My father was an agnostic and my mother, a non-practicing Methodist. So I have often wondered how as a young child I developed this all encompassing belief that there was a God and that He was intensely aware of my little life. It may of been from my mother's side of the family. They were deep southern Christians with a grace and style that was compelling and attractive. I'm not talking about the way they dressed or moved, although that could be part of it. It was more the way they spoke. How they enunciated, the way they greeted me, their interaction and expression. And the vehicle they used, their speech, their voice, was laced with a deep southern accent peculiar to southeast Virginia. My cousin Betty Ann told me it was God's Language, how God spoke and I believe her.
It was her mother, my Aunt Ellen, who mastered the dialect. Her voice was like honey, cultured, clean, devoid of sarcasm or vileness and edged with love in every syllable. She was a lady in every aspect, sensitive to other's needs, patient, careful about her verbal exchanges. I named my dolls after her and tried to mimic her voice with all its melodic sound.
Whenever I go home to Alberta, Virginia, I launch into mimicking that dialect as if it were natural to me. Going to Alberta is like going to home to Heaven. In Heaven, surely you have to speak God's language.
Lovely post. I can hear it, or perhaps imagine it. So glad you're writing here!
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