From the Bench
MANY YEARS, MANY MEMORIES
That’s the Royston Baptist Church on the front page, as most of you know. It hasn’t changed much since 1959, at least the building hasn’t. Otherwise, a lot has changed.
1959……..Charles Elder was pastor then. J. Frank Lee was head of the Sunday School, as he had been for forty years or more. Both of them are gone now, as are many more whose memories still circulate in this place.
It is a good place. A haven. A sanctuary. Home.
The years soften the distant memories into a tapestry as mellow as an October sunset. I remember them well.
It was October 4, a Sunday afternoon, forty-three years ago today. I stood at the front of the sanctuary, uncomfortable. Tuxedos weren’t intended for country boys, nor country boys for tuxedos. And the shoes. I suppose that black, formal tuxedo shoes are not supposed to be comfortable, either.
The wait seemed interminable. Had she changed her mind? Somebody go check. (I would learn later that she always takes her time.)
Finally she came down the aisle, escorted by J Frank Lee, an erect, proud southern gentleman if there ever was one. On this day his quiet pride could not be concealed.
She was beautiful. Still is. Her name was Anne. Her last name was Martin. In a few moments that would change. And a lot more would change in the ensuing years.
After the ceremony, we went to the big house on Hartwell Street where she had grown up. It could have been a movie set. The bride’s mother always plans these things, I learned for the first time. Not surprisingly, the bride’s mother planned well.
Her name was Mabel. Last name Martin, same as the bride’s. From observing, you would never have suspected that she was less than two months removed from a hospital bed. But there was never any doubt as to who was in charge. Tough lady……typical southern lady.
October 4, 1959. So long ago, and yet such a short time in memory. A lot has happened since then. Three children. A daughter-in-law. Two sons-in-law. Five granddaughters. Two grandsons. Where there were two, there are now fifteen. The treasures of a long relationship. That’s what it’s all about.
I have never summoned the courage to ask her what she would do if she had it to do over; however, looking at all the family photographs sprinkled throughout the old house on Hartwell Street, I think I know what the answer would be.
Forty-three years. A lot has changed, but it has been a grand journey, don’t you think, honey?
Honey?,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
HONEY?