Prepare to Meet Thy God

Careless Soul, why will you linger?

Wandering from the fold of God,

Hear you not the invitation,

O Prepare to meet thy God.

Standing up and opening the Red Hymnal, I read those words, “Prepare to Meet Thy God.” My heart pounded heavy in my chest, I was not prepared. Thursday night, the fourth week of July, at our church summer revival, I was 8 years old. All week I had seen other folks being saved. I think I knew this week of revival was going to be different for me. I recalled the night my sister was saved a few years before. On the way home, I wept to my family, I’m just so happy she was saved. I felt the joy of Mama, Daddy, and my sister.

However, this evening, my heart felt different. I do not remember the sermon that night. Those words, “Prepare to Meet Thy God,” convicted me. I looked up at Mama and said, “I’m lost.” She hugged me and guided me to the altar, the front bench of the church. I cried, prayed to God to save me. I wanted to go to Heaven. Suddenly, all my insides filled with an indescribable peace, a joy began to flow. I heard within me, “Yes, you are saved.” When I looked up, everything was so bright, my eyes adjusting to the light, but I recognized it as God’s light shining down on me. I spoke out loud, “I’m saved!” Mama and Daddy were hugging me, rejoicing, shouting. My sister hugged me tight, too. Then the Preacher asked everyone to come around and shake hands with me. What a feeling to be hugged on by so many people at one time.

The next day, Mama, my sister, and I went to downtown Canton to shop for a new dress for me. That night, I would join the church to be baptized on Sunday morning. I’m sure we probably told the ladies in the store I had been saved the night before. With my new soft pink lacey dress on, I stood in the front of the church that night. The Preacher asked me to tell the church my desire. I said, “I was saved, and I want to be baptized and join the church.” Once again, the congregation came around to shake my hand. Afterwards, I told my family that I had never smelled so many different perfumes in all my life at once.

Sunday morning, I dressed in the same dark pink, terry cloth dress I wore the night I was saved. This was now a special dress. The other people who had been saved and joined that week gathered with the church at our outside baptism pool. The Preacher spoke a few words, and he baptized everyone except me. My Daddy baptized me, filled with the Holy Spirit, and saying “By the authority of God’s Word and the profession of your faith, I baptized thee, my sister, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” (This is from my memory, so it may not be the exact words!) I came out of the water, and once again the indescribable joy filled me. I smiled a huge smile the rest of the day. I now had within me what my Daddy, my Mama, and my sister had. I was a born again child of God. I was saved. I was prepared to meet my God.

The Great Smoky Mountains

Waking up in the early morning,

Hearing, “We’re going to the Mountains!”

Exciting feelings deep in my tummy.

Riding to the Smoky Mountains,

Singing in the back seat,

Telling bird hunting stories,

Entertaining my sister and me.

Swerving car through mountainous curves,

Driving Sister to car sickness,

Pulling onto the side of the road,

Looking down the mountainside,

Fearing I’d fall.

Getting back into the car relieved,

Asking, “Are we there yet?”

Singing more songs,

Telling more stories.

Stopping at the Great Smoky Mountains National Park sign,

Snapping pictures of our smiling faces,

Arriving, finally.

Our first of many pictures at the Great Smoky Mountains sign!

Uncle Kent

Throughout my life, stories have been told whenever there was a gathering of people, no matter the occasion. Daddy and my cousins are the best story tellers. Here is a family story that was a popular one.

My sister Jennifer and cousin Jeff were young. Daddy and my Uncle had a small mule at the barn lot at Grandma’s farm. They put a saddle on it, and Jennifer and Jeff rode the mule with Daddy or my Uncle leading it around the lot. The two young kids enjoyed the mule ride.

At last, time had come to leave. My Uncle and Daddy took the saddle off the mule. My Uncle turned to Daddy, “Get on it and ride it around the lot.” Daddy wasn’t sure, but he did climb on the mule’s bare back. Before he knew what was happening, my Uncle slapped the mule on the rump; the mule ran off. Daddy was barely hanging on, the mule turned left, and he tried to turn it right. Daddy fell off to the ground, landing on his arm.

The fall knocked the breath out of him. As he laid on the ground, trying to catch his breath, little Jeff came running over, shook his head, and said, “Uncle Kent, you’re suppose to say, Whoa!” Daddy wanted to laugh, but he had no breath. He wished he would have said, “Whoa,” because now he had a broken wrist.

That line, “Uncle Kent, you’re suppose to say, Whoa!” has been repeated so many times over the years. I smile every time I hear or think about it, as it reminds me of the laughs and good times our family shared.

Gardening at Grandma Samples’

I developed a taste for Mother Earth at an early age. Yes, I’m eating a rock!

Gardening at Grandma Samples’ Place: Playing in the Dirt

From a young age, I enjoyed nature and playing outside. Mama and Daddy planted gardens every year. We had a big one at my Grandma Samples’ place. In the spring, Daddy drove the tractor from the farm to plow up the ground. As I rode with him on the tractor, the luscious smell of overturning soil comforted me: I loved playing in the dirt. I dug holes, looked for worms, made mounds of dirt, even baked mud pies. The garden at Grandma’s provided me that dirt playground.

Gardening was hard work. We helped Mama and Daddy plant seeds, hoe weeds, and pick ripe vegetables. The first things planted and harvested were green onions and potatoes. I remember one summer day, we dug up potatoes and brought them back to our house. I wanted to eat one right away. Mama told me she needed to wash them and cook them for supper. I picked up a dirt covered potato and ran into our house to our bathroom sink. I scrubbed that potato with Dial bar soap, scrubbing and scrubbing to clean it. Mama came in there asking, “What are you doing?” I replied to her that I was just washing this potato so I can eat it. Mama shook her head, “We don’t need to wash them in the bathroom sink with bath soap!” I wanted to be sure that potato was squeaky clean.

Visiting with my Grandma Samples was the reason I enjoyed the garden. She was quiet mannered, loving, and had a sharp wit. She was born in 1903, a fascination for me, being born at the beginning of the century. Often, we brought in peas or green beans, sitting with Grandma to shell or string them. Grandma was always so much faster at that than me.

One story she told about her Grandfather Thompson both intrigued and horrified me. Grandfather Thompson served as a Confederate soldier during the Civil War. He told his grandchildren, “I was so cold, so hungry, I was afraid to put my fingers near my mouth, afraid that I’d start eating my own fingers.” There is no doubt, Confederate soldiers suffered greatly.

Grandma Samples lived a simple, long life. I admire her immensely, living through the remarkable historical events of the 20th Century. I remember walking out to the garden with Grandma, seeing her smile. She enjoyed playing in the dirt, too, I can imagine.

Christmas Day, 1977 with Grandma Samples