10/08/2023
Milestones and Ministry are everywhere.
Thanks TC
The church seemed so much bigger then. But I was small. Still am if you look at the big picture.
I told Sammy that pulling the rope connected to the bronze bell in the steeple would lift me off the ground once inertia took over. I needed to be held up by my dad to reach the rope; he was the pastor. It was his first church assignment.
We still rang real bronze bells in the sixties. None of that annoying pre-recorded bell ringing.
I recalled an Easter Sunday when I was given the honor of pulling the rope just after the sunrise service, prior to a church lady-cooked breakfast in the basement.
My sisters had their turns as bell ringers, too. It was never done without cause, but only because we all had to be held up to reach the rope. You can imagine our desire to ring it at the wrong time.
Preacher's kids aren't any different than other kids; that's why the rope was short. At least, that's what I surmised.
I pointed toward a trickling brook where I caught my first trout on my sixth birthday. Byron Chute took me to the stream with my first Zebco fishing rod. It was pouring rain.
"That fish was huge, well over thirteen inches long. We lived right in that house across the street," I told Sammy.
I didn't refer to the house across the street as the parsonage. Most people don't even know what that means nowadays. I lived in a few of them.
The house seemed big back then. Of course, I was small. Still am in the scheme of things.
"Geez, that's a good brook trout from a tiny stream," Sammy said.
"We caught a lot of fish there," I said.
To this day, I'd rather catch a small brook trout— cold to the hand like a dark, wriggling icicle, than any other fish.
My road trips through Maine always have a purpose. Typically, that purpose takes a second seat to swinging by all the places I got to live. My passenger had no problem with it, but most people just want to get to where they are going. That's why many of my drives are spent alone. I avoid agendas and plans. I know; it shows.
I moved seventeen times before I was eighteen. Some people think that was a detriment to my coming of age. Sammy did; he said so much in a friendly exchange.
I explained how I learned to make friends and people laugh. Making people laugh instantly relieved all that pressure when you felt like you wouldn't fit in. It worked out fine. Just fine.
As we pulled away, I saw the old house where the crazy man lived. He would scream at our family, threatening to sick his dog, Tiger, on us if we came over to his property. He used a lot of words that I never heard across the street.
Dad left one day. He wanted to see if he could talk to the man, Alan was his name.
Dad walked through the woods to get there, he didn't enter from the street. I figured maybe it was to make him stop screaming at us when we were outside, but I was scared. To me, that man was akin to a monster. And I was terrified of Tiger— a big, yellow German Shepherd mix. None of the fear was Tiger's fault, of course.
Dad came back unscathed. He explained that the man wouldn't yell at us anymore. A few weeks later, Dad took me to see Alan and Tiger.
I was confused about why we were visiting. It was the first time I'd seen the man whose voice terrified me. He wore the standard issued costume of so many other men I've met who acted similarly. I've been to a lot of houses like that since then.
I couldn't believe that the man I met was the same fellow who had been so mean and nasty. I couldn't comprehend all of it, not then. We always waved at Alan after that, and he waved back. Tiger seemed to bark less when he wasn't screaming.
That year, my dad gave him some rides to get medicine, maybe to a doctor. I can't be sure. I just know that Alan changed. So did Tiger. Alan finally got his car running, doing his own errands.
I remember sleeping better after that.
My dad was a cop before he was a pastor; I suspect that made pastoring easier and scary people less scary.
I don't believe Alan ever came across to the church, but that didn't make any difference to my dad. That sign over the door was for everyone, even if they never had a chance to ring the bell.
Have a great Sunday.
From the Jagged Edge of America, I remain,
TC
