Pray before eating

2 0 0
                                    

In the year 2012, in a quiet, bustling town, there lived a boy named Alex. Each morning, just as the first light of dawn began to filter through the curtains of their modest home, Alex prepared for school. His mother, a woman of deep faith, never let him leave without saying a prayer. Standing by the door, with her hands gently resting on his shoulders, she would bow her head and recite the familiar words, *"Our Father who art in Heaven..."* and together, they would end with a solemn, *"Amen."* Only then would Alex step out into the world, carrying his faith as a quiet shield.

As he boarded the school bus, clutching his lunch bag, he could always feel his mother's presence with him—her love woven into the bread of his sandwich, her care tucked beside the small cluster of grapes and juice box she packed with tenderness each morning. She had always taught him to offer thanks before his meals, and even at school, among the jeers and whispers of classmates, Alex held firm to that practice.

Lunchtime would come, and as the other children laughed and played, Alex would quietly bow his head over his food. Amidst the chaos of the cafeteria, he would whisper, *"Jesus, thank you for my food, may your blood cleanse it, in Jesus' name, Amen."*

Some of the other boys would snicker, nudging one another as they mocked his ritual, but Alex never wavered. His mother had taught him that faith was not for others to understand but for him to hold close. And so, he prayed, day after day, knowing that those simple words—words of gratitude and faith—were as vital to him as the food they blessed.

Though the other children might not have seen it, Alex knew there was strength in his quiet prayers, a strength that came from the love and devotion of a mother who had taught him to honor both his God and himself. And so, each day, as he left his home with his mother's prayer still lingering in his heart, Alex carried on, steadfast in the small rituals that shaped his world.

In the days following his steadfast prayers, young Alex continued to carry his faith like a shield. Yet, unbeknownst to him, not all appreciated his quiet devotion. His teacher, Miss Annie, though silent, harbored a growing resentment toward the boy's rituals, seeing them as an affront to the order of her classroom. She bore it for as long as she could until one fateful afternoon when she decided to put her thoughts into action.

On this day, she brought a cake into class, a seemingly kind gesture meant to bring the students joy. She sliced it carefully, giving a piece to each child, even placing a slice in front of Alex. However, Alex had already eaten the meal his mother had lovingly prepared for him. His lunch, complete with a sandwich, grapes, and a juice box, had filled him. Without the space to consume more, he quietly wrapped the cake and tucked it away in his lunch box, as his mother had taught him.

This simple act of restraint angered Miss Annie. She had noticed Alex bowing his head in prayer each time he ate, and now, watching him abstain from the cake while others indulged, her patience wore thin.

"You will eat the cake, just like everyone else!" she yelled, her voice trembling with frustration.

Alex's heart sank. He didn't want to displease his teacher, and though he was full, he could see her anger. Saddened but resolute in his faith, he bowed his head once more, whispering, "Jesus, thank you for this food. Please bless it and bless Miss Annie for making it, and may your blood cleanse it, in Jesus' name, amen."

He took a small bite, just enough to calm his teacher's fury, and placed the rest back into his lunch box.

When Alex returned home that evening, he told his mother about the day's events. As she opened his lunch box to retrieve the cake, a look of horror crossed her face. The cake, once sweet and whole, had turned into a foul, rotting mass, riddled with writhing maggots.

"Did you eat this?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

"Yes," Alex replied, "but when I did, it was still a cake."

His mother breathed deeply and gathered her son into her arms. "It's okay, baby," she reassured him, her voice steady and full of faith. "You prayed, and the Lord has protected you. 'No weapon formed against you shall prosper,' as Isaiah 54:17 says."

That night, mother and son prayed together with fervent hearts, trusting in the divine protection that had shielded Alex from harm.

The next morning, as Alex prepared for school, a call came from the principal's office. His mother answered, listening intently as the voice on the other end explained that Alex would not need to come to class that day. All his classmates had fallen ill during the night, violently vomiting maggots and writhing in agony, their bodies rejecting the cursed cake. They had been rushed to the hospital, but Alex, spared by his faith and prayer, remained unharmed.

His mother thanked the Lord once again for His protection, and they spent the rest of the day in joyful gratitude, sharing an ice cream together—a sweet reminder of the blessings that come to those who trust in God.

Chilling tales for the restless night Where stories live. Discover now