Sunday, September 19, 2010

Dear God,

What a beautiful day dawned this Sunday morning, a day we get together to worship, the day I look forward to all week. I got ready, poured myself a cup of coffee and began my drive to church.

I grabbed the CD with some of my favorite old-time gospel music, put it on and started singing. I know much of the music by heart. I may not remember every title but I know most of the words and the tunes.

One of the musicians sang about a family altar. Right then a vivid picture formed in my mind. Our family didn't possess a traditional family altar. Ours was my grandmother's bed. That was what appeared as I sang. On Grandma's farm even in the dead of winter, in a cold upstairs bedroom where ice formed on the window sills, I could envision my grandmother in her soft flannel nightgown kneeling by her bed on the cold wooden floor. There she prayed for her children and their spouses, for her grandchildren, each by name, for the poor in the world and for her church.

For years until she was riddled with dementia and too feeble to kneel, Grandma Hughes prayed. Those prayers touched me like nothing else. When I was real little and sleeping in the bed next to hers with one of my young cousins (I loved to stay at Grandma's house), I would hear her sweet voice pleading with you for us. I felt like I was taken to heaven to you God, to stand with you like the picture of you with children. I felt tingles, like a sacred hand upon my head. I felt like I was in a sacred place where love existed and there I was presented to you. In some ways it was a bit scary but I knew something good, something powerful was happening to me. Even after Grandma said amen and climbed into her bed to fall asleep, I would still be awake thinking about you and what you thought about me.

As I turned up the music with tears forming and spilling down my face, I wondered how different my life was because my grandma prayed for me. Was I kept from some kind of harm because she prayed? Did I go into ministry because of her prayers? Did I have a heart for you because she prayed that I would? Did her faithful witness make a mark on me that made me a particular way? Did her prayers help give shape to my life?

As I listened, sang, remembered and teared up, I prayed with a heart full of love and gratitude.

Merciful and Compassionate God,
thank you
for making
my grandmother.
Thank you
for inspiring her
to pray
for all
of us.
Thank you particularly
for her prayers
for me,
for the ways
they touched
and inspired me.
Thank you
for love
that called her
to pray.
I am blessed
because she prayed.

Loving you always, Andrea