When my dad Charles Jeffries passed, I received his little black Bible, he always carried in his “deacon suit”. Inside crumpled and worn I found this hand written prayer neatly folded and well used over a life time of serving his Lord.
　
Our most gracious heavenly Father we draw nigh unto thee and glorify thee. For all thou hast done for us , we are ever mindful of thy loving care and we desire to grow more like thee every day. Lord we know we have fallen short of the expectations, we have been weak when we should have been strong, yet thou hast been kind and long suffering with us. Lord we give thee thanks for the many blessings of life. Help us to show our gratitude by the lives which we live. We pray not only for ourselves but for thy people everywhere. Wilt thou bring a renewal of health to those who are sick. Wilt thou give strength to those who are tempted. Wilt thou bring comfort to those whose hearts are heavy with discouragement or sorrow, we ask these things in Jesus holy name. Amen
　
　



Hearing Ann Lewis, one of the oldest and dearest members of our church, pray on Sunday took be back to memories of my dad and his prayers. I grew up at the First Baptist Church in Rushville. When I say “grew up” I can honestly say I spent almost as much time at that church as I did at home. I witnessed a lot of different styles of praying. The loud , the soft, the long the short. Some prayers seemed to flow and some seemed to ramble on. As a kid, I thought it was cool to look around while someone prayed. Once in a while I would get caught looking, but I always knew if they saw me peeking than they were looking also.
There was one time that I was sure to close my eyes during a prayer. It was when my Dad prayed. He was my prayer “mentor”. He was why I wanted to be a good Christian. My heart overflowed with respect for him as a father; But more importantly as a Christian.
I was always astonished as he spoke. He was a quite man. Left school after eight grade to work and help out at home. He wasn’t a great speaker and often his silence spoke volumes to me growing up. But when he got up to pray, the words always seem to flow. The “thee’s and the “thou’s” made every prayer a classic. How could these words come from such a simple man?
It wasn’t until after his death that I found the answer. My mom found his small black testament that always caressed his heart on Sunday morning as He wore his “Deacon Suite”. She gave me that Bible and it remains a most valuable piece of who I am. Inside that little book was neatly folded a simple slip of paper. On that paper was the prayer I had admired for so many years. Reading it was like hearing his voice again. But it didn’t take long for me to smile and think how he had put one over on me growing up. Not only was he reading this prayers but it was probably copied from some book.
Finding this out didn’t alter my respect for my Dad. If anything it made that love more real. Because it reminded me that He was a real person.
It reminded me that God hears us speak, where ever our words come from.
Now I am so very happy that I did close my eyes when He prayed.
I share this prayer with you as my family. As you read this, listen to all the saints that came before us .