She’s not rich or famous. Not even close. Especially not in the way the world would celebrate. Her name will never flash in lights. She never climbed the corporate ladder. She can easily be the poster child for the woman living in the Unnamed Tent.
I read through pages upon pages of her prayers, all of which starts with “Thank you God for…..” and gratitude floods my soul.
She lives in a nursing home in a small town in the middle of nowhere in South Africa. Battling which is probably her last battle this side of eternity.
Sometimes the distance between Wisconsin and that little room of hers takes my breath away as I long to sit next to her bed and pray with her before I tuck her in for the night. The panic rises to my chest as the distance sinks in and I reach for the Bible she gave me.
One of her old Bibles. And I remember the God she clings to even now, even in this lonely battle against a disease stealing life from her.
I embrace the Bible as if I'm embracing her, I seek comfort in its pages like when I used to climb on her lap so many times growing up. And it is with the strength of her faith lived out day in and day out through the darkest valleys of life, always professing the goodness of her God that I know all is well with my soul, and hers. As I grasp for answers of not being able to just pick her up and bring her here where she can be with our kids and us as she finishes her race well, I go to the Place of Comfort like she taught me to. And as I draw closer to her God, I feel like Ruth proclaiming that her God will be my God. And as I do I see Him move His body at the Southern tip of Africa to touch the life of a woman in an Unnamed Tent. As a stranger leaves the comfort of her dinner to answer a plea of help. As a friend takes time to stop in and break the loneliness in what was an extremely challenging week for her.
I cannot even count the times my name appears in her written prayers and wonder how many nights sitting up with a sick child her prayers were answered and strength was given when I felt like I could not hold on. I wonder how many times the confusion of life cleared as she prayed for clarity and wisdom. I wonder how many times danger was averted because she prayed for my protection. I wonder how many times a renewed hunger for Truth was awakened in my heart because she took time to pray for my heart to soften to His call.
Some have a heritage of strings of pearls and family jewels.
But my inheritance is the most magnificent of them all.
I wear strings upon strings of pearls beaded with the prayers of a believing Mother.
Mamma, I wear them proudly, determined to safeguard them for our children and their children’s children.
