THE OBSERVATION BOOTH
OP / ED BY ANDREA DIALECT
“TRUTHFULLY, VANITY CAN’T SAVE A DAMNED SOUL!”
COVERAGE
(Dedicated to Doris Brown)
Neither accident, theft, death, fire, nor dental or medical; nothing of the sort for six rambunctious kids, a spouse, and this woman for a substantial amount of time, yet not even a broken fingernail. Technically speaking, our household hadn’t ever been without coverage, and when my grandmother was alive, there had been two policies in place; both being all-inclusive. My mother has since maintained that same policy. This insurance, of which my immediate family and I are direct beneficiaries of, allows us to breathe easy beyond the burdensome grasp of circumstance.
When things do arise that shake up my peaceful sleuthing, I call my mother, of course, requesting that she up the ante because knowingly her faith is very convincing when I am confronting things outside of my control. Prayers are whispered without hesitation or complaint, and, if need be, shamelessly, she vociferously makes appeal. Banking on my mother’s policy was the norm. A secured interest made inconsistencies guiltless in my liberty to choose. To pray or not to pray!
Until one dreadful night when an agonizing plea for help would awaken me from my slumber. Looking out into the frigid night air from my window, I watched several very dedicated East Orange Police Officers and Firefighters embark upon a rescue effort to free a man trapped in a car that was rapidly becoming a fiery inferno.
As moments passed, I felt removed: I was certain that what I gazed upon was nothing more than the remains of a person who’d gone on when his faint moans once again called for my help. But what could I have done from the restrictive position of the second-story windowsill of a house? While I pondered this, as unmistakably as wolves howl in the dead of night, the ole church mothers’ ceaseless chants could be heard. Prayer had boldly presented itself as an option.
I would pray for that man the best I could. I prayed that upon his departure, on the other side of that threshold, someone remained who, on his behalf, had made moment-to-moment implications upon his exit their normal regimen until his return. I prayed that his mama prayed, or had done so when capable of doing; if not then, then long ago, and that those prayers of the past would show up and hover over his dangling life like a halo: one redeemable at necessity for an entire lifetime.
I prayed that if he had raised children, he was a daddy who taught them the importance of hope and that their nightly dreams created images upon which faith is to be built, producing bedtime prayers that lingered near, whispered only moments ago. I prayed for those below who were at risk, working towards accomplishing a rescue vowed. I prayed for the ability to pray that I might stand in the gap for him.
There in the snow, surrounded by the frigid air and blanketed by pain, the man who lay beneath my window had been totally unaware of my assistance, as I, too, had been unaware and unable to understand the importance of the same deed performed tirelessly by my mother.
Though visible enough, in thought, even my subtle needs called for her help. But when the need presents itself, who will stand for her? Who will be as swift to pause and quick to give utterance, knowing nothing of procrastination, being committed in such ways that not even a single moment is given to idleness? Who is known to be anchored in such tenacity? And when burdens amplify, who will stand for us when she’s gone?
Prayer is a position of permanency, thus, seeking serious inquiries only. One need not apply if prone to a faint heart because our dependency on burrowed prayers will certainly increase. Callused knees covered by raveled socks or worn hosiery, a mouth hasty to plead, infused with a heart swift to pause – potential prospects must welcome these. Such generosity can never be exclusive to birthdays, holidays, or any occasion that one cares to recognize. Nor can it be subject to time constraints, biases, or judgment.
Prayer . . . it is the ultimate gift. Never is it usurped by pre-request in pretty packaging, and it’s of greater value than any suggestive words of sentiment.
Truthfully, vanity can’t save a damned soul. But who dare stand? – Andrea Dialect
DID YA KNOW THAT…
Prayer is an invocation or act that seeks to activate a rapport with an object of worship through deliberate communication. In the narrow sense, the term refers to an act of supplication or intercession directed towards a deity or a deified ancestor. – Wikipedia
Mommy defined…
A mother is the female parent of a child. A woman may be considered a mother by virtue of having given birth, by raising a child who may or may not be her biological offspring, or by supplying her ovum for fertilization in the case of gestational surrogacy. – Wikipedia
QUESTION: WHO GOT YOUR BACK?
The Observation Booth is utilized as a space for Andrea Dialect to stumble through, which aids in life and brand development. It can also be used by readers, subjects, and features to assist or advance our world or their own. It is a peek into one’s world from the outside. It is also for the development of content.
Everything printed here is in draft form; thus, error is welcomed and to be expected. Everything is constantly evolving, is her mantra. Seeing the work in printed format is the initial step and is quite valuable and therapeutic for developing all forms.
Like Everything, Andrea Dialect uses this space as a test lab for test study and a test subject. Here you will also find influencers, professionals, and muses who are considered “clay” who lend their image to change as doing us proud who are contributors to the upward progress of human progress. It is a platform for the growth, inspiration, motivation, and development of herself, her subjects, and her readers. Enjoy!
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