A Sixth Prayer

I have been praying faithfully lately, and I have even been adding a sixth prayer each day.  When I am irritated, stressed, bored, or just distracted, I take a few moments and I pray. I begin by thanking God for the experiences I have had, the amazing opportunities I have enjoyed around the world working in humble conditions, working with nothing but my hands and my heart. If my life ended today, I would be proud of the work I have done, but I can do so much, much more.  That is what I pray for, not only the chance to continue this work, but to do so with great focus and singular vision.  To date, it has been sporadic and often serendipitous.  I want to hone my energies, minimize my distractions, marshal all my strength to this effect.  I pray for the strength to conquer my selfishness, my anger when challenged, the rewards my ego longs for, and most of all, the vanity I cloaked as selfless love.  I pray that God helps me put these things aside, that he helps me find the right opportunities to re-engage my heart and hands, that he gives me time to make a lasting impact somewhere, somewhere other men have no interest to go.  Maybe it will be that small open air classroom where a few blind students patiently taught me how to punch Braille cards in Zanzibar, or the Muslim orphanage west of Dar es Salaam where a group of young children serenaded me with sweet, shy songs; maybe it will be another dry, dirty refugee camp, where the kids will pester me late into the night to play music, teach them English, or just play with my western hair, whatever is left of it; perhaps it will be another Islamic school that needs help, or just one lone frightened girl lost in another language far from home.  This is my prayer, one that I would have never recognized a quarter century ago, maybe even a few years ago.  Finally, I pray that the people who know me, who care for me, who love me, understand.  Simple man, simple prayer.