My mother had a paper taped to the fridge where she wrote down people she was praying for. Some were family, some were neighbors, some were people from church I barely knew. The paper got old and curled at the corners, but she kept adding names.
After she passed, I found three more lists in a drawer. Same handwriting. Same little notes. “Cancer,” “lost job,” “son in trouble,” “needs strength.” It made me cry because I realized how much she carried for everybody and never said a word.
This hex is for her, for the faith she lived out in small ways, and for all the names she refused to forget.