When my mother died (March 30, 1998), as part of my grieving process I wrote a series of vignettes about her. The common theme was what I had learned from her. When my father died (July 3, 2003) I reflected much on the same topic. I was blessed with two wonderful role models. I plan to post some of those reflections from time to time. What follows is the first piece I wrote about Mom.
From Momma I Learned to Pray
In between my fifth and sixth birth dates is one of my favorite years, the year I learned to pray. We had moved to a small house in the suburbs. Darlene was a newborn; Shirley and Jimmy were in school. I had mom almost to myself. After a regular breakfast of grits, eggs, and bacon, Jimmy and Shirley left for school. It was then that Momma prayed. She always knelt next to the small table on which the telephone sat near the kerosene heater in the hall. Sitting on the floor near her morning after morning I came to know the routine well as I waited for her to finish so I could watch TV. She would open her big old Bible and read briefly. Then she would lay the Bible open on the small table and begin talking to God. At first it was as if she was straining to make a connection to be heard by someone too busy or distracted to help her. She would ask for His help in understanding the Bible, in teaching Sunday school, and being a good wife and mother. "Oh, God help me raise my children for you. I don’t know how but you can help me. Help them to grow up and serve you, to be soul winners.” About that time her prayers became fervent pleas. She would earnestly beg for the salvation of her loved ones. “Oh, God save my daddy, don’t let him die and go to hell. He’s a good man, a good father. He needs you. Father, save Clyde, .. J.D…, J.W…, Buddy.” As she named lost loved ones there was a building intensity in her voice. “Lord, save Ellis, he’s a good husband and father. He needs you. Keep him safe on those highways. Dell let him die without knowing you.”
As her intensity grew so did my expectation. The Lord was about to enter the hallway. I knew when He came; Momma’s countenance and voice were transformed. No longer was she straining, grasping for an audience. In an instant her voice was mellow, her posture relaxed, and her face radiated love, joy and peace in His presence. So pronounced was the change in her I knew without a doubt he had just walked into the room. My head would pop up as I scanned the hallway for a glimpse of Him. I never did see Him or hear His side of their conversation, but never have I doubted my Momma talked with God not just to Him.
Now her prayers shifted in and out of the languages I did not know. They were conversational in nature, laced with silence as if she was talking on the telephone to her dearest friend and I was only hearing her end of the phone call. Her heart exposed, she drifted from plaintiff argument, to unknown tongues, to acknowledge agreement, to sobs of desire for His will. Then she would present her petitions again as if she were now laying them down at his feet and to the first set was added every need she could remember: church members, the pastor and his family, missionaries, those in authority, neighbors, strangers, friends, anybody and everybody. It was during this listing I lost interest and hungered for her to stop so I could watch television. The excitement was over anyway and I hadn’t seen or heard God, maybe tomorrow. On a good morning she would finish in time for me to see a few minutes of Captain Kangaroo. Usually, however, it was somewhere in the middle of I Love Lucy. But neither was it unknown for her morning prayers to stretch out to lunch time and even beyond. I draw encouragement from the certainty that Momma is now in the presence of God continuing her conversation and that from time to time she earnestly calls my name before Him.
No comments:
Post a Comment