The demand from POTUS that governors "open" churches sparked a lot of outrage from us folks who don't like to be sheep. God's church is not in a particular building but in the community of faith that surrounds us. I actually feel more connected to my own church family now than I have ever been because of the virtual outreach. Forced by the COVID to avoid packing the pews, we stay in touch daily which is something that I rarely did before all this. I was pretty much a show up on Sunday kind of gal.
There was a thread going yesterday on my page about Trump's threat that included a question from my friend Jim. "Did your parents try to make you go?" he asked. Of course you know they did and I am glad they did. From the ten years that I left for college until Lauren was two, I never darkened the door. Daddy reminded me then that the child should be raised up like I was and so it began. All was well until she was in the sixth grade. Her particular group of kids was exceptionally large, about 30 of them. We had our first youth minister named Wade and everybody adored him and couldn't wait to become old enough to join his crowd.
Wade left for seminary right before Lauren got old enough to be one of his flock. He spent a lot of time prior to that setting up a parents' council and developing a meticulous plan for the youth program to continue until another one was hired. For some unknown reason, the senior pastor decided not to share any of that with the hand picked council. It was a huge blow and one that we never really recovered from in youth ministry until many years later. There were others after Wade but he was like the Pied Piper when it came to the tweenagers. I remember one of his replacements who cried on a regular basis while all the kids just stared at her.
She did not want to go, and after all that I didn't make her but I continued attending and even taught those dreadful SS kids. Many were disrespectful and rude yet a handful of them sincerely listened to my lessons. Finally I had enough of it and gave them to God! We now have not only a youth minister who is precious but a director of childrens ministry. This is where our future is y'all. Giving has fallen not just because of the pandemic but because the older crowd who faithfully tithed and were glad to do so, have mostly passed and are now saints. Many of them were quite financially blessed and shared the wealth. As they disappeared so did their healthy donations. My parents were not among the wealth but they were faithful with what they did give, right up until the end.
As a Christian I have always believed in serving since my funds are limited. I sang in the choir and did whatever I could do to praise God. Then life started getting complicated and I wasn't there anymore. For about ten years I was in the wilderness. I got a divorce, twice. I had a hard headed twenty something that kept me on my toes. I worked my ass off at a job where nobody appreciated my contribution to the team. But ya' know? That was on me. I allowed myself to burn out from giving too much. And I missed a lot of time with my young child because of it.
There are things that I could have and should have done differently. Coulda'shoulda'woulda'. I am still astonished to find myself as the elder of my immediate family. I don't feel very wise most days. In my early thirties my husband and I owned a house that we sold at a nice profit so that we could raise Lauren on the farm. We all loved it and my Daddy and I spent six months of quiet bonding getting the place decent to live in.
Lauren learned to ride a bike here and climbed lots of trees. I am grateful for that yet now I find myself wondering why I'm still here. I don't own it, I'm just a tenant. I could have bought 5 houses in what I've paid in rent for 31 years. But it is home to me. As the structures have slowly disappeared over the years, the landscape has changed but not the call of the siren that is nature. Hundred year old pecan trees overlap the lane that I walk and drive. Younger ones have been planted in the bare spots and are thriving. The bird that represents Daddy still swings in the breeze on one of those young ones.
There is a rich history here and I know a lot of it. The neighbors haven't changed much over the years with the next generations claiming the land. That is their history and legacy and also part of mine. The river has been a major constant all through these years. It can be harsh like those two back to back floods. But before the channels were dug in the sixties, the entire road would be engulfed and we would have to move to town until the water went down. The same was true for power failures and there were many, especially when it snowed. There we went to town again to stay with some relative or another.
My daddy cut and hauled hay for the cattle that he raised. I remember one time his entire herd got wiped out by Brucellosis but he soldiered on buying more. The barns and ponds where they gathered are now in the rearview, preserved with photographs. The one behind Casa Poops is the only one left. It is a comforting sight to me, reminding me of the days when I could still crawl up in there and explore. And of the many horses that were once here.
One thing remains constant...well two. The sun rises in the east over the golf course/airport and sets in the west in a giant orb over the farm. From up here on this hill, you can see for miles. A visitor here the other day remarked that he was last out this way in the sixties when there were regular meet and greets over at the shack. That was the playground of the rich and famous back in the day. The original plan was to construct a clubhouse leading from the golf course over to the bluff. That never materialized except in an engineer's rendition of what it could be.
Thank God I'm a country girl as they say. I doubt that I would ever find peace in a subdivision where all the little boxes are next to each other and there is constant traffic. It's so quiet here you can hear the critters at any given moment. To me, that is the best of God's promise and I hear the spirit moving with each song of each bird ^j^
I do believe our rumbling traffic and power equipment were designed to drown out that still, small voice. Give me the forest, fields and streams...
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