Can you pray for money? Not after you have left Marshall’s four hours after you walked in, when the sun was up and now it’s not and you leave the store with your head down clutching those plastic bags like their filled with necessities when you know good and well that needs wasn’t what you just spent all your money on.
What’s wrong with us that we can’t admit that we’re junkies addicted to the sweet, syrupy taste of gratification, that beast that rides our backs and rips at our skin like the leather straps of slavery that once fortified our march and deepened our faith. Didn’t matter the clothes we had on our backs. joy was sung in whispered worship and stirred in iron pots filled with beans and stew. I think we knew something then that we don’t know now but aren’t we the ones who are free?