| Biographical Non-Fiction posted May 7, 2024 | Chapters: |
...12 13 -14- 15 
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My experiences with trying to understand God.
A chapter in the book At Home in Mississippi
Communicating With God
by BethShelby
I wasn't usually a vindictive little brat. Mama did her best to steer me in the right direction. She was a woman of faith, and from as far back as I can remember, she talked to me about God. She read Bible Stories for children and insisted I say a prayer each night and ask a blessing at mealtime. I was like a dry sponge, absorbing and retaining everything she said. She told me God is always with us and he hears us when we talk to him. He even knows what we are thinking. If we need something, we should ask.
I decided what I needed was someone to play with. If we had a baby, I’d be the big sister, and it would have to do what I said. I kind of thought boys were nicer, but I was willing to take whatever God had handy. If I asked him just right, I was sure he would know best what he should send.
This seemed pretty important, so I thought maybe it needed to be in writing. I didn’t mention it to Mom because I’d been around her long enough to know she might try to talk me out of it. She might think it would be too much trouble, but I could be the teacher.
It didn’t matter that I’d never had to write anything before, because Mama had some letters laying around which people had written to her. Right away, I noticed letters people wrote were different from words in books. I was sure I could study them and learn how to do it.
I got some paper and a pencil and started staring at the letters I’d found. I saw the writing needed to go straight across the paper and the letters made loops, some had cross lines on them. There was a scattering of dots. Some loops were tall and some short. Some had a lot of loops and some didn’t. There were spaces between them. This is easy, I thought. I can do this. God will know what it says because Mom says he knows what we’re thinking. Maybe I’ll draw a baby just to make sure.
I was pretty pleased with my letter, and I took it outside and explained it to God. “God, I’ve written you a letter, but you’re going to have to pick it up with the wind and bring it up to Heaven, cause I can’t mail it. See if you can do something about it pretty quick, because the baby will have to grow before we can play.”
Luckily, a storm was brewing and the wind was blowing hard that day. I had to keep throwing the sheet of paper into the air several times before the wind caught it and it vanished over the tree tops. I was thrilled. I didn’t plan to tell Mama right away, but I couldn’t keep my secret long. That night I broke the news.
“Mama, I’ve got something to tell you. Don’t get mad, but God is going to send us something.”
“Oh, is He? Have you been talking to God? What did you tell God?”
“I didn’t just tell Him. I wrote him a letter, and he got it this morning. He is going to give us a baby.”
Mama started sputtering and I’m sure she was taking some deep breaths trying to figure out how to approach this without destroying my faith.
“Honey, it doesn’t work that way. We can’t have a baby right now. Daddy has to be involved and everything. We can’t afford a baby. You shouldn’t expect something like that.”
“It’s too late. God already got the letter. I saw it go up. I’ll take care of it. You don’t have to do anything. You said we could ask God anything.”
I can’t remember all the details of how she finally got out of that little breach of faith. All I remember is I had a very upset Mother. I think she tried to blame it on Daddy and say he wouldn’t let us have a baby. Mother actually wanted more children. Maybe God tried, because years later, she admitted to having a miscarriage when I was a few years old.
I wasn’t ready to give up on a sibling. Mom had read me enough fairy tales that I believed in some pretty weird stuff. For example, there was a time I insisted she come outside and see the little green man in the tree.
“Honey, what is your little green man doing?" she asked stalling for time before she would have to leave what she was doing.
“He is just standing there, naked, and rubbing his hands,” I told her. That got her attention. She cracked up laughing at me when she saw him. She had to give me a nature lesson on what a Praying Mantas was.
I still wanted that baby so much. I definitely remember thinking if I prayed hard enough, God, who Mom said could do anything, would certainly be able to turn my little doll into a real baby. I remembered that was how Pinocchio came to life. The shoemaker wanted a real boy, and I thought I remembered him asking God to change him and make him real.
I prayed and prayed over that doll, and I actually convinced myself I could hear a heartbeat in her little cloth body. It felt so real, and I started worrying about whether I would be able to feed it. I told God not to worry about making her real, because I wasn’t sure I could really take care of her. Mama was too busy to help me and I didn’t have the kind of milk a baby needed.
Mom had started taking me to church regularly. Daddy didn’t go. In the children’s Sunday School classes, we were just coloring pictures of Bible characters. The big people’s church was boring. I couldn’t see over the people in front of me, and I didn’t know what they were talking about anyway, so I tuned them out. The only thing fun about church was in winter I would sit on the end of the pew and stroke the fur on the women’s coats as they walked by. My mom didn’t have a fur coat.
One day in church, I remember being able to see some man’s head up front. I started wondering if I stood up and held my hand up high, if my hand would look higher than the man’s head. I had no idea what he was talking about, but it turned out, he had just asked if anyone would volunteer to do some menial task, which the church needed to have done. At that moment, my hand shot into the air.
“My goodness! Would you look at that.” He told the congregation. “You older folks should be ashamed. I don’t see any of you volunteering, but it seems we’ve got an enthusiastic young lady who’d be willing to do the job.” A tittering of laughter erupted among the pews.
Mom turned in my direction with a red face and jerked my hand down. “Stop embarrassing me like that,” she whispered.
The following week, we visited the country church her sister attended. We had a good reason. Aunt Chris had invited us for lunch. I’m sure the change of venue, had nothing to do with my little experiment.
I wasn't usually a vindictive little brat. Mama did her best to steer me in the right direction. She was a woman of faith, and from as far back as I can remember, she talked to me about God. She read Bible Stories for children and insisted I say a prayer each night and ask a blessing at mealtime. I was like a dry sponge, absorbing and retaining everything she said. She told me God is always with us and he hears us when we talk to him. He even knows what we are thinking. If we need something, we should ask.
I decided what I needed was someone to play with. If we had a baby, I’d be the big sister, and it would have to do what I said. I kind of thought boys were nicer, but I was willing to take whatever God had handy. If I asked him just right, I was sure he would know best what he should send.
This seemed pretty important, so I thought maybe it needed to be in writing. I didn’t mention it to Mom because I’d been around her long enough to know she might try to talk me out of it. She might think it would be too much trouble, but I could be the teacher.
It didn’t matter that I’d never had to write anything before, because Mama had some letters laying around which people had written to her. Right away, I noticed letters people wrote were different from words in books. I was sure I could study them and learn how to do it.
I got some paper and a pencil and started staring at the letters I’d found. I saw the writing needed to go straight across the paper and the letters made loops, some had cross lines on them. There was a scattering of dots. Some loops were tall and some short. Some had a lot of loops and some didn’t. There were spaces between them. This is easy, I thought. I can do this. God will know what it says because Mom says he knows what we’re thinking. Maybe I’ll draw a baby just to make sure.
I was pretty pleased with my letter, and I took it outside and explained it to God. “God, I’ve written you a letter, but you’re going to have to pick it up with the wind and bring it up to Heaven, cause I can’t mail it. See if you can do something about it pretty quick, because the baby will have to grow before we can play.”
Luckily, a storm was brewing and the wind was blowing hard that day. I had to keep throwing the sheet of paper into the air several times before the wind caught it and it vanished over the tree tops. I was thrilled. I didn’t plan to tell Mama right away, but I couldn’t keep my secret long. That night I broke the news.
“Mama, I’ve got something to tell you. Don’t get mad, but God is going to send us something.”
“Oh, is He? Have you been talking to God? What did you tell God?”
“I didn’t just tell Him. I wrote him a letter, and he got it this morning. He is going to give us a baby.”
Mama started sputtering and I’m sure she was taking some deep breaths trying to figure out how to approach this without destroying my faith.
“Honey, it doesn’t work that way. We can’t have a baby right now. Daddy has to be involved and everything. We can’t afford a baby. You shouldn’t expect something like that.”
“It’s too late. God already got the letter. I saw it go up. I’ll take care of it. You don’t have to do anything. You said we could ask God anything.”
I can’t remember all the details of how she finally got out of that little breach of faith. All I remember is I had a very upset Mother. I think she tried to blame it on Daddy and say he wouldn’t let us have a baby. Mother actually wanted more children. Maybe God tried, because years later, she admitted to having a miscarriage when I was a few years old.
I wasn’t ready to give up on a sibling. Mom had read me enough fairy tales that I believed in some pretty weird stuff. For example, there was a time I insisted she come outside and see the little green man in the tree.
“Honey, what is your little green man doing?" she asked stalling for time before she would have to leave what she was doing.
“He is just standing there, naked, and rubbing his hands,” I told her. That got her attention. She cracked up laughing at me when she saw him. She had to give me a nature lesson on what a Praying Mantas was.
I still wanted that baby so much. I definitely remember thinking if I prayed hard enough, God, who Mom said could do anything, would certainly be able to turn my little doll into a real baby. I remembered that was how Pinocchio came to life. The shoemaker wanted a real boy, and I thought I remembered him asking God to change him and make him real.
I prayed and prayed over that doll, and I actually convinced myself I could hear a heartbeat in her little cloth body. It felt so real, and I started worrying about whether I would be able to feed it. I told God not to worry about making her real, because I wasn’t sure I could really take care of her. Mama was too busy to help me and I didn’t have the kind of milk a baby needed.
Mom had started taking me to church regularly. Daddy didn’t go. In the children’s Sunday School classes, we were just coloring pictures of Bible characters. The big people’s church was boring. I couldn’t see over the people in front of me, and I didn’t know what they were talking about anyway, so I tuned them out. The only thing fun about church was in winter I would sit on the end of the pew and stroke the fur on the women’s coats as they walked by. My mom didn’t have a fur coat.
One day in church, I remember being able to see some man’s head up front. I started wondering if I stood up and held my hand up high, if my hand would look higher than the man’s head. I had no idea what he was talking about, but it turned out, he had just asked if anyone would volunteer to do some menial task, which the church needed to have done. At that moment, my hand shot into the air.
“My goodness! Would you look at that.” He told the congregation. “You older folks should be ashamed. I don’t see any of you volunteering, but it seems we’ve got an enthusiastic young lady who’d be willing to do the job.” A tittering of laughter erupted among the pews.
Mom turned in my direction with a red face and jerked my hand down. “Stop embarrassing me like that,” she whispered.
The following week, we visited the country church her sister attended. We had a good reason. Aunt Chris had invited us for lunch. I’m sure the change of venue, had nothing to do with my little experiment.
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