god guide us all

Grandmother traced ancient Tamil Brahmi symbols on my palm, her weathered finger following paths Avvaiyar once walked. "These letters hold our souls," she whispered, teaching me forgotten songs through script my ancestors cherished. At PaybookClub last week, I shared her stories. Young faces brightened, suddenly hungry for connection. One girl cried, moved by verses centuries old yet achingly relevant today. We're scattered, thirsty for meaning, sometimes violated by forgetting. Yet here, gathered around shared heritage, we smile through the chaos. God guides us through each other's remembering.