LIVING
ONE ON ONE WITH GOD
Chapter 1
Discovering God in 1920
I became aware of God when I was a tot. Not by name and not by deed, but by the abiding faith of a child told a story in which he believed whole heartedly, and had faith in without reservation. In my minds eye I see a picture of a small town in the state of New Jersey where this little person spent his boyhood. I see him carefully picking his way along the uneven concrete and slate slabs that made up the sidewalks along the Main Street of the village where he lived. He held tightly onto the hand of his adult female companion. Her earlier words, fresh off her lips, still echoed in his ears, Joseph, watch where you walk. We do not want our Sunday shoes scuffed. Do we?
My mother was a small woman with dark hair, fair skin and green eyes. Almost petite, she had the accepted hour-glass figure of the times. Our Destination was the Baptist Church. Its steeple could be seen a quarter mile away, rising above the homes and tall trees lining the street. The sun, low and golden in its early rise, cast long dark gray shadows of the tree trunks on the walkways ahead of us. It was summer. The thoroughfare itself was empty and dust free from lack of traffic. The twin steel rails of a trolley track, imbedded in the center of the wide hard-packed dirt of Main Street reflected a dual ribbon of yellow light that faded to pinpoint in the distance. No other souls were about on this Sunday morning.
I knew it was the Sabbath because I was wearing my new short pants made from my deceased daddys worn-thin old mackinaw. Stuffed into the waist line of the stiff material, and unyielding thick inseams of my knickers, I wore a white shirt together with a necktie. The neckpiece made its presence felt at all times by its snugness. My plain and dark high stockings came an inch short of my knees and exposed a small, almost healed, laceration below the right kneecap. The only apparel really comfortable on me was my ankle high shoes. They were my Sunday ones, and were two sizes too big. The single thing that kept them from flopping, was the fact that my mother had laced them tightly around my ankles. The sun was behind us as we walked, nevertheless, I squinted from the brightness of random reflections. Mother had parted and combed my light yellow hair on the left side, complaining as she did so about the cowlick at the crown. A feeling of exaltation bubbled within me. It strained to break free. I felt deliciously happy. I was doing something I loved to do.
My spirits were not high because I felt dressed-up, but because I had the exclusive attention of my mother. I had this keen inner satisfaction in knowing the unseen inhabitants of the houses we passed were peering out the wavy glass panes of the windows in their homes, and could see there were just me and my beautiful mother walking the street together. My younger half-brother was at home. This was my day. Mother and I were on our way to that all white church building with the tall spire I could see in the distance. It was where I sang and clapped hands with other children, and listened to wonderful stories from The Good Book about Jesus and God.
At the open door of the Sunday school. I felt sudden momentary panic when mothers hand left mine. I was coldly alone for an instant, then her voice murmured, Remember, Jesus will be with you. These words were like an inner signal to switch from the security of my mothers hand to the hovering vision of Jesus looking down on me from heaven. Mother shooed me toward the door with a gentle pat on the bottom. I walked into the Sunday School lecture room alone in imagery but secure in knowing that Jesus was now my guardian, and though unseen, walked with me. I felt self-confident, knowing that when I came out, two hours later, my mother would be waiting to take me home.
The walk home was a repeat of feelings, thoughts, and sights encountered on the journey to the church. However, now, with the added pleasure of being greeted and seen by others on the street. Once home, it became mandatory to strip off my Sunday-best and put on my every-day things.
I folded and neatly stored my Sabbath clothes in the bureau in my room, as I had been taught by my mother.
??
??
??
??
|