Christian Author and Speaker
Daddy and Mama bought the big yellow house when I was 13 months old. Surrounded by red barns, white board fences, chicken coops, and corn cribs, the house sat on 80 acres of fields, pastures, and woods, bordering a creek. They paid $10,000 for it. Grandpa Nutt said they’d never live to see it paid! But my Grandpa was wrong.
It doesn’t look like much. And to most, it probably isn’t much. Just a soap dish, from K-Mart, one might assume. Probably purchased in the 50’s. Pink plastic with removable drainer. The gold trim of its crown nearly worn from years of scouring with Comet Cleanser. At first glance, one might easily overlook the esteemed position it held through the years.
We could often see Route 66 running parallel to the Interstate. Any time we could get onto the actual Mother Road was good. We tried. And in New Mexico, we had opportunity several times.
You never know what to expect driving I-40, Route 66 – the Mother Road.
When we left Needles, California on that beautiful morning ( see my last post) of course we entered Arizona immediately. Desert all the way.
“If you ever plan to motor west
Travel my way, take the highway that’s the best
Get your kicks on Route 66″
You’ve heard it. Even if it was before your time, which it probably was.
Passersby stopped their cars. Some actually drove in the big circle driveway, walked up the steps to the porch, and knocked on the kitchen door.
“May we look at your flower garden?” they asked.
I drive past it nearly every day, on my way somewhere. Today, though, I pull over and park my car in the lot, now overlaid with weeds. I look at the church – an unkempt building that has been empty for many years now – and I listen. No music flows through its closed windows. No children laugh or play on the rotted teeter-totter in its side yard. No pastor preaches from its pulpit. Instead, I hear the sounds of the country – the birds, the leaves kissing the breeze, a tractor in the distance,
I was pleased that little granddaughter Kaylee was sound asleep. She had seen me cry enough throughout this last year, each time, hugging me, “Are you missing Grandpa and Grandma ?” she would ask.
“Yes, honey,” I’d answer, thankful to receive and return the hug, but forcing the smile. Her tenderness brought me back. Her smile gave me focus. And with it came new strength.
But this night, as I left her sleeping, I could feel the tears welling up. These tears – tears from missing someone so desperately, knowing you’ll never see her again in your life time – don’t well up in the eyes. They build in a pressure beginning at both sides of the top of your neck, spreading behind your ears, instantly to the sides of the bridge of your nose, then flooding your eyes and overflowing down your face.
“Nana, will you sing to me?” Kaylee had asked, just a few minutes earlier.
It had become our nightly ritual. Kneeling beside her bed, rubbing her back or stroking her cheek as her mommy had, singing her to sleep. My repertoire usually consisted of “Go Tell Aunt Tabby,” “Bye-Baby Bunting,” and my made up song for Kaylee:
Sweet dreams, my Kaylee Joy;
Sweet dreams to you.
Dream about butterflies,
Dream about baby dolls,
Dream about teddy bears too.
And each night, after several made up verses, my soft singing turned to quiet humming; and eventually diminished, as I left the room and walked down the hall. She was contented and asleep.
But this night, as I knelt by her bed and had sung several verses of Kaylee’s made up song, I quietly hummed two notes – the fifth and the third notes of a chord – and those two tones immediately took me back in time. . .
. . . to my mother’s arms.
She was holding me. I felt the warmth of her arms. I looked into her face. I could see my chubby little arm reaching up to her soft cheek. She was humming the song to me – the same two tones. I was tiny – perhaps a few months – perhaps a year. In all my memories, I’ve never had one of such a young age. I felt so small. I remembered being a baby! It was so peaceful but oh so brief! Nearly as soon as the memory had come, it was gone! I was back in the present! Back in reality!
As I left Kaylee’s room that night, the other tones, the melody of the song, came to mind, and the words came a bit later. This time, I wasn’t taken back in time but I sat in the dimly-lit living room, closed my eyes, and allowed myself to picture and hear my mother singing – the little chorus I hadn’t heard in years:
When you pray, will you pray for me
For I need His love and His care
When you pray, will you pray for me
Will you whisper my name in your prayer.
At the close of the day, when I kneel to pray
I will remember you
You need help every day, this is why I pray
And I will remember you.
When I pray, I will pray for you
For you need His love and His care
When I pray, I will pray for you
I will whisper your name in my prayer.
Tonight, Mama, when I pray, I will whisper your name in my prayer:
Thank you, Jesus, for my Mama, who held me and sang to me and prayed for me. And thank you, Jesus, for the wonderful memory .
Click here to listen to the Gaithers sing “When You Pray.” It’s not as sweet as my Mama’s voice, but you’ll get the idea! 🙂
