One black woman, looking back at her childhood, remembered the spiritual example of her mother, a slave whose work schedule left little free room, but who nonetheless found time and strength for the more important things:

My mother, all the time she'd be praying to the Lord. She'd take us children to the woods to pick up firewood, and we'd turn around to see her down on her knees behind a stump, praying. We'd see her wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron—first one eye, then the other—as we came along back. Then, back in the house, down on her knees, she be praying.