The tiny country church, white clapboard with stained glass on all sides and complete with a bell tower and steeple stood in a field of Black-Eyed Susan’s. It was a simple structure, framed by an indigo sky and a few puffs of clouds giving off the regal air of a bride who had been standing there many years. Looking at it from the gravel road, she smiled to herself for she could hear the long ago Sunday school class playing silly finger games while reciting…..”Here is the church, here is the steeple, open it up and there’s all the people.” She longed for those simple days where her only responsibilities were teaching little people silly rhymes and leading them through a round of Jesus Loves Me. Those littles, she was quite sure, had littles of their own by now. As she parked the old truck, she could see Evvie Lou waving from the old concrete steps. Taking a deep breathe, she started across the parking lot trying not to let nerves get the best of her. The anxiety of new places, new people and a fear of what once was almost gave her pause but as she reached the stoop, Evvie Lou looped an arm through hers and proceeded to chatter about who’s who in the little congregation giving her anxiety no chance to take hold. As they walked through the old church door, she pulled away from her friend and paused to take it all in. It was like stepping back into another time. Old oak doors stood to each side of a tiny vestibule. Tables on each side of the doors held old fashioned blue mason jars filled with fresh daisies, Susan’s and lavender. Bright sun light from that almost cloudless sky streaming across hand sawn pine floors that had been polished to a glass finish as had the beautiful hand carved benches on either side of the aisle. If her mind, she could see weddings of the past complete with the pearl buttons, tatted lace and crowns of wildflowers. Just on the other side of the doors a little gray haired man, bent low from age, welcomed them with a hearty hand shake and passed them a bulletin that caused her to pause. Taking a deep breath and smiling, yes, the smell alone assured her of times past and the old mimeograph machine. She again felt at home.
Her first memories of church were much like this one. It has been the Baptist church around the corner from the house, right next to the park where her brother would twirl her round and round on the merry go round. She had attended Vacation Bible School there that summer, barely bigger than a toddler, dressed in red and black plaid, long pigtails streaming down her back and very much scared of her own shadow. Memories beyond being in that place were vague but she did remember the pastor’s wife, a gentle, soft spoken lady, leading her to the kitchen for a snack, making sure she got on the church van to go home and giving her a piece of bubble gum for being such a brave, brave girl. She had driven past not too long ago. Even though the brand new addition almost out shadowed the original structure, it still held such warm memories. She wished all of her church memories had been as positive as that day. Pushing aside those memories she focused on the present. Evvie-Lou was chatting with the couple in the pew in front of us, clearly ignoring the handsome young man standing at the end of the row. When he called her name, she held up her hand, index finger pointed upward, indicating that he would have to wait until she was finished. He blushed red. She felt sorry for him but had to grin at the situation. About that time the music started to play and folks shuffled quickly to their seats. Since clearly not being invited to join them, the young man had moved on to find another place to sit. She elbowed her friend in search of a story but before Evvie Lou could answer, the music director moved to the pulpit and asked them to take out their hymnals and turn to page 42. She could recite the words to that hymn and most others in that same book and if pressed could probably still peck them out on the keyboard. She shrugged her shoulders at the quizzical look her received from her friend. Some stories were best left in the past.
Comments