Me & Jesus

 I love this meme. I don't particularly think anyone has talked about me, don't actually care. It would be the most interesting conversation they'll have in a year. But I've learned some things this last year and this reminded me. 

People don't want to have a conversation with you to see what is happening in your life. They don't want to know how YOU are or if there is anything wrong. Really. Watch their eyes glaze over if you say anything other than "fine". But they're quick to find fault if something comes out where you're in trouble, sick, or broke. "Well, she or he must have done something wrong to cause all that. God is after them." 

Yep, He sure is. He's spent the last year keeping my head just above water cause the devil harassed me on every front for a YEAR. If he had his way, I’d be homeless, walking, and no food. I mean every single front. My house, my car, my finances, my family, my health, and my peace of mind. My sanity! 

Well, you know, "We all got problems." 

Why, yes, we do! Please tell me yours so I can pray for you. I sincerely want to hear and pray for you. And if I can help you with anything, you call me, email me, text me, send a carrier pigeon. If I can't help you, I'll do my best to help you find help. I know how to do that! If I can’t do anything else, I’ll hold your hand and walk with you.

But you know what? No one said that to me. And I mentioned what I was dealing with to people. (See paragraph two.) Not ONE. Except a dozen Facebook contacts. Some of whom haven't even met me and some family. Thank God for everyone of you who did something, even if was just a message to say you were praying! I believe in prayer, but it is an extra blessing when people hear, acknowledge, and act.

I texted a virtual stranger the other day; he was a guy who cut my yard for two years when the mower died. I only saw him once every two weeks as he flew by on the mower and chatting when I paid him. He cut me a deal on the yard. I sent a text that said, “I need someone who does handy man work.” The yard man sent me a contact. I found the yard guy from a writing friend because I had a broken down mower and he sent me the details. These folks have become real friends. I have no idea how much the handyman repairs I need will cost. I’ll worry about it later.

That’s just minor problems. But starting October 2023, I had covid for the third time and was sick three months, thru Christmas. The freezer went out. I’d previously lost two freezers of food because of a faulty circuit. It’s fixed now, and I didn’t lose food, but it cost the earth. The same week, the car broke down. That cost more. Two weeks later, it broke down again. All in October and November. In one month, I spent my entire income. All of it. And no, that wasn’t the end. There were plumbing problems after New Year. And the water and light bill went up again. Groceries went up. Gas went up. 

But you know something? I've survived all of it. Because the Almighty has kept me from drowning. Even when I asked Him to let me drown. Sometimes drowning is easier. He scraped up a handful of people I didn’t know well, some family who love me, and a precious new friend who needed help as well. She needed a place to stay, and I needed a boarder. It was miraculous. It’s both a pleasure to have her here and a blessing to have the help. And then Sarah came home. 

I’ve sat here in this house feeling so unloved. And so defeated. All my life, I had people around me I could go to or resources. I worked, took care of myself, supported a second household. I’ve been faithful in paying my tithes. Yeah, you can talk about that if you want to. Suddenly, there was NO money and no friends. If I had not had a credit card, I would have been in trouble. But I owed people. And borrowed money must also be repaid. The Bible says owe no man. I owe a bunch of them. And now I could add God to the list. I was in a very bad place in every conceivable way. And alone. No one knew because no one asked. 

I realized that I’d have to just do the best with the debts I owed to men. And the debt to God? That is far greater than my pittance. It is what it is. I didn’t ask for the circumstances. I sure didn’t ask for the problems. God is very aware of my bank balance. Every dime is His, the land I live on is his, the car I drive is his. I am his. If he wants anything I have, he can just withdraw it. I’m good with that. Really. This is not my home. This is a residence. 

This month, a small light shone on my little scrap of land. No, it isn’t all fixed. I got a call from out of town. Someone paid the house payment for one month! That one thing shifted things. For a minute, I thought everything would be fine. It’s gonna take more than a minute. But that one minute … it’s gold.

Then, today, while I sat here beating myself up, grieving over money, I decided to write it all down. To pour out the poison, that is one more trick in a long list from the enemy. So, I don’t have a problem. I’m broke. I don’t have trouble. I am doing something right or the devil wouldn’t be bothering me so much. I got broke stuff. It all belongs to Jesus so he’ll have to fix it.

And I’ve decided since I survived death, I will survive this, too. And I’ll do it alone. Just me and Jesus. Or with the people who hold out their hands filled with friendship, love, and prayer. 

Missing Dinner

I missed church today, again. I hate missing. For the last two years, I've missed so much that I feel like I'm starving. I watch the online services but, while they're good, it isn't being there. Spiritually, I'm 95 pounds and I'm hungry!

I'm recovering from arm surgery to repair a pinched nerve in my elbow. They used staples, and a week after surgery, it has become infected. Not surprising for me with my wonky immune system. If I take no RA meds, I am a immunity warrior. With RA meds, I'm a ticking time bomb for infections. 

The pain from the staples at the infection site is horrendous, and there is swelling that is putting a strain on the staples. I wondered why it was still hurting so badly after a week. It's been hurting worse for the last three days and I couldn't figure it out. Well, in my defense, trying to look at an incision on the inside of your arm from the elbow to the mid-upper arm is difficult; with my faulty vision, even what I can see is questionable. It took mirrors and a lot of light to get a good look. 

So, tomorrow I'll call the doctor early and try to get in or get advice. Truthfully, I should have known something was up. I have hurt so bad since Thursday, all over my body. I've also been sleeping twelve hours a day. That's too much, even for my sleep deprived self.

I'm one of those who believe that to maintain your spiritual stability, you need to be in church, to fellowship with other believers, to worship in community, and to learn the Word of God. There is a valid reason God established churches, and it wasn't to show off your new shoes or watch a show.

I guess, in my mind, it is like being called for dinner. Family dinners of my childhood were wonderful. Everyone sitting together, laughing, talking, sharing their joys or their griefs and learning what it meant to be family. I miss it so much. They really were as wonderful for me as the paintings you see. I had a large extended family and our family reunions were the same. Relatives, in-laws, ex-in-laws, children, step-children, and old girlfriends or boyfriends were in the crowd. I never knew everyone at our family reunion because of that. Those days are all gone and so are the members. 

The only place I still feel that kind of atmosphere is church. I think that is the way it is supposed to be. I miss those days. And when I miss church, I feel the same longing to go home as I do when I remember my family dinners. 

You can fill up on bits and bites when you're hungry but there is just nothing like sitting down to a real meal. I don't like missing dinner.

Never Looking Back

Sometimes we're forced to make choices that we never dreamed we'd make, to do things we never dreamed we'd do. We don't get to choose those times, and we don't have time to think about the decision we make. There is no time to consider it. If we've lived well, we're prepared to make the hard decisions. 

But they're difficult. They hurt.

We can't consider love, family, country, or life. We can't regret. We consider only what is right and truth. Hard, painful truth. The realization of this is nearly unbearable because it means all you know, have ever known, is now behind you. 

And you can't go back. Dare not even look.

If you succeed. And survive it. It will be the measure of your character, of your own integrity, and your determination to hold to truth at any cost. 

Any cost. The sum is staggering. 

When it is done, what remains resembles images of Hiroshima. There'll be nothing left. Not even hope.  No stone upon another. Just keep your eyes on the path and moving toward the light. 

You won't see it. Just remember it is there. Ahead of you. 

Merry Christmas & Blessed New Year!

Merry Christmas to all those who have followed this blog! Thank you for sticking around and putting up with my rambling posts. I hope my words encouraged you, enlightened you, made you smile, or comforted you. 

I don't post often because posts to this blog are different. I never know what I'll write about because I try to let my heart speak or let the Spirit speak through my heart. Sometimes the words were for me alone. Others, they were for someone else. I hope they found their home. 

Does anyone feel that we're watching the last grains of sand slip through the narrow opening of the glass? Time is running out so quickly. This year is almost over and I don't know anyone who would say it's been a good year. I pray the Lord blesses the coming year for us all, but I believe we're living in a time of rising evil. My view is that this is the devil's final onslaught before the end. We're being bombarded with every form of wickedness he can throw at us. The minds and actions of people are twisted and depraved beyond my wildest imaginings. 

When I pray these days, I find I'm praying for protection over those I pray for and for a purging of wicked people. That sounds awful, doesn't it? However, I believe God has offered us all an opportunity to choose who we will serve. If they will not heed His voice, then they are part of the problem we face. We are in the fight of our lives and the battle is with unseen forces. 

For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Ephesians 6:12.

Do not let the old year pass before you take a stand for righteousness. I believe we will be forced to pick sides in this thing. If you have not already, you will. Choose wisely. This may be the last major decision of your life. 

May the blessings of God fill your hearts and homes, may His protection surround you, may His hand guide you, and may his peace comfort you.

Prayers You Never Heard

 I was doing my morning devotionals Sunday morning. I always take time to pray either before or after I read my Bible. I have a list of people and issues that I pray over. When I reached my family, I had a memory that came back to me.

I remembered lying in my bed at night and listening to Mama pray. She'd call off the names of her loved ones, both her daughters and their husbands. She'd call my name, too, and that of all her grandchildren. Those prayers are probably what got me through some very hard times in my life. There were so many of them! Most were for the salvation of her family.

In the middle of this memory, I had a thought. How many prayers must we pray before it is enough? God hears us the first time we pray. This is bourn out by the Bible. Michael, the archangel, told Daniel that God had heard his pray the first day he prayed it. The answer didn't arrive for a month because Michael was fighting the Prince of Persia, a devil that controlled the spiritual realm of that land.  

I thought of the hundreds, maybe thousands of prayers I heard my Mama pray for our family. She never saw the answers to most of them. My heart breaks at that thought. Here I was praying for many of the same people, for the same thing: to recognize their need for a closer walk with God, to find salvation.

In that moment,  I ask God aloud, "How many prayers does it take?" I can't tell you why it was so heartbreaking, but it was. In moments, an answer sharp and clear as if He'd been in the room filled my mind. 

"It doesn't matter how may prayers are prayed for a person. If they do not respond to the call or voice of God, the prayers are useless and wasted."

That answer set me back a bit. I didn't expect it. Surely prayers weren't useless, wasted? That didn't fit with my faith. There was more. 

When you stand before your Judge, (and God will become our Judge,) he will bring out those prayers. He's our Savior now, but death changes our relationship with Him. 

"All the prayers prayed for you will be presented, and you will hear every prayer ever prayed for you. They will be the evidence and a testimony against you."

My mind reeled a bit at that thought. I can hear Mama praying now. I lived with her for 17 years, listening to those prayers at night. She was a praying woman and I know there were times during the day she prayed. How many prayers had she prayed for each one of us? Good Lord, the number was staggering. 

And 46 years later, I'm praying for many of the same people. I have been for a long time. They've never heard any of those prayers. They probably never heard Mama's prayers either.

But they will. We all will. 

#Conversations With Him

Set A Watch Over Your Children

http://www.tommynelson.com/school-day-prayers/

I really love this little chart I found on Pinterest!  I often pray with Sarah before she leaves the house for school, particularly on days when she seems to be having a bad morning. I'm sorry I didn't do that with my boys. I've learned a lot since then but I did pray for them. In hindsight, maybe not enough. I've made a point to pray with Sarah before she leaves for school.

Why pray for your children before they leave for school? School, particularly in the 21st century is a hard place for children and they need a lot of help to get through it. If you are too old to remember how hard it was for you, something is wrong.  It is also no longer a place where wholesome and ethical values are likely to be taught. Rather the reverse is more likely. In fact, it is a place that your child could die.

Certainly, today our children need a prayer covering more than any generation ever has before. The spiritual attack on them is designed to corrupt every area of their lives: mental, emotional, spiritual. They face stress, anger, low self-esteem, resentment, jealousy, hatred, malice, and even sexual attacks both physical and mental. Bullying is clearly spiritual in nature for both the bully and the person bullied. Every area of their life is under attack in a school environment, particularly if they are attempting to live as a Christian. They are a target.

It is your responsibility to protect your children from any attack on them from any source. So, if you aren't praying for your children before they walk out that door, remember you are sending them into the lion's den. You are leaving them defenseless against attacks from all areas of their life. The stress will affect performance. Sometimes, the stress kills them.

The above chart is a really good guide to what kind of things to pray about and really, you don't have to have an hour-long prayer to cover these things. Read it with your child, let them know why you're going to pray about these things for them and follow the KISS method. Keep it simple, silly. Every point can be prayed for in a few words before they go out the door. You can add any points that you think need to be added.

Also, let them know that you will be praying for them during the day. Later, when you have prayer time you can expand on it but the important thing at this point is to let your children know that you are sending them out with a prayer covering and that you will continue to pray for them while they are at school. I promise you, the benefits to your children are enormous. The faith of children is legendary and if you've raised them to believe in prayer, the comfort they get from knowing you've prayed for them is huge.

Here is the link to School Day Prayer  blog where you can print this chart off for yourself and read the blog post about it. The site has other great items you might be interested in.

My Struggle to Escape The Web

On July 30th I deactivated my Facebook account for an unspecified time. I'd like to think I can last for 30 days. I'll be happy to last a week. What drove this decision? Let's just say I received several signs, although, maybe it was more like a billboard.

On a trip to Arkansas to pick up my granddaughter and to see my son I ran across a library book sale and picked up a half a dozen books for $1.00. Several were Christian books. One of these I'd been looking for but it is out of print. Interesting, huh? A second I'd never heard of but it struck a cord.

As soon as I started reading the first book several things began to happen. First, I was hit with problems I didn't understand. The devil knows where the chinks in my armor are located and he managed to get his spear into them. It was two days before it dawned on me and although I was upset, at least I understood. Sometimes, knowing makes painful things bearable, sort of like an analgesic.

I finished the first book very quickly, but the second one I'm still working on. I'm totally blown away by the content because it is filled with things I've wanted to know, prayers I've actually prayed.

The second event the billboard. God wanted my attention. While in Arkansas a woman I have never seen before, whose name I do not know, and who I probably will never see again walked up to me and made a statement of two sentences. Then she walked away. I won't share what she said but there is no way she could have known what she knew. I've prayed about it and gnawed on it but I can't find any sense to it. She knew something about me she shouldn't and couldn't possibly have known. In fact, there is not a single soul in the world who knows what she knew but me and God. She didn't know the people I was visiting and we did not converse outside of her statement to me. It disconcerted me.

Why now? Well, for the first time in a long time, I was without the ability to get on social media for a week. What do you know, I hear a Voice. One I should have heard all along. If I'd been paying attention to something besides memes, politics, or the endless stream of meaningless status updates.

The cumulative impact of these events propelled me. I wanted to go home. As soon as I got home I knew I had to make changes. I decided I needed to cut out as many distractions as possible. I want to finish the book I'm reading and I want to explore the ideas in greater depth. I want to increase my time reading and studying my Bible. I want to pray more. I want to listen even more. I'm setting some goals in regard to these and my writing. I have to factor in dirty dishes, laundry, cleaning the house, my illness, my pain, and naps.

I'm three days in. I wish I could say the last few days without Facebook have been a breeze. They haven't. Things present themselves with the tag, "You could put this on Facebook if you hadn't deactivated your account." It is annoying, so much so that I am using it as a tool to keep me off. That statement alone tells me how much Facebook has wrapped itself around my life, into my spirit and mind.

A friend once told me he smoked and I was surprised. I told him that I never thought he'd be controlled by anything. He wrote me later and told me he was trying to quit smoking because of that statement. I've reached that same place. I refuse to allow my mind and spirit to be trapped and distract me from what is really important.

Yes, I miss hearing from family. I miss contact with my "friends". I miss sharing special things with them. And yet, have I really been doing that? Do I actually hear from anyone? Does anyone really "contact" me? Who exactly am I sharing with? I don't want to admit that I don't really know. I no longer even know my family. Do I know people on facebook? No, I can count maybe 20 people that I've physically met, that I am unrelated to and some of my relatives, I've never met.

The truth is none of us have ever shared anything real on Facebook. We post photos, memes, other people's opinions, other people's values, and other people's ideals. We've offered condolences, prayers, and encouragement. But how sad that we've never felt a real pat on the back, a real hug, a real smile and thumbs up. We've said it is because of distances. But how many of us are sitting in a room with someone right now and we're all staring at a computer or phone screen? We are fakes. The more apropos name for Facebook would be Fakebook. Even the name is false. It is neither a book nor a real face.

As a writer, I'm told that I'm required to have a following on social media, the bigger, the better. Do the "followers" even realize they're nothing more than a number? They have no value outside the internet. Oh, they're told they do... by form emails and sales pitches. But the truth is, it is the numbers that matter. We are just a number in "You have X numbers of friends". Shut off the computer and you're nobody.

I'm not saying you can't develop relationships online. There are dozens of folks I've had internet conversations with, some for more than a decade, that I have come to call friend. I've made an effort to learn more about who they are, what is going on in their lives, their troubles, trials, and triumphs. We've talked on phone calls. I appreciate their sharing themselves. Many I'll never meet face to face but I value them. But there are far more I don't have a clue about.

What I'm saying is that any object or hobby that demands so much attention without offering anything to improve me as a person, that takes away from improving my life or the life of those around me, and that prevents me from living a real life doesn't deserve my attention. Any app/program that insist I drop real interactions to follow the latest drama of someone I don't know or even someone I do know is not profitable and a waste of time.

I've been facing a shortage of time for a while now. Autoimmune diseases rob you of everything. I got more done when I had a full-time job than I do now. I accomplished so much when my husband was driving a truck and I was a full-time student with two adolescents. He was home twice a month for three days. I had to do it all but it got done. I remember getting up at 6 a.m., putting the boys on the bus at 7:30, getting to class by 8 a.m, home by 3 p.m. cooking supper, helping with homework while I cleaned house and got the boys in bed by 9 p.m. I started on my homework then and my bedtime was 1 a.m. 5 days a week. We had time to play games and read stories. Saturday was laundry day and Sunday was God's. Know what was different back then? I didn't have any social media. I graduated with honors and went to work and still did all that work. And the world never knew.

I suppose it boils down to priorities. I'm resetting mine today. When I hear or see things that are blatantly the voice or presence of God despite my lackadaisical attitude, I need to pay attention. I should have been paying attention. Time is in OUR control. How we use it is up to us. Everyone has 24 four hours a day - 168 hours a week. The average job is 40 hours a week. That leaves 128 (equivalent to 3 more full-time jobs) for God, cleaning, cooking, laundry, and family time. And in my case, college. If something isn't getting done, we need to reset our priorities. What is going on that required 168 hours a week?

For anyone calling themselves Christian these things can be counterproductive spiritually. I need to ask questions: What did I neglect today in favor of social media? Did I read my Bible today or Facebook? Did I pray today or check Facebook? Did I spend time with my family without social media or my phone? How much time did I actually spend on Facebook compared to the real world demands of living and time I spent with or for God?

How dedicated are you, really? I can't answer for you, but I know I can do better.

They call it The Web for a reason. It is a snare, a trap for the unwary. Being wrapped up in a web is one step away from death. The spider eventually spears the victim and sucks the life out of them. I'm cutting myself loose. I refuse to be ensnared by social media or anything else. I refuse to have my life become a tangled cocoon that can't carry on a conversation with the people in the room with me. It is both insulting and disrespectful and the cocoon looks stupid. I want to experience life, with living breathing people.

More than anything else, I want to keep having these conversations with God. Pardon me while I cut the web away.

The Search for Happiness

I've been missing Jerry a lot of late. I usually do between November and February. I suppose it came late this year. It isn't a continuous pain but a sudden, stabbing in the hollow places of my heart. 

Yesterday, as I drove home from work through a neighborhood with some lovely homes, I was assailed with longing for something I think I was unaware that I had ever possessed. The average-middle class homes arrayed along a gentle, curving street with neat yards that had received years of attention were a bit above the lower middle-class income we had but it wasn't about that. It was more.

Yearning is a little used word these days but that is the only word that works for what I was feeling. As I drove along, my mind filled in blanks with children tumbling on a green carpet and a small dog barking and scrambling to be a part of the excitement. The windows glowed with evening lights and the smell of fresh cut grass and barbeque seemed to drift on the air. But it didn't. It was all in my head and I ached with the thoughts of it all. 

I left the neighborhood and entered my own, slightly more modest section. As I did so, in the midst of all that painful yearning I heard myself say, "I've had a good life." There is a sense of disbelief even when I write it because I don't remember ever thinking that in my whole life. Life has been hard. At times, nearly impossible. There is not enough time, nor am I inclined to share the worst of it. 

Recently, my mind began to trot out memories that I didn't really forget but rather, had neglected in favor of less appealing ones. And ... the truth is ... I've had a great life. I'm overwhelmingly blessed and favored. I know this. That was a new feeling, an almost devastatingly painful feeling. It hurt terribly to think it. Not because it wasn't a wonderful realization but because I had failed to recognize it until I am an old woman. This is something we should know when we're young. Maybe other people do. I don't know. I just know I never knew it. At least, I don't think I did.

The feeling clung to me the rest of the evening and today but I still had trouble believing it. My life had so many twists and turns that it was hard to imagine it as "great".

I was given away to grandparents and it was the best thing that could have happened to me, despite a childhood filled with the ugliness of alcohol. I had wonderful aunts, uncles, and cousins, the memories of whom still make my heart smile. 

I was 17 when Mama died but I married a wonderful man who only wanted to make me happy the rest of his life. And he tried every day, for the next 35 years.

At 21, I was in Europe and I walked the halls of ancient castles and palaces. I climbed trails in the Bavrian Alps, slaked my thrist from an icy artisian well, and gazed over parapets at beautiful green valleys. I strolled the Champs Elysee, climbed the Eiffel Tower, and stared at the flying buttresses and stained glass of Notre Dame. I shopped in Germany. I lived in five US states. I've slept under stars, hiked woodland trails, and swam in the ocean. I've played in the sand, dug in the dirt, and laid on the grass and painted clouds. I've laughed, cried, and raged over wonderful, foolish, and dreadful things.

It is a mystery to me how I missed all that. Although, I think the truth is that I didn't miss it... then. I miss it all now. I crave the excitement and the laughter and the mystery that each of those days provided. I long for the feeling of walking along a Paris street on Jerry's arm. Now life seems so tame, so bland, so predictable. For someone who stood in the throne room of a once great king, today feels anticlimatic. 

Yet, today whispered a secret in my ear. "I've had a great life." I've been blessed with more than wealth, more than fame. I've rocked my babies and watched them grow into wonderful men. I sang to my grandchild and am amazed at her beautiful soul and smile that blinds me. I'm blessed to find a new friend when my son remarried, and gained two grandchildren. I still have aunts, uncle, cousins, and siblings that shower me with love.  

No, I have not done all the things I wanted to do but I have done a lot of things I never dreamed I would do. So, perhaps happiness is not something you look for, but rather something you find. And a wonderful life is determined solely by your perspective.

Coming Home Late

Mama let me date him because he was a “church boy”, meaning he went to our church. She also knew his mother and so it was all right. To my 14-year-old eyes, he was wonderful. He was 16 and had a car. He was tall and played the guitar. And I was the new girl in town.

It was a small church and I was one of three teenaged girls. One of them already had a boyfriend outside the church. Her sister, Debbie, and I were the same age and immediately at odds with one another. We all know about green pastures and he saw a break in the fence.

We dated through the summer and into the school year. During one of the first football games of the season, we were on a date and he was supposed to pick up his brother after the game, truly the cuter of the two but with no car. 

My curfew was always 10:00 p.m., no matter what. I seldom rebelled on any rule Mama set but then, it never occurred to me that I could. Nevertheless, we rode around the parking lot looking for his brother and the clock kept ticking. He finally said he better get me home. Suddenly, I knew Mama wouldn’t mind if we were a bit late. After all, his brother was my age and was standing around somewhere waiting for his ride. We couldn’t leave him here. The stadium would be empty soon. He would have to stand around in the dark, alone, waiting for his ride that was not there because it was taking me home. 

At 11:00 p.m. we pulled up into my yard, without the brother. And as my young man walked me to the front door, Mama got up from her rocker and, in a quiet voice, said, “Do you know what time it is?”  Well, of course, we did, but I don’t remember thinking that she was asking for the time.

We both said, “Yes, m’am.” She proceeded to tell me who I was and what I was supposed to know. During the course of her speech she managed to politely tell him how much she thought of him and how she expected him to have me home when he said he would. I, of course, tried to explain about his poor brother standing somewhere at the school waiting for a ride that still had not appeared. Mama was sympathetic but unmoved. I had come home late.

It was a short romance but only lasted about three more weeks and we never dated again. He discovered his old school girlfriend, who happened to be one of my classmates. I don’t know if she had a curfew but my guess is she didn’t have my Mama. She tried to be nice to me and I liked her but I could never really hit is off with her. She wasn’t a church girl and she took my boyfriend.

I am a beast about punctuality and it is no wonder. My life has always been about keeping appointments and knowing where I was supposed to be and when. When I was 17 and dating my husband, he was always careful to get me home on time. Whenever Jerry brought me home my great-grandmother’s mantle clock was striking the hour. I didn’t have to tell him, he had a Mama, too. One night as we walked into the house Mama jokingly commented, “I believe you two sit around the corner and wait for that clock to strike.” We all laughed but Mama’s eyes twinkled at me. I had never come home late but once.

               I have been re-evaluating many things that have evolved in my life and that only now I think I understand. I feel as if I have come home late and that Mama is sitting on the porch, in the dark waiting for me to roll in. I hear that quiet voice is saying, “Do you know what time it is?”

I have raised two sons and they now have wives of their own. I feel I did the best I could under the circumstances of our life but as I watch their foolishness, I doubt myself. I see the waste, the unconcern, and the lack of dedication. I feel like Mama sitting on the porch, in the dark saying, “Do you know what time it is?”

It is not just in my children that I see it. It is in a whole generation. There is time to spend hours living in a small box where a world of make-believe people live and fantasy events happen. There is time to spend hours at an amusement park, a ball park, the beach. There is time to cruise hour after hour along whatever street is cool and be seen by countless others just cruising through life along the same street. And I hear Mama, sitting on the porch in the dark, asking in a quiet voice, “Do you know what time it is?”

There is no time to spend in church. The people are not friendly. They gossip too much. They don’t talk to me. The preacher is no good. The teacher is stuck up. The seats are too hard. The road is too long. The choir is no good. The worship is not lively. The worship is too lively. And my favorite, I have to spend time with my family, wife, husband.

There is no time for prayer. I have to go to Wal-mart. I spent too much time at Wal-mart. I have to watch my team play ball. I have to do laundry. I have to work. I am tired because I have worked too much. I have to go to bed early. I have to get up early. I got to bed late. I got up late.

“Do you know what time it is?” Never before have I heard that voice so clearly. It cuts me to the quick because all the excuses have been mine. At the time all of the reasons seemed, well, reasonable. And yet, “Do you know what time it is?

I look at all the days of my life and wonder. If life was like a carousal where I could capture brass rings of time as I sailed by, I would reach out and pull the ring of time that let me spend wonderful laughing hours with Mama. I would pull the rings of my children’s lives and never let go of any of them. I would grab the rings that let me relive the most precious moments I have ever known; putting my head in mama’s lap, my marriage, the birth of my children, my sons’ baptisms, every minute of their childhood, my children in my lap, my family reunions, my sons’ weddings. I would grab every ring of opportunity to pray more and truly converse with my creator, to read my Bible. I would grab rings to relive every exciting service I ever attended and re-listen to every riveting sermon I ever heard.

I cannot recapture one moment of time.

Brass rings of time.

“Do you know what time it is?”

I only came home late one time. It took 30 years for me to realize what it meant.

Time: A Place To Pray

© August, 1998 Cynthia Maddox

I have a special room that is all my own. The walls are lined with books and a lovely, thick, dark blue carpet covers the floor. A comfortable chair sits in a corner of this room. Next to it stands a small table with a lamp by which I can read. A window seat is piled with pillows on which I can relax and read. My computer is here so I can write. For times I feel like creating something to wear, my sewing machine is stored in a cabinet. There is a lock on the door to this room for the times I want to shut myself away.

It is a lovely room but not real. The reality is that I have no place like that in my home or anywhere else. When my children were small I had a spare bedroom all to myself where I wrote, sewed and had private time to read or pray. Now, they are teenagers needing their space. When I work there are phones and people. At home there are phones and people. Sometimes I want to run away just to be alone. 

Our hectic lives often make it difficult to keep up with all the demands, especially women today. More often than not we will have a full-time job, in addition to one or two children. If you are a Christian working mother, there are even more demands on your time. Non-Christian women may have time for a hobby or some form of entertainment, but Christian women have church services during the week. In addition to attending a ladies or prayer meetings, she must also find time to have daily prayer. And let’s not forget the cooking and cleaning. It is no wonder some women come to church looking like they just participated in a marathon, were mugged or never went to bed the night before. As for cranky, well I dare any man to try it for a week and still smile.

I’ve been many kinds of mom, stay-at-home, army, working and homeschooling. For five years I was a college mom. I was a full-time student with two children at home in 1992-1994. My husband’s job took him away from home for weeks at a time. Most of the time I was tired. No friends or family lived nearby to help with the kids or help out if my car broke down or if I became sick. And instead of offering to help with my load, my Christian “friends” criticized me for missing one service a week.

My day was long. I got up, got the kids off to school and was at school myself by 8 or 9 a.m. Upon my return the kids were usually already there. I helped with homework and cooked supper. Then I cleaned the kitchen, did laundry, got the kids bathed and helped with unfinished homework. I might have had time to relax but usually the boys were in bed by 9 o’clock so I could do my homework. I went to bed around one or two a. m. At 6:30 I began again. Saturday I cleaned the whole house and did laundry.

Donna became my best non-christian friend in college. One morning, during a break, we were discussing our harried lifestyles. As we discussed all the demands on our time she made a profound statement. She said, “We need wives.”  We often joked about how much was required of us and how our husbands came in and got their favorite chair, asked for supper, and took a nap. It wasn’t really funny but it helped us deal with the frustrations. After college we both went to work. When we compared notes we found we were still doing the day job and the housework while hubby napped.

So when did I pray during the five years it took me to finish school? There were days when I was at home alone for several hours. I did a lot of studying then. I used some of that time for prayer. “Free” time remained a rare thing.

Every morning I drove 15 miles to school alone and in the afternoon I returned home. In semesters when I had a night class once or twice a week I made up to four round trips a day. On those frequent trips, I noticed people talking on their car phones, singing with the radio or just riding. I seldom listen to the radio in the car and I don't have a car phone. So I began to talk to the Lord. I told him of my worries all the way to school. At times, I drove to school thanking God for all He had done for me. I cried on my way home because I loved Him so much. Often I would arrive home unable to remember the trip.

I repeatedly apologized to the Lord for praying in such a manner. Many times a voice would whisper:  this isn’t really praying; you look so silly talking to yourself; what will people think; and God doesn’t listen to this kind of praying. But I kept praying. I had to!  I needed to talk to Him.

It reached the point that every time I got in my car I began automatically to talk to God. I didn’t realize how far it had gone until the day one of the boys and I had to go somewhere. As soon as I got in the car I began talking quietly to myself and he said, “Mom, who are you talking to?”  I just stopped and stared at him. I was so startled I didn’t know what to say. I had instinctively begun praying the moment I started the car! That was the day I learned one of the many truths about God.

The scripture in Thessalonians which says to pray without ceasing has always puzzled me. I have pondered the idea of constant prayer often, but I didn’t see how anyone could do it. I discovered I was wrong. We can become so used to praying that it becomes instinctive, even in strange and unusual places. We can automatically break into praise and worship without thinking about it. Instinctive prayer!  What a concept.

Some may say if you aren’t kneeling, it isn’t prayer. Too bad for the man with no legs. I once heard someone suggest that you can’t have a real relationship with God without an hour a day in prayer. Perhaps they had a whole hour every day, uninterrupted, in private. I don’t. Not many people do and so they just don’t pray at all. After all, if you can’t meet the requirements, why bother. Right?  Wrong.

Others will say this type of prayer has no  meaning because there is no conscious thought. It is true that no conscious thought is involved, but it is not true that the mind is not involved.

Every natural process in the human body is done without conscious thought. You don’t have to think about breathing because your body knows how to do it. You don’t have to tell your eyes to blink to keep them moist. Even your dreams are controlled by your brain without your conscious thought. And it is possible to learn to control your dreams while you are asleep. I’ve done it.

What could be more natural than to pray to the Creator?  Words are formed in our mind and our mind tells our voice to speak. The Bible said “Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaketh.” Our heart and our mind appear to be linked. How could what I call instinctive prayer be meaningless if the mind/heart is involved in the process.

Prayer was meant to be just as natural as our breathing or our heart beat. It was intended as a means of constant communication between us and the Creator. We should find ourselves breaking into prayer for no reason, at unusual times, in unusual places. There should be prayer over our dishes, toilets, and car engines. I don’t mean roll in the floor, jump up and down, top of your lungs prayer (unless you want that, but be prepared for strange looks, especially from your children.). No, I mean conversation and thanks for all the blessings we have been given. God loves it when we just talk to Him!  If we spent more time talking to God this way, we might find some of our heavy-duty prayers get answered a lot quicker and more often.

Perhaps we should stop worrying so much about a “special place” or a “special time” to pray. If you have either, use it and be thankful. If you don’t perhaps you should be more concerned with making the time special. Take a ride in the country or to work and make your time a place to pray.