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Once, after returning from some of my wanderings, the church clerk told me that THE OLD CHURCH had missed me, that she needed my help. After a reasonable donation she accepted me back as a member in good standing. I’ve never regretted it.
I remember my parents sitting I near the front of the church, they were not ashamed to be there. The church was filled most of th^ time, even the AMEN CORNER. And the people sang as if they meant it, PRAISE GOD FROM WHOM ALL BLESSINGS FLOW.
And as memories come flooding in from the past, tears rise from the heart and gather in the eyes - while thinking of days that are no more. So many of them are gone ‘the old familiar faces’. There was a little girl whose hair was like white cornsilk, she seemed to like to wear a red ribbon in her hair, or maybe it was her mother’s idea. We would seldom say anything to each other but I thought she was about the prettiest thing in all creation. Her dad owned the farm next to my folks but he had moved into town. They still came out to the old church on Sunday, she would smile and speak to me. I would smile my bashful smile while my little old boy heart would do flip flops. Years passed, we saw each other less often. The last time I saw her I had ridden my motorcycle up to a place, dismounted and was beating some of the dust from my clothes, looking up I saw her standing beside a car. She said nothing, but our eyes met and held for an instant in time. She was still beautiful - I was a dusty tramp. She married a few days later. GOODNIGHT LUCIA MAE, WHEREVER YOU ARE.
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