The Prayers Of A Praying Mother

I took a well needed and deserved trip back home this past Sunday. My hubby and I enjoyed our time on the road just as much as our overall time spent with family. It has been well-over two years since I have revisited my immediate family and my home town. People sometimes ask me what keeps me away for so long before returning? My answer to them would be pain. The pain that I decided to keep within the past to move forward. The pain that hindered me from believing that I had a true purpose in this life to fulfill. The pain that so many people caused me.

The pain from being a target to bully, from growing up very poor, and tormented for being what other kids my age considered “less” than what they were. When I was living in my hometown of Napoloeonville, Louisiana I did not understand why I grew up so different than my peers. I did not understand why I had to suffer every day going to school. There were countless times that I cried while walking to and from school for years from elementary to high school about my come up. I stayed away for so long from my hometown, because it seriously hunted me in my dreams.

I grew up drinking sugar water on scorching summer days when my mama did not have the transportation or money to get me or my sister and brother Kool-Aid. I know firsthand what it is like to survive from eating grits with eggs, spam, Vienna sausages, and canned polished meat. Then to get to school and feel blessed to get free breakfast and lunch. I never was ashamed of my family or how people in the parish of Assumption assumed for us to be. I loved my mother and was many days amazed about how she provided for her children.

If my mama had to clean someone’s house from top to bottom for money to fed her kids she did just that. She always was so humble that it scared me. I used to wonder how come she never complains and when do she cries? I used to think that seeing her cry would loosen up her hard exterior, but I never seen her break.

There were nights she would wrap me and my sister and brother tight with blankets when our heater would blow out and our entire house; that people called a shack was freezing cold. I used to watch her get on her knees besides our beds that she pushed together to create a king-size bed and pray. Her prayers sounded like an old slave hymn. Her words have with love and hopefulness whenever she prays to God. Still to this day, I appreciate the prayers of my praying mother. Her prayers help me along the way when I feel like I am on the verge of giving up.

I look over my 24 years of living, and I no longer harvest that pain I use to carry in my heart. I thank God that my prayer and the prayers of others for me over my life did not fall upon deaf ears. I am excited to become a mother in another month and teach my son how to pray. For I am humble and have not allowed my past to be a reflection of future. I honestly can say that I have no option other in life than to be very successful and famous.

I remain motivated from the same background that molded me into the woman that I am today and God has a lot to do with that. I thank God, every day for my mama and for what she has taught me. I am happy to say that I went back home all by the grace of God.

My question to you is do you find strength from prayers if so why and if not, how could you draw strength from prayers? You can even leave your reply below.

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