When it’s Thanksgiving I remember singing in the Junior Choir, “Bless this house, oh Lord we pray…” Christmas brings memories of Mrs. Gragg leading us in singing “Away in a manger no crib for a bed…” Palm Sunday – “Tell me the stories of Jesus…” Easter of course was “Christ the Lord has risen today! Alleluuuuuulia,” and in the summer when a missionary visited we belted out “We’ve a story to tell to the nations…” We were convinced we were wonderful, Mrs. Gragg said so.

 

Every time I lead a tour at Holocaust Museum Houston, when I tell the students about the Bible verse in the mezuzah posted on the door frame, “Hear oh Israel, the Lord your God is one God … and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart … and your neighbor as yourself,” I remember Dixie Holder. She patiently worked with me during Vacation Bible School until I had memorized that verse, and all the books of the Bible. When I finally got to Revelation, jumped up, threw her arms around me, and we danced around the room. What a treat when Mrs. Bancroft played the piano for us to sing at Sunday school, then Mrs. Dunn read a story about a boy named Timmy. (I thought she was talking about Sylvia Ball’s little brother.) She ended each with, “What Timmy learned in today’s story was that we should always treat each other the way we want to be treated. Don’t ever forget that.” 

 

Daddy and Leo Hathaway talked about a man called Peter who was a fisherman so I thought Peter was a friend of theirs.  In my mother’s diary that she kept the year she was a patient at Grace Lutheran Tubercular Sanitarium her entries show that someone from the church visited her every day and she cherished those visits. When I taught church officer classes I told the story of Mr. Sutherland to illustrate what it means to be an Elder. When Mr. Kelly baptized me, Mr. Sutherland said he would be my Elder and stand by me and my parents. Many times, during that year when mother was at Grace Lutheran, Mr. Sutherland came with my father to Karnes City where I lived with my grandparents, Mabel and Pick Pearce. Each time he came he told me the whole congregation wanted to know how I was doing so they sent him to see about me because he was my Elder. Mr. Sutherland represented the whole congregation to stand by me during a hard time.

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When my mother was no longer sick, she decided to make up for lost time. She learned to drive a car, and enrolled at Trinity University as a freshman. The church backed her and encouraged her to accomplish her dream. She got a master’s degree at Our Lady of the Lake and had a long career as a counselor, dedicated to serving children growing up in the Harlandale School District. Mrs. Pryor and Mrs. Caine and several other women at church decided, “If Sally McGall can do it, I can too.” Our church had women in their forties going back to school, and I think their experience in teaching in the church gave them the confidence and the desire to fulfill their dreams for education and a career. Remember when women finally were invited to be on the Session?

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My father’s dream was that our Presbytery would raise $750,000.00 in order to buy an oilman’s ranch in the Texas Hill  Country. He worked hard meeting with churches and selling them on the idea that Mo-Ranch would become a conference center that would be an invaluable source for Christian education for thousands of people throughout the Synod for years to come. HPC is recognized at the Lynne Museum at Mo Ranch as a church that gave generously, far beyond its share, to make Mo-Ranch a dream that would be fulfilled.

 

Our neighbors were the Handleys. This family was a living example of what Jesus said about what it means to be a neighbor. Family names became household words in our home – Ball, Benick, Chavez, Carr, Miller, Frazier, Filby, Gurley, Bilhartz, Farris, Hanna, Hardin, Moore, Nowotny, Porter, Thompson, Jones, Gambs, Gayoso, Hardin, Jackson, Jordan, King, Koehler, Kruse, Mahan, McQuaid, McReynolds, Mebane, Naomi, Peters, Ragsdale, Ruhd, Ridd, Salmon, Schulz, Sears, Sheppard, Smiley, Smith, Townsend, Turnage, Villareal, Warmack, Wilkins, West, Weynan. ( I know I’ll think of many more.)

 

My mother read in the newspaper, one day in 1946, that they were building a Presbyterian church on Pleasanton Road.  When we pulled up in Daddy’s pickup there were two men looking at the freshly poured foundation of the church. A tall handsome man in a nice suit, what a beautiful voice he had, greeted us. My parents assumed this must be the preacher. Bill Dunn then introduced us to the man wearing khaki pants, who was puffing on his pipe and gazing at the foundation of the new church. Mr. C. I. Kelly invited us to come to church the next Sunday at Gerald Elementary School across the street. And that was the beginning.