Precious Memories Linger On

Thursday, May 3rd, 2018     by Debra DuPree Williams     2 Comments


By Debra DuPree Williams @DDuPreeWilliams
Do you ever experience days in which memories come flooding without any warning? I had one such day this past week. Of course, I was talking to my sister at the time. I was working on last week’s blog about churches closing their doors. Our thoughts soon turned to the little town in which we grew up. Andalusia, Alabama, was a great place in which to live out our formative years. It is small-town USA, but it was filled with the best teachers, mentors, Sunday School teachers, pastors, friends, one could hope to have.

Sissy didn’t spend as much time in Andalusia as I. She entered the eleventh grade the year we moved there and soon went off to college and marriage. I was in the fourth grade at East Three-Notch Elementary School.  Mrs. Jay was my teacher. I have fond memories of her.

First Methodist Church

The elementary school was directly across the street from First Methodist Church, as it was called back in those days. Now it is First United Methodist Church.  It was the place where my family worshiped on Sunday mornings. My parents were very active members, Mama with her Sunday School ladies, Daddy cooking for every occasion one could possibly imagine. Daddy sang in the adult choir. I was active in MYF and as I entered high school, I also sang with the adult choir. Oddly enough, I don’t recall singing with Sissy in this church. Years later, this was the place where my husband and I exchanged our marital vows.

The memory that flooded back to me took place in the pews of First Methodist. Every first Sunday, we had communion, the tradition of the Methodist church for as long as I can remember. The ritual we followed was a very long one in the back of the hymnal. It was complete with all manner of prayers and responses. One of my most-loved lines in all of that ritual is, “We are not worthy so much as to gather the crumbs from beneath Thy table.” It’s funny how some things we hear early in life stay with us for the remainder of our days.

Back in 2011, my husband and I lived with our eldest son and his family for six months. Our son was transitioning from being a stay-at-home, work-from-home, full-time student, to being out in the workforce. They had two little girls, ages six years, and fourteen months who needed reliable care. Our daughter-in-law, whom we call the daughter of our hearts, worked outside the home, so they needed help. When asked if we would consider the move from our just-moved-into-it beachfront home to the busyness of the metropolitan DC area, we didn’t hesitate for one second.

The Falls Church

During our stay there, not only did we get to form a special bond with our girls, but we got to worship in a few different churches in the area. One was The Falls Church. It is Anglican and was a place in which George Washington had worshipped.

We entered and found a seat, not knowing what to expect. The choir processed in and took up space in the balcony area to our right. The anthem they sang was one we had sung many years earlier as members of the choir of Independent Presbyterian Church in Birmingham, Alabama. If you know me well, you know that it doesn’t take much to bring on the tears. As they sang, I found myself grabbing a tissue to wipe the moisture which coursed down my cheeks.

Next, they held communion services. You guessed it. A big portion of that service was exactly the same as the service I had repeated every first Sunday in First Methodist Church, Andalusia, Alabama. And yes, that line quoted above was part of it. Needless to say, I cried through the majority of the service that day. Some memories are so deep-seated and meaningful that they impact our lives on the most intimate level. I was transported in time to two of the houses of worship that had a huge part in forming me into the person of faith I am today, FMC and IPC.

And now, I have the added memory of sitting in the pew in the same church where our country’s first president sat and worshiped. As I looked around the sanctuary that day, I could almost see him bent in prayer. I could imagine him asking for wisdom to lead our new nation. I cannot imagine the weight he must have felt from the task before him.

Blessed

Over fifty years filled the gap between my childhood days worshiping in Andalusia, Alabama, and the Sunday we spent at The Falls Church. But even today, I still recall the words of the Communion service, and I am in awe at the blessings I have had in my lifetime. Who am I to have lived the life I have, to have been blessed with such a good man as my husband? To have four loving sons, my beautiful daughter-in-love? My perfect granddaughters? Who am I to have doors within the Christian writing community opening to me? Doors I had no clue I even wanted to walk through?

That one is easy. I am a sinner, saved by Grace and a love that surpasses anything you and I will ever be able to comprehend. Still, I . . .  we are not worthy so much as to gather the crumbs from beneath His table, but by His grace, we are redeemed, we are free, we are saved by His precious blood 
(John 3:16) To God be the Glory.

Do you have memories of a special church?  Share that with us.

TWEETABLE

2 Comments

    The Conversation

  1. Joann Claypoole says:
    October 3, 2019 at 4:59 pm

    I love this sweet post, Debra. Thanks for sharing.

  2. Joann Claypoole says:
    October 3, 2019 at 4:59 pm

    Love…

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