I miss going to church with my Mom and Dad
I remember those hot summers at the Ashley Road Baptist Church. I was 11 years old and where in my Sunday Morning Meeting tennis shoes (the same ones I wore every day) my wrangler denim pants (those cheap ones not the Levis) and my Goodwill shirt I would learn about Hell fire and Damnation. Each person gave you a friendly Christian greeting as you lined up to fill the church pews. Seating all seemed to start from the back to the front. You didn’t want to be getting to Church too late or you would be sitting right on the front row. This was a dangerous place to sit because you were right under the eye of the preacher. The preacher’s Daughter or Son usually had to sit on the front row. They wouldn’t talk to you and would continually shush you if you tried to talk to them. When the sermon started we would sing those old gospel songs. Everyone had one of those cardboard fans with a picture of Jesus on it and usually some kind of scripture that was hard to read because it was written in fancy script and usually they were in motion. They had a wooden handle, a little bigger than an ice cream stick and they only lasted a few Sundays. It would be so hot the sweat would roll off your face. The loud yelling of the preacher mentioning what sinners we all were didn’t help much either! I usually started to twist and turn about halfway through the sermon knowing I was on my way to eternal damnation. I would always have to go to the bathroom halfway through the sermon. I would twist and turn holding on to the front of my pants giving that look of extreme pain. When my Mom would whisper,” I told you to go before we got into church!” I would moan in my most dramatic voice, “I did, but I have to go again!” The Church had an old outhouse out in the back of the church and I would feel so free as I ran back, locked the door, and know that once again I had escaped retribution! Timing was very critical and I tried to make sure that I didn’t return until after the Invitational was over. I never got it right! As I would walk in the Preacher would be just starting the invitational. In the background everyone would be singing “Jesus Is Calling” The song would go on and on sometimes for an hour (at least it seemed like an hour) My stomach would be growling and I knew the fried chicken was already cooked from the night before and just waiting for us to get home.
“Come home, Come home , ye who are weary come home.” Over and over and over. I really really wanted to go homeand eat!
After the service the preacher would stand at the door and shake each persons hand and you knew as he looked you square in the eye that he was counting up your sins and reserving a place in Hell for you. Oh how I miss those days going to Church with my Mom and Dad, but NOT MUCH!
