For the Russian whose language I will never understand, the Chinatown that has food I don’t think I could eat, the man who bows five times a day in prayer, outside the bus on a mat; for the way I seem to others with my pierced ears and down vests, I pray. Let me appreciate how other I am to others in order that I may be surprised by friendship across boundaries. Amen.
— Donna Schaper in Prayers for People Who Say They Can't Pray