Jackson Free Press

Q. Done anything interesting lately?

A. You're right, nobody really sent in that question. But it's not totally made up. It's a question I get all too often—the dreaded question. It's the dreaded question because my answer has been the same for far too long: "I'm still working on The Book, and I don't get out much anymore." Of course, I don't get out much anymore, not only because of The Book, but also because I have to answer "the dreaded question." It's a conundrum, and it takes me back to the sentence prayer.

When I was in the fifth grade, my best friend was the Baptist preacher's daughter, so quite naturally I became a Baptist. Whole body under the water and everything. I went to church every time the doors opened, there for a while. Regular church was fine. All I had to do was sit there and listen and then sing all the verses of "Just As I Am" two or three times. But Sunday School and Training Union were a different matter. I never won the Sword Drill, but I didn't mind that. What really got me was the sentence prayer!

In a little group, each person would have to say one sentence about something for which she or he was praying. I sat in dread rising to horror waiting for the sentence prayer to be announced, because I could never think of anything to say. So I was always the last one to say my sentence, and of course, by then everybody had used up all the good stuff. Most of those kids—my friends, my same age—could just pray and pray about anything. One by one, they would pray with eloquence and specificity. And then finally when my fear had reached the panic stage, my turn came, and I had to mumble something. I have no idea of one thing I ever prayed for. I do seem to recall that I developed a serious "kidney problem" along about then and would suddenly have to rush to the rest room.

Why I didn't have the sense to think up something in advance, something nobody would ever think of—like world peace or ending poverty—I don't know. Seems sort of stupid of me now. But I didn't. And I wasn't a shy child. I was the first to raise my hand and answer the teacher's question in school. But let me hear the words, "sentence prayer," and my mind would go absolutely, totally blank. Blank. After a year or so of this, I couldn't take it anymore, and I went back to the Methodist Church, where I could relax.

The pressure of the "dreaded question" is building. But this time is different; I just know it is. One day I'm going to answer, "I finished The Book!" And when that happens, I think I'll go back to the Baptist Church and send up a sentence of prayerful thanks.

And that's the truth.

JoAnne welcomes your questions, no matter how odd. Send questions to Ask Joanne, JFP, P.O. Box 2047, Jackson, Miss., 39216, or fax to 510-901