Beech Tree News Network

I think I’ve told you about that little church on Ashes Creek my sisters and I used to walk to.  It was a Pentecostal Church.  Before we moved to Ashes Creek, we lived in Mt. Washington, where we attended a Methodist Church.  There were people in that Methodist Church who encouraged my parents to take us, so they did.  When we moved to Spencer County, all of that fell by the wayside.  I don’t know why my sisters and I decided to try the Pentecostal Church, but I’m glad we did.  

Outside of school, we rarely interacted with anybody else.  We were pretty isolated on that creek.  Occasionally, the man who drank too much, with the large family next door would pass, a passel of dark haired kids with their heads hanging out the car windows, waving.  They were a “welfare” family, and my parents discouraged any association with them.  Although looking back, we didn’t live in much better conditions.  It was probably that isolation that pushed us in the direction of the little Pentecostal Church.

Today, as I was cleaning my house, I began to sing a song we sang at that church, called “Praise Ye the Lord.”  Do you remember that one?  The song director, who was also the Sunday school director, the Bible School director and the Christmas play director, would divide us into two groups.  One group would sing “Hallellu, Hallellu, Hallelu, Hallelujah” then the next group would sing “Praise Ye the Lord.”  As we did this, the group that was singing would stand then sit when it was the next groups turn, who then stood, etc.  From behind, we looked like that game of Bop a Mole—all that was missing was the mallet. 

We also had Bible drills.  The “everything” director would read out a verse and you had to locate it then stand and read it.  Again, it was another up-and-down exercise.  In those days, there was very little sitting around anywhere.  I was really good at Bible drills.  It was something that made me feel good about myself.  Many a small church has built up confidence in children who get overlooked in larger places.

My sisters and I sometimes sang on Sunday mornings, and because there were so few people who attended the church, we always got leading parts in the Christmas play.  I was Mary quite a few times.  If there weren’t enough boys for the male parts, sometimes my sisters had to be bathrobe shepherds, towels secured around their heads with string; however, in the next act, they got to be beautiful angels, so they didn’t mind.  

Tommy, an older boy from three miles down the road, would be Joseph.  His father was an alcoholic.  One year, Tommy told us his dad was going to come see him in the play.  He was so excited, because his dad never attended anything for Tommy or his brothers and sisters.  Sure enough, Tommy’s dad staggered through the church doors shortly before the sheets on the wire, which served as curtains, were drawn to the side in order to reveal the manger scene.  Tommy’s dad made it through a couple of acts before he passed out on the floor between the pews.  Tommy didn’t come back to church after that.  He drowned a few years later in a swimming accident.  He went under and never came back up, like he did that night of the Christmas play.

There was so much sadness on that creek, so much poverty and despair.  My sister ended up marrying one of the grandsons of the welfare family our parents didn’t want us to associate with.  The guy ended up in prison.  My sister and he divorced.  It’s still hard to look back on that time in my life with anything but sadness.  I can, however, pick out the parts that gave me positive reinforcement.  Carolyn was the name of the song director/Sunday school director/ Bible school director/ Christmas play director. The name “Carolyn” means “Song of Happiness.”  For us few kids who didn’t seem to matter to many others, that was who she was to us.  Our “Song of Happiness.”