Buddhist Catholic Contemplative Evangelical General Christian Hindu Jewish Latter-day Saint Muslim New Visions Progressive Christian

Beliefs

Topics

Columnists

Resource Library

Research Tools

Video

Podcasts

Thought Readers

Faith In Media Tracker

Newsletters

Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In Subscription Support

Follow Patheos

Home
General Christian
Tales from My Father: On Prayer and Two Old Women, One with Blue Hair

Tales from My Father: On Prayer and Two Old Women, One with Blue Hair

Last updated on: April 3, 2015 at 4:38 pm by K. Mulhern

Tales from My Father: On Prayer and Two Old Women, One with Blue Hair 2015-04-03T16:38:13-06:00 K. Mulhern

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

As pastor’s kids, we enjoyed a certain amount of both notoriety and adulation, depending on who the observer was. As a little one, I remember weaving in and out of adult legs and conversations with a sensation of ownership, as though the church lobby was my fair demesne and these were all stewards of some sort. There were times I hugged the wrong legs, thinking they belonged to my dad… but did not. At that young age, I could do no wrong. (Well, that’s not strictly true. My dad did have to stop his sermon once to rebuke two of us for crawling around under the pews, gathering hymnals, stacking them high, and sitting perched atop until they toppled. My mother must have been on nursery duty that day.)

As I grew older, I realized that I was some sort of a test, and the “grade” I got was really a reflection on my parents. Like the first time I wore pants to church, and my dad got a call that afternoon. And yet, even then the spotlight brought both good and bad.

Today, I’m thankful for the good. The good that came to me in the attention of ladies “of a certain age” who tended to dote. I rather liked being doted upon. But the best doting, I didn’t recognize at the time. Years went by before I could “see” what great good I received.

This year my Thanksgiving ode is a tribute to the goodness I received (and still receive) via Genevieve and Lu. Genevieve: severe and gentle, tiny and unbending. Lu: grand and gaudy, with blue hair and a dead fox slung over her shoulders. Sunday after Sunday, I encountered these women in the church foyer, and every single time I saw them, they each said to me, “Kathy, I pray for you every day.”

“Mm-hmm,” I replied every single time. “That’s nice. Thank you.”

Multiply those exchanges by, hmm, let’s see, 572 Sundays. Give or take a few. That’s just the times they reminded me; between every reminder were six days of prayer. Multiply that.

Monday through Saturday, Lu sat in her mountain home, bringing her long, long prayer list before the Lord every day. I saw the list once, and my name on it.

Monday through Saturday, Genevieve sat in her old Denver home set back on the alley, quietly remembering me and others in prayer.

Mm-hmm, that’s nice.

I went to college, and came home. I married, and left that church. I visited occasionally, and still I heard the mantra. And still was blind, deaf, and dumb. Mm-hmm, that’s nice.

Until one day, not so very many years ago, I lost first Genevieve and then Lu. And the weight of that loss doubled down when I realized the gift they had been giving me for so many years, a spring of living water. I looked around me at home and health, husband and babies, work and school, family and church, and I recognized that, in some heavenly exchange, the blessings I had were due in part to their prayers. Even my greatest losses and suffering were enveloped in their soft prayers, their calm, persistent advocacy.

And I panicked.

THEY PRAYED FOR ME EVERY DAY! Good golly! Now what was I going to do???

Without them praying for me every day, I suddenly felt vulnerable, prey to dangers unknown and unimagined, exposed to the elements.

For me, that was a turning point of some kind in my life of prayer. I began to see it for what it was: yes, long, slow, habitual, dry at times, and not terribly dramatic; but yes, also fruitful, faithful, fertile, powerful. Constant, unmoving, heavenward focused, centered. An oak tree, slow-growing, thick-trunked, shady. A long obedience in an upward direction.

It took me many months to find two more women who would step into those shoes and pray for me every day for the rest of their lives, virtual anchorites to my inner sanctuary. (Seriously, how many people can you ask for such a favor?) Whether or not they see me or hear from me, they have committed themselves to pray. I lean back into their prayers—unheard, often unremembered, but there, murmured in the foyer of my soul.

When I was little, I remember learning the child’s hand prayer: entwine the fingers of both hands so that your knuckles face out. “Here’s the church.” Point your two index fingers up into a tip. “And here’s the steeple.” Your side-by-side thumbs make the church doors. “Open the doors…” Twist apart your thumbs. “… And see all the people!” Bend your wrists open and wiggle all your fingers.

Genevieve and Lu, perhaps if you have a chance during your blissful adoration at the Throne, you are remembering me still. You have become my steeple. Sherill and Millie, you are my foyer. Thank you. Multiply that times a million.

Photo: macmoov, Flickr C.C.

Previous Post

November 14, 2012

Thanksgiving, Sin, and Naming the Hunger

Next Post

November 28, 2012 According to a Certain Studious Old Man, Objects in Mirror Are Closer than They Appear

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category Advent Ascetical Theology Book Reviews Children and Parenting Easter Epiphany Friends of God Lent Life in the Spirit Ludolph Pascalian Spirituality: a series Politics Prayers Six Neo-Christian Myths Spiritual Formation Tales from My Father Trinitarian Spirituality: a series Uncategorized

Select a Month October 2026 July 2024 June 2024 December 2023 August 2023 July 2023 June 2023 January 2023 October 2022 September 2022 August 2022 July 2022 April 2022 November 2021 October 2021 September 2021 August 2021 July 2021 June 2020 January 2020 December 2019 November 2019 October 2019 September 2019 June 2019 May 2019 April 2019 October 2018 August 2018 July 2018 June 2018 May 2018 April 2018 March 2018 February 2018 May 2017 April 2017 March 2017 February 2017 November 2016 June 2016 April 2016 February 2016 January 2016 December 2015 November 2015 October 2015 September 2015 August 2015 March 2015 October 2014 September 2014 August 2014 April 2014 March 2014 February 2014 September 2013 August 2013 July 2013 June 2013 May 2013 April 2013 March 2013 February 2013 January 2013 December 2012 November 2012 October 2012 September 2012 August 2012 July 2012 June 2012 May 2012 April 2012 March 2012 February 2012 October 2011 August 2011 July 2011 February 2011 October 2010 September 2010 July 2010 May 2010 April 2010 March 2010 February 2010 January 2010 November 2009 September 2009 August 2009 July 2009 June 2009

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz

What instrument did Miriam play?

Select your answer to see how you score.

Trumpet Tambourine Lyre Harp