From a distance, the gas station appeared empty. It wasn't one I normally frequent, but I was drawn to it by the simple fact it was open. On Sunday nights, sometimes I worry about that. But there was a clerk there, and when I jumped out of my car to go inside, I discovered there was a customer, too.
She was leaning against the front counter, going over what I thought at first was a lottery ticket. The woman, about 40, was wearing a black leather jacket and a Santa's hat. 'Tis the season. But when I walked up to the counter, the woman backed away, letting me through. It wasn't a lottery ticket after all, just a bunch of numbers scrawled on a piece of paper. A credit card number? A phone number?
So I really had no idea what was going on there. The woman continued to study her paper while I paid the $1.06 for a bag of M&Ms. I looked at the clerk when he handed me my change. He was about 50 years old with a beard.
"Can I pray for you?" I asked. I tapped the woman on the shoulder -- "And for you, too?"
This brought a different light to the scenario. The clerk said yes, and the woman turned to me and smiled a frustrated smile. "Sure," she said, "I can take all the prayers I can get. I can't even read my own handwriting." I decided in the end it was a credit card number, and that she probably was staying at one of the nearby hotels. I have no idea, of course, whether I'm right.
But I did pray for them both, that they would have a blessed evening.
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