I don’t remember a lot about our move from Cisco to Gainesville. I just know that we had Smokey living on a vacant Lot back of the parsonage and I had to take care of him even when he had big ol’ ticks on his body. Those ticks sucked blood and swelled up turning purple. Smokey’s undercarriage thingy swelled up so big that we had to get stuff that Grandpa had, so everything turned out OK.
Wednesday nights were always so horrible. We had to go to prayer meeting at the church. I think I loved Jesus, but I sure didn’t like prayer meeting. Most of the reason was because people stood up and testified. It was just awful. Brother Chillywaters – no, that wasn’t his real name, it’s just a name we gave him – he always stood up at testimony time and started off by saying with shaky voice, “When I cross those chilly waters of Jordon … blah, blah, blah (only he didn’t say blahblahblah). Then everybody would get down on their knees to pray and it hurt so much on my knees I thought I would die. We had to stay there sometimes for a hunnerd hours. There was an outhouse behind the church – it was a one holer for all the church to use – so sometimes I thought I had to go peepee. It got me out of stayin’ on my knees for so long. Continue reading “Sinking Sand/Solid Rock – An Anthology: Gainesville #7”