I was still driving the speed limit. The run-in with the tiny cop in Tennessee was hundreds of miles back but I had maintained the pokey pace of the posted speed since. On I- 55 near Chicago if you go the speed limit you and your vehicle are practically a hazard. Cars fly past you like you are standing still. More than once I’ve been frustrated by getting behind some laggard going the speed limit. But on the two-lane roads of America’s South cars take their time. I had taken to pushing the Buick to the speed limit and setting the cruise control right there. I thought I would never do such a thing. But I did. To my surprise when doing so I often pulled away from cars in my rearview mirror. I’m telling you, you never know what you might do. Maybe even follow the rules. You know what I found? The slower you go the more you see.
My first town out of the national forest was Ashland, followed by Millerville and Goodwater. It was nice country there, a little less cotton and more cattle on healthy-looking pastures with good barns. I caught some early morning fog on Route 9 about 6:45 and had to slow down. On a stretch of road with nothing but timber I thought I saw a patch of grave markers out of the corner of my eye. No sign, no gate, just some gravestones in tall trees along the road. I turned around and went back to check it out.
There’s something sad about old forgotten graveyards. This one had seen better days. There were a few graves decorated with faded bouquets of artificial flowers but more were festooned with beer cans. Bud Light mostly. Markers were knocked over. There were falling down sections of wrought iron fence which at one time might have set one family apart, but now all seem equally forgotten. Most of the names you couldn’t read. But the few that were legible told stories.
The family of Jesse Suttle placed a new granite marker at his grave in 2004 inscribed with these words: “Born 1775 N.C.-Died May 16, 1836, Coosa County, Alabama. First person to be buried in this cemetery. Died by the hand of an Indian near Oakachoy Creek. Marker placed here by his great-grandchildren.”
Zacheus Powell, born in Wilkes County in 1788 and died in Coosa County Alabama in 1856. He was spared from seeing the Civil War change the South.
Solomon Robbins, a grandfather who was born January 11, 1791 and died May 19, 1879 at age 87 was no doubt witness to the destruction.
Captain Westley D. Walker was a member of Company B, 2nd Battalion of Milltadt’s Legion of the Alabama Infantry of the Confederate States of America army. He died in defending the South on October 10, 1863 at age 34.
While I poked around that cemetery early on Sunday morning, not a car passed. The paved road I was parked beside was most likely a dirt track traveled by a family in a wagon the day they buried Jesse Suttle in 1836. It might have been a morning much like this, 178 years ago, when the ground I was standing on received its first dead body. This, I thought, is an occasion for the selfie of a person still above ground.
By the time I got to Wetumpka I was hungry but couldn’t find a Waffle House. I settled on a Huddle House. I don’t know which came first but someone is trying to copy the success of someone else there. The Wetumpka Huddle House allowed smoking and the place was hazy blue when I walked in.
I sat at the counter while an enthusiastic young waitress set me up with silverware, a menu, and coffee. She was skinny, had a lot of tattoos, and an amazing amount of jewelry, especially earrings. I was afraid she had “Keith” tattooed in very big letters on her neck, the first flowery letter in red and black just below her ear, but her hair obscured it a little and I couldn’t read it. She moved fast. I was hoping, for her sake, it wasn’t the word Keith because something about her suggested the odds she was still with Keith were small.
The place was buzzing with talk about the football game. Bama supporters wore their shirts and hats proudly while Auburn fans came in quietly. My waitress, seeing an old guy in the doorway, yelled out loudly
“Hey baby, where’s your Auburn hat today? “ Then she laughed in a fast and long rising sort of bark and ran to give him a hug. Yep, I thought, Keith was probably years ago.
I had eggs over easy with grits. The grits were unremarkable, as grits can be, and the eggs were greasy. It was good but not as good as Waffle House. The smoke put me off. It appeared the waitresses were required to go outside to smoke. At the end of the counter by the cash register their cigarette packs and lighters were stacked beside styrofoam cups of pop with their names written on them in ink pen. I’m amazed we ate in the midst of those smoke clouds as long as we did. But it sure didn’t seem to faze the Huddle House regulars that Sunday morning.
Before I left I saw that the word on my waitress’ neck was not Keith but Faith, which relieved me. Even if Faith is her name or the name of a lover, it is also a concept, a wonderful concept in fact. And concepts, unlike names, are more acceptable and tolerable when permanently displayed on your skin for the world to see every moment of your life until you die. I paid, left, and went down the road, a bigger road that got bigger and busier than I was comfortable with. Before I knew it I was hopelessly lost in Montgomery.
Montgomery is fairly big, and I had successfully avoided big towns until then. I didn’t know Wetumpka was so close. A page turn in my large print road atlas screwed me up. I was so lost in Montgomery I had to resort to Google maps on my phone and the eerie sound of that woman’s hidden voice to get me out of town. The disembodied voice did its job well however and set me on the road towards Tuskegee. I began to look for a church.
It was after all Sunday morning and I have long wanted to drop into a black church, preferably Baptist. I envisioned a big choir in flashy robes, a theatrical minister with a loud and tempestuous style of preaching, listened to raptly by a congregation that responded enthusiastically from the pews. To get that I figured I needed a big church with lots of cars in the parking lot.
The place was buzzing with talk about the football game. Bama supporters wore their shirts and hats proudly while Auburn fans came in quietly. My waitress, seeing an old guy in the doorway, yelled out loudly
“Hey baby, where’s your Auburn hat today? “ Then she laughed in a fast and long rising sort of bark and ran to give him a hug. Yep, I thought, Keith was probably years ago.
I had eggs over easy with grits. The grits were unremarkable, as grits can be, and the eggs were greasy. It was good but not as good as Waffle House. The smoke put me off. It appeared the waitresses were required to go outside to smoke. At the end of the counter by the cash register their cigarette packs and lighters were stacked beside styrofoam cups of pop with their names written on them in ink pen. I’m amazed we ate in the midst of those smoke clouds as long as we did. But it sure didn’t seem to faze the Huddle House regulars that Sunday morning.
Before I left I saw that the word on my waitress’ neck was not Keith but Faith, which relieved me. Even if Faith is her name or the name of a lover, it is also a concept, a wonderful concept in fact. And concepts, unlike names, are more acceptable and tolerable when permanently displayed on your skin for the world to see every moment of your life until you die. I paid, left, and went down the road, a bigger road that got bigger and busier than I was comfortable with. Before I knew it I was hopelessly lost in Montgomery.
Montgomery is fairly big, and I had successfully avoided big towns until then. I didn’t know Wetumpka was so close. A page turn in my large print road atlas screwed me up. I was so lost in Montgomery I had to resort to Google maps on my phone and the eerie sound of that woman’s hidden voice to get me out of town. The disembodied voice did its job well however and set me on the road towards Tuskegee. I began to look for a church.
It was after all Sunday morning and I have long wanted to drop into a black church, preferably Baptist. I envisioned a big choir in flashy robes, a theatrical minister with a loud and tempestuous style of preaching, listened to raptly by a congregation that responded enthusiastically from the pews. To get that I figured I needed a big church with lots of cars in the parking lot.
I couldn’t find one. There are lots of churches all over the South, plenty in Alabama, and it was Sunday morning. But the parking lots were empty. It was 9:00. When do they have church in Alabama anyway?
While driving and looking closely for churches I came upon a small road sign pointing to China Grove. China Grove was a great Doobie Brothers song. I instinctively turned the steering wheel.
Acting on impulse can cause you problems. I should know that. I’m 63 years old. But try as I might I can’t shake impulsiveness. Impulsiveness is rash and potentially exciting behavior. Unfortunately, it can also get you into trouble.
Had I thought for just a moment longer I could have gone over the lyrics in my head and realized that the China Grove I was headed towards was not the Doobie Brother’s China Grove because they said so in the song:
When the sun comes up on a sleepy little town
Down around San Antone…
And though it’s a part of the lone star state
People don’t seem to care…
The Doobie Brothers were clearly talking about Texas but there I was driving toward China Grove, Alabama which the Doobies probably aren’t aware exists. When I arrived I discovered the Alabama town of China Grove is nearly gone, reduced to two streets, no businesses, and more houses abandoned than occupied. Could this be all of it? I followed a road past the last set of buildings thinking maybe it would lead to more of a municipality. Pavement quickly turned into a gravel path that dropped into a marshy area with no opportunity to turn around. The gravel began to feel like sand under my tires. An algae-covered pond stretched along one side of the road. I think it was a logging trail. So I kept going.
There were no turn-offs, no culverts. I couldn’t chance pulling onto the shoulder to make a three-point turn. I went further and further on that narrow winding road until I was terribly turned around. Going back seemed pointless. I kept on, finally coming to a paved surface and later an intersection of paved roads. I used my phone again, this time as a compass. I was heading west. It was going on 10:00 and I was missing church. Having little choice, I drove on. And then it came into view, a small brick building, Bethlehem Missionary Baptist Church. Not many cars were in the parking lot, but no doubt a service was underway. I parked, walked to the double front doors, and opened them. Six faces turned to look at me.
“Welcome!” shouted the woman at the altar.
“Welcome!” shouted the woman at the altar.
She was dressed in stylish clothes and her hair was nicely done. It could have been a wig. I felt very white and definitely underdressed. I expected I don’t know why to slip into a church unnoticed. That didn’t happen. I came down the center aisle and began to take a pew well behind those seated in the first few.
“Please, come down and be with us!”
I moved nearer the front and sat by an elderly woman with a Bible in her lap.
“Thank you for having me,” I said to everyone. “Please don’t let me interrupt.”
“Sir you are not interrupting. We’re in the middle of our Bible lesson,” she said. “We’ll continue. Our scripture readings today come from the Old Testament. Lila Lee? Why don’t you just re-read the verse we’re workin on for the benefit of our visitor today. What’s your name sir?”
“Dave.”
“Please, Lila Lee, please read our verse for Brother Dave. It’s short. Won’t take but a minute.”
Lila Lee was a young girl maybe 14 years old, in church with her grandfather. She stood up and read, flawlessly, five verses of Numbers from a bright white Bible. It was the story of Moses and the bronze snake. In that story, the people lose faith. They grow impatient with Moses and doubt his wisdom.
“Now where were we? We were talking about impatience. Brother Ray, what were your thoughts again?”
Brother Ray launched into heartfelt and lengthy personal testimony. He gave examples of how his personal life was dominated by uncertainty and fear, and a lack of trust in those around him. He attributed it all to a lack of faith. What was required of him, he learned, was to slow down and have faith. Actually he said he needed to “slow his mind down.” As he said that the woman beside me, who had introduced herself as Marilyn, began to nod vigorously.
“I know what you say. Yes. Yes. Tell it Brother Ray.”
Others supported Ray with Amens as he spoke. It was not church as I knew it, nor the church I expected. It was a group experience. The woman at the pulpit, Sister Gloria, directed the action rather than taking responsibility for the preaching. She asked those who had not spoken to share their thoughts, drew our small group back to the text, and offered her own comments at times. She paraphrased the Bible in an understandable contemporary way. Like this:
“You know,” Sister Gloria said “God told Moses and his people not to fear. He said he would protect them and lead them to the promised land. But they forgot. Listen to what they say here in verse five ‘Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we loathe this miserable food.’
“Please, come down and be with us!”
I moved nearer the front and sat by an elderly woman with a Bible in her lap.
“Thank you for having me,” I said to everyone. “Please don’t let me interrupt.”
“Sir you are not interrupting. We’re in the middle of our Bible lesson,” she said. “We’ll continue. Our scripture readings today come from the Old Testament. Lila Lee? Why don’t you just re-read the verse we’re workin on for the benefit of our visitor today. What’s your name sir?”
“Dave.”
“Please, Lila Lee, please read our verse for Brother Dave. It’s short. Won’t take but a minute.”
Lila Lee was a young girl maybe 14 years old, in church with her grandfather. She stood up and read, flawlessly, five verses of Numbers from a bright white Bible. It was the story of Moses and the bronze snake. In that story, the people lose faith. They grow impatient with Moses and doubt his wisdom.
“Now where were we? We were talking about impatience. Brother Ray, what were your thoughts again?”
Brother Ray launched into heartfelt and lengthy personal testimony. He gave examples of how his personal life was dominated by uncertainty and fear, and a lack of trust in those around him. He attributed it all to a lack of faith. What was required of him, he learned, was to slow down and have faith. Actually he said he needed to “slow his mind down.” As he said that the woman beside me, who had introduced herself as Marilyn, began to nod vigorously.
“I know what you say. Yes. Yes. Tell it Brother Ray.”
Others supported Ray with Amens as he spoke. It was not church as I knew it, nor the church I expected. It was a group experience. The woman at the pulpit, Sister Gloria, directed the action rather than taking responsibility for the preaching. She asked those who had not spoken to share their thoughts, drew our small group back to the text, and offered her own comments at times. She paraphrased the Bible in an understandable contemporary way. Like this:
“You know,” Sister Gloria said “God told Moses and his people not to fear. He said he would protect them and lead them to the promised land. But they forgot. Listen to what they say here in verse five ‘Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we loathe this miserable food.’
They was complaining to Moses. They wanted everything right now. Isn’t that what we do too? They forgot back then, and we forget now, that when God gives his word, it’s a done deal. He does it in his time, but you don’t have to wonder if God’s gonna make good on what he say. Uh-Uh. When God say he’s going to do something, he does it. Always, always, always. And you can take that to the bank brothers and sisters.”
As the service wound down Sister Gloria called on each of us by name to comment on the lesson. She called on me last.
“Brother Dave? What will you take from our Bible study today?”
“Well, I have to admit that when I came here I was lost. I was looking for a church all morning and yours was the one I found. I am very glad I did. I am far from home and traveling alone. I have much to learn about patience, and I believe this trip and this experience with you all today will help me. Thank you for welcoming me so warmly.”
Sister Gloria beamed back at me.
As the service wound down Sister Gloria called on each of us by name to comment on the lesson. She called on me last.
“Brother Dave? What will you take from our Bible study today?”
“Well, I have to admit that when I came here I was lost. I was looking for a church all morning and yours was the one I found. I am very glad I did. I am far from home and traveling alone. I have much to learn about patience, and I believe this trip and this experience with you all today will help me. Thank you for welcoming me so warmly.”
Sister Gloria beamed back at me.
“You may believe you were lost Brother Dave, but I believe the Lord led you here to be with us.”
I didn’t want to tell her it was the Doobie Brothers. So I just smiled.
Brother Ray took up the collection, making change when needed. A quiet young man in the front row, Brother Darien, put a bill in the plate, whispered something to Brother Ray, who dug out his billfold, exchanged the bill in the plate with some of his, and then handed money back to Brother Darien. I’m not sure, by the look of concern on his face, he got back everything he wanted. When Ray came to me I threw in a twenty. All I had were twenties.
“You want to give all that?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t want to tell her it was the Doobie Brothers. So I just smiled.
Brother Ray took up the collection, making change when needed. A quiet young man in the front row, Brother Darien, put a bill in the plate, whispered something to Brother Ray, who dug out his billfold, exchanged the bill in the plate with some of his, and then handed money back to Brother Darien. I’m not sure, by the look of concern on his face, he got back everything he wanted. When Ray came to me I threw in a twenty. All I had were twenties.
“You want to give all that?”
“Yes.”
Ray went on coolly.
The service continued with Lila Lee and Ray conferring quietly up front at a folding banquet table while Sister Gloria spoke. Ray placed money in an envelope that he and Lila Lee both signed. Sister Gloria then asked Lila Lee to read the minutes. Like a secretary at a city council meeting, Lila Lee read a short report of the December 7, 2014 service of the Bethlehem Missionary Baptist Church that included, members attending (6), guests (1), scriptures read and by whom, worship leader, and finally the amount collected in the plate-$40.
When she finished all the brothers and sisters, including me, came up front and held hands in a circle around the altar. I stood between Sister Gloria and Brother Ray, across from Sister Lila Lee and Brother Darien. Sister Marilyn smiled especially broadly my way. It was Marilyn who led us in an a cappella version of “This Little Light of Mine, I’m Gonna Let it Shine.” I knew the words but Marilyn didn’t sing it straight like I learned it in Sunday school. She brought some soul to it, and I followed along as best I could. Marilyn’s version was better.
With that, the service ended. Each of them shook my hand and wished me safe travels. I asked how to get back to the main road and a service station. And that was my Southern black church experience. Like so many things in life it was not what I thought it would be but it could not have been better.
The service continued with Lila Lee and Ray conferring quietly up front at a folding banquet table while Sister Gloria spoke. Ray placed money in an envelope that he and Lila Lee both signed. Sister Gloria then asked Lila Lee to read the minutes. Like a secretary at a city council meeting, Lila Lee read a short report of the December 7, 2014 service of the Bethlehem Missionary Baptist Church that included, members attending (6), guests (1), scriptures read and by whom, worship leader, and finally the amount collected in the plate-$40.
When she finished all the brothers and sisters, including me, came up front and held hands in a circle around the altar. I stood between Sister Gloria and Brother Ray, across from Sister Lila Lee and Brother Darien. Sister Marilyn smiled especially broadly my way. It was Marilyn who led us in an a cappella version of “This Little Light of Mine, I’m Gonna Let it Shine.” I knew the words but Marilyn didn’t sing it straight like I learned it in Sunday school. She brought some soul to it, and I followed along as best I could. Marilyn’s version was better.
With that, the service ended. Each of them shook my hand and wished me safe travels. I asked how to get back to the main road and a service station. And that was my Southern black church experience. Like so many things in life it was not what I thought it would be but it could not have been better.
What a great, Sunday-go-to-meeting story, Dave. Let's hear it for Doobie Brothers and the Lord.
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