A liturgy for the unknown who watch over me.
I am here again, irritated and impatient in this foreign land.
You know my thoughts:
Stop staring at me!
They’re probably cheating me.
I feel like I’m just being used.
Breathe in.
“You are always with me.”
Breathe out.
“You surround me with Your love.”
Be with me as I pause to confess my troubled thoughts
and ask You to change my heart.
[personal confession]
Throughout Your Story, when Your people were foreigners among the nations,
You cared for them,
provided for them,
and protected them.
In faith, I declare You are doing the same for me through the people I encounter each day.
Open my eyes to see the helpers You have provided;
give me words to bless them.
Bless the doting grandmother who greets me on market days.
Eagerly, she points out the best produce and cuts of meat.
Protectively, she checks my layers of clothing and the price I pay for goods.
She cares that I am treated as a member of her community.
Bless the old man I pass along the way,
who picks up trash that others have tossed aside.
His feet walk on soil far from his hometown just as mine do.
He reaches out for a connection, making us both feel at home.
Bless the bus stop attendant who looks out for me with a watchful eye.
She strikes up a conversation though I do not understand well.
With time, my language confidence builds
and her hospitality feels like “belonging.”
Bless the middle-aged man who guards the gate where I live or work.
Like him, I can feel overlooked and merely used.
Our daily wordless greetings show us
that we are recognized as more than what we do.
Bless the middle-aged woman who cleans my rooms
and learns to prepare my favorite foods.
She informs me about local culture,
and her common labors make this apartment a “home.”
Bless all the Unknown people who merge onto my path each day,
helpers, whose hospitality You’ve put into my life in this foreign land.
They make me feel less like a foreigner
and remind me that I am known to them
and to You.
Amen
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