What Would We Do Without Grandmothers Who Pray?

This Mother's Day, I recalled a precious story from the informal annuls of family lore and I would like to share it with you. When my mother was six years old, she stepped on a Copperhead in the woods and was bit in the foot. As you can imagine, in those days it was hard to get to the doctor quickly. By the time they got her there, some of the flesh in her ankle had been eaten away by the poison. The doctor told my grandmother that her daughter would never walk normally again.

My grandmother was a spiritual giant in many ways. She could not accept such news without the outflowing of prayer. According to my mother, my grandmother spent all night at the church in prayer before God, interceding for her daughter.

Soon after that, when they returned to the doctor and he removed the bandage, my mother remembers his shock and surprise. “I've never seen flesh heal itself like that!”

This story explains my mother's phobia about snakes. The biggest mistake in my childhood was the time I put a rubber snake in her bed! But more importantly, it illuminates the maternal faith sharing of my family. What would we do without grandmothers who pray? Where would I be?