Brother Prayers

I have not stopped giving thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers.

—Ephesians 1:16

One year for Todd’s birthday at the lake, my parents hosted dinner, but I cooked. I made turkey burgers and Mexican-grilled corn and watermelon feta salad. I made blueberry crisp, oats and pecans scattered all over the counter. I worked silently, let phone calls go to voice mail, ignored my to-do list. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t multitasking. I wasn’t watching the baby while getting Henry a bowl of cereal, or trying to write a few more sentences before Mac woke up from his nap. I wasn’t rushing anywhere, wasn’t packing or unpacking a cooler or a tote bag or a suitcase or a diaper bag. I was only there, and I was the only one there.

All the chopping and measuring and stirring felt like a sacred act, and I found myself praying for my brother as I cooked, thinking about his life, his year to come. I prayed for every part of his life—for his health and safety, for his friendships, for his dreams and fears. I prayed for what the year might hold, and I thanked God for him, for the gift that it is to be his sister.