On the farm, after dark meant black. The only light, other than the stars, shone from a tall pole smack in the middle of the yard. I ran from the gray shed to the house like lightening, splitting through the yellow sphere of yard light. Chased by the unknown, I tore past shadows beyond the cone of brightness. I measured the distance by the thumps of my heart. Only after the click of the house door lock, did I turn to press my hands against the glass and peer behind at the outside.
I hated my frailty fueled by three older brothers full of stories about headless ghosts and tarantulas as big as the empire state building; of axe murderers and intergalactic aliens.
Looking back, I see fear became a blessing, as it often does in the tender hands of Jesus. Without it I wouldn’t have the gift that shines in the scrapbook pages of memory, a warm glow in my heart.
The metamorphosis began one late night when Dad and my brothers worked in the fields. I waited in my bed for sleep while imagining crazy scary things high in the dark corners of my room. If I shut my eyes, they swooped down to get me. So I kept my eyes open, and my body stiff as wood. fear became a blessing, as it often does in the tender hands of Jesus Share on X
In the still house, I heard the murmur of mom’s voice. Who was she speaking to so quietly? The whispered words came from my parent’s open bedroom door. With heart pounding, I gathered courage, slinked from shadow to shadow and chair-to-chair. I dropped down on all fours and crawled to her door wanting to make out what she said.
“Sylvia,” I heard her say several times. The “S” sliced into the quiet.
Soft words I couldn’t decipher rolled over me. A large oval mirror hung on the wall. It opened a view into the room like a window.
Within that ornate mirror, I saw Mom. Her gray hair curled like a halo around her head. Her forehead rested against the side of the bed where she knelt and prayed. The soft “S” caressed the air. She was praying for me.
Perhaps it was the single most important example of motherhood that I carried into my own mothering, and now into grandmothering.
Grandparent’s Day
Sunday, September 10 is Grandparent’s Day. It doesn’t get a lot of recognition. Celebrated the first Sunday after Labor Day, it’s pretty easy to overlook.
I never knew any of my grandparents. I remember them only from stories my parents told. My own children didn’t know their maternal grandparents like I wished they had as we lived far from them. Yet, a grandparent’s imprint, even when unseen remains.
Testimonies often begin with the words, “My grandparents.” They “took me to church,” “read the Bible to me,“ “dropped me off at VBS,” or simply “prayed.”
Mom left many imprints on my heart, but the impression left on the soft clay of my soul which comes to my mind first, is one of a shadowy night as she knelt at her bedside. It came without any agenda, preparation, or plan.
The person she was marked my being, even more than the things she did. Mom loved Jesus. She proved it without fanfare by her DNA of prayer.
The Legacy
My mother never knew how I snuck out of bed and caught her in prayer. She would have been embarrassed to find how often after that night I repeated my stealthy trek to the mirror. Nothing brought warmth and security to me like hearing her sweet communication with the Father on my behalf. It rooted me in so many ways.
Even though my children didn’t know their grandma well, I am sure her prayers for her grandchildren did not have expiration dates. What she laid at Jesus’ feet He has not forgotten.
Far away on the other side of the ocean from their grandma, my little children benefited, because their Grandma prayed for them. Now as adults with their own children, they probably still reap the blessings, as do their children as well.
Prayer leaves an eternal legacy.
I cannot describe the resounding impact of that night outside my mom’s bedroom door.
I thought of it when our first baby cried for hours with colic in the middle of the night, when our second fell from the top of the slide, when our third teetered between life and death at Mayo Clinic, and when our fourth flew his first solo flight. Prayer leaves an eternal legacy. Share on X
Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful, Paul told the church in Colossians 4:2. (NIV)
Grandparent’s Day reminds me that true character reveals itself when no one watches. And of course, you never know who may be watching
Adele
Thanks, Sylvia, for the encouragement not to be weary in well-doing. Wonderfully written, too.
Sylvia Schroeder
Thank you Adele!
Marilyn Nutter
Sylvia we are on the same page this week-I wrote about my grandmother’s prayer group. Your post reminded again how important praying for our grands is-we are planting seeds for trees we may not see. Thanks for a sweet and valuable post.
Sylvia Schroeder
Oh how fun! I’d love to be on the same page with you! I will hop over there and take a look!
Sue Vogt
Thank you, yes pray, pray, pray for those grands!
Sylvia Schroeder
Yes!! Thanks Sue!
Jane Oswald
Thanks Sylvia! Appreciate the encouragement to pray, prsy, and pray!
Sylvia Schroeder
Thanks Jane! Pray!
J.D. Wininger
Adopted later in life, I can’t say that I ever heard a grandmother pray. I do recall vividly how I would lay in bed and listen to mom praying for all of her kids (including me) each morning before anyone else awoke. I think this is where I learned to pray.
Sylvia Schroeder
Same J.D. I didn’t know any of my grandparents, but my mom was a prayer warrior for me and her grandchildren. What a sweet and precious memory for you to hear your mom pray. What a marvelous gift to carry with you. Thanks so much for sharing that!
Michele Morin
I think I pray more diligently (more ferociously even!) for my grandkids than I did for my sons. I wonder if I’ve become more convinced of the efficacy of prayer or more aware of the horrors of this world…?
Sylvia Schroeder
Michele, oh how I appreciate your comment! Both awareness to the horrors of this world and the conviction of prayer’s efficacy are powerful motivators for us in this season. Ferocious prayer. I love it! Thanks so much for your comment!
Don Pahl
Thank you again, Sylvia!
Glad you survived those nasty, ruthless brothers! 😁
Sylvia Schroeder
A few electric fence jolts and raw sparrow eggs only served to make me stronger. So they say. Thanks Don!
Katherine Pasour
A tender and beautiful message of a mother’s love and the amazing legacy it brought to your family. Thank you, Sylvia, for sharing this message of love, hope, and faith. Such a blessing you’ve shared!
Sylvia Schroeder
Thank you so much Katherine!
Zina Paul
I never heard my parents pray for me although I know they did but I had the unique privilege of hearing my in laws pray for their children, grandchildren! We lived in a large home together for 12 years.
Sylvia Schroeder
Thank you Zina. I think that is a precious memory as well. How special to have in-laws pray for you, their children and grandchildren. What a sweet heritage! Thanks so much for sharing it with us!