As we drove over the mountain from Arab (Ala.), beautiful Lake Guntersville came into view. A wave of nostalgia hit 14-year-old Kelly, and suddenly she was 5 again and on her way to hear “Pox” preach at his church.
We arrived at the church, Mt. Carmel Baptist (on Georgia Mountain), between 10:30 and 11, went in a side door and began to run into people who recognized us simply because I do look like my dad. For me, it took a while for some of the names and faces and their positions in the church to fall into place, but before the day was over I had connected most of the dots.
Sandra Preston came up to me and hugged my neck, then burst into tears. “You look so much like your dad,” she said.
We took our seats near the front of the sanctuary, where we had always sat when we visited the church and where my mother sat to listen to my dad’s preaching.
The current pastor, Dean Timbes, was new to me, but he talked about how in his nearly five decades of ministry he had never been in a church where the name of the former pastor came up as much as Clyde Hartley’s name did. My dad loved his church, and they loved him in return.
I had never heard the choir, led by Jennie Clark and accompanied by Mandy Chandler, sound better. Seeing Jennie reminded me of the time she approached Alice and me after Sunday School and told us Faith and Kelly were going to be singing “Amazing Grace.” Kelly was maybe 4 at the time. Alice and I looked at each other and both said, “Kelly doesn’t know ‘Amazing Grace.’” But she stood there anyway with Faith and pretended to sing. Her lips were moving but nothing much was coming out. She’s since become a pretty good singer and does solos in the church quite often. She even knows “Amazing Grace” now.
Chuck Knight was the guest preacher for the morning service. Chuck had been a member of my dad’s church in Albertville, Union Grove Baptist. My dad had baptized Chuck, had given him his first position in a church as his youth minister at Mt. Carmel, and Chuck helped preach my dad’s funeral. He wouldn’t let us pay him for that, saying it was an honor to preach Clyde Hartley’s funeral and he couldn’t take money for it. In his brief message from Philippians 1, he talked about how he had been a Timothy to my dad’s Paul. I noticed further on down in that chapter the words my dad quoted in the days shortly before his death, in verse 21, “For me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”
After Chuck’s sermon the original building committee was called forward to read the plaque that dedicated the new educational building and fellowship hall to my dad’s name, and they burned the note to the building since it was now officially paid for. In part the dedication read, “In gratitude for the labors of all who love & serve this church; in remembrance of those who have finished their course, we celebrate this note burning service this morning.”
The deacon chairman, Don Campbell, spoke of a time that he felt the need to be re-baptized. My dad counseled him about it and told him he knew he was saved, but if being re-baptized would make him feel better then he would do it, and he did. I think Sunday was a pretty emotional day for Don.
The associational director of missions, Randall Stoner, said a prayer of dedication.
The Sunday School superintendent, Johnny Edmonds, shook my hand at least three times. He didn’t have much to say but he did seem to really appreciate that we had made the drive down.
The church provided a pitch-in lunch in the fellowship hall following the service. A few of the members commented to me that my dad always found a way to be at the front of the line when lunch was served. I pointed out that he was usually the one to say the prayer, and he’d position himself by the table at the front of the line to do it. When I was around I’d usually stand next to him, because I knew his tricks…
Bro. Timbes, Bro. Stoner and I talked some and discovered we had mutual friends, some I had gotten to know through the campus ministries at Jacksonville State, and some from other places.
While we were talking to one of the church members, Joan Hughes, Kelly mentioned that the only thing missing from the day was the Juicy Fruit gum that “Nana” used to give her during the worship service to keep her occupied.
One new couple in the church introduced themselves to me. They had family from Roanoke, in east central Alabama where I had grown up. They asked if I knew any Brooks. Dave Brooks has been my best friend for 39 years and this was his cousin. So we talked for awhile.
Until a cute little 20-year-old girl stood in front of me and I asked, “Am I supposed to know you?” I knew who she was. Alex Hughes is the same age as my oldest daughter, Faith. They somehow had maintained a friendship of sorts over the years even though they hardly ever saw each other. The way she stood there and smiled as she talked to me, I knew she had to be smiling because I reminded her of my dad.
Alice, Kelly and I had our picture taken holding the dedication plaque close to where it’s supposed to be placed. Then we changed clothes and went on out to the car.
We drove by my folks’ old yellow brick house on Lindsey Lane across the road from Lake Guntersville just to see the old homestead, and then we began the seven-hour journey back to Southern Indiana. Kelly bought some Juicy Fruit gum along the way…
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