How sweet and happy seem those days of which I dream,
When memory recalls them now and then!
And with what rapture sweet my weary heart would beat,
If I could hear my mother pray again.
Refrain:
If I could hear my mother pray again,
If I could hear her tender voice as then!
So glad I’d be, ’twould mean so much to me,
If I could hear my mother pray again.
It is Sunday afternoon in the early 70's. Aunts, uncles and cousins of the first, second and third degree are all gathered around a table laden with food. Everyone brings a dish or two or three, but the staple, is Mama K's fried chicken, piled high on a platter that is, "...old as the hills."
Our family was usually the last to arrive, coming straight from our church service on the other side of the county. The men are scattered about the house, some in the living room chatting, some on the front porch. The women buzz about the kitchen like bees in a hive, stirring things, pouring up things into bowls, setting the table. They seem to be on fast forward.
The call to eat will come from Mama K and everyone will take their places. There isn't enough room all to sit at the table, so they gather around in a circle. Papa K always sits at the table, and I always sit by him, having myself a prime spot right in front of the fried chicken.
Everyone gets quiet, as Mama K, still standing, asks someone, usually Daddy to "say the blessin'". He will decline, saying, "No, Mama, you go ahead", after which she will ask someone else.
The asking is only a pretense as we all know that Mama K will bless the food.
As a young girl, I always hoped someone else would do it, because Mama K, not only blessed the food, she blessed everyone there, and then some.
"Daddy.....Please....Please....say the blessin' today", I would whine from the back seat.
She would begin praying. Thanking God for the food we were about to receive, the hands that prepared it, and then we were off and running. Before the "blessing", was over, she had thanked God, for everyone and everything. Or so it seemed to me at the time. I just wanted the praying to be over and the eating to begin.
These blessings might go on for 15 minutes. Sometimes she would get, "happy", or "in the spirit", and began to sway back and forth, hands raised in the air. She might cry, she might laugh, she might shout.
At first, when I was younger, the shouting scared me. I thought she was having some kind of fit. Now, older, the shouting produced giggles, followed closely by thumps from Daddy, and a stern look that usually proceeded a verbal warning that he was going to, "...tan your hide."
For one week during the summer, her night time prayers would begin with tucking me into the same bed that Daddy slept in as boy. Sitting on the side of the bed, she would summon the angels to protect, watch over and keep me.
Her prayers would continue as she undressed and got ready for bed herself. More nights than I could count, I would drift off to sleep as she prayed.
Night after night, she called by name all of her children and their spouses, grandchildren (their spouses too, if they had any), great grandchildren, she mentioned us all. I always tried to stay awake until she got to me.
One particular summer, I was roused from sleep by the sound of the phone ringing in the middle of the night. From the conversation, I could tell it was my uncle, making one of his drunken midnight phone calls.
She would pray with him over the phone and then continue to pray after the call ended.
All through the day,she was in constant contact with Jesus. Thanking him for the day, for the flowers, the garden...everything. Most of the time it was like a conversation that lasted from sunrise until sunset.
The family still talks about Mama K and the tornado. It was in mid summer and tornadoes had ripped across Alabama in the middle of the night. The following Sunday as we gathered at the old home place, she told of waking up by a daughter, calling to inform her of a tornado heading their way, urging her and Papa K, to get dressed and down to her house as soon as possible.
By the time they made it to the porch, it was too late. From the house atop a small hill, they saw the tornado on the ground heading in their direction. As Papa K told it:
"I saw that thing a comin' over the hill toward the house and told Mary to get back inside, but she dropped down on her knees and started a prayin'. The next thing I knowed, it turned and went the other way."
I especially dreaded her church service prayers. It never failed, if she happened to be visiting our church, or we were at hers, she would be called on to pray the final prayer and it seemed to go on forever. I would figit around, usually stuck between, The Pincher (Mother) and The Thumper, (Daddy).
Reading a post, and exchanging comments with Taylor, I was reminded of Mama K.
Some people you only hear pray in church and no where else, or they only pray in times of trouble. Mama K prayed everywhere and about everything.
What I wouldn't give to hear that dear, dear, lady pray just once more.
Later Ya'll...^Belle^
. I may be here....I may be there....I may even be in TenneFLIPPINGkissMYrebelBUTTssee!
