“Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray Thee Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray Thee Lord my soul to take.” This was my first prayer and that of millions of other children around the world. My momma taught me the prayer. It is a self-centered petition; but what else does a young child know? Even so, it speaks of the very essence of life, one’s soul. I guess it was hard for me to distinguish the difference between God and Santa Claus, but at least Momma had introduced me to God. By the way, some adults still have trouble distinguishing between God and Santa.

When my sister Margaret and I were older Momma had her family gather around her before bedtime for a little devotional period. She told us stories from the Bible, taught us some of her favorite verses from it, and some new ones. She read to us from the scriptures and prayed with us and urged us to pray prayers of thanks for God’s gifts to us. We didn’t always see our gifts coming straight from God but we thanked him anyway. We learned quite a bit from our sessions with Momma, to ask for help and forgiveness.

Momma seemed hell-bent on seeing to it that our souls were saved. Any time a church in town had a revival meeting we were sure to attend at least two or three meetings. She would always urge me to go shake the preacher’s hand during his alter call. I was reluctant to do it since I wasn’t sure just what it meant. I later found my own way to accepting the Lord’s invitation.

Many have been situations where I wasn’t sure how to go about overcoming obstacles in the way of a good or fair solution to a problem. I often prayed for God’s help and direction. I usually got a satisfactory solution to the problem. I could never feel sure that God helped me find an answer, but he gave me faith enough that I asked for his help time and again.

Other times I have been disappointed in answers to my prayers. Those answers were “no”. Those answers came in response to petitions that did not involve any effort of mine such as prayer for healing of “incurable” disease. Evidently it was not God’s will.

I have forgotten the details of all the Church services I ever attended, except for one. I remember only the last few minutes of that one. It was a Maundy Thursday service, commemorating Jesus’ last days of mortality. The service went on pretty much as expected, with scripture and homily, until near the end. Then the tolling of the bells began. The toll was a somber sound, repeating at a slow and steady pace. As the bell tolled the lights in the sanctuary dimmed. The symbolism was strong. My thoughts lead me to the garden where Jesus prayed while his disciples slept. As the lights dimmed I remembered what followed, how he was lead away to face his ordeal alone.

The bells continued to toll as the darkness advanced. I began to feel empathy for the man who had only love for his friends and all people, for one left alone without a person to give a word of encouragement. How awful a feeling and it was overcoming me. Soon the darkness was complete, except for a single candle that was extinguished as the tolling of the bells stopped and we were left in a world of darkness.

The feeling I had during the tolling stayed with me long after I got home that night. I have never felt as close to God as then. I didn’t think of the experience as prayer but I now think it was the most intimate prayer of my life.