We sit, and there’s a lull. Dallas meets my eyes from across the table. Gram smacks him on the arm, and he says, “Oh, right. Sorry.” He folds his hands and closes his eyes. Is he going to pray? “Lord, thank you for—” he is, and I quickly close my eyes— “this meal and this company. Thank you for Gram, and I pray that you convict her about her poor interpersonal skills.” I hear another smack. “I ask that you bless this food, and bless the hands that made it.” Are famous people’s prayers on a fast track to God’s ears? If so, I’ll take it, Lord. “Bless our time and conversation, and,” he slightly
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