Every morning before arising, she quoted scriptures. It wasn’t a ritual; it was her exercise of choice. Without those spiritual stretches, she would have been unable to lift the covers to enter a new day. Like running a music scale, these verses brought a hum to her spirit as she slipped on her worn house shoes and stumbled into her morning.
Throughout the day, prayer and singing accompanied the music of her tasks: the swish of her broom as she kept a farmhouse floor spotless, the bang of her dishpan as she carried laundry out to the clothesline, the tap of her spoon against her dish as she cooked one of the three meals she prepared daily, the chug of her galoshes as she shuffled to feed animals, and the spritz of her cleaning supplies as she polished, buffed, and shined our world. Interspersed throughout the chores were her moments of sublime joy: Bible reading and prayer. Sometimes the daily newspaper or Paul Harvey’s “The Rest of the Story” would be brief indulgences.
I went to sleep, more often than not, with the sound of her intercession ringing out. Outside my open window, the stars would twinkle in rhythm with the crickets’ squeaky calls and the bull frogs’ bass “ga-rumm, gar-umm,” but it was the sound of Mama’s prayers spiraling upward that filled my heart with serenity.
Mama’s choice to draw strength from God filled our home with light, love, and hope, sounds that lingered long after the silence of sleep enveloped my world.
It’s a song of victory that remains a testament to her unfailing faith in her King. Its melody lingers still.
Tip/Tidbit: Just as my mother’s choice affected my life, what you do is an example to those around you. Choose to see beyond your circumstances to the hope that is in Jesus.