Dragon Mood? -- last Sunday I was feeling anxious
Aunt Doris knocked on our bedroom door at 7 a.m. She came in with a big smile, wished us a "Go-ood mornin'" and gave us each a big hug -- while we were still in bed. When we were alone, I stage whispered to Ruth, "I think she's glad we're here!"
We had a quick breakfast and got dressed for church. I tell you -- Ruth and Aunt Doris are both cut from the same cloth. Each of them looked like they had stepped out of some Christian goin'-to-meetin' sartorial magazine. I kid you not! Ruth had on a vibrant, snappy orange-and-beige three-piece linen pant suit with sexy, matching sandals; she even wore a matching ankle bracelet (that I made her)! Aunt Doris had on a beautifully fitted dark purple-y blue suit that had a very delicate jacquard pattern on it. The pattern gave the whole suit a rich depth. With her small stature and shimmering white hair, she too looked like a knock-out, even at eighty years plus! I, on the other hand, wore a black pair of capri pants, a sleeveless yellow top (that I like), covered by a poorly-fitting cheap linen jacket. I looked and felt schlumpy in comparison to my fellow female companions. I was not looking forward to church.
We drove in two cars because Aunt Doris and Uncle Hemie said they had to give some kids a ride home. We entered a back or side entrance of the church and found a bathroom. It reminded me of something right out of the fifties: old porcelain fixtures, chipped laminate and cramped. It smelled stale. We were all primping our hair when another woman entered the small space. I recognized her immediately: Margie. Aunt Doris and Margie began talking as if they were resuming a conversation from five minutes earlier. Aunt Doris asked her, "Do you know who these two are?" and Margie answered energetically, "Of course I do!" Doris responded, "...and you remember Margie Moerbe?" Yes, that's her name! Margie Moerbe.
Margie Moerbe is at least in her seventies. The first thing you notice about her is her blue eyes. They're light blue and the light that shines forth from her eyes is like being caught in a prison yardlight. Nothing escapes her. And yet, she is a friendly person, at least in that southern, smiling-on-the-surface kind of way. I told Ruth later that she feels like a very prim and proper Sunday School teacher who'd stand you in a corner in a heartbeat. Don't pull any crap with her!
I was still in that dazed, okay-what-do-I-remember-about-this-person mode when Margie said to me, "Do you know that I took care of you for a whole morning when you were a baby and you never cried that whole time?" Wha-a-aat? I paused. And then I did remember Mom telling me (way back when) about Margie babysitting me once upon a time. I don't know when or the exact circumstances of her babysitting me, but imagine my discombobulation at running into someone in Port Arthur, Texas, who babysat me for a morning over fifty years ago?
I'll note this now, because a month from now I probably won't be able to recount this. Margie is married to Norman Moerbe, who is now eighty-eight years old. Norman is a first cousin to Aunt Doris, as well as Ruth's and my dad. Doris and Ray's mother, who we called Granny, her maiden name was Moerbe. So, Norman is a first cousin to them on their mother's side. And Margie is a relative by marriage.
I digress. Let me get back to the church experience.
The service was delayed getting started. Aunt Doris, sitting next to me, leaned over and whispered that they were probably having a hard time getting all the children in line. It was a cryptic comment to me. A few minutes later, sure enough, here come kids, lines of kids, trooping down the two aisles to the front pews of the church. There were so many children that it required many adults to guide and steer them into the proper pews. I whispered to Aunt Doris, "It looks like trying to herd a bunch of cats," and she chuckled.
This is an old-time German Lutheran church in southeastern Texas. So imagine my surprise that the kids I was seeing were mostly not white. They were black, Hispanic (Mexican), but predominantly Asian -- Vietnamese or Hmong, I presume. They had beautiful black hair, many of them cut in little Buster Brown haircuts. Some of the little girls wore pretty, flouncy dresses. Many of the children had very plain clothing -- nothing Sunday-special about them. And there were so many of them! I guesstimate fifty to sixty children.
The service began, and my brain went into lets-get-through-this fog. That is, until the pastor led the children in singing a song. They sang to a pre-recorded accompaniment which ended abruptly three or four seconds before the children finished singing. It was evident something had gone awry. Without missing a beat, the pastor quietly said, "All right, children, let's sing it again." Which they did... a capella. And then they sang three or four more songs.
Following that, the pastor baptized two children, both about five years old, a boy and a girl. They were both Vietnamese. The little girl began to cry; her brother, who also was going to be baptized, was absent. The pastor crouched down and put his arm around her while he tried to explain her tears to the congregation. When the little boy was to be baptized, the pastor called two other people up to the front: the boy's mother, who spoke no English and a young teenager acting as an interpreter. The little boy whose name was Tai responded quite fearlessly to the pastor's questions about why he was getting baptized: "...because I love Jesus." The interpreter was obviously not used to his role, but kept turning his head from the pastor to the mother, hesitantly translating the ancient sacramental words, to which she nodded slightly.
Then the pastor announced that because it was Mission Sunday (somehow themes for worshipping have always felt odd to me), we were also going to have two members of the congregation give witness to their faith. I wiggled uncomfortably in my seat; the service was already pushing towards an hour's length and we hadn't even gotten to the reading of the Gospel or the sermon! How long was this going to be?
The first witness was a young Vietnamese girl, about fourteen years old. I don't recall her name. She was slight with long black hair. She stood at the lecturn and began speaking into the microphone. It was hard to understand her, but at some point, it became clear that she was overcome with emotion and began to cry. She was talking about her relatives, the war in Vietnam and her fears. Her sobs turned into outright crying. The moment turned into seconds and then more seconds. Finally, the pastor stood up, turned to the congregation, put his hand on his heart and walked over to the young girl. He put his arm around her and spoke to her quietly. She continued, giving her testimony, her voice still fraught with emotion. When she finished, I don't believe there was a dry eye in the place.
The other witness was also Vietnamese, a young man with a short, spiky haircut. He had a big, infectious smile. We learned that he is a college student at the University of Texas but grew up in this congregation. He spoke about the people there and about Pastor Dinger's influence on him. He noted how very boring confirmation classes had been ... which elicited laughter from the congregation. He spoke about his faith and his love for the people there at Trinity. It was a forthright testimony to how he had been impacted.
... more to come ...
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