But Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the little children come to me.”

 ~Luke 18:16 NIV

Nestled beside a dirt road in Northeast Georgia sat a small, one-room Methodist church—no steeple, carpet, stained glass, or even a sign. Nothing fancy. But it was a sanctuary for friends who assembled for Sunday school and preaching. And Reverend Truman Thomas preached the Word of God from his old, ragged King James Bible.

During the summer, we raised the screened windows high, letting in the surrounding smells—fruits, vegetables, flowers, woods, creeks, rain, and sunshine. The hand-held funeral home fans waved frantically to fight the heavy heat of a Georgia summer mornings.

We sang old hymns like “Power in the Blood,” “The Old Rugged Cross,” “In the Garden,” and “Just as I Am.” Our pastor was probably hotter than the rest of us since he preached wearing a black suit.

Brother Thomas preached just as powerfully on winter days. We snuggled as close to the wood heater as we could. Whatever the weather, our pastor encouraged the lost in his congregation to join the rank of believers and ensure for themselves a heavenly home where we would dwell forever with the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

We didn’t have a piano when Brother Thomas first came to our church, so he found one somewhere and bought it for us. He was a circuit-riding preacher who pastored four churches. Our church’s turn came on the fourth Sundays. He liked how my daddy taught, and we kids all loved it when Brother Thomas would wiggled his ears for us, earning our giggles and hearty laughter.

Vacation Bible School, or “Bible School” as we called it back then, was always held on weekday mornings and lasted from Monday through Friday. Our snacks consisted of store-bought cookies and juice, that we ate underneath the oak trees in the churchyard.

Adults from the church volunteered to drive the children to Bible School. That was always an adventure, especially when our transportation was a pickup truck. Nothing compares to eight or ten kids stuffed in the bed of a pickup truck. We traveled primarily on dirt roads, feeling every bump in the road and singing church songs at the top of our lungs.

We held Homecoming Sunday in July, and we looked forward to it. Since our fellowship hall was the great outdoors, every kind of food imaginable crowded the tables. We experienced the love of God as we ate the delicious food prepared by loving hands.

After eating, we gathered in the church to sing hymns. Following this, we went home to rest before returning for the evening service, which kicked off our revival that lasted through Friday night.

I will always remember the day I gave my heart to the Lord Jesus Christ. I was nine when I went to the altar. On that summer night during revival, my life changed forever. I didn’t understand a lot, didn’t know theology, and couldn’t remember when I didn’t love Jesus. But I felt I needed to seal the deal, and make my commitment to Him public knowledge. I believed my Pastor’s words about Jesus, and will forever be thankful that he loved God and his congregation enough to tell us the truth of the Gospel.

Being brought up in that church gave me a sense of security, equaled only by the security I experienced at home. Yes, church was like a second home to me. I can’t remember my childhood without seeing Ebenezer Methodist Church and its people. It is my heritage, where we met for Sunday school every Sunday and preaching once a month. My church friends are as important to me as family!

What memories of childhood can you share?

Heavenly Father, thank You for loving me so much and putting Your love inside me when I was a child. So, help me never to lose the awe and heritage I have in You. May Your Holy Spirit dwell with me forever. In Jesus’s name, amen.

 

Genre: Non-fiction

Copyright 2023: Sunday School and Preaching: Evelyn Mason Wells: All Rights Reserved