Growing up, Sunday mornings at my house were a whirlwind of activity. With my father needing to be at church early for meetings, my mother was left to manage the chaos of wrangling six children. We would rise gradually, often requiring multiple nudges to get moving. One of my sisters would inevitably wail about breakfast, and the atmosphere was anything but serene as we scrambled to find shoes that had been misplaced since the previous week.
“Put on a slip!” my mother would shout. “That’s your brother’s tie!” Her voice would escalate, especially if someone dared to suggest wearing a sweater vest instead of a tie—how sacrilegious!
By the time we all squeezed into the family Dodge Caravan or later, a Chevy Suburban, our readiness for church felt nonexistent. Tension hung in the air, and we were likely to face consequences for our behavior after the service. My mother would continue to express her frustration about our tardiness until the car door slammed shut. Then, almost magically, her demeanor would shift.
With her arms folded over the steering wheel and her eyes closed momentarily, she would take a deep breath and pray. The transformation was so rapid that it often left me perplexed—how could she transition from chaos to calm with such ease? I struggled to mirror that emotional shift, finding it insincere and, quite frankly, irritating. After her prayer, she would insist on driving in silence or using the time to lecture us.
Yet, despite my teenage grievances, one thing became clear: my mother’s unwavering faith. She was a devoted Christian who lived her beliefs daily, not just on Sundays or in public. Although her morning antics could be maddening, she consistently sent us out into the world with a prayer.
Fast forward to today, and I am now a mother myself. I find myself praying more now than I ever did in my first 28 years of life. Most of my prayers are silent and spontaneous, as I strive to discern the needs of my sons. I turn to God, whom I trust knows my children better than I do, asking for insight into their essential needs and potential.
After my boys began spending time away from me, I started to pray for them briefly, asking for their happiness, love, and safety. I even prayed that they might receive what they needed from others, recognizing my own limitations.
Once my oldest son started preschool, we initiated a routine of praying in the car each morning before leaving the driveway. With seat belts securely fastened and the radio turned off, I pray for the day ahead. My husband, however, finds it a bit annoying when our children request prayers during drop-off, as it disrupts his morning routine. Yet, when a child asks for a moment of prayer to settle their nerves, it encourages the best in us. Besides, they will certainly inform their father if he tries to head out without that moment of reflection.
In retrospect, I am grateful for the car prayers from my childhood. It is a tradition I never expected to adopt, yet it has proven to be both meaningful and practical. Amidst my many shortcomings as a parent, I hope my children recognize that I genuinely want what is best for them and that I am willing to seek help from outside sources. For more insights into parenting and home insemination, check out our post on privacy policies here. Additionally, for those interested in boosting fertility, Make a Mom offers valuable resources. For further reading on treatment options, visit this excellent resource.
Summary
The author reflects on the chaotic Sunday mornings of her childhood, highlighting her mother’s practice of praying in the car as a transition from chaos to calm. As a mother herself, she embraces this tradition, recognizing its significance in fostering a sense of love and support for her children. The article emphasizes the importance of seeking external help and maintaining faith in parenting.