By Lorry Myers
I’d come forward the week before and stood in front of the congregation, wide-eyed and eager to declare my faith. The past six weeks the minister of our church held classes for the youth, to help us better understand the reason for the Easter season.
I didn’t miss a class.
There were so many young people who came forward on Palm Sunday that it was decided to have only one Easter Service; a morning of special music and baptism, celebration and hope.
An Easter Service that would represent what Easter is all about.
My father, Walter Sewell, earned a premium by working the night shift, or the swing shift or the holiday shift at Panhandle Eastern Pipeline. Easter meant holiday pay, but, if Dad timed it right; if he took lunch early combined with his two breaks, and if he drove his own car instead of commuting in the company van, Dad just might be able to watch his littlest girl be baptized.
Hallelujah!
After Easter eggs for breakfast, we put on our Easter outfits and left for church, me carrying a red suitcase with my brother’s white t-shirt, my sister’s underwear, and a frayed beach towel that had never been to the beach. On the way I promised my mother that before it was my turn to be baptized, I would peak around the privacy screen and make sure my Dad was sitting in the pews. Also, I had to ask if I could be last. I needed extra time for Dad to drive the miles from the plant into town, slip into his saved seat and watch his youngest daughter in her white baptismal gown and her brother’s t-shirt, rise up out of the water.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard
