[ WP ] God answers all of your prayers , and only your prayers . God is also kind of a dick with a matching sense of humor .

When I was a child, my mother put me to bed every night with a prayer. We'd close our eyes and clasp our hands together and ask God to bless us and protect us from harm. 
 
 When the storm blew through our town, taking out every house on the block but ours, she claimed it was a miracle. The hand of God had spared us, striking down our wicked neighbors and leaving the virtuous untouched. 
 
 Every night we would pray for our blessings, pray for protection, but never for wealth. Never personal gain. Mother warned me against that. 
 
 Once, I asked her about it. I had seen a movie and I saw a young woman praying for beauty, fame and wealth. 
 
 `` It's sinful,'' she'd say `` It t'ai n't our place to ask God to provide. He provides for those who provide for themselves.'' She was already looking drawn then, the beginnings of her illness just starting to show. 
 
 Two years later, she was in the hospital. Her body was wasted away and every breath was a struggle, but her mind was alert. Sher still looked at me with love and devotion as she clasped my hand in hers and we recited our prayers. The rosary beads slowly sliding between our fingers as we said the `` Our Father''. 
 
 The last day we prayed, her hands twitched involuntarily and she gasped in pain, sending the simple wooden beads tumbling to the floor. 
 
 I've heard it said mourn not for those who are dying, but for ourselves and the empty space that they leave behind. 
 
 Perhaps it was selfish, but that night at her bedside as she lay fast asleep I prayed. I prostrated myself, fingering the rosary mindlessly as I asked God to spare her, to not take away my mother. 
 
 Every day I visited my mother once at noon and once after dinner. My old bones creak with the weight of the years as I slowly shuffle from my room, down the hallway to take her ancient hand in mine. 
 
 Not once, since that fateful day has she woken up. Not once has she held my hand back. Not once have we prayed together. Not once have I prayed since. 
 
 She'd always warned me it was a sin, and our sins always come back to haunt us. Sometimes though, sometimes our sins never leave to begin with.
