I guess God don't want me!

 For the last 25 or 30 years I have been in church every Sunday morning.  For many years I went to the Christ Congregational Church in Belmont until the politics of that church and the powers that controlled the church no longer meshed with my beliefs.  When I left there I went across town to the historic First Congregational Church on Evans.  The one in Belmont had been designed by Frank Lloyd Wright and was progressive while the one on Evans was built in 1868 with red sandstone from Beulah.  It is on the national register so it is very historic as is the organ that pumped out music every Sunday.  Ken Joyal plays it and is accompanied by Becky on the piano and Karen and Jerome playing violins.  I was very happy there and never missed a Sunday.  

But, alas, those days are behind me!  In March our church closed the doors to let the pandemic work it's way out.  They closed for just a month or so.  Let me see; March, April, May, June, July, August.....and holding.  Sadly, the church has not opened.  They broadcast a service once a week and hold "virtual communion" and "zoom" meetings, but that does not cut it for me!

I want to set in the pew.  I want to hold the hymnal in my hand.  I want to sing with other people doing the same thing, but it is not happening.  So here is the deal; I am searching for a church.....

And here is what I want.  I want a preacher in the pulpit who will give me a sermon about love, compassion, good deeds and a God that will welcome me, a sinner, into his heaven.  I want a congregation that will welcome me and validate my worth.  In return, I will be there every Sunday.  I will tithe, just like the Bible says to do. 

I want a smaller church.  I am not into mega churches.  I want a liberal church that is open and affirming of all races, and gay friendly.  I do not want to be judged and I will not judge you.  Maybe we can have coffee after, maybe not.  I want to support the homeless.  I guess I am looking for a church the Jesus would go to in his tattered robe and slippers.

If you attend a church you think I would like and you would accept me, contact me through this blog down at the bottom.  

I would love to hear from you! 

Danny was a horse and baby mice hid in the vacuum cleaner.and a death in the family.

Our floors in the house were wood covered with linoleum so I never did figure out why we had a vacuum cleaner or where it came from.  I do recall that Mother kept it in the corner of her bedroom.  One day and God only knows why, she decided to pull it out and look inside the bag.  Ah!  Mother's  have a way of knowing things that mere mortals do not!  Inside the bag was 7 tiny, pink, hairless mice! She was aghast!  We gathered around and thought they were very cute and they would make lovely pets since we had no dog and Dad never let us have a cat.  This, however, was fuel for the argument that we needed a cat.  If we had a cat the mice would not be ensconced in the vacuum cleaner bag.
(Brief aside here.  We did eventually get a cat, which could not just content her/himself with mice and would eat Mother's Canary while home alone with me!)
But in the meantime we were faced with the 7 tiny mice and no cat.  Mother put them in a can and told us to go out to the front side walk and put the mice down and mash them with a brick.  Now, I hear your intakes of breathe that a mother would direct her young children to do this, but you must remember the times we grew up in.  Mice carried all kinds of diseases and something had to be done with them.  We were given the option of filling a bucket of water and drowning them.  Well, you know what good little kids we were and always did as our parents said.  This time we deviated from our chore by going instead to one of the empty buildings and made a nice nest for our new pets.  When mother asked if we had killed them, we of course lied.  Sadly when we went back to check on the mice several days later the nest was empty.  I think those things grow really fast and they moved on before we changed our minds.
Josphine was the older sister.  She had been born to my Mother and her first husband so was actually my half sister.  I found this all out later in life because it was never discussed at home.  Mom and dad had 6 kids and that was how it was.  We knew Dad had been married before and had 5 kids with his first wife.  Two of the kids, Daisy and Willie (?) had died of sand pneumonia when they were very young.  His wife had also died and he had placed the three boys in an orphanage.  Richard and Earl were adopted, but Gene was not.  What this has to do with anything completely escapes me at the moment!
When we lived on the Stroh place Dad had brought that Shetland pony home for us kids and after he kicked Jake in the head we were all afraid of him.  But Josephine was not.  She would throw a saddle on him and ride away.  She was probably 13 at the time.
Dad got a chance to pick up a brown saddle horse for next to nothing, so he brought Danny home for Josephine.  No one could ride that horse but Josephine.  Well, not that I wanted to any way.  See, my dad was in the  Army during World War I and served in the Calvary part.  He had a big hole in the bicep of his right arm.  He was bitten by a horse and if you think I wanted to be bit by a horse you are nuttier than a fruit cake!  As long as the horses stayed on the other side of the fence, I was good.  Josephine got married when she was 15 and moved with her husband to a house in the country.  She took Danny with her since that was her horse.  I do not think she rode much because she right away had a baby.  I do not know what ever happened to Danny.  I am sure when she and Charles moved into town that he went to one of the neighboring farms.  I did go stay with them sometimes and it seemed that Danny was always getting out of his fence and going visiting so some one always had to go catch him and bring him back.  They may have just quit bringing him back.
Josephine and Charles had a little girl they named Mary.  When I stayed there it was my job to take care of her.  Charles was a "rough neck" which meant he worked in the oil fields. Seems the reason they moved back into town was that Josephine was expecting another baby.  Back in those days things like having of the babies was not discussed.  I knew she was fatter than I thought she should be but did not know the reason.  They moved into a house about 5 blocks from the Strong Street house.  It was located on a corner just past the Baptist Church.  The parsonage for the Baptist Church was on the other side of the church.  I must have been about 15 at the time and so unwise to the ways of the world and where babies came from that I might have been called "stupid".   I remembered Dorothy being born while we were on the Stroh place and how I hated her because Mother had to stay in bed for 10 whole days and take care of the screaming baby.
Anyway, one day I was sent to Josephine's because Charles had to go to work and Josephine did not feel very good and I would need to take care of Mary while Josephine stayed in bed.  To make a long story short, she was in labor at 6 months!  She went to the bathroom a lot and kept crying and I just wanted to go home!  When she announced "The baby is coming!  Do something!  Hurry!"  I did the only thing I knew what to do and that was run to the parsonage and blurt out to the minister what was happening.  He called the grocery store and told his wife, who was a nurse, to get home quick.  It was very clear that he was not going to stay with Josephine and I would have to go back because Mary was there.  I lived 16 lifetimes standing by the front door with Mary waiting for the ministers wife.  When she pulled up outside I grabbed Mary and ran to my house where there was no crying, screaming sister.  
As soon as I blurted out to my mother what was happening she headed to Josephine's.
To make a long story short, the baby was born dead.  For years I lived with the guilt of what I should have done, but in the end there was nothing anyone could have done.  We had the funeral in the front room of thier home.  The funeral home guy brought the baby over in his car with the tiny coffin placed on the back seat.  Baby Boy Burch lay swaddled in a blue blanket with a tiny hand holding the blanket in place.  He looked like he was just sleeping.  That was so sad.
That story always upsets me so that is the end of the writing for today.