My mama was one of four women who met when they were young wives and soon-to-be mamas. Their friendships lasted until the first died in early 2001. Then Mama died in October 2001, leaving two of this foursome still living. They met in Nashville, TN, and had much in common besides being young wives and almost mamas. Each of them had a strong faith, although they attended different denominations. Each of them were native-born Tennesseans, but not from the same city or town. They loved their lives and who they were.
When those four babies were born, we became a foursome too. While our mamas talked and chatted over lunch, we would play off to one side. As I grew older, I would listen to their words and conversations. It soon became apparent that they had one more thing in common — prayer. I could hear them asking each other to pray for this one, or that one, or some family in need, or someone in the hospital. And the answer was always yes.
In 1967, I married my first husband and we moved into a home not far from one of these four women. Her name was Anne. I could walk my baby son, born in 1971, right to her home. And I did. One day I asked Anne to talk with me about her prayer life. She responded with, “There’s not much to tell. I just pray all day long.” I think I must have given her a strange look because she laughed and pointed out that she did do other things, but that if something or someone popped into her mind that was instruction from God for her to pray right then and there, even if she was driving.
I thought about this long and hard, and with a young one on my hip and bottles and diapers (days before good disposables!) I was struggling with finding a good time to pray. I took out my Bible and started reading about prayer. That’s when that short little verse of Scripture was shown to me: