I grew up in this Primitive Baptist Church. Some of my earliest memories are big Sunday dinners, after a long sermon, on planks laid over saw horses, and covered by nice linen table cloths while being handed from arm to arm as men and women laid out, in their very best china, home-made delicious food. I remember being a little afraid, but so curious that I never cried or called out for Mom or Dad – just moving from stranger’s arms to stranger’s arms. The mood was always jovial and fun as everyone worked together, until dinner was ready to be served and the minister gave the blessing. What we now call lunch was dinner and supper was what we now call dinner.
This church was built by my great-grandfather and his brothers in 1923. It was a once a month church service and the minister who was called an Elder was “given” the message, from spirit, for the sermon and if they didn’t “receive” their sermon, they sat down. They believed in dreams and visions and understood that each of us was in direct connection with the Almighty. If no message was given we stood and sang hymns for an hour. No piano, no music, just pleasing strong voices singing as only true believers can sing; with a full heart.
I still love that Church.