My father answered The Call. I don’t know if they still use that phrase, but in the 1950’s, someone like my father, who was supposed to continue on in the family farming business could announce to them-that-matter that he felt The Call, to go into the ministry.
Way up north, in Ohio, my mom-to-be also felt The Call.
And so it was, that the two strangers met at a Bible college in Tupelo, Mississippi, home of Elvis. He was there to become a preacher; she was there to become a preacher’s wife. That’s how it worked out.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Daddy Sang Off Key and Momma Covered For Him
A husband and wife were supposed to be a ministry team, and it was a great advantage if the wife could play instruments; him with a Bible and her with a piano, that’s the makings of church service. If God shows up, its hallelujah, amen, and ladies, get your hankies!
Mom came from musicians. They had Alabama roots. Daddy joked, called them hillbillies, but at least they were Americans who spoke English as a first language. Her father didn’t want to spend his life walking behind a mule so when he heard of work Up North he went up north, to Ohio. He pinched pennies, lived tight, and saved up enough to send for his wife. He had a spare bedroom, and one by one, their house was the incubator of cousins and friends who came from Bama to make a new life in the industrial heartland. They’d live in that bedroom until they had a little money saved, then they’d move out, get their own place, and the room was vacant until the next arrival.
But every Saturday night, their house was the gathering place of all the displaced Bama boys and girls. And just about everybody brought a musical instrument. Her father played guitar, her mother played a mandolin.
Mom came into the marriage with a mastery of the piano, but also, the now-you-hardly-ever-see-one accordion.
An accordion is a curious contraption. Being a farm kid, I knew that if you cross a horse with a donkey you get a mule; an accordion seemed like what happens when you cross a piano with a bagpipe.
I do hope that every reader can picture an accordion and how it is strapped over your shoulders but played across your torso, because my mother’s greatest performance was on her accordion.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Here’s The Setting
Everybody gets a little slice of time.
There’s the Funny Preacher, and he does his joke about the missionary and the headhunter, or the one about the rich man and the poor man showing up at the Gates of Heaven, a guaranteed laugh when the rich man can’t bribe his way into heaven.
And then there’s the Preacher Who Talks About How The Youth Are Our Future, followed by the Preacher Who Reminds Us Of The Great Commission and the need to financially support our missionaries, and then there’s some preacher who is assigned to Remind Everybody Of Brother and Sister Soandso Who Went On To Be With The Lord Since The Last Time We Met.
‘Round about now, seems like this would be a fine time to have a little music, don’t you think?
And yes, cue Mom. She’s a little off to the side, under a tall tree, with her accordion strapped across her back. The eyes of the congregation are now upon her…
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Signs And Wonders
Back then, you never just launched into a song. First you had to do a little talking, not quite a testimony, but a little something, God is good and Satan is bad, and then she did what just about everybody did before doing a song, told the congregation that somehow, with the Lord’s leading, this song I’m about to sing just seems so right for the occasion…and then she began to work the accordion.
It wasn’t really a crying song…
She started off normal, and then early in the first verse it seemed like the spirit hit her like a lightning bolt with the power of a 1000 angels, voice breaking, fighting back the tears!
Glory, glory! The mysterious ways of God!
The congregation popped into a couple of clapping moments, even brought some amen’s from the men in suits up front. She was working that accordion like nobody had ever seen, her face flinching with emotion…clear if anything ever was, that everyone was witnessing the anointing hand of the Almighty! He was here and this was IT!
Somehow she made it all the way through all four verses. At the last note she shook the accordion off and retreated behind the big tree. The congregation pounded their applause, almost stood up, but this bunch, back then, didn’t do standing ovations – the glory was supposed to go to God – but they were clearly moved…that she was so moved…
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
That’ll Do It
You’d be moved too, if while you were standing in front of a bunch of people, just lit into your song, when down from the tree falls this stinging caterpillar, which lands, right –
(A small detour here, as I search for the appropriate words to speak of this location: Mom would have probably used the word “bosom”.)
The caterpillar has a point of view also. He was enjoying the tree ambiance that it considered normal, and upon landing in the cleavage of my mother’s mammary assemblage, which was heartily engaged in pushing and pulling an accordion in and out, the caterpillar did what caterpillars do when alarmed; sting first and ask questions later.
There my mother was, hiding behind the tree, hoping nobody could see, as she began reaching down her shirt front…
When the service was over my mother’s four-verse performance seemed to have outshined the long oration of the featured speaker. Friends and strangers sought her out, to tell her how what a blessing her song was to them.
“We could all see the Spirit come over you, praise the Lord!”
Mom just smiled. The Lord works in mysterious ways.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
This edition of Uncle P’s Bedtime Stories is brought to you by Eighty-one, where we’re pretty sure God has the best sense of humor.
P.S. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. Mom’s smiles started in her eyes, 1001, 1002, just glowing, and then the smile worked its way to her mouth. She had a deep laugh, take a few seconds for a laugh egg to hatch and reach the surface. I used to watch her when she was happy and I’d think, this is probably how Mrs. Santa Claus laughs.
I could see her again, as I wrote this. She laughed when you laughed, it just came out slower. I can still see her put her hand over her mouth when she said “bosom”, like she was saying a naughty word.
Uncle P’s Bedtime Stories can be found on Eighty-one’s Facebook page. Attaboys and salutations can be sent to him at 81creativity@gmail.com.
Comments are closed.