As a parent on the receiving end of calls from our young adult who is supposed to be on his own, I now marvel at my mother’s patience with my endless calls home when I was first on my own.

I don’t remember the drama that prompted one call, but I am certain that once my mom said hello, I jumped right in with all the details of the situation.

“Well,” my mother finally said when I deigned to give her a chance to reply, “did you pray about it?”

“No,” I said. “I’m telling you about it.”

You know, confiding in my mother—that mother-daughter bond is much sweeter now that I 'm older than it was in my recently-out-of-college independence. I wanted her advice. She should be flattered that I sought her out.

“I’m going to hang up now,” my plainspoken mother said, “and you can call back once you prayed to the Lord.” And she hung up on me.

Let me say it again. I called my mother for advice and she hung up on me.

If texting had existed back then, you could be sure I would have texted ??? And you could be sure my mother would not have replied, not even with the praying hands emoji.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. My sisters and I had been around her long enough to know that she truly did “carry everything to God in prayer” as the old hymn encouraged.

She carried everything to God in prayer the afternoon of my father’s funeral. Everyone was ready to head to the church from the funeral home, except for my mother. I was sent back to look for her. My mom was right inside the door, praying with a young woman.

“Mom, come on.”

She heard me but she didn't respond.

“Mom-m-m-m-m.”

She ignored me, finished praying with this stranger, and then hugged the woman good-bye. Taking me by the hand, we walked to the waiting car.

“Why did you have to pray with her and make everyone wait?” I asked.

My mother looked at me. “Lorraine Elizabeth, I lost my husband, but that young woman lost her child and she needed prayer.”

Nehemiah and my mother would have gotten along famously. His go-to was prayer—not talking about prayer, not reading about improving one’s prayer life, but praying to God. As soon as he heard about the broken-down walls of Jerusalem, he “sat down and wept and mourned for days, and I continued fasting and praying before the God of heaven.” (Nehemiah 1:4) I like to imagine that Nehemiah just plunked himself down right where he was and started praying.

Even these years later, I marvel that my newly widowed mother stopped what she was doing to show love and to pray with the grieving mother at the funeral home.

Her instinct to carry everything to God in prayer is rooted in understanding who we are and who God is. We: the servants and sinners; God: steadfast promise keeper.

Unfortunately, my natural instinct toward self-sufficency often uproots my understanding of who I am and who God is. Lorraine: capable, in charge of things; God: does what I want when I get around to asking him.

As long as I am in charge, my instincts are to trust myself, not God. Or to trust my mom. Or my husband. Or my colleague or friend. None of us are truly in charge, so why do we keep telling ourselves that we are? And forgetting the God who gives and loves and waits and keeps on loving no matter what.

No, the people I love are not to stand in the place of the God who loves. When I carry everything to God in prayer, then I recognize that he is in charge of me and my people.

God: in charge of things; Lorraine: needs help to do what he wants even and especially when it's not what she wants.

I am working at honing my instincts when it comes to prayer. After all, I have my mother's legacy to uphold.

I realize now that when I called my mother for advice and she hung up on me that she was giving me her advice. Sage advice. Click. Dial tone. Don't look to people when you should be looking to Jesus. Pray to the loving God of the universe.