From Angelia Roberts - Editor of the Batesville Guard from her FaceBook Page.
When Sunday rolls around my family will again arrive at the little country church to honor my parents, who today have marked six decades together.
A good portion of that time has been spent within the walls of what was once a tiny building that was cold in the winter and hot in the summer. And with the passing of 60 years so many of those familiar faces have long gone and new ones have taken their place.
But one thing remains constant and that is the spirit of love that neverchanges. Each time I gather there the memories flood my soul and as if on cue my last two visits the same song has been sung that I became notorious for. It’s hard to stay on track and not belt out, “I have a new bonnet,” instead of body, but I couldn’t help but grin when my Dad whispered, “Was this Tina’s song?” and I told him it was mine.
My parents love telling of how I would stand with my fat little legs on those old wooden pews and sing the wrong words. And, while I don’t recall them, I do remember the hundreds of songs I had to stand up there and sing because my mom was convinced I had talent.
She was wrong.
While she won’t admit that she will place the blame on me saying I had the talent but I didn’t use it, which meant I would lose it.
Either way, the singing is best left to someone else.
So, Sunday when Darlis, my childhood friend, sang a special it was apparent who got the musical ability out of our bunch. My cousin Tina doesn’t count because she just stood there, looked cute and lip-synced.
I never grace the doors I don’t think of my first trip down that aisle to the altar in hopes that I would live a good enough life to head up instead of down. Like my wedding vows, I made more than one trip out of necessity and once I just hurried on down and took one for the team because I knew the preacher wasn’t turning us lose until some poor schmuck was saved. I didn’t figure an extra trip — -like extra insurance — hurt anything.
For me, the ghosts of Trimble past always come calling and I realize how blessed I was that my parents chose this church to be their church of choice.
No doubt when they decided to start their journey they had no real idea of the pitfalls ahead. After all, they were still both teenagers who thought they were probably on some big adventure that would always be filled with happy endings.
But life dishes out detours and no matter how rough the road they held fast to their church family and their faith.
Like my parents, this little country church is a testament to longevity.
Come Sunday, I will be heading back down that gravel road, see the spring where I once tried to drown my baby brother, hear the laughter of childhood friends from vacation Bible school and add one more memory not only with my parents who stood the test of time, but a church that has as well.