I woke up this morning thinking about Tricia, who is in surgery right now to determine if her lump is cancerous. I’ve never met Tricia, but the weird thing about this Momastery place is that if you hang around long enough, you end up caring a whole lot about the other Monkees. A whole lot. Consider yourself warned. So for a good twenty minutes I laid in bed and worried about Tricia and her husband and her two little boys and her baby girl who always wears these big beautiful bows on her teeny little head. Each of the big bows sings “My mommy loves me thiiiiiiiiiisss much.” Anyway, I just laid there and wondered what to do about all that.
I want us to take care of each other here. In fifty years I want 60 Minutes to do a show about us Monkees. We will be old and hunched over and gray and gorgeous and we will have hot pink canes, tattoos, and God willing, better bangs by then. The reporter will describe us as a group of little old ladies who met on the internet, encouraged one other each day, and laughed and cried their way through life together. A group of ladies who made a difference for each other, and for the world. The reporter will end our segment by announcing that the Monkees agreed with whoever it was who said, “What are we here for, if not to lighten each other’s loads?”
I read a post of Tricia’s the other day about how people are always saying they’re praying for her and her lump, but sometimes she gets suspicious. I understood what she meant. Sometimes you’re in my prayers just feels like something we say, doesn’t it? Well, I want to be sure of my prayers today. I want to pray big for Tricia, and I want her to know it.
So today, I’m going to hitch my prayers to actions. Specifically, I’m going to do some Random Acts of Kindness, some loving things I wouldn’t normally take the time to do, and I’m going to dedicate them to Tricia. In short: God’s gonna give me some nice things to do today, and I’m gonna do them, and then I’m gonna say:
Kay, God. That was my prayer for Tricia. Signed, Sealed, Delivered. Help her, please.
I think all the love we offer makes its way to our intended, even if it’s initially given to a stranger. Sometimes when the kids and I are sitting out on the dock with our feet in the water, we see a boat way off in the distance. And a long time later, just when we’ve forgotten all about that boat, these little teeny waves lick our toes. I think maybe prayers and kindness work like that. Like little waves.
If you are a Monkee in need of your own RAK day, please let me know. We’ll dedicate a whole day to you. We’ll pay for a stranger’s coffee, smile at a frowny lady, offer somebody the benefit of the doubt, or maybe even be kinder to ourselves than necessary, all on your behalf.
And God will look down at us and say:“WELL, WELL, WELL. WHO is responsible for all of this extra love today?”
And we will point at you and say: “SHE is. Help her, please.”
And He will. HE WILL. He’ll make sure our waves find their way to your toes.
I love you Monkees. Especially you today, Tricia. I’m gonna love hard for you, sister.
Author of the New York Times Bestselling Memoir CARRY ON, WARRIOR
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