Courtesy of Cathe Laurie For a number of years, my devout mother prayed for my sisters and me. She often sat us down on her bed and tried her best to reach our hearts with words that, honestly, went in one ear and out the other. This proved to be a great test of her faith. Time after time, I mechanically nodded in outward agreement while staring blankly out the window, wishing it would end. I learned not to disagree or raise an objection, only because it would have prolonged what my teenaged brain considered to be “torture.” I was utterly disinterested in what she was saying.