It seems like centuries...
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It seems like centuries ago; but it was really only three or four decades back that my father was preaching in country churches, and I was a young boy. On Sunday mornings we would drive "up in the country" to some small congregation: Mundel, Freetown, Pinhook, Tampico, New Union, Heltonville -- many places that hardly appear on the map (even of Indiana). We would arrive at the little white church. A big graveyard stretched behind the building, where the same names appeared as those who attended: Cummings, Humphries, Murphy. There was a pump outside, where you could get a drink, and an outhouse.
In the parking lot were forty-eight Chevies, forty-nine Hudsons, and lots of Studebakers. I remember sitting in the back of the car, in the sun, while my dad shook hands and talked. The wait seemed hours long, and I was always hungry. Then we would finally leave and go to someone's house for dinner. I had taken old clothes, at my mother's suggestion, so I could go out and play. At night it was off to evening services. What a holy day Sunday used to be. I know it wasn't the Sabbath even then, but it was the closest I had. Can I even reclaim that? Thank you, Lord, for memories.
- Houston
