takes so much time these days. If I didn’t have to provide She’s meals, I would have plenty of time—well, maybe not plenty, but much more. There would even be more time for naps. Taking naps is one thing She and I do not quarrel about.
Naps are a tradition in my family. When I was growing up, Daddy used to take a short nap after dinner (midday) each day before he walked back to his office. Everything in the household was still and quiet while Daddy slept for ten minutes. I can still hear our cook, Thurza, out in the backyard threatening to wring the neck of any hen that squawked or any rooster that crowed while Mr. Jim was taking a nap.
On Sunday afternoons, after Sunday school, church, and a big dinner, everybody in our family took a long nap. I did not often go to sleep, but I used the quiet time to memorize all the stanzas of a hymn in the Hymnal of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, or a whole chapter in the King James Version Bible—Daddy gave me that weekly assignment.
(As a result, I seldom needed a hymn book at church through the years, and I can still quote scripture with the best of them. Now, when I worry or get upset, She often reminds me of one of those passages of comforting scripture.)
Having grown up in the sensible Southern tradition of taking a nap after dinner, I have always been aware of the benefits of ten or fifteen minutes of complete relaxation. As a child, I watched Negro men napping on the platform of the freight depot by the railroad, moving to sunny sheltered spots on chilly days and seeking the shade in the summer.
I also watched worshippers at our church nap during the sermon. Five members of our congregation fell asleep every Sunday morning, and I would entertain myself by betting in what order they would nod off. I laughed to myself at the absurdity of grown people falling asleep in public.
And now, She does it. Or She would if we still went to church. I can’t recall exactly when it started, but some time ago I noticed that She was getting drowsy during the sermon, fighting to hold her eyes open. A few times, She actually drifted off. And once, to the amusement of people around us, her purse slid from her lap and clattered to the floor. It wasn’t that the sermons were boring (we were blessed with an excellent preacher), but She just couldn’t keep her eyes open. I wanted to poke her and whisper what my Aunt Bet used to say, “If you hold one foot about an inch off the floor, you won’t go to sleep.” I knew from experience, however, that is only a short-term solution.
She finally confessed to being so fearful of going so soundly asleep that she would topple over into the lap of a pew-sharer, or, even worse, slide under the pew in front of us and have to be hauled up off the floor. The possibilities for disaster were frightening. So we quit going to church.
I miss this habit of a long lifetime, miss being with my friends there, miss the music, miss counting the organ pipes, miss the sermon, miss the rituals of worship, miss watching the patterns of light on the stained-glass windows, miss the surge of memories that wash over me whenever I enter the sanctuary.
I’m not sure She comprehends what she has deprived me of.
Since I was no longer attending church, I decided to follow our minister’s suggestion and read the Bible from cover to cover, Genesis to Revelation. No passages of literature are more beautiful than the King James Version of the scriptures, but I chose a modern translation, The Book, because it is easier to read.
I started with the New Testament, and it was a joy to read those familiar passages, though, as usual, Revelation left me puzzled. The Old Testament wasn’t so easy. I found many stories that I had known since childhood, but some stories were new to me. I had never heard them in my Methodist Sunday School classes. The long begats and most of the prophets gave me trouble, almost caused me to abandon the project.
I was relieved when I got to Daniel. The story of Daniel and the lion’s den was like reuniting with an old friend. Unfortunately, nothing else in the book is as exciting as that story.
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