Prayer for grandmothers

Father, I am no longer reaping. I am gleaning. Ruth asked permission to pick up what the harvesters dropped, and that has been the shape of my prayer life for a long time now. Gleaning is honest work. It feeds the household. It keeps the dignity. Ruth did not apologize for being at the edge of the field with a basket. She was working in faith and was met by Boaz. My gleaning at this age is small. A verse this morning. A short walk before the heat. A phone call to my middle daughter. The note to the woman in the apartment downstairs. None of it is the wide harvest I used to bring in when the kids were home and the house was busy. The portions are smaller. They are also enough. Lord, send me to the field again today with the small basket. Let me notice what the harvesters have dropped — the unanswered card, the missed visit, the friend who is not on anyone's list. Let me pick those up and bring them home to You. Send Boaz to meet me at the corner of the field, the way You always have. Amen.