Beautiful Life of Prayer

                                           That ye might walk worthy of the Lord

unto all pleasing, being fruitful in

every good work, and increasing in

the knowledge of God.

Colossians 1:10

She walked right by my open office door that particular winter day. It wasn't unusual in a large downtown church to see something similar on a regular basis. She was a lady in her latter 60's and that's a guess on my part. She wore her gray hair pulled tightly to the back of her head combed into a very neat bun. She had on a full length winter coat that wasn't the most stylish. In her left hand was a well-worn purse and in her right hand was a relatively small suitcase. In a very sweet voice, I heard her ask our receptionist if she could see the pastor. “Lotsa luck,” I thought to myself. People waited long weeks for an appointment with him. Sometimes we staff members couldn't even see him with if we had work questions. However, there was something different about this situation, so the receptionist called the pastor's office. He agreed to see this lady (who by the way had the most radiant of smiles that broke out across her face, a face with hardly a wrinkle).

After several minutes, the pastor asked a secretary to take this lady to the church's guest apartment where she could stay until an apartment could be found for her. She had no money...only a small pension and no means of transportation. She had arrived on a Greyhound bus and walked from the terminal that was a few blocks away from the church. For some of us who had gathered outside his door after she had gone to the guest apartment, we asked what was going on. He had a wondering look on his face and said...”She is moving here. She has no family left and she's come to our town to pray for the ministry and people of this church.”

Many of us came to know how very special Ruth Bartell was. In her younger years, she had done some modeling. She had an almost constant smile that was radiant. Her husband, a pastor had died and was buried I think in Michigan where she had a grave plot for when it would be necessary for her own internment. She had no children or family members left. For several days, Mrs. Bartell lived in the church apartment while some of us looked at apartments close to the church. They were either too expensive or too cruddy. The decision was made to let Mrs. Bartell live in the church apartment for the time being. As years went by, I wasn't there but I understand she lived there until about the time the Lord called her home.

We came to know how serious Mrs. Bartell was regarding her commitment to prayer. Keep in mind that this church ran in the thousands. She kept a series of cheap spiral notebooks. In those notebooks were names and prayer requests. She listed every staff member along with family member's names. She did the same with deacons (over 100) listing every family member along with any special requests. She had the choir listed as well and on and on it went. She went to bed every night (except a church night) at 8:00 because she wanted to be up by 4 or 5:00 am to begin her practice.

 

Every year, we had a huge pastor's conference. It fell my lot to do a major decorating job the Sunday night prior to Monday's registration of hundred's of pastors. I had no time to go home to even wash my face. Prior to the last time I performed this duty, Mrs. Bartell came to me on Sunday morning prior to the conference. She said: “When you are finished in the morning, I want you to come to the apartment, take a bath, eat some breakfast I'll fix for you ...no matter what time it is, I want you to come.” I knocked on her door at 5:30 on Monday morning. I don't know how she knew but she had run a bath for me with wonderful bath salts in it. She hoped I didn't mind if she had put the bath salts in the water. She had received a sample and wanted me to enjoy it. She told me to soak and take my time and when I came out, we would have breakfast.

She hoped I wouldn't mind if she went back to her devotional time while I bathed and I certainly didn't mind. While in that bathtub, I experienced something I never had before or since. Mrs. Bartell began to pray out loud. I felt like I was being ushered into God's throne room. She then began to read Scripture aloud. After that she sang a hymn (all 5 verses) and then she went to her notebooks, those precious and ragged spiral notebooks. I knew that praying for others was sacred and I would never tell a soul of what I heard. I soaked in that bathtub until my skin was beginning to look like prunes. I didn't want to get out of the tub and dry off. I wanted to linger but knew I couldn't.

She heard me empty the tub so when I left the bathroom, I smelled the aroma of hot toast. I sat down to hot tea, toast with orange marmalade. She prayed again, especially for me and my family, and the classes I would teach that week. I almost felt I had God's hand on me like I hadn't sensed in a long time. She told me she hoped she hadn't disturbed my bath time but that she liked to stay on schedule. By 10:00 am she usually stopped her routine to do any daily chores or errand running. Early afternoon, she would write letters for sometimes two hours and would then repeat her morning routine the rest of the afternoon.

Oh yes, letters....when you received one from Mrs. Bartell, it was a treasure. She wrote her greetings at the beginning of her letters much like Paul would in his epistles. She would then copy Scriptures she had been reading early that morning. On the back was always a hymn, copied word for word, all verses and chorus...a hymn she had sung that morning. You felt like you had received a letter straight from God. Every letter was written by hand.

I don't believe I have ever known anyone like Ruth Bartell in my lifetime. She probably had only a couple of dresses for church. People would try to take her to buy her a dress but she would smile and say, “I have plenty of clothes; thank you for thinking about me.” If people gave her money, most of the time she would put it in the offering plate. She hadn't come for money, dresses or anything other than she had come to our church to pray.

Can't help but wonder how many lives were changed, people saved, families strengthened because of a lovely widow who walked into our church office that cold, winter day. She didn't want anything but the privilege of spending out her days in hours of prayer and worship on behalf of our church. Mrs. Bartells tools for the task were simple...well worn Bible, hymn book, pen and paper and of course, those precious spiral notebooks. Most church members really didn't have any idea the God-given gift of Mrs. Bartell to us, a dear lady of God who turned a small church apartment into a cathedral.

Dear Father...Thank you for godly examples that have blessed my life. Forgive my waste of time when there are so many who could benefit from my prayers. Forgive me for thinking I have to have so many things when two or three spiral notebooks would do. Stir in me an urgency to be in my Bible more than I am and to be a woman of prayer like never before. I love You. Amen