At the start of every dinner meal together you would look around the table and pick one of us to say grace. I always had my standard prayer ready should you call on me. Secretly I hoped you would pick baby brother who was the fastest prayer in the West, and I would inwardly groan when you picked Mom because she knew how to keep us all hostage to her prayers for the family and the food. I've used that lesson myself as a mom, hoping to pass on spiritual godliness and quite a bit of goodness in the course of a prayer. I don't know if a parent is supposed to pray to God hoping the prayer will bounce back down on the head of a child. It must be an inherited mom thing. At least your grandson's head doesn't seem the worse for wear. By the way, those times you chose yourself to pray were good for your children too. I can still picture the way you bent your head and folded your hands in prayer. I can almost hear your pray even as I write. Maybe you are.
P.S. I'm sorry that I didn't always pray with a thankful heart when beets and lima beans were part of the meal.
No comments:
Post a Comment