My mother was raised in a church-going family but by the time I was born she had ceased going to regular services; although several times when a weeklong “revival meeting” was going on at the church she had grown up in she attended the weekday evening services and I would be there beside her on the hard pew for sermons that seemed endless.
But other than those special revivals, Mother didn’t ever attend church; yet as a child I was usually at church in one congregation or another almost every week.
When I was a very small girl, my sister—5 years older than I—used to walk me three blocks to Aunt Martha’s house. From there, Aunt Martha would walk me the additional half block to the Methodist Church where she and Uncle Alex were staunch parishioners and where she served as a Sunday School teacher for many years. Aunt Martha was my father’s sister and with her being so involved, the Methodist church was also where I went to Bible School in the summer. At the Methodist church I listened avidly to all the bible stories, including my favorite about David slewing the Giant.
After dropping me at Aunt Martha’s house for Sunday school, my sister would continue on another block to Aunt Evelyn’s. (Mother’s sister). Aunt Evelyn would take her to the local Church of Christ only about a block from the Methodist church. After services, the routine was reversed and my sister would walk me home.
When I got a little older, I joined my sister at the Church of Christ on Sunday mornings; but even as a teenager, I went to the Methodist church youth fellowship meetings which were held week-day evenings.
One way or another, I grew up with some knowledge of religion and the feeling that on Sunday mornings I needed to worship. To the credit of my aunts, I grew up to love God and try to do what’s right. I’m pretty sure that if they could know me now, they would consider their efforts worthwhile.
Remembering those who helped me along the way: E. Williams
Read more articles, stories and poems by E. Williams at: www.trovemagazine.com