GROWING UP IS HARD TO DO.

Sometimes, growing up is hard to do, especially if according to your age, you're supposed to be already grown up.  So many times, we look back at our lives and think, "what were we thinking?"  Getting married at such a young age is not for the faint of heart.    I've often said, if I had it to go over, I would still marry the love of my life, but I wouldn't do it at age 18.    On the other hand, the very essence of my being is now, and always has been, my love for my parents, husband, and children, in good times and bad ones.   It has been quite a ride!

In the early 1960's we moved from Savannah to Jonesboro, Georgia.  Here we started our boys to kindergarten and in 1965 were blessed with the birth of our precious daughter.   Money was tight.  I bought a brand new Singer sewing machine,  on credit from Rich's Department Store,  and with the help of one of my co-workers, learned how to sew just enough to make my new baby girl some sweet little calico pinafores, a red flannel robe for Christmas, and some little dresses.  I worked full time and did all the things every Mother does with a new baby and two rambuncous boys.  My hubby worked long hours, usually six days a week, and we had little family time.    We visited our parents when we could and they visited us when they could.  It was a semi-perfect world in that we had a beautiful family, a nice home, and material things but lived pay check to pay check.   As with any inexperienced young couple, we made good choices and we made some bad ones.  But we survived and didn't give up on each other.

The years in Jonesboro are filled with memories of good friends - life long friends.  We all went to church, the men joined Jaycee's and the women the club for their wives.    We went to company parties and to night clubs which had live bands and we danced the "Twist" until it was time to get the baby sitter home.    Getting a special cocktail dress made for the Holiday season was always a big event for me.   I shopped very carefully for the most beautiful material in my best colors.   One I remember, was an emerald green of peau de soil fabric with a peplum at the waist.    Sometimes, I could find a chiffon one on sale at a local shop and felt like I was really special. We went to restaurants we could afford, and movies at the Fox in Atlanta.  We especially loved going with friends to the Seven Steers upstairs across from the Fox.  This was the 60's version of a sports bar and had delicious hamburgers and Tom Collins in a tall, skinny frosty glass! (Yes, we were young and foolish)   We played bridge, exchanged recipes, went to PTA,  and enjoyed the small town where everything we needed was close by and people knew each other.   One year, there was a reenactment of the Battle of Jonesboro, which drew a very large crowd out in the fields between Jonesboro and Morrow.   Going to see the lighting of the tree at Rich's was always a special family event, as was going to cut down a live tree at Christmas.    Taking a Sunday ride looking at houses we couldn't afford was always a treat.  Life was good. 

One day, as I sat in the car line at Lee Street Elementary School listening to the car radio, a special bulletin interrupted with the news of the shooting of our President, John F. Kennedy.    It was surreal.  I couldn't believe what was happening and quickly collected my boys and drove home to turn on our small black and white television hoping I could get the TV antenna wires on top adjusted so I could see what was actually happening.   Signals were difficult to maintain anywhere, and we were constantly having to move the two steel wires that picked up our stations, but I managed to get a snowy picture and sat down to watch.

As the millions of people watched the chaos in Dallas that day, and for days to come, history was made.    Those of us who witnessed it will never forget.  President Kennedy and his wife Jackie were the icons of the sixty's and we all cried at the loss of him and the heartbreaking picture of her in her pink suit and pill box hat climbing over the top of their limousine.   The pictures played over and over making them indelible in our minds.  And then, just a few days later, I witnessed, on live television, the shooting of Lee Harvey Oswald, the shooter.    The picture of little John, saluting the funeral procession carrying his father's casket is a vision all Americans treasure.  What a sad time in a very volatile world. 

While the nation grieved, Lyndon B. Johnson became the new President of the United States, on Air Force One on it's way back to Washington, D. C.    Perhaps it was about this time, when we realized how life can change without a moment's notice.  Perhaps this is when we grew up.  

BIBLES, WINDS AND WAVES

It was a large brick building sitting on the corner of Church and Green Streets.  By today's standards, it wasn't a large building, but to me it was huge.  The sanctuary had beautiful worn oak pews showing where hands had pulled and rings scratched, and the view inside was magnificant.  The raised choir loft was situated just under a large, round stained glass window which depicted Jesus kneeling in the garden.  Sitting out  in that large room was an awesome sight when the sun reflected just right through the beautiful glass.  At night, there would be a spotlight behind it.  As the congregation sang, Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus, it could give you cold chills but a warm peace.  The First Methodist Church of Swainsboro was my church.

I can't remember the number of windows on the sides, but each one showed a different scene from the Bible and they must have reached the ceiling they were so high.   There was a circular alter rail with padded cushions and a little tray along the back of the beautiful worn wooden rail that held the tiny little glasses of "wine" for communion and the quarters that may be placed there by someone.   In time, cushions were added to the pews and a beautiful carpet of a royal color.  A large piano (where Ms. Vann with the floppy hats) flanked  the right,  just in front of the door that led to the Sunday School rooms on that side which were located in the back of the structure.  Hanging on the wall at the left,   a sign posted the hymns for the day.  The table on the alter was graced with a large brass cross and candles to the side. Through the doors, little narrow stairs led to the level where the rooms were and I remember thinking it was like a cavern and sometimes felt spooky when I was alone.  There were also stairs going down to the basement, which was ground level, and used for receptions, cake walks, MYF, Women's Circle meetings, and the like.   Once at MYF, a bad boy, whose name escapes me, pulled a chair out from under me and to this day, I suffer from pain which I think of it.

  

The Sunday School section had a large room filled with little chairs and tables, where we all gathered for singing , and then we would go to our seperate rooms for our age group.   Teachers would record our presence in her little book with a check.   There was a collection plate passed around to collect our nickle.  Then those sweet, dedicated teachers  gave out little flyers with a Bible story and telling us the stories in her words.  Then we prayed and marched single file up to the sanctuary for an assembly of all classes to belt out some Onward Christian Soldiers as Ms. Mae banged out the marching cadence.   This process continued every Sunday morning all of my life.  I wouldn't take a million dollars for these memories.

On the day I was Baptized at eight years old, I felt a great weight lifted,  and love move through my body.  I felt like everything I did from then on, was in God's hands, and all my life, I would be protected by Him,  because I had made that commitment.  Big Momma and Big Daddy, along with my Mother were gathered around me and I cried.  I'm not sure why I cried, but I remember sobbing. 

This morning, as the children led the service at Vineville, and the 3rd graders received their Bibles, my mind  recalled the anticipation of receiving my very first Bible.  Like clockwork, every year the children who were about 8 years old, received an engraved King James Version of the Bible, presented with great pomp and circumstance by our Preacher.  As the Minister spoke today, my mind wandered through my old church where I took my first communion, said my first Lord's Prayer,  made my commitment to follow the teachings of Jesus and was married.  I wondered where my old Bible was probably with some childlike scrawling inside of various names or verses.  I hope my children will appreciate it.  I'm several Bibles down the road now.

Todays sermon was from Matthew 14, basically where Jesus tells the Disciples to trust in Him.  It encouraged me to focus on what I trust and believe.   He didn't tell them to ignore the winds and waves, but to trust that He would save them.    He told them to turn away from uncertainty.   There is a bright message for me in this passage and, if I look carefully and open minded, I find that no matter what happens that makes me afraid of life's situations, whether personal or global, if I turn away from my faith, I'll sink.