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.