Thursday, January 11, 2007

Formative Years

I read the ages we learn the most are between 4 and 7, I think. These are called the formative years. With this in mind, I tried to recall my earliest memories of church. My mom, who was a single mother of three, made sure we attended regularly.

I can remember my sunday school teacher. Her name was Miss Daisey. Every Sunday she would lead her little troop of learners through the doors in the back, through a cold hallway and into the classroom. I don't know why I remember the hall as being cold, but the small room was warm. The little gas heater would hiss as it warmed our little bodies.

I can still smell the crayons and see the lesson leaflets. The pictures on those had so much color. The windows appeared to be saphire blue with cut glass. I just know that if I ran my fingers over them, they would feel like ice cubes. Wood floors. The floors were wood, but I think there was a small red carpet in the center of the room.

My formative years. Hmmm. I don't remember too much about the lessons, other than coloring the leaflet, but I do remember JESUS! There is an image of Him in my mind each time I remember that little classroom. I can't say that I have this image because of a hung portrait of him or if I "saw" him. I prefer the latter.


The bell would ring to signal time over and we would line up to march out, literally. Miss Daisey, on the other hand, would take her seat at the piano and play the appropriate "marching" music. We had a "penny march." This is where all the children would bring their pennies to the front of the church and drop them into a basket. This was so exciting to me! We were allowed to be part of the service with our offerings.

Now this is where my age is really telling on me, we returned to wooden pews! Yes, you read that right. Wooden pews. This is where I would be for the remainder of the service. I had fallen asleep many times on those pews. Not because of the preaching, remember I'm from the south. It was loud and hot and full of truth. It was not watered down or sugared up. It was the un-editied gospel, if you will. The Spirit of God dictated how long the service lasted, not the bulletin. And of course, there was LOVE. It permeated the atmoshphere as soon as you entered the doors. Love. Can't have "church" without it!

5 comments:

Lisa said...

What a great memory! Loved your descriptions...

BrideOfChrist said...

How sweet :) As a teacher myself I can appreciate those memories. BTW my birthday is this Sunday, the 14th :)

shortybear said...

Thanks so much for sharing these precious memories, how very sweet.

lady of value said...

Wow, that is so great!! I was not raised in church and the only time I got to go was in the summer when I spent a couple weeks with my grandparents. Grandma made sure she told my mom to pack me a dress for Sundays. I loved going to church tho, I remember my grandaddy singing I'll Fly Away so loud and proud! But in Sunday school I hated it because I did not know all the Bible stories and the other kids made fun of me because I did not know who Jonah or Noah was. Now I am a Sunday School teacher currently of 4th and 5th graders and have taught all age groups of children for 10 years or more. I love it!! I make sure in my class that everyone feels accepted and welcome. I hope my class remembers good things also about 'Miss Sharon' many years from now.

Beth said...

I too wasn't raised in that kind of environemnt but I am mightily proud and excited that MY kids will be. Your description and those Da Hubby and my IL's have me craving the exact type of experience for my babies!