Blog 436 – 10.16.2016

I offer the following as a belated Mother’s Day gift to everyone but especially to
Alene Florence Davidson White – 11.22.1931 – 8.10.2000
The first word I ever spoke was Mama. I called her that for the almost fifty years that I got to know her in this life. It meant love the first time I said it and it still does.

In my first book, an autobiographical tale of the loves of my life, I recount the following story of a sad, shy, and timid little boy who loved his mama. It is the story of an answer to prayer but with a twist I hope you will enjoy.

By the time I was ten years old I had attended three different elementary schools. Making new friends and saying good bye to old ones had taken quite a toll on my tender young heart. I loved my mother to distraction as the saying goes. Even to this day I only know one way to love and that is completely with all the stops pulled out. Or as Jesus put it: “with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength.” My mother taught me and inspired me to want to be loved like that?

I had a terrible time adjusting to the third new school. My family had not yet moved to the neighborhood so my brother and I had to ride a city bus to the new school each day. Our old school had been given over to the black community that surrounded it. Those were days of racial segregation in Chattanooga. We were the last white family to move out of the community. I did not understand why my brother and I were not allowed to play with the black kids down the street. Theirs was the only other family living on our one block dead end street. That last summer there was tough times for nine year old Davy.

After all that I had to face another new school where the only person I knew in my fifth grade class was a girl cousin. She was and is still a very pretty girl but to a shy boy hungry for a familiar face she would have been gorgeous to me at any rate. I cried every morning before we had to catch the bus. My mother who loved me felt helpless to fix her broken hearted little boy. But my mama believed prayers were answered and so she requested a prayer cloth from a popular radio evangelist at the time. My family did not attend church in those days. My brother and I did ride a big yellow bus a few times to Highland Park Baptist where they had a large bus ministry to children.

When the prayer cloth came my mom faithfully safety pinned it inside my clean undershirt each morning for several months. I made friends, life long friends, quit crying, and started smiling a lot more. But I still made her pin that prayer cloth in my shirt long after that mother’s prayer was answered. My mother believed God answered prayer but I believed my mother loved me. And the proof was pinned inside my shirt. It is still pinned inside my heart. Thank you, Mama, save me a place at the table and I’ll see you and all the family for supper when my traveling days are over.

Your fellow and fellow traveler,
David White