Monday, November 23, 2015

We Went to a Church in the Country - Worshipped (while Mary Wiggled on the Pew)



It's the loveliest of days -
Or shall I say the loveliest of Sabbaths.
Seems people don't use that term very often anymore.

We had the traditional privilege of visiting with friends waaaaay out in the country at their tiny little church.

We've done this for several years - on the Sunday before Thanksgiving.
Mom comes with us.
Both of my brothers have shared in the experience.
Marlene has come with us, too.

We missed the occasion last year.
Mary had just arrived home 48 hours earlier. She was....we were....in major adjustment mode.
She'd had THE BIGGEST meltdown ever on Saturday night after we reached home.
Grief
Fatigue 
Confusion
Fear

So last year I pretty much cancelled EVERY-thing except Thanksgiving dinner.

Oh what a difference a year makes.
She's still learning
As am I.

Yesterday was a glorious time to reunite and catch up with folks we only see once a year
at this country church.
We shared a Harvest Meal in the little dining room, sang We Gather Together, and talked about Mrs. Jenny's homemade chicken and dumplings that she makes in the same, dented washtub that her mother used to make the same scrumptious dish!

There is a comfort in family traditions.
I feel it deeply.

The church graveyard - behind the girls in the photo above - has headstones dated before the Civil War.

So - it reminds me of one of my favorite hymns about a little church.
It's sung best by Andy Griffith and Barney Fife as they sit rocking on the front porch with Aunt Bea and Opie.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ZcZcDHRGyOs

(Copy/paste that link on to address line.)
My mother and I sang it many years ago with a group of older ladies - at their quilting bee session - waaaay out at another old church here in the Deep South.

I must teach it to my girls.
Maybe they will learn to play it on the piano for us all.
That'd be the best birthday present ever!


(Bible Story time for Children)

--------------------------------

Come to the church in the wildwood,
Oh, come to the church in the dale,
No spot is so dear to my childhood,
As the little brown church in the vale.

How sweet on a clear, Sabbath morning,
To list to the clear ringing bell;
Its tones so sweetly are calling,
Oh, come to the church in the vale."

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