Who do you ask to pray?

I will never not ask him to pray if given the opportunity.  He hesitates now, I can see it in the way he looks around the room, waiting for someone else to take the lead, but no one does because he is our dad and we know the day will come when he won't be there  to offer words of hope, of guidance, of thanks...a reminder of all that's good, of our childhood spent in those pews as he often lead communion, of a time when he stood next to Gran just two days after our house burned and wept in thanks to the people who had lifted us up in more ways than we could count.  His voice brings  me calm, it gives me strength even as I can see him failing with age, and it lets me breathe after a day spent in preparation for a meal and fellowship with family and friends.  In those few moments, with our heads bowed,  I am his child, and not a child at all...a child of God seeking to be heard, yet wanting often to drift into the shadows and simply watch the moments unfold around me...a soul searching for meaning in a world that seems more lost than I feel...a girl who still seeks the unconditional love of a father who gives it always without reservation.  And as I hear "in Jesus' name" I am brought back to life, re-awoken from a moment of respite where I've given myself over to the stillness and allowed myself the gift of receiving on days when giving is what is asked of me.  These days are too few, yet we do not ask for more.  The moments we find ourselves gathered in a shared space, seeking solace in the arms extended with grace only a lifetime shared by family can provide.  It is there I find myself amongst the cracks and exhaustion, hoping to give him something to return home with...a sense of peace, of knowing he is loved in the chaos and dismissal that seems to come with holidays.  I will never not ask him to pray...to bless the day...to bless his children...to bless our families with his unwavering faith and steadfast grace.