On Warnings and Blessings

My fervent aunt sends me a prayer this morning that I'm to read and pass on to 8 people, and then God will bless me...tomorrow. If I don't read and pass it on, the implication is, I will not be blessed. Or at least, will not be blessed in a special way tomorrow. I read it; it's a variation on the Lord's Prayer, with some bizarre language added in. I think as I read it that I really have no idea how to pray--that I always feel self-conscious if I try, as if the High Holy requires of us particular syntax and form, in 21st-century American English. My priest says she prays when she's doing the laundry, and I get confused, because I'm a single mother, too, and I know that laundry time isn't exactly an occasion for the meditative mind I assume prayer requires. But then, she's the professional.

In the days and weeks immediately post-9/11 there were email rumors circulating--some of them allegedly originating from the alleged daughter of some alleged bigwig in the government or military--saying that in-the-know people were getting out of New York before a certain time on a certain day the following week because they'd been able to confirm that another major attack was coming. Subway attacks. Bridge attacks. I read one of those, was alarmed, and sent it to a friend in Manhattan, who responded by blasting me, rightly enough. "Inger, what on earth do you really expect me to do with this?"

When US soldiers invaded Iraq there were plenty of fascinating emails flying around. Political commentary, notes from soldiers, notes from soldiers' families. I circulated those to a small group of friends and family--people who'd been active with me in pre-election conversations, and people whose politics I knew were in the same place as mine. One day, one of those people wrote back to me and said, "Until the soldiers come home and can speak for themselves, I don't really want to hear any more about the war." She was the chair of the local Democratic party. I was flabbergasted. I blasted her. "Are you kidding me?" I asked. Things have been considerably less warm since then.

I don't forward emails anymore, not that I ever did in volume. Not jokes, not anthrax warnings, not prayers, not politics. That's what blogs are for. So friends, if I were the praying sort I would do so today for you, and wish you many blessings, tomorrow.

As it is, simple friendship will have to do.