So poignant. Thank you for sharing this important moment and point. The world is NOT black and white. Daisies do burst through the asphalt and bloom anyway.
A dear friend of mine, who later became my sister in law, grew up with 4 older brothers, raised by her mom as her dad died shortly before she was born. She remembers that she was going to be picked up along with her Sunday School class one Christmas. They were giving out food to poor families of the church. When teacher walked up to get her, she realized that her family was one of the recipients. She said that’s the first time she realized that they were poor. The Christmas gift of food was a welcome sight for her mom and I know that the church ladies were full of grace and really did want to help People in need. But I understand how hard it was for your dad in accepting that food and why he didn’t explain to his kids where it truly came from.
Thank you for sharing, Jess. Your descriptions are such generous detailed memories that I was able to clearly visualize them myself. I could almost smell them, but was distracted by tears.
Thank you for this essay. My mom was a Bible Church woman. If she was alive we’d probably fight all the time about most everything … but she spent my life inside that church feeding every baby, elderly or disabled person, overwhelmed parent, unhoused person, and sick person that crossed her tiny congregation’s path. It was the best picture of love, and laid the foundation for exactly the way I try to take care of my neighbors now. “You have to BE the hands of Jesus,” she’d say. She had no time for religious talkers who left bellies hungry.
Interestingly, when mom died her church didn’t reciprocate any of the meals back to us kids, even though my sister was still a teen. We were too “wayward” to them by then to deserve a meal. Two of my friends from college, one an atheist and the other an alcoholic, were the folks who showed up in my kitchen with weeks worth of homemade spaghetti sauce to keep us fed.
Jesus always was the guy who showed up with a meal in the most unexpected places from and for the most unexpected people, though.
Jess, my great-uncle was Julious Culbreth who is credited with founding the Pentecostal church in rural North Carolina. I grew up in the Holiness church to people talking in tongues, yelling, swaying with their hands in the air, and dancing or running up and down the aisles. I remember "Camp Meetings" which were held for two weeks, usually in the sweltering heat of August. I remember a large building called the "Ark' with three-
floors of rooms for the Camp Meeting attendees. It was demolished in the 1960s and a new tabernacle was built, named after my great- uncle.
I lived about 1/4 mile from the tabernacle and I would fall asleep to the sounds of singing, and shouting. It was kind of scary, and yet comforting.
My grandpa, Julious's brother, told the "story" about a woman at CampMeeting who got "slain in the spirit", fell down with her dress coming up to her waist. One preacher yelled, "Cover that lady up!". Another preacher yelled, "Let her lay where the Lord flung her.
Another "version" is that after the woman fell and her dress came up, a preacher admonished, "He who looks
upon this lady will be struck blind!" One man stood up,
squinted and said, "I'll risk ONE eye."
I remember rules about not wearing jewelry, makeup, short sleeves, and cutting one's hair. I remember movie going, dancing, and of course smoking and drinking being viewed as the "Devil's Deeds."
I also have warm memories of the kindness and generosity of the people in my church and community.
These memories sustain me in these times of confusion and political turmoil.
Thank you for this good story. I was a very young single Mom and I will always remember the Salvation Army Day Care Center (2.50) a week where she went while I was at work. Christmas they had a party and she was given a big beautiful doll which she loved with a passion. I am now a great grandmother and there are enough toys for the generations since, but that doll, a gift from a kind stranger is the one I will always remember.
I grew up comfortably, with enough food to keep our bellies full, and a father who brought in a steady paycheck. Yet, when I read your story, I felt connected to you in a way that children feel before life and circumstances make us realize our differences. We truly are one in so many ways; our differences pale before the bond of similarities that make us human. Thank you, Jess, for reminding me of that.
I love your evocative writing- and your message that, though there is much wrong with organized religion, an individual church and individual parishioners can indeed love their neighbor.
Thank you, Jess. You made me cry. I never went hungry, but I remember the love of church people caring for me. I too have left the church, but there were some good people there, and it is good to be reminded of that. I am made for grace, as were you, as are we all. Even - or maybe especially - through Moon Pies.
Thank you for reminding me that sometimes Christians behave as Jesus instructed when they feed those who are in need.
So poignant. Thank you for sharing this important moment and point. The world is NOT black and white. Daisies do burst through the asphalt and bloom anyway.
A dear friend of mine, who later became my sister in law, grew up with 4 older brothers, raised by her mom as her dad died shortly before she was born. She remembers that she was going to be picked up along with her Sunday School class one Christmas. They were giving out food to poor families of the church. When teacher walked up to get her, she realized that her family was one of the recipients. She said that’s the first time she realized that they were poor. The Christmas gift of food was a welcome sight for her mom and I know that the church ladies were full of grace and really did want to help People in need. But I understand how hard it was for your dad in accepting that food and why he didn’t explain to his kids where it truly came from.
Thank you for sharing, Jess. Your descriptions are such generous detailed memories that I was able to clearly visualize them myself. I could almost smell them, but was distracted by tears.
Thank you for this essay. My mom was a Bible Church woman. If she was alive we’d probably fight all the time about most everything … but she spent my life inside that church feeding every baby, elderly or disabled person, overwhelmed parent, unhoused person, and sick person that crossed her tiny congregation’s path. It was the best picture of love, and laid the foundation for exactly the way I try to take care of my neighbors now. “You have to BE the hands of Jesus,” she’d say. She had no time for religious talkers who left bellies hungry.
Interestingly, when mom died her church didn’t reciprocate any of the meals back to us kids, even though my sister was still a teen. We were too “wayward” to them by then to deserve a meal. Two of my friends from college, one an atheist and the other an alcoholic, were the folks who showed up in my kitchen with weeks worth of homemade spaghetti sauce to keep us fed.
Jesus always was the guy who showed up with a meal in the most unexpected places from and for the most unexpected people, though.
Jess, my great-uncle was Julious Culbreth who is credited with founding the Pentecostal church in rural North Carolina. I grew up in the Holiness church to people talking in tongues, yelling, swaying with their hands in the air, and dancing or running up and down the aisles. I remember "Camp Meetings" which were held for two weeks, usually in the sweltering heat of August. I remember a large building called the "Ark' with three-
floors of rooms for the Camp Meeting attendees. It was demolished in the 1960s and a new tabernacle was built, named after my great- uncle.
I lived about 1/4 mile from the tabernacle and I would fall asleep to the sounds of singing, and shouting. It was kind of scary, and yet comforting.
My grandpa, Julious's brother, told the "story" about a woman at CampMeeting who got "slain in the spirit", fell down with her dress coming up to her waist. One preacher yelled, "Cover that lady up!". Another preacher yelled, "Let her lay where the Lord flung her.
Another "version" is that after the woman fell and her dress came up, a preacher admonished, "He who looks
upon this lady will be struck blind!" One man stood up,
squinted and said, "I'll risk ONE eye."
I remember rules about not wearing jewelry, makeup, short sleeves, and cutting one's hair. I remember movie going, dancing, and of course smoking and drinking being viewed as the "Devil's Deeds."
I also have warm memories of the kindness and generosity of the people in my church and community.
These memories sustain me in these times of confusion and political turmoil.
Writing at the speed of life. Beautiful.
Thank you for this good story. I was a very young single Mom and I will always remember the Salvation Army Day Care Center (2.50) a week where she went while I was at work. Christmas they had a party and she was given a big beautiful doll which she loved with a passion. I am now a great grandmother and there are enough toys for the generations since, but that doll, a gift from a kind stranger is the one I will always remember.
Grace (with a capital G) give it and get it is still Grace. 🙏🏼🗝️🩷🩷🩷🩷
The people in the fundamentalist churches are by and large wonderful people. It's the system that is corrupt and abusive.
I grew up comfortably, with enough food to keep our bellies full, and a father who brought in a steady paycheck. Yet, when I read your story, I felt connected to you in a way that children feel before life and circumstances make us realize our differences. We truly are one in so many ways; our differences pale before the bond of similarities that make us human. Thank you, Jess, for reminding me of that.
"I loves my baby 'cause he's got a face like a Moon Pie."
My Alabama wife's never forgotten term of endearment for her Yankee old man
I love your evocative writing- and your message that, though there is much wrong with organized religion, an individual church and individual parishioners can indeed love their neighbor.
Thank you. Beautifully told.
Thank you Jess. You are a wonderful writer!
Thank you, Jess. You made me cry. I never went hungry, but I remember the love of church people caring for me. I too have left the church, but there were some good people there, and it is good to be reminded of that. I am made for grace, as were you, as are we all. Even - or maybe especially - through Moon Pies.