Saturday, May 30, 1998
Moments of Grace
When I was a sweet young thing back in the late '40s, I visited
my grandmother during her church's revival week. Each night we
climbed aboard my granddad's vintage pickup truck and hurtled
our way down a narrow country road, and I'm fighting a very unfamiliar
stick shift at least the length of a nine iron, while my little
grandmother is sitting straight as an arrow by my side, never
realizing the imminent danger to life and limb.
Her confidence in me knew no limits, and we were "going
to meetin.' "
Soon we arrived at our destination, and there, in the midst
of a mesquite pasture, was a most picturesque brush arbor. It
came equipped with a platform, a pulpit, a tinkly old upright
piano, and a roof over our heads made quite literally of brush.
There's something about old-time gospel hymns, belted out into
the open air of a soft summer evening that touched our hearts
and renewed our spirits. Somehow it seemed the songs, the prayers
and the preaching winged their way straight up into heaven itself,
and God just seemed closer.
Brush arbor meetings have most likely become almost obsolete,
but this long-ago revival meeting will forever remain a special
part of my past.
Precious memories, how they linger.
Mary June Jones
Hawley
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Abilene Reporter-News / Texnews / E.W. Scripps Publications
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