When I was a young lad, were talking about ages 6-8, Every
Sunday I was subjected to a brutal torture.
I was awoken early, fed, given a bath, and forced to get dressed
up. Then I had to sit by the front
window and wait. After a short time,
what I was waiting for, well forced to wait for, would arrive. It was a big blue bus.
The big blue bus was a church bus that belonged to the First Baptist Church on the other side of town. Now, why I ended up riding this bus or going to that church is still a mystery to me to this day. I have no clue what connection that church had to my family, nor will I likely ever know. I say it is a mystery because my parents never went to church. They never talked about God, or Jesus, or the Bible. I never recall hearing any Bible stories being told. For whatever reason, one or both of my parents had chosen this church, and its big blue bus, to take me to that church. There were several other kids from the neighborhood that went on the big blue bus too, so perhaps it was just a matter of convenience.
The big blue bus would arrive at the church and unload its cargo of children who were then shuffled to the back of the church, down some stairs, and into the basement of the church. We would spend what seemed like an eternity down there forced to sing songs like, Deep and Wide, or The bible Tells Me So. We would get pages to color of bile stories, or work on little projects. One of our enjoyments was getting some kid from a different part of town to drink the glue. I seem to recall having to memorize verses too, but I don’t recall which ones.
After little church was over, that is what we called it, little church; we would have the face the torture of all tortures for a young lad. We would have to go upstairs and sit in big church. This, of course, was the regular service and was sooooo booooring! After a couple of times at this, I and the other lads from my neighborhood figured out how we could escape from this prison. Amongst the confusion of gathering a the flock of youngsters together, we would slip away out the back door and make a run for it.
Once we extricated ourselves, we had a couple of hours to work our way back across town. In the middle of downtown, there was the Kaisers store. It was a child’s dream; a dime store with a HUGE candy aisle. The big interest I had was in the baseball cards. I collected them and it was one of my favorite pass times. There was just one little problem… we were often fairly broke. Since we only had a little money we only bought a little candy; but we walked out pockets stuffed full. Yes, we were bad. I suppose that is the nature of young boys.
After the store we would head down by the river to show off our booty and swap our treasures. Then we would go wading down the river for a while. Then we would cut across to the 55 acres park, through the woods, often stopping off to catch crawdads and bluegills in the creek before finally making our way back home. Except for robbing the candy store, it was a pretty nice way to spend part of a Sunday, playing in nature; laughing and joking. We at least far more interesting, we thought, than Big Church.
I can’t help but think though, that despite our lack of interest or attention to what was going on at that church, God planted a seed in me. Somehow, someway, something that was taught or said there got tucked away deep inside of me that would eventually germinate years later and change the path of my life. Despite my ignorance, something stuck and over the years would be watered and germinate, eventually breaking through the ground, growing to bloom, and bearing some sort of fruit. That Big Blue Bus was, as best as I can tell, the very beginnings of my faith.
The big blue bus was a church bus that belonged to the First Baptist Church on the other side of town. Now, why I ended up riding this bus or going to that church is still a mystery to me to this day. I have no clue what connection that church had to my family, nor will I likely ever know. I say it is a mystery because my parents never went to church. They never talked about God, or Jesus, or the Bible. I never recall hearing any Bible stories being told. For whatever reason, one or both of my parents had chosen this church, and its big blue bus, to take me to that church. There were several other kids from the neighborhood that went on the big blue bus too, so perhaps it was just a matter of convenience.
The big blue bus would arrive at the church and unload its cargo of children who were then shuffled to the back of the church, down some stairs, and into the basement of the church. We would spend what seemed like an eternity down there forced to sing songs like, Deep and Wide, or The bible Tells Me So. We would get pages to color of bile stories, or work on little projects. One of our enjoyments was getting some kid from a different part of town to drink the glue. I seem to recall having to memorize verses too, but I don’t recall which ones.
After little church was over, that is what we called it, little church; we would have the face the torture of all tortures for a young lad. We would have to go upstairs and sit in big church. This, of course, was the regular service and was sooooo booooring! After a couple of times at this, I and the other lads from my neighborhood figured out how we could escape from this prison. Amongst the confusion of gathering a the flock of youngsters together, we would slip away out the back door and make a run for it.
Once we extricated ourselves, we had a couple of hours to work our way back across town. In the middle of downtown, there was the Kaisers store. It was a child’s dream; a dime store with a HUGE candy aisle. The big interest I had was in the baseball cards. I collected them and it was one of my favorite pass times. There was just one little problem… we were often fairly broke. Since we only had a little money we only bought a little candy; but we walked out pockets stuffed full. Yes, we were bad. I suppose that is the nature of young boys.
After the store we would head down by the river to show off our booty and swap our treasures. Then we would go wading down the river for a while. Then we would cut across to the 55 acres park, through the woods, often stopping off to catch crawdads and bluegills in the creek before finally making our way back home. Except for robbing the candy store, it was a pretty nice way to spend part of a Sunday, playing in nature; laughing and joking. We at least far more interesting, we thought, than Big Church.
I can’t help but think though, that despite our lack of interest or attention to what was going on at that church, God planted a seed in me. Somehow, someway, something that was taught or said there got tucked away deep inside of me that would eventually germinate years later and change the path of my life. Despite my ignorance, something stuck and over the years would be watered and germinate, eventually breaking through the ground, growing to bloom, and bearing some sort of fruit. That Big Blue Bus was, as best as I can tell, the very beginnings of my faith.
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