revivals and precious memories

I took a trip down sweet, memory lane this week. My good friend preached at a local church in Apopka, in revival services there, so I went to the service to worship with old friends and her. It's the same little church Byron and I attended as teens and where, shortly thereafter, I walked down that fifty-foot center aisle with my daddy to marry Byron some forty-plus years ago. It's where we dedicated our daughters--and ourselves--to the Lord.

The first time I visited the church with my friend, Barb, I knew nothing about the Pentecostal church. First, there was concert prayer, when the whole congregation all prays at once, that nearly scared me silly the first time I heard it. The explanation is that we ought all be praying during prayer time, and because God is God and He isn't nervous, and He can understand us all at the same time, it's a good thing.

I also knew NOTHING about the baptism of the Holy Ghost--now we call him the Holy Spirit--and speaking in tongues and the gifts of the Spirit. This little Baptist bus kid who only went to church on Sunday mornings for her whole church life to this point, was completely overwhelmed--and there was no explanation for any of it for those of us in the congregation who might not have known about these things. I'm glad ministers are now meeting the need for teaching even during the service about these experiences which may be unfamiliar to new ones attending.

During the early years of our marriage and for a long time afterward, going to church and its activities were what we did. We fellowshipped with our friends and extended family. We worshiped when there was a service.

We grew close to God.

Our church had revivals with visiting evangelists a few times a year. When it was time for service on those festive evenings, the atmosphere was expectant with anticipation of what the Lord would do in that night's service. It was a special time for the whole congregation. We invited our unsaved family, friends and acquaintances so they could hear the gospel one more time before the rapture of the church. Whose troubled child would come with his mother and get saved? Which woman's usually absent husband might go down to the altar and give his heart to God? Which of our sick, elderly brothers might get his healing and dance up the aisle?

The revival I best remember and with the most dramatic results was when Brother Gainus Murfree preached at at our church. Our small sanctuary was was packed with members and visitors. Many got saved, healed and filled with the Holy Ghost. The Spirit of God moved powerfully and there was dancing at the altar--but the Spirit also moved tenderly as both sisters--and brothers--cried quietly as they prayed to the Lord of Heaven for needs that only God understood and could meet. It was a two week revival, certainly not lengthy by old fashioned standards, but in the end 23 of us either got baptized or rebaptized at an afternoon service in a nearby lake. If I live to be 100, I don't think I'll ever forget that revival.

Church was where our family and friends were. Byron's parents, his brothers, sister and their families went to church there. We all sang in the choir and special singing group called the Ensemble. Choir practice was on Sunday afternoon before service and Byron's mother and his dad (up until he died) and Sister Griffin would sit at either end of the back pew and between them sat our collective 8 children ranging from 10 years to infancy. Sister Gloria also sat with Mrs Adams with her grandkids when the Ensemble sang because she played piano for the choir, not the special group. My girls are grown and have families of their own and they still remember the tiny goblets Gloria fashioned out of the silver part of a gum wrapper to help hold their attention. These ladies sacrificed their time and effort on Sunday afternoon to watch our kids for us, which allowed us to be involved in a special ministry we all loved.

Throughout the years we were there we wore many hats, as did just about everyone else. Byron had a church bus route and played softball on our men's league. I sang in the choir and ensemble and taught children's church. Byron and I cooked breakfast for the bus captains on Saturday morning before they went out to visit the children on their routes. There were Rock-a-Thons to raise money for our youth, Fall Festivals, canoe trips, Saturday night teen fellowships at the Bowman's house and many dinners on the ground.

The dinners on the ground were amazing! Until going to church there with Byron, I'd never taken part in this "heavenly" event! Sometimes we ladies set our tables up in the Fellowship Hall and other times we had tables underneath the trees at the parsonage next door. Our ladies were generous with their delicious offerings. Pot roast with potatoes and carrots, fried chicken, ham, macaroni and cheese, potato salad, cole slaw, field peas with bits of bacon, baby limas with ham and fresh corn off the cob, to name but a few! Just beyond the food table there was the dessert table with Mississippi Mud cakes, apple pies, chocolate cookies and a myriad of other tasty bites. I never got tired of sampling all those tasty dishes.

I remember the Spaghetti Dinner we held for a church family with a very sick daughter. The twelve-year-old girl had cancer and the expenses were mounting up tremendously for the parents. The Ladies Auxiliary cooked spaghetti with sauce, made salad and garlic bread and sold dinners for a few dollars apiece. We took orders and even made some deliveries to those who couldn't get to the church. We made dinner after dinner, all of us working so very hard to do a good thing for our good friends. The church kitchen was small with several women each trying to do a job in a different way. Tempers flared a time or two but mostly we got the job done. It was a long day and as the others washed pots and pans, I swept the floor. When I got to the door, I leaned a little on my broom and looked outside at the closing day, and in the middle of the chaos and spaghetti sauce I remember wishing that our labor, our effort, our hard work could do more than make money for the family. I wished that what we were doing would actually help our young friend get well.

These years weren't without trouble and turmoil. As with any family, there were problems. There were often issues and differences of opinion that brought division to our people. Many people were disappointed and hurt to the point of leaving our congregation to worship somewhere else. Hearts were broken and at times harshness and rigidity reigned, but no good can come out of rehashing the specific troubles of our former church now, so many years later. In thinking about the church's past, in combining the hard times with the good memories of fun and unity, we get a snapshot of the church's whole history--and they are both part of my history.

Last night, everywhere I looked brought back thoughts and scenes of those many years ago: my daddy and I walking down the center aisle. My hubby and I sitting on the right side of the building, 2nd or 3rd row end seats, as newlyweds and some months later, with our first child, Amy, and not too long after, our second daughter, Holly. I sang in the choir and I saw my girls play and pray at the altars at the front of the church. I saw the children of the church make their way to say hello to Brother Davis and his pocket full of peppermints. I made mistakes and tried hard to do better the next time. I listened to truth preached from the pulpit and I prayed to hear God's voice more clearly

I am blessed to have this rich Christian heritage. Except for the fact that churches are made up of human beings with faults and failures, I don't understand why some things were so difficult at times, but each and every thing has added to who I am and I believe that the Lord ultimately uses all things in my life for my good. I am deeply grateful for my former church and all those during my family's time there and makes for a precious walk through my memories.

Thank you, dear, dear Lord.

Suz