One of the things you’ve likely noticed about my blog is that it truly is random. I blog on a variety of topics and today, I’m taking a trip back to the “olden days”. Back when life was simpler and less stressful, and things moved at a slower pace. Well, everything but my grandpa, Papa’s, car when he drove us to and from church.
It was during those times that I truly began to believe in the power of prayer.
It was just like any other Sunday. My sister, cousin, and I climbed into the backseat of Papa’s vintage automobile. It was already an antique even in the 80s. Lengthy with four doors, it wasn’t any stretch of the imagination (no pun intended) to be able to fit your entire household into the backseat.
Fortunately, only three young girls needed to sit comfortably on the blue bench seat of the 1960 automobile. There were no seatbelts in Papa’s old car, which made the ride all the more exciting.
In the front seat, Papa rode with his bride, Nanie (my grandma), by his side. All was relatively calm as we drove through town and headed toward the highway. As a former police officer, Papa always intended to obey the speed limit.
It was just that, well, his mind was on other things as he drove, like Nanie, the woman who had captured his heart in the 1940s.
My sister, cousin, and I geared up for the upcoming curvy and excessively winding roads through the canyon. For Papa, there was no reason to take corners slowly. After all, the old white car had a sturdy engine and ample power. And to Papa, it was the epitome of a streamlined and aerodynamic race car.
It was in those moments when the front of the car veered around the corner, leaving us girls still around the bend waiting to catch up, that we watched the scenery pass by us at an alarming rate of speed. We were, in trio tandem, sliding from one side then the other as Papa navigated the corners.
Never mind the nausea that threatened an upheaval of Mom’s pancakes we’d eaten for breakfast only minutes before.
Papa slung his arm around Nanie and whistled, alternating his gaze from Nanie on his right to the scenery on his left, and once in a while on the road ahead. His other arm rested on the window frame and simultaneously steered the wheel.
I was grateful for those whistled tunes, as it did help at least temporarily, to take my mind off the times he accidentally went too close to the shoulder of the road.
Nanie giggled and hummed a few tunes in sync with Papa’s whistling. And Papa gave her adoring glances as if they’d just met. They shared in pleasant conversation, seeming never to run out of things to say.
The ride lasted forever, and I closed my eyes around some of the sharpest turns. While I hadn’t yet committed my life to Jesus, I knew from previous church attendance with Nanie and Papa that God heard our prayers.
And when God delivered us safely to the church, I knew for certain prayer is powerful and that He does, indeed, hear us.
Before you go, check out these other posts: