Monday Motivation: A Psalm Story

Friends

It’s a special day! It’s my precious mother’s 85th birthday! I praise God for all the years she and I have shared together, her sweet smile and loving guidance providing a firm and secure foundation for my life. I am so grateful to know the boundless love of a good mother. Happy Birthday, Mama! I love you!

In honor of this special day, I share a story about a magical moment I spent with my Granny, my mother’s dear mother. Enjoy this little trip down memory lane!

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“Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust”(Psalm 91:1-2, NIV).

The room was quiet, save for the tender voice of a young girl reading aloud. A choir of cicadas sang their evening song just outside the open window, their music muffled every now and then by the hum of a car engine rolling down the street only a few short yards from the front porch railing. One car after another made their nightly sojourn to the textile mill just around the corner, its red brick facade looming large over the sleepy Southern mill town.

“For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone” (Psalm 91:11-12, NIV).

The young voice spoke each line carefully, taking pains to pronounce each word correctly, pausing to decipher those words that were unfamiliar. A tiny lamp glowed on the nightstand, illuminating the old bed frame nestled against a simple planked wall spruced up with a generous coat of baby blue paint. The room was long and narrow, its three doors all closed, shutting out any sounds from the rest of the small mill house.

I sat cross-legged at the foot of the larger bed, my knee resting against the weathered flesh of the older woman stretched out before me, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling in steady, rhythmic breaths.she was clothed in her usual housecoat, her head bathed in layers of hairnets, all in an effort to protect her weekly hairdo fresh from the local beauty shop.

The Bible lay open in my lap, my soft voice continuing to read. I held the Bible gently, turning the silky pages carefully, taking care to protect this most precious gift. About a year before, I had received that Bible at the moment of my baptism and joining of the historic Fairview Presbyterian Church, the gracious antebellum structure founded by my ancestors shortly after their arrival in America. My name was written in the front of the leather-bound Bible, a dedication I was quite proud of.

I was spending the night with my Granny, my maternal grandmother. It was a hard time for my family. My Papa had sustained another heart attack, and he was lying in a hospital bed, his body not responding well to the limited cardiac treatments of the day. My Mama and her identical twin sister Tina were taking turns staying at the hospital with their father, since Granny wasn’t well enough to do so herself. Granny had been a bad diabetic for years, and her long list of diabetes-related health issues limited her activities.

It was Mama’s turn at the hospital tonight, so Granny and I were on our own. When Granny rose to head to the bedroom she shared with Papa, I tagged along to keep her company. It was time for her to put the drops in her eyes, and she always did so lying down. Mama and I suspected that the eye drop routine was just a good excuse for a nap, but Granny vehemently denied this lighthearted accusation.

Granny had been “sick” for years, but that didn’t stop her from being my beloved Grandma. She was the kind of grandmother you could snuggle up with, the grown-up who always found a way to entertain a child, often without rising from her well-worn recliner. She could play Barbies’ better than any adult I knew.

She and I had always been close. I had spent lots of time in her little five room mill house, staying with her and Papa whenever we were home on leave from our military assignments. We spent many a night snuggled up together in the double bed in the front room, her animated voice regaling my imaginative mind with stories of her childhood.

Granny had been my roommate the year my father had served in Vietnam. My mother had suffered a scare one of the first nights we had spent alone in our tiny rental house out in the country. The porch light had shattered to pieces with no apparent cause. After that, Granny came every night to stay with Mama and me. I’m not quite sure how much protection she provided, but it made my Mama feel better and that was worth a lot to both Granny and Papa.

Granny and I had read books together during that long year waiting for my Daddy to come home from the war. Now the tables were turned, and the granddaughter was reading to her grandmother. I knew Granny was sad and worried that evening, so I had asked her, “would you like me to read something from my Bible?”

There was a long pause as she considered my offer. Then she replied, “Read Psalm 91. It’s my favorite.”I flipped through the pages until I located that Psalm, and began reading aloud. It was simply a set of spoken words, yet both she and I knew it was so much more. I could tell by the way her body relaxed, the strain lifting from her face. These were words of comfort, of protection, of hope. These words held the promise of God’s Unfailing love. These words were words my Granny needed to hear on that long ago night, and perhaps I did too.

Because of that special moment with my grandmother, I never forgot Psalm 91. Over the years, I, too, have returned to that passage again and again, reaching for it in times of struggle and loss. The words have soothed my soul, just as those words had comforted Granny’s aching heart. I’m sure Granny didn’t realize it that evening nor did it occur to her in the years that followed, but she had witnessed to me that night. Her response to that passage of scripture spoke a testimony of faith that a million sermons could not accomplish any better. Granny believed in those words. She believed in the God they spoke of, in the promises conveyed. Because she believed, I believed too. Because she

trusted God, I learned to trust Him too.

A quiet evening, an open window, the serenade of cicadas, a granddaughter and her beloved grandmother, a tender moment shared a lifetime ago, yet never forgotten. It was a moment when the words of a Psalm touched my heart because those same words had touched another before me. It was the moment when Psalm 91 became my favorite too.

““Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. He will call on me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation”” (Psalm 91:14-16, NIV).

PRAYER

O Loving Heavenly Father, thank You for those beacons of faith You have placed in our lives to draw us closer to You. Thank You for their light that illuminated our paths and showed us the way to Your love and grace. Thank You for the love and guidance of good mothers and grandmothers, for the witness they have shared through both their words and their actions. Show us how to shine Your light today, that we might help others to find You.

In the Precious Name of Jesus, we pray,

Amen

Blessings,

Anita

-APS 7/17/2023