A little bit of trouble in a Baptist church

September 29, 2016

12  comments

7190209497_49c2cdc6d3_o The day I made my way from the front of the church to the back, by way of crawling on the floor beneath the pews, was the day that ended with a spark of revival and righteous reprimand.

 

Before you get excited and think this incident occurred this past year, get your head on straight. I was not quite three years old and just the right size to wiggle my way past a startled Sister Donna Jean and under the legs of snoring Mr. Joe-Don who nearly jumped out of his skin and recovered by mumbling a half-hearted, “Amen!”

 

It was a Sunday night service at the First Baptist Church in Florala, Alabama where Daddy served as the Minister of Music.  Mama thought it would be a good idea to spring me from the nursery and let me attend the big service so I could hear the older children’s production of “The Little Lost Lamb.”

 

After the boy playing the shepherd hollered and waved his staff around, I was scared, and decided to get out of there before he started whacking people. If I’d run up the aisle, my mother would have surely caught me and put me back in the line of fire, so my escape route had to be cleverly concealed.

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I meant no harm and was only trying to protect myself, so taking a tip from watching Hogan’s Heroes with Daddy, the under-pew route looked like a safe tunnel passageway. Slipping away from Mama was the easy part. She was busy grinning at the lambs, which I had already figured out were just kids with cotton balls glued all over them.

 

Pew number one was no challenge at all, and pew number two was a breeze, but beneath the third pew, I accidentally knocked over Mrs. Crowder’s pocketbook and all her loose change rolled across the center aisle, along with a pack of Virginia Slims which made . . . click HERE to continue the story at al.com.

 

 

  • When my kids were little we attended church in the vestibule where the service was heard over a speaker…not because our children were that bad, but because my husband would always talk through the service!! He would have followed you happily along your escape route! Behave yourself this Sunday!

  • This reminds me of that song by Ray Stevens, “Mississippi Squirrel Revival.” Thank you so much for sharing this with us.

    Hope you and your family have a great weekend. It has cooled off here in OKC, so hopefully, it will cool off on the gulf.

  • Too funny… My hubby was quite the number I think in his Baptist church. He had to be taken out by his dad one Sunday morning and proceeded to yell repeatedly at the top of his lungs, “Don’t beat me, Daddy.” Of course, Daddy was a well known upstanding deacon in the church. I am pretty sure he didn’t misbehave anymore. We showed up the first morning of my son’s first grade class and the teacher (who had been around quite awhile and had the MOST wonderful Southern drawl) says, “I remember you. You were baaaaad.”

  • Hysterical! I can just see you now, checking out all the ladies’ shoes! My mother used to keep a rolled up little “hickory switch” as she called it in her church purse. Usually she only had to open the purse and show it to me to make me straighten up and behave, but sometimes I was dragged out, and it was applied along with the stern admonishment to “Sit up and listen!” My perfect little brother was never a trouble-maker. Sometimes I pinched him to make him “Ouch” hoping to get him switched, too. It usually back-fired.

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