“Whatsoever things are true… whatsoever things are lovely.” (Philippians 4:8)
Some of the most formative and imaginative moments of my childhood took place in the prayer room at our church. Before every service, my parents made it a habit to spend time in prayer before entering the sanctuary. As a small child, accompanying my mother into those dimly lit ladies’ prayer rooms was sometimes unsettling. I would peer through the darkness, wondering who else was there and why God seemed to prefer conversations in the dark!
My own simple prayers were usually brief, and before long, my mind would drift into imaginative play. With the darkness limiting my sense of sight, my other senses seemed to come alive. I felt, smelled, tasted, and heard a world of experiences in that prayer room.
I remember the cold metal folding chairs where we knelt and the tiny balls of fuzz from the worn carpet that I would shape into animals and flowers. The fragrances of those prayer rooms still linger in my memory. In one church, there was a damp, musty scent that lingered for years in our family vacuum cleaner, which was used to clean the building. In another, the sweet aroma of potpourri filled the room. Different ladies carried different fragrances—perfumes, powders, even the faint scent of mothballs. I could often identify who was praying nearby just by their familiar scents.
Even my taste buds joined the experience. There was the taste of my hair, which I occasionally chewed despite strict instructions not to. There was the church bulletin that I would fold and twist before absentmindedly chewing on it. And sometimes there was the refreshing taste of a mint slipped into my hand by a grandmotherly saint.
Yet no sense was more engaged than hearing.
This was the prayer closet my mother entered, and her prayers were anything but silent. Mom was highly verbal with God. From her, I learned that God is someone you can talk to as a trusted friend one moment and worship as a majestic King the next. Her prayers overflowed with thanksgiving, appreciation, awe, and worship. Sometimes she brought needs and requests before the Lord. At other times, her prayers became groanings of deep intercession as she carried burdens for others that words alone could not express.
There were moments of silence as she listened for God’s voice. At other times, she prayed in tongues as the Holy Spirit ministered comfort and edification to her heart.
I learned a great deal about real life by listening to Mom pray. I heard her bring the same unanswered requests before God year after year. Through that, I learned persistence in prayer and gained an appreciation for the mystery of God’s timing. I also remember the occasional yawn mixed into her prayers. Those yawns reminded me that even faithful Christian soldiers grow weary, yet continue in the discipline of prayer. In that prayer room, I witnessed commitment and priority.
But my favorite memories were when Mom prayed the Word.
She undoubtedly learned to pray Scripture by following the leading of the Holy Spirit rather than from a prayer technique book. Certain verses became regular companions in her prayers. Long before I realized some of her favorite phrases came directly from Scripture, I had already grown to love them.
The words I remember hearing most often came from Philippians 4:8: “Whatsoever things are true… whatsoever things are lovely.” Sometimes she would pray, “Lord, You are altogether lovely and altogether true.”
Those words still echo in my memory in my mother’s voice. They remain a gentle reminder to intentionally fill my mind with what is true, beautiful, pure, and lovely. In a world that constantly competes for our attention, Philippians 4:8 calls us to focus on the things that reflect God’s character and goodness.
The Word that lived in that prayer room continues to live in my heart today.
