A Southern POV: The Kneeling Log

I never knew my paternal grandfather; he died six months after I was born. I've heard great stories, of course, from my grandmother, father, and assorted cousins who knew him. Jesse Walter Pope seems to have been universally loved by anyone who crossed his path. One story, however, stands out, and it underscores the legacy of faith he left behind.

The Popes (before Daddy was born). L-R: Brothers Walter and Jesse; Jesse's wife Omie Brothers with their firstborn Bunice. I'm not sure who the girl is, possible Terah Maude or Omie's sister. Parents Henry B. and Terah Maude (Gray) Pope.

Omie and Jesse Walter's gravesite, Steele, Alabama

Every day, without telling anyone, Granddaddy vanished. Wandered away from his home. Without saying anything to anyone, he disappeared into the woods. It was a lifelong habit, and only a few people knew why. But after he died, the story began to spread, especially after folks started hearing about his kneeling log.

One cousin, who had seen the log, began to share what was behind his daily disappearance. You see, Granddaddy went into the woods to pray. He knelt on a log and had a lengthy chat with God. No one knows for certain what they talked about, but given his nature, I feel certain that he started with praise to God and thanksgiving for all the blessings in his life. Gratitude for his family and friends. He'd make requests for his family and work his way outward.

Every day. Rain, shine, cold, or heat. So much so that when they found that log after his death, it had two deep impressions in it from his knees. Scoops out of the wood from where he pressed hard, lifting up those around him.

That, my friends, is a lot of praying.

Now, you might not be able to tell Mr. Jesse was a praying man from that picture of his family. He's the one holding the shotgun, who looks a lot like he might take you out if you approached his wife and new baby. But pictures can be deceiving; this was a good man who treated his family like gold...

My study Bible

...including the six-month old granddaughter, who would be the last grandchild in the family. He doted on her. Prayed over her. And no doubt, for her.

And, believe me, my mother reminded me of that fact till the day she died. "You have been prayed over by the best," she'd say. Don't ever forget that. And I haven't. Ever. 

So never think that the faith you have goes unnoticed or unheralded. Or that what you believe today will leave no remnant when you're gone. Those around you, those who love you notice. And your impact will resonate for years to come, even unto the next generation.