The prayers that shape lives are often the ones no one hears.
In those days, the children and grandchildren of Gitithia would visit their elderly parents and grandparents with joy in their hearts. The visits were not mere obligations but cherished moments where the old and the young connected, sharing stories, laughter, and the fruits of their labor. Unlike the present generation, who often demand prayers from their parents as if it were a transaction, the older generation knew better. They understood that there were two kinds of prayers: the mouthy ones, spoken out loud for all to hear, and the hearty ones, whispered in the quiet moments of life. It was the latter—the hearty prayers—that held true power, for they were not just words but the very essence of the elders' wishes for their loved ones.
The old parents of Gitithia had a way of speaking to themselves like someone with audio and visual hallucinations, a habit that had been passed down through the ages. They would murmur as they tended their fields, as they cooked in their smoky kitchens, as they rested outside their mud or mihirigo houses, and as they walked the familiar paths of the village. These murmurs were not medical conditions or idle chatter; they were the hearty prayers, uttered with a sincerity that only the aged could master.
These hearty prayers carried the weight of destiny, and they had two paths: one led to Canaan, a place of prosperity and peace, and the other to weru-ini, a desolate and barren land. The direction of the prayer depended entirely on how the children treated their elders. Those who treated them with kindness, providing for them and showing them respect, found that the springs of life gushed forth from the elders' hearts. These springs nourished their lives, bringing them success, health, and happiness. But for those who were neglectful or mean, the elders' hearts became like macatha wells—bitter, dry, empty, and cursed. The blessings turned into misfortune, and their lives became a barren wasteland.
The old parents of Gitithia were not selfish with what they received. Whenever their children brought them food, clothing, or other gifts, they would share these with their agemates. It was a silent but powerful gesture, a way of showing that they were loved and cared for. Each family in the village knew who was close to their old people, for it was evident in the way the elders shared with others. When children, grandchildren and relatives came empty-handed, the elders’ agemates knew it too, for there was nothing to pass on.
And so, the cycle of blessings continued, shaped by the hearts of the elders and the actions of their children. In Gitithia, the old understood that true blessings were not in the prayers one heard but in the prayers that were never spoken—the hearty prayers that sprang from love, kindness, and respect. These were the prayers that could define a life, blessing it with the abundance of Canaan or cursing it to the barrenness of weru-ini. The choice was always in the hands of the children, and the wise ones knew to choose well.
