I’m certainly not Hebrew but I take a lot from the way I
understand that they prayed. Most people
will kneel beside the bed or by the
couch or someplace in their home when they pray. My place of prayer, my altar however is made
of 12 rocks. They are not large rocks
mind you. Old people can’t carry big
rocks very far. These are just some
rocks I picked up while working around the farm. I’ve stacked them on a little ridge out in
the woods behind my house. It is here
that I go each morning, usually before sun-up, to meet with God. Gracie and I
take our little “walk-about” and say good morning to God and get our heads
together. We stroll out past the barn,
down by the creek and end up at the altar for our morning talk with The Father. Not sure how much talking Gracie does. She is more into sniffing for critters than she is into praying.
On and around this little altar are other rocks. These rocks represent those for whom I am
praying. Each member of my family has a
rock. My wife, my kids, my kids-in-law,
my grand kids and other family members are represented there. Many of the folks in my church have a place
around the altar, especially if I know they are going through some hard
times.
When I am praying about a specific thing for a specific person
and when God answers that prayer for that person I try to take their rock and
give it to them. It most likely means
nothing to them, but to me it means that God has answered another prayer. It’s kind of a victory present.
I've been able to give a few of those rocks away recently. A friend going through a tough patch, another friend whose baby girl was really sick, even got to give a rock to my sister not long ago. But back to the story.
Last night I got a call from Kimberly about 11 or
so. She told me they were on the way to
the hospital for the delivery of her third child. I didn’t sleep much after that. I know they were three hours or so up in
North Alabama, but I felt like I needed to “help” all I could and hold them up
in prayer. Finally, after a few hours I
went to sleep, waking off and on and just mentioning them again to God (In case
He forgot).
As I knelt beside my altar this morning I picked up the
rock that I had placed there for my seventh grandchild even before he was
born. Since I have known of his coming,
he has had a rock on the altar along-side his Dad and Mom and his big Sister
and Brother’s rock. I picked up the
little rock and held it in my hand and asked God to give him strength and to anoint
him and make him useful in His kingdom. Grandma’s
prayer last night expressed similar request.
She prayed “Lord, give us a healthy baby boy”.
After finishing my prayer I walked back to the house and
no sooner had I walked in the back door than I got a text and a picture from Matt
announcing the arrival of little Titus Michael Standridge. (Isn’t modern technology amazing?)
In the picture little Titus looked like he had experience
a bad night. His little eyes were puffy
and his little face was red. (Ever
notice how new born babies look like they’ve been on a three day drunk?) But he
looked really good to me.
I hope I’ll be around long enough to watch Titus grow
into a strong leader. I hope I can see
him be a rock for his family. But
whether I see it or not, I just sort of believe it will happen.
I’ll write him a "blessing" in a little while and this weekend
Beba and I will get in the Toyota and travel
up to see him. God willing, I’ll
hold him in my hands and pronounce the blessing over him. (There’s that Hebrew
influence again). Guess I said all of
this just to say a big welcome to number 7. You
know, I think I like this kind of stuff and I’m really getting into this thing of being a
Grump.
