OMG, another acronym from my grandchildren, ” Oh My God “. A second acronym they suggested WWJD – ” What Would Jesus Do”. Both of these acronyms seem appropriate for this blog.
By now you are aware I come from a small Southern town in Eastern N.C. As a youth, there was within reason a systematic rule for life. It was as follows: 1. Church 2. Family, 3. Preachers 4. Law Enforcement 5. Teachers.
Being raised in a Southern Baptist Church you could expect at least three revivals for the calendar year. It was a reckoning that about every four months your soul needed a spiritual boost. Unless you could not put one foot in front of the other, you attended the week long revival from Sunday to Sunday. Most revivals were conducted by a visiting preacher. His first sermon usually set the mind set for the next six. ( does ” fire and brimstone ” ring a bell.) The first sermon made you as uneasy as someone who smokes in the chicken house. I could see our regular preacher thinking, ” wish I had said that”. As I said to my mom as the week began, ” My soul is in good shape after about two sermons “. Not only did I get seven days of preaching at church, I doubled down on three more at home.
The tradition for the visiting preacher was to be the guest for dinner at the most loyal families in the church. In this case my mom. We were scheduled for a Thursday sit down supper with the visiting preacher ( refer to OMG ) prior to his sermon. Before the preacher’s arrival our mom reviewed every bad deed we had ever committed. Emphasis was placed on good table manners. “Son do not wipe your mouth with your sleeve”. After the dressing down I was thinking, ” Jesus thank you for not striking me with lightning before tonight”.
Here were the rules of conduct for the supper.” The preacher will bless the food, which may take a few minutes. You better be reverent. The preacher gets his choice of chicken parts. You will not groan if he chooses your chicken part. Do not mention that one of the deacons was napping during Tuesday’s sermon. You are to take marginal portions, in case the preacher wants seconds. Let the preacher control the conversations”.
Somewhere in the scheme of things my middle sister had a lapse in memory. As soon as mom announced, ” supper is ready”, my sister looked like an NFL fullback dodging linebackers. Her fork was in the fried chicken breast before anyone else was seated ( refer to WWJD). Mom, being the God fearing woman she was asked the preacher to bless the food as she led my sister by the ear to the back of the house. As the preacher blessed the food, my oldest sister and I prayed, ” Lord please do not let me laugh out loud”.
Be safe.
Joe's Bakers Dozen 