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Pray Without Ceasing
By Marilyn Wilkerson
My grandmother lived with my family until I was thirteen, then she lived in an apartment. When I visited, we’d sit at her kitchen table sipping tea, eating cookies and discussing our Lord and our faith. Grandma was quite an influence on me, and I’ve written about it in "Grandma’s Was a Simple Faith."
But in the days of my childhood, depicted correctly on television by the Cleavers in Leave it to Beaver, or other TV families, there was another who influenced my spiritual life. Her name was Mrs. Lesco, a wonderful neighbor.
Mrs. Lesco welcomed my brother, my sister and me any time we knocked on her door. She’d head for the pantry and come back with Ritz crackers for each of us. My siblings would scurry on their way, shouting their thank you's over their shoulders. They were, after all, only one and three years old. But I was a big girl, age seven, and I stayed to talk with Mrs. Lesco, and followed her down the hallway towards whatever task she had left undone as she cheerfully greeted us. I loved the way she smelled, and would learn much later that her unique smell was none other than Noxema.
Often, Mrs. Lesco would be in the midst of cleaning her bathroom, and I’d sit in the hallway, wanting to hear every bit of wisdom she’d impart. As she scrubbed the bathtub, Mrs. Lesco explained to me how important it was for a wife and mother to pray as she cleaned the bathroom, for it was usually one place where others would not follow her lest they be asked to help. She said that a mom could pray for her family, usually undisturbed, as she cleaned the bathroom. Poor Mrs. Lesco. I disturbed her often, but she never complained. I’d bow my head as she prayed for her family and mine.
Sometimes, I’d catch Mrs. Lesco in the midst of doing laundry. As she carefully folded each sheet , pillowcase, or article of clothing, she’d explain that a wife and mother should pray for each individual as she folded their clothing or bed coverings. I’d bow my head as she prayed faithfully for her spouse and mother-in-law.
At other times, I’d catch Mrs. Lesco stirring some bubbling soup on the stove. She’d explain the importance of a wife and mother praying as she lovingly prepared food for her family. I’d bow my head as she prayed.
Not often, but sometimes, I’d find Mrs. Lesco actually sitting in her favorite rocker. If she didn’t have a sewing project in her hands, she’d have her rosary beads lying in her lap. They were beautiful beads, and I remember wanting rosary beads of my own. Mrs. Lesco explained that one of the differences in her faith and mine was that I didn’t need the rosary beads to pray. She was the first to suggest that I use my own hand to remember to pray for family, friends, and government officials. And she pointed out that my little finger or pinkie represented me, and that my prayers for myself should be less frequent than prayers for others who were represented by my other, larger fingers.
Just a few months ago, I remembered Mrs. Lesco as I worked in the linen department of a department store. Rather than moan and groan when a load of towels arrived needing to be folded before being put on the shelves, I silently rejoiced. For there, in the midst of the store’s hustle and bustle, I was able to pray – for my family and friends and co-workers – as I quietly folded the towels.
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