Sam and I had some time to ourselves this evening. It was movie night at the school, which basically involved all the females of our house. So it was guy time. The place to go with a 2-year-old boy and nothing better to do? McDonald’s.
We ordered a happy meal. I’d had my eye on the guy delivering the food from the kitchen to the front counter. His tag said his name was Michael, the manager. So when he carefully packaged up the McNuggets, apples and random toy, handing it to me, I pulled him to the side.
“Can I pray for you?” I asked. He was probably 20 years old. He smiled, a bit uncomfortably, and said grudgingly that I could. When I told him I wanted to do it there on the spot, he squirmed a little more but didn’t flat-out say no. So I took that as a yes, and prayed that God would bless him as he led his team that night. He thanked me, and I grabbed Sam’s hand. (He’d been trying to do chin-ups at the counter during this time, trying to see over the top.)
We headed for the car with our happy meal box.
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