Ronda Rich

Syndicated Columnist

The weekend morning was close to becoming afternoon when I pulled myself out of bed and headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

It seemed as if the entire house came to life. Tink came bopping down the stairs from his office and the dogs eagerly joined us. As I stirred in the cream, Tink told me that he had a call into the vet about one of our horses who was covered in mud from the creek, his belly swollen, and walking with a mope.

No good news followed that as we went on to talk about friends and their troubles. One was in serious trouble.

“What do you suppose was the first thing he did?” Tink asked.

“He called his mama,” I replied.

Later, with my cup of coffee, I went onto the back porch while Tink went to the barn before heading to the vet’s house for medicine. For these reasons, it came to mind: all the calls I had made to Mama when I was troubled, sad, or feeling down. A few words from her always made it better and she never failed to say, “Put it in the Lord’s hands.”

I pondered the handful of letters I have in a fireproof safe. Mama wrote them to me when I lived in a foreign land 500 miles north of the beautiful rural South where I grew up. It was the best life training I ever had. I was forced to figure out how to drive in snow that hung around all winter and to deal with a boss whose words were often unkind and profane.

So many times, I picked up the phone and, crying, called Mama.

No matter how bad the situation was she always soothed my spirit.

One time, Mama was in the hospital to get a stent to resolve problems caused by all the Crisco she had consumed. This is a funny aside: my sister and I were with her earlier in the day before they wheeled her into surgery. Of course, we were terribly worried.

After all, Mama had helped to keep Crisco in business for years.

We had been in the waiting room for about 20 minutes. We had prayer over Mama before they wheeled her away. Suddenly, my sister sat straight up in her chair and exclaimed, “The prayer chain!

We forgot to call the prayer chain.”

She grabbed her phone and called the first person on the chain and, quickly, it filtered down as the faithful servants of the Lord began to pray. But… It had been less than five minutes since the chain was activated when the doctor appeared to tell us that the surgery was over and she had done fine.

“Well, I guess our prayer was enough.” I still laugh about that.

In a movie made from one of my books, one of the funniest scenes is when the prayer chain is activated but the call for prayer is really just to gossip.

Back to Mama and me in the hospital room. After her surgery was completed, I had received news that a publisher had rejected my latest book. I was downcast as I told Mama.

When I finished telling Mama, she said, smiling brightly with a wink of prophecy and holding up a finger, “It only takes one.”

And, so it did. After several rejections, a major publisher paid me a goodly advance and published it.

Our dear friend Sonya Isaacs, a Grand Ole Opry member along with the three other Isaacs family members, is married to Jimmy Yeary, one of Nashville’s premier songwriters. Jimmy and I both grew up in the most rural way. We now use it to touch a bit of yesterday that lies in everyone’s heart and brings a soothing peace.

Jimmy co-wrote a song that Tim McGraw sang all the way to number one. The title says it all.

“I Called Mama.”

Oh, what I’d give if I could call Mama again.

Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of the Stella Bankwell series.

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