadalupe—the version of the Virgin Mary I grew up with—had been calling me. She calls me now and then, and I to her, and I ask for her the same thing: to always protect my family. The shop I visited was coincidentally called Our Lady of Guadalupe. The shop owner, an older Cubano, handed me a candle from his vast collection of velas behind the counter. He said it would last me a year, and he wished me good luck.
Later that afternoon, I received a message from one of my dear friends that his wife had passed away. She was a mother of two sons. Fast forward to the memorial and the reception afterward, and I was reminded how precious time is—how we both cherish and abuse it, how it passes before we even know it, how it moves on, and how it can stop when we least expect it.
For this, I can only offer a few questions to ask to whomever you pray:
- Am I just in, or out of time?
- Should I relax, or hurry up?
- Is this the end, or just the beginning?
The answer—if there is one—will come, in due time.
Jane Gaffney, in memorium.
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Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash