Who Was God's Mother

As 'Providence' had seen fit to place me by adoption into a home with parents in their mid-40's, who were Christians, I came to know that providence was God.  With my Dad being a deacon in the church, I grew up on scriptures and Bible stories, both in church and at home.  There were family devotions from my earliest memories, until I was about 8 years old, no clue at this time, yet, why they were discontinued.  But, nevertheless, there was prayer in our home.  Grace was said before every meal and as far back as I can remember my Dad got up at 5 in the morning, every morning, if not earlier.  He would put the coffee on to 'perk' in a glass percolator on the stove, while it 'perked' he would pray.  I woke often to here him in the living room, first at the old wooden-armed, padded rocker and years later, at his recliner.  When the coffee was done, he would have a cup, straight from the pot, hot as lava, strong and black, and read his Bible for an hour.

My Mother was a country wife and a busy Mother.  Most of my memories of her from my early years are of her in the kitchen, radio on, pots on the stove and her rolling out something on the breadboard that would shortly thereafter go into the oven.  She sang all the time, full songs and just verses, as she worked in the kitchen or as she and I were in the garden.  Of which she knew of no limit on, besides the huge plot of ground just south of the house, she and Dad would put in a 'truck patch', rows from end-to-end on one side of the field, and Dad would have the 4-point planter boxes on and plant 4 rows at a time of corn, beans, melons, etc.  Mom loved to hoe out the garden and truck patch, and sang all the while.

Every Sunday we went to my Grandparents house after church, either for dinner or after dinner with church folks or after dinner at home and before we would go back to church in the evening.  Grace was always said by my Grandpa, well sometimes as an honor he would ask my Dad to say Grace, but it was always said.  My Grandpa went to church 2 or 3 times a year, but was probably the most spiritual person I ever knew, quiet by nature and with a strength of character you instinctively trusted.  The whole community did, and called him 'Pop'.  I adored him.  He spoke with me on topics no one else did.  Such reverence he had for life and nature and people.  From him I learned so much, not least of which was that though others might make a distinction that I was adopted, he was thrilled and blessed to have me for a Granddaughter, and that it 'looks like she's going to be a red-head'.  Which he truly wanted, as he had been red-headed in his youth.

It was this observed connection and continuance of generations, the gathering of all the aunts and uncles and cousins almost on a monthly basis, that at 4-years-old made me ask my Mother, ''Who was God's Mother?''  To which she answered, ''God did not have a Mother, He always has been, always is and always will be.''  In the midst of the spin cycle that threw my brain into, I wondered; How did one know Him?  How did they KNOW know that?  Who was this person that prompted my Dad to talk to them every morning?  And since I was just a little kid, did He hear me?  Even though every night I repeated the old poem with my Mother, ''I see the moon and the moon sees me, God Bless the moon and God Bless me.''  And would not go to bed until I had told the moon good night in this special way.