It's Friday

It's Friday and I'm getting ready for a scrapbook event at a local church. Lots of ladies, lots of pictures, lots of talking, lots of fun.

Fridays, growing up, meant Saturday would follow, which mean extra sleep in the morning, bath in the evening, weekly comics in between. Saturday was also a play day. Or, if it rained or the weather wasn't nice for playing outdoors, it was a scrapbooking day. However, no prep was needed back then.

I didn't have to find all my embellishments. I didn't have to pick through reams of beautiful paper for find a great background for whatever I was putting into my scrapbook. I didn't have to lug a heavy album, as my "album" was a spiral bound plain paper notebook. I didn't have to make sure I had a handy-dandy paper cutter, or punches in all shapes to make my own decorations for the page. Crayons were all I needed in that department. Crayons and a scissors.

And, of course, Saturday was get ready for Sunday, which was the day of rest. Always forced on us was the "rest" part on Sunday afternoon. The house was locked up, the phone was taken off the hook, and everyone was put to bed to rest.

My parents had no trouble sleeping in that two-hour period, but we children certainly did. And you could hear my brothers giggling quietly so as not to wake my parents who were in the next room, thus bringing on the wrath of my father, who really needed that sleep. My sister and I would "play" quietly in the bed, usually a talk-fest in whisper mode.

Then after the two-hour forced "rest" we were able to get back into normal mode and get ourselves ready for the evening services at the church. Those services included youth groups and then the evening service -- which, I have to tell you, was the best service of the week.

Why, you ask? And even if you didn't ask, I'll tell you.

The evening service (every Sunday) was an extended song-service -- REQUESTS -- for the loudest shouters -- and then a few testimonies -- and then a very short sermon from daddy. If, dad were doing a "series" of sermons on like, say, "I Samuel", then he would delete (a word we didn't know in the 50s) the testimony portion of the service. He never cut down on the song part thought. I think he knew the children in the audience liked that part and it did keep them in tow during that hour-long service. No squirmy kids in his service. At least not during the firsr part.

I know on occasion he would let us sing five, then preach, then end the service with as many songs as we could get in. And we never sang more than two verses of the hymns. He wanted to keep it fair, I suppose. I think putting the extra songs at the end of the service had two benefits -- we children had something to look forward to, and if people wanted to stay longer to sing, it was a great way to keep the singing going. I mean, we were having a wonderful time singing those hymns, so who wanted to stop? Not me. Not lots of people. Those evenings -- when dad put the songs at the end often went on for an extra hour.

I would try every week to yell out the number in the hymnal which I wanted the congregation to sing -- it was always Wonderful Grace of Jesus. I loved the way the men sang the bass part in the chorus. I just loved listening to the congregation singing that song.

Did I ever mention how good a "choir" Mt. Calvary had. It wasn't an organized choir, but the Lord provided good voices from both men and women, and He provided those who could sing parts -- provide the harmony. It was such a treat to hear these saints sing. They are all gone to be with the Lord now.

Dad would always end the song service with a "slow" song such as Sweet Hour of Prayer or Great is Thy Faithfulness.

How I wish I had told my father (and mother) now much I appreciated God's choice of occupation for them. Our God is truly awesome.