AS A YOUNG CHILD, I walked to a neighborhood church every week.
> At this point, my religious life was either social or recreational with summer church camp along with the usual songs and stories. There was no real understanding. Bedtime prayers were occasional with the sense of an invisible companion I could talk to any time.
> Sometimes, people walk through our lives leaving footprints on our memory that mark our personality. Sometimes, we entertain angels unaware of doing so. Such a person left her footprints in my childhood.
> This special lady lived alone down the street and attended the same church. She was frequently called on to give prayer during church service and her prayers were lengthy. She didn't leave out anyone or anything. We became acquainted and developed a wonderful relationship. She was widely known as "Mother Carmichael".
> No telling how old she was; anyone over the age of forty seems old to a young child.
> All her furnishings seemed antique to me. She did not own a cat. She had no television, and she was frequently seen doing her own yard work. Mother Carmichael would even climb a ladder to wash windows and clear gutters of leaves. I would go to her house on Sunday mornings and we would catch the church bus together, after our church merged with another outside our neighborhood. There would be evangelist programs on her radio and I would watch her comb her long silver hair to tie in a knot at the nape of her neck. After the bus returned us, I sometimes stayed to visit. I genuinely enjoyed the company of this woman who was so "different". She never said an off-color word or spoke a tidbit of gossip. There was a quiet peace in her home that didn't exist anywhere else in my world.
> At this point, Mother Carmichael was my only spiritual mentor. Occasionally, I would stop after getting off the city bus from school. She would be sitting in her front porch swing or raking leaves and we would share. She was always patient and made time for me, always interested and a good listener - I could be a chatterbox.
> As I grew and became secretive, the visits gradually became fewer and farther between. I have no idea what ever became of her. I don't remember anything about a family. She was still living in that same house when I graduated from high school and got married. She was so unlike anyone I have known before or since.
> The peace that I felt in her presence has never been forgotten. I fin, in my senior years, that I consciously strive for that illusive peace. If not for the lovely Mother Carmichael, I might never have a reference point for this peace. I know now that gentle lady was evidence of God in this world.
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