Last week I drove east on I-20 five hours until I came to Weatherford, TX. I made the trip to console a precious friend or ours after the loss of her husband. When I pulled off the interstate onto highway 51 I drove down old familiar countryside toward the community of Spring Creek.
I served as the youth minister at the Spring Creek Baptist Church for two years from 1991-1993. Brenda and I were married a month after I was called there. We saw the Lord save many students and do a great work in that church. As I sat in Mary Helen’s living room we laughed and laughed about old memories. It had not dawned on me that nearly twenty years had passed since I served in that church. It seemed just like yesterday.
We laughed about the time I was caught half way up an extension latter in the sanctuary headed for the second story window of the sound room. My first thought was to say to the deacon who caught me, “I have been meaning to talk to you about getting a key to the sound room.” I don’t think he knew what to say after that.
We talked about how I broke the preacher’s pew, which set upon the stage, while trying to move it by myself. It slipped out of my hands landing on one of the legs, which snapped like a twig. I sure regretted having to call one of the deacons to inform them. I later in my tenure there tore up the church van at the drive thru at the bank. I banged the whole side of the van against a pole and crunched the passenger side door in the process. I opened the door to see if it would shut which it didn’t. I tied a rope around the handle and drove to a youth camp meeting hodling the rope in my right hand and tugging on it to keep the door closed.
That was not the funniest story. I cannot tell it for personal reasons but all I can say is that the story will forever be known as “The Church Pole,” story. I finally confessed the details of that story to those sitting around the living room. They had never heard it and had not clue it ever happened. You could not keep the laughter back.
For years I thought I would come back to that community and pastor that church. I waited several times as different pastors would leave there for a call to send my resume. The call never came from them but came from other places. Now I know God had a different path for me, which would ultimately lead me to West Texas to the sweet town of Seminole.
It is good to stroll down memory lane from time to time. It is good to remember but we can spend too much time looking back. A flood of memories came to mind as I drove past the old church building. I could visualize the inside of the sanctuary, my old office, the gym, and of course our old youth room. I recalled different events, but mostly I remembered all those people who touched our lives over the course of those two years. I am saddened by the death of my friend Benny but rejoice in the truth that he was saved and loved Jesus. He and Mary Helen along with our friends Junior and Helen were inseparable. We spent many hours together.
I can’t go back and recapture that chapter of my life. Though I strolled down memory lane I sprinted back home toward the goal of the high calling of Christ for me to serve as pastor at First Baptist Seminole. [Phil 3:12-14] I must not spend the remainder of my ministry looking back at the “good ole days” but rather keep trusting God and looking forward to those same experiences where He has planted me. Life in Seminole is blessed and sweet. I trust God for similar precious memories made during our ministry here.
It was good to stroll down memory lane. It was better to come home to my family, flock, and a host of new friends who have welcomed us with open arms. Our beloved friends and flock from the past cannot be replaced but God can add new memories and create new strolls down those
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