HAPPY EASTER
March 23, 2016
By Olivene Godfrey
As I've grown older, I think often of my childhood. This Easter week, I've recalled memories of early years of my family and I. My folks bought four acres of land in what later became East Ridge, Tennessee. The young families that were settling in the area decided they needed a church. My parents were part of the group who started meeting on Sunday's in a frame building that I was told had been the young neighborhood's town hall.
I remember going to Sunday School classes at the church. The pastor was a man I remember only as Brother Jones. Quite soon, the membership grew and eventually became known as Jones Memorial Church. My parents came from a long line of Methodist. My maternal granddad was a Methodist preacher. A few years later my daddy was called to preach while teaching a young mens Sunday School class.
My daddy continued to work for awhile at his job while he and my late mother were active members of Jones Memorial Church. I remember when my mother would make my sister's and I pretty dresses to wear to church at Easter. We always had new white shoes. (Fashion etiquette said no white shoes before Easter. I hear that is still the fashion rule.)
Now that I'm no longer physically able to attend church service, I watch a televised Sunday service of the United Centenary First Methodist Church. The church sanctuary is beautiful with stain glass windows and pipe organs. The sermons are just as inspiring as the ones were in the old frame church where my daddy preached during my early years.
I wish for each of you to have a Happy Easter and all good things.
See you next time. Comments welcome. (Edited and typed by Tam.)
By Olivene Godfrey
As I've grown older, I think often of my childhood. This Easter week, I've recalled memories of early years of my family and I. My folks bought four acres of land in what later became East Ridge, Tennessee. The young families that were settling in the area decided they needed a church. My parents were part of the group who started meeting on Sunday's in a frame building that I was told had been the young neighborhood's town hall.
I remember going to Sunday School classes at the church. The pastor was a man I remember only as Brother Jones. Quite soon, the membership grew and eventually became known as Jones Memorial Church. My parents came from a long line of Methodist. My maternal granddad was a Methodist preacher. A few years later my daddy was called to preach while teaching a young mens Sunday School class.
My daddy continued to work for awhile at his job while he and my late mother were active members of Jones Memorial Church. I remember when my mother would make my sister's and I pretty dresses to wear to church at Easter. We always had new white shoes. (Fashion etiquette said no white shoes before Easter. I hear that is still the fashion rule.)
Now that I'm no longer physically able to attend church service, I watch a televised Sunday service of the United Centenary First Methodist Church. The church sanctuary is beautiful with stain glass windows and pipe organs. The sermons are just as inspiring as the ones were in the old frame church where my daddy preached during my early years.
I wish for each of you to have a Happy Easter and all good things.
See you next time. Comments welcome. (Edited and typed by Tam.)
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home