I Prayed to Marry a Preacher

We never had much growing up. Daddy drank and wasted his income on the bottle. Mother sewed our clothes from flour sacks she saved. I remember how happy she would be to find a sack full of flour at the grocery store that had the same print as others she was saving at home. I remember her saying, "I have enough to make a dress now." I was happy for her. Ah me, what memories. My mother was something else. She didn't have to use a pattern to make a dress. She made my brothers shirts out of flour sacks and recycled clothes long before it was even a popular thing to do.

Time went on and I grew up and realized how things were at our house. Mother tried to live right and she taught us the one way. Daddy didn't have any interest in spiritual things. Mother always told me, "You may not have much, but you have your character and if you keep it clean you will be all right."

I wanted better for myself than what I had and mother and daddy wanted that for all of their children. What they didn't know was just how much I wanted it better. Deep within me was the dream of marrying a good man who didn't drink, curse, and who put the Lord first in his life. I wanted to marry a man completely opposite from my daddy. The best person I could think of who would fit that dream was a preacher, so I knelt by my bed at night and prayed to marry a preacher. I didn't know a boy that was making a preacher, but I kept praying. Often times at night I could hear my daddy snoring across the hall in his intoxicated state and as I prayed I asked God to let him live to change his life. I didn't want my daddy to die lost. I loved my daddy but didn't love his habits or life style.

Jerry Humphries was our local preacher and one summer when I was 19, he left for two weeks to preach in gospel meetings. He invited this young preacher man, Clifton Tuggle, from Alabama Christian College in Montgomery, to preach in his absence. Clifton was so cute but he brought his girlfriend, Marcia Moulton, who later became his wife, with him. Mother and I invited them to eat lunch with us at our home. Daddy went to the country store and visited with friends all afternoon and avoided meeting them. During the afternoon I asked Clifton and Marcia if they didn't have a fine young man they could bring down and let me meet the next time they came. After thinking a little bit Marcia snapped her fingers and said, "Old Doug." The following Sunday when they came, they brought "Old Doug." I thought he was one of the nicest people I had ever met. There was just something very special about him. We four went riding in my new red and white 1963 Rambler that afternoon. They spilled a Coke in my car, which I didn't appreciate, but didn't let them know it since they cleaned it up nicely. At some point during our outing I started singing unconsciously, "Today I met the boy I'm gonna marry." It was a popular song back in the 60's and they roared with laughter at me. I was embarrassed.

Douglas and I dated for a year and a half. He invited me to attend banquets at Alabama Christian College with him and I wore evening gowns mother had made for me. I was just as proud of those brocade satin dresses as if they had cost a fortune. The one pictured above was a light green and with my green eyes, it really looked nice. I felt like a princess.

After one year with a potential preacher for a son-in-law, Daddy quit drinking and smoking after being in the hospital. The doctor warned him he had to stop or he was going to die. Daddy asked if he could go to church with us one Sunday when Doug was visiting. We were thrilled beyond words that he wanted to go and worship with us. Mother and Daddy sat in the back of the auditorium. Doug and I were in the center section about half way to the front. During the invitation I looked over and saw my Daddy walking down the aisle toward the preacher. He confessed having lived in sin for 30 years. He rededicated his life to the Lord and later became a Deacon in the Elba Church of Christ. Things really changed around our house. My daddy died in a right relationship with God.

Douglas and I were married December 18, 1965, by brother Raymond Elliott, at the Elba Church of Christ. We've had a wonderful life together. God answered my prayer as a young girl to marry a preacher, and I am so thankful He did. We look forward to celebrating 50 years together in 2015, if it is God's will.

THE DUMB BULL WASN'T REAL

We lived out in the country from Elba, AL when I was growing up. Just a short piece away from the house was the old Holland Cemetery. Word had it that Indians were buried in the back part of that cemetery, but no one had been buried there in years. We also enjoyed walking through the cemetery reading the headstones or looking at the wood stakes and just wondering about the person laid to rest in each spot. I grew up with the cemetery being close, so I didn't have any problem with it being there......until dark. When dark arrived I didn't want to go near the cemetery, pass it, or anything else especially on foot.

My youngest brother was seven years older than I, and he always liked a good prank or a good joke. He was the prankster in our family. I always begged to go with him, to do things with him and naturally he didn't like that.

My brother must have been 17 when I heard him asking our daddy about how to build a dumb bull. Daddy cautioned him that those things were illegal to use because they would frighten people and animals so badly. I'd never heard of such a thing so I was all ears to hear what they were saying. First of all, he was to get the old wood keg out back with the top and bottom out of it. Then he was to stretch a piece of dead animal skin over the top very, very tightly and let it dry for several days. In the top he was to make a small hole right in the center before the skin dried. A heavy string that he had waxed with a knot on the bottom end was inserted in that hole. As the skin dried it would be tight around the string in the hole. Someway when he pulled that string he had waxed with bees wax up out the keg it made a reverbrating awful, awful, sound that could be heard for miles around. It sounded like what I suppose a very large bull would likely sound, or should I say a "dumb bull."

I had forgotten about the dumb bull until one night my brother announced he was going to go out on the hill by the cemetery and try it out. Of course I asked to go with him even though the cemetery was an area I didn't like to go at night. The Morris family, an elderly man with his two sisters and a grandson, lived in the little house way off the road and down at the bottom of the hill. Mr. Morris would come up to our house in the day time to sit on our porch because he said there was no air stirring in the bottom where they lived, and none of us had air-conditioning back then. Our front porch was shaded by a large oak tree and our being on the top of the hill made us able to feel the breeze blowing. We thought a lot of all the Morris family.

It must have been as late as 10:00 o'clock that night when my brother and I, along with the dumb bull, made our way to the edge of the hill so we could look down and see the Morris home. There were no lights on anywhere. People didn't have yard night lights back then and it was pitch dark. Only the sounds of the night were around us. My brother must have been grinning when he started slowly pulling that string through the top of the dumb bull. I've never heard such a loud, vicious sound in my life. The night was black and still, and he pulled it again. He saw it first. A light came on in the back of the small Morris house, and we could tell they were coming through the house by the lights coming on. Finally the porch light came on and Mr. Morris came out. The young grandson came out, stood with the screen door open and Mr. Morris yelled, "Get back in that house, boy. Get back." The boy went back inside.

I don't remember if my brother pulled the dumb bull again that night, or ever again, but I know it scared Mr. Morris. My brother was laughing so hard, and I was scared and wanted us to go home.

The next day when it got too hot in the bottom for Mr. Morris to stay home, we saw him walking slowly up to the house. Mr. Morris was a small in statue man, but a very nice person. He made his way to our porch where my daddy was sitting and he sat down on one of the white metal rockers. In a little while he said, "Old man, there was a big one that came through the valley last night. I didn't see it.......but it was a bigggg one. I heard it." I can just see my daddy now with the knowing smile on his face. I think he never revealed our secret about the dumb bull and we never did that again. Just so we know.....things are not always what they appear to be.

HEAVY ON MY LAP

When I was a little girl, perhaps eight years old, mother started to work outside the home. We lived out in the country and when I came in from school I had to go to someone's house and stay until mother and daddy picked me up. I remember staying with Mr. & Mrs. Gaines at the bottom of the hill and Mr. Sylvester and Mrs. Etta Crocker on the other hill from our house.

Mr. and Mrs. Crocker had a son, Willard, who was one year older than I. We grew up together but never were boyfriend-girlfriend, rather just friends. We always got along nicely. In the afternoons after we got home from school, Mrs. Etta would have baked sweet potatoes waiting for us to eat. Those were the best baked sweet potatoes I've ever tasted. We'd laugh and talk as we ate our sweet potatoes and Mrs. Etta would be right there laughing along at our joking.

One afternoon after school I was seated on a single wood porch rocker out on the front porch. We didn't have air conditioning and the porch was shaded by an oak tree and was the coolest place around. Willard was out there with me, and I don't remember if anyone else was or not. Now let me tell you a little bit about Willard before I go on with my story. He was full of devilishment. He was going to have his fun, anything for a good laugh. That didn't keep me from liking Willard. He was my friend until.....

As I said, I was seated on the porch rocker talking when Willard came up and threw something in my lap. I had on a dress, and I looked down in my lap to see the largest multi-striped (did I say large?) lizard I have ever seen. He had rainbow colored stripes running down his body. Well, as I screamed at the top of my lungs I came up out of that rocker. There was no way I was going to share a seat with that wicked looking thing. I flung my arms, screamed, and danced a jig until I got the lizard off me and was able to calm down.

And there stood Willard belly laughing at me. I don't think I've forgiven him for that yet. And I don't like lizards either!!!

I tried to find a picture like that lizard and was unsuccessful. I think he was almost as big around as a quarter and about 6 inches long. I probably gave him the scare of his life too!!!

Red Birds Out My Window

Spring arrived. We were at the kitchen table looking out the large double window as we ate breakfast and I saw them. Two red birds, a male and female, were gliding across the yard together. It was obvious they were a team, a pair, working together, and may I say lovers?

I have always resented just a little bit that the male red bird is prettier than the female. I like bright colors, especially red. Grandma Bryant always said "a little red will help anything," and I tend to agree with her. So red birds are one of my favorite birds. The woodpecker is second in line.

I watched the birds as the male sat at the feeder. The female was on the ground below. I noticed he got a particular seed in his beak and flew down where his lady was waiting. He walked over to her and for a moment I thought they were kissing. He gently touched his beak to hers and gave her the gift he had brought to her. She accepted it and he flew back up to the feeder. Again he brought her something and she took it. On and on this continued that day, and the next, and the next, and I got in dangerous poses at the kitchen window, trying to conceal myself as I snapped pictures.

I watched the little birds day after day as they worked together in their routine and wished to know even more about them. Sometimes they would sit at the feeder and still he would get the particular seed and take it to her. Wherever one was I could look and find the other nearby.

It was the most beautiful sight I thought I had ever seen. There he was showing love to her by staying with her, by providing for her, and protecting her. He was working with her in caring for her well being and no doubt showing his respect and love for her being the future mother of his children. And God planned it all, just that way. Is there not a lesson in this for us, the greatest of his creations? I think so. Learning a lesson from the birds--the bees were no where to be seen. Nature will teach us if we are receptive to their examples.

MOTHER CELEBRATES 98TH BIRTHDAY

Last Saturday, June 13, 2009, has to go down in history as one of the most memorable occasions in mother's life. She turned 98 on June 11, and the 13th was the closest time to celebrate. We reserved a room at Ryan's Restaurant in Enterprise. Patsy and Herschel brought balloons for the tables and I dressed mother for the occasion. She wore a soft red suit, a tiara, a sash that had "Happy 98th Birthday" on it, and carried a bouquet of red roses. Maggie Moyer and Kellee Jackson, her daughter, provided the sash, tiara and roses. She could not have looked more beautifully. As if it was planned that way, she woke up feeling good Saturday morning even though she couldn't remember what we planned to do that day. It was a good day for her and for us.

We arrived at the restaurant and lots of the guests were already in the room waiting for us. As I wheeled her through the restaurant someone said, "Now we know who the party is for." Mother was so glad to see everybody and enjoyed the food and fellowship.

After enjoying a wonderful buffet meal, the birthday cake was brought out with the numerical candles. After eating the cake she opened gifts and cards brought by those attending. She was so proud of everything she received. It is amazing how much gifts mean to an elderly person, no matter how small or large.

Each year we wonder if this will be the last birthday we will celebrate with mother. Should this be the last, we can all rest in knowing that we did our best and she enjoyed it very much. It could not have been any better in planning, her health, the weather, and everything pertaining to it. There were family members who were unable to attend due to sickness, work and distance and we regret that very much. Her three children and companions, except Patsy who was sick, were with her to honor and help celebrate her day and that made it very special for her. Who knows? Maybe next year we can all be there!!!! We'll work toward that end and thank God for every lovely day she is here with us.

"Boiled Peanuts, Boiled Peanuts"

One of my favorite memories as a child was eating Mr. Sylvester Crocker's boiled peanuts. He and Mrs. Etta planted their own field of peanuts to gather, boil, and sell in downtown Elba. Occasionally I would go to his house, three houses over from us on the small country road, and help pick the peanuts off the vines. We would sit outside in straight wood chairs circling the pile of freshly dug peanuts. It was a dirty job. I never liked to get my hands dirty with red dirt under my figernails, but the reward was too great to not be willing to help. You see, Mr. Crocker would give me a bag of boiled peanuts for helping him. That was a great gift. After the peanuts were picked off, Mr. Crocker would wash and get all the dirt off them. Next, he put the peanuts in a large black wash pot outside in the yard, started a fire under it and boiled them until they were tender. He added salt as he stirred and let them boil. Not only were they delicious, but he sold them for ten cents a bag. The only problem was ten cents was expensive to me.

Mr. Crocker had a long, green, wood, wagon that he pulled with his horse. That is the way he went to town, three miles away, to sell his peanuts. I recall riding on the back of the wagon. I would jump off and say, "I can walk as fast as you can go." Of course I soon hopped back onto the wagon because it was such fun to ride and to hear the clippity clop of the horses hooves as they hit the road.

Occasionally in the summer time I would go and spend the night and day with Brenda, my first cousin. Her daddy, Fred Jackson, was the local butcher in Elba. He killed animals that were bought at the local stock yard right beside their little brown sided house on the Troy highway. More about that story will have to wait for another time, but Uncle Fred would some way buy two bags of boiled peanuts for us. The highlight of the day was sitting at the kitchen table and eating our peanuts. I liked those that were firm and filled out best. Brenda preferred those that were soft and had lots of salty juice in them. We made a neat little pile with our peanut hulls on the table. We talked and ate peanuts. When we finished Brenda would go back and relick some of her hulls hoping to find a little more of that salty juice that she loved. I had nothing to revisit the hulls for since I had cleaned them the first go round.

When I grew up and started dating Douglas, he had never eaten boiled peanuts. He was from the hills of Tennessee, as he called it, and had always eaten roasted peanuts. He would try one of the boiled peanuts and say, "I don't see how you eat these things," and reach for another one. I wanted to scream, "If you don't like them, please don't waste them!" Douglas kept trying to eat boiled peanuts until he learned to like them.

Here in Southern Alabama farmers will often have the large peanuts with three or four peanuts in one hull. I prefer the smaller Spanish peanuts with only two nuts in each hull and always look forward to the first boiling of the season. When we boil too many we let them cool, put them in a freezer bag, and freeze them for winter and once again remember Mr. Crocker yelling "Boiled peanuts. Boiled peanuts."

The Rhyming Cousins

As little girls we all felt special. We didn't have much and didn't see each other often enough, but there was something special among us. We could feel it. Quite frankly, I don't know why our mothers did what they did to us, but it has made for an interesting ride on our parts. We're all two years apart except for the baby in the group. Our mothers gave us names that rhyme. Brenda was first. She has always been a cotton topped blond. Two years later I came along and Mother named me after both my grandmothers and then stuck her favored name on me. Nancy Evie Glenda Williams. If that wasn't enough, I grew up and married a Williams. Nancy Evie Glenda Williams Williams is unique, but it is the rhyming that my cousins and I share that is even more unique. Brenda, Glenda and then came Lynda two years later. Another blond and she fit right into our little group. Brenda, Glenda, Lynda and a few years later here comes Trenda. Brenda, Glenda, Lynda and Trenda. We all found ourselves together last Friday at a cousin's funeral in Opp, AL. We had to do it. We had to have our pictures taken together. We are proud of our picture and our rhyming names. The funny thing is Grandma Bryant never could seem to get the right name with the right girl when we were growing up. She'd start at the top calling Brenda, Glenda, Lynda......and I learned early on if it rhymns to answer to it. I've done that a lot through the years, but it's been fun. Each rhyming cousin holds a special place in the other's hearts.
Seated far right and continuing clockwise: Brenda, Glenda, Lynda, Trenda.