Looking Up

This morning, I hugged the healthy daughters I prayed I would have.

I kissed the wife I prayed I would marry.

I locked the house I prayed I could own.

I got into the car I prayed I could afford.

I drove to the job I prayed I would get.

I had lunch in the city I prayed I would live.

And I talked to a friend I prayed would stay in my life.

Later on, I hurried to the softball field to work with the kids I prayed I could help.

My parents—who I prayed would still be with me—showed up at the game.

And I smiled as they cheered on their granddaughter who I prayed would hit the ball.

That night, I returned to the home I prayed I could own.

I hugged the healthy daughters I prayed I would have.

I kissed the wife I prayed I would marry.

And as my head grew heavy on my pillow,  I remember thinking, “If only God would make me rich.”

Sometimes our eyes are open, but we don’t see.