When she said she prayed for you, for me-for us, each and every night before bedtime, she meant it. Truly meant it. In soft whispers and Diositos, she blessed us by name and gave breath to good intentions for better tomorrows for all her babies. No matter how old we were, how big we grew, or how infrequent our visits, in her ojitos, we were all her babies.

And to us, she was our Mustard Seed. Small and tiny. Determined and strong. In the darkest and harshest of conditions, she sprouted to show us the possibilities if we held on to belief and faith. And so, because it was how she made it, she prayed.

When she spoke, she weaved her Spanish and English together so seamlessly that it didn't matter if you understood it all, because you felt her love come through her consejos and stories. Her prayers chased away the susto the world tried to leave with you, and her mixed words became hope rising in the air, like the tendrils of steam from her freshly made tortillas and sopas. When she prayed, god listened.