Prayer

I have always known that my Dad was a praying man.  As a child I would be in a hurry and open the door to my parents bedroom without knocking in the morning and I would find Dad on his knees at the side of his bed.  He never scolded me for my interruption and to my memory never even acknowledged my interruption.  He simply continued on and I quietly shut the door.  My Dad would lead us in family prayer in the morning as we knelt around the big kitchen table.  As an adult dropping in for a quick visit during the day if I caught Dad at lunch time he was sure to pause a moment and offer a simple prayer on his lunch even if he was the only one eating. While I can't remember any specifics of what he would say in the prayers he offered I can remember the way his prayers felt - he had a way of talking with God.  His example of humble prayer spoke louder than any words ever could.