Going Home

I remember well that Christmas Eve Sunday so many years ago.  We lived just down the road from that old country church that we loved so well.  As Preacher headed out the door to make that long haul across the mountain over into Vest, where little ones would be watching for that old yellow bus to stop out front.  I stood at the window and watch as he climbed on board and started the engine.  Then he climbed out and with the long handled window scraper, he cleared the windshields snowy cover and then with his bare hands, wiped the snow from the side mirrors, before climbing aboard, and putting the bus in gear.  I stood there every Sunday until the bus disappeared out of sight.  Often one of our 3 boys would go with their preacher daddy on the long drive Up Ogden, over the mountain, through Vest, and then all the way around until he came out of Possum Trot, through Hindman, and back up Big Branch where the Little country church was filling up, and awaiting their pastor’s arrival. 

It was December 24^th. Christmas Eve Sunday and so much planning and preparation had been made.  The children would be singing, some of them saying parts, Special recognition to those who helped faithfully.  I remember that this particular year, Hessie and Jerry Pierce would both be given special mention, and given small gifts of appreciation for their service.  There would be sweet treats for every boy and girl, and some gifts for them too. It was a wonderful time of celebrating Christ coming to earth.  We even had a birthday cake with candles as we sang Happy Birthday to Jesus.  It was snowing softly, but the roads were still passible. 

Finally, Sunday morning was over, again the bus, and vans were loaded and the voices of happy children could be heard singing and laughing as they head home. 

I hurried to our house, excited and so very thankful for the already cooked dinner Martha Cornett had prepared and given us for Sunday dinner that day. Her meals were such a treat.  Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, slaw, biscuits, and a warm from the oven cobbler filled the basket. As I peeked into the basket of goodies, all three of our boys gathered around to get that first glimpse of the meal that they knew would be delicious.  Rewrapping the meal and placing the kitchen towel over the basket to hold in the warmth, I scurried off the pack…we were going home for Christmas.  I pulled out the 3 old suitcases we owned, and opened them wide across the living room floor. Then told each of the boys to go get 5 pair of socks, enough underwear for the week, and their PJ’s. One suitcase always held all the bedtime clothes.  Then back up to get their shoes, and a pair of boots, gloves, and their hang up clothes.  I would look over each item, most were badly worn, but I’d made certain all was clean and ready for this once a year trip to grandma and Grandpa’s house.

Finally preacher was back, and I want to the kitchen to put the Sunday meal on the table.  I had things ready when my husband walked into the kitchen.  The food was wonderful, and the conversation was peppered with laughter as we talked about the Christmas service that morning, and made final plans for the long, all night drive north to be with family.  Oh how light our hearts were that afternoon. 

That last suitcase was finally closed just in time for all of us to head back to church for the Christmas Eve service.  We had decorated the church with candles in each window, a wreath on the front door, and in the center of the room the old floor furnace was glowing red as it heated the room.  It was a wonderful evening, and everyone seemed to burst with joy as they headed back to their homes that evening. It was indeed a special night.  In just a few hours, it would be Christmas.

Preacher and I closed up the building, making sure everything was in order. Our boys put the song books back in the racks.  We said goodbye to our precious church family and drove the short distance back to our house.  Bathroom visits were made, pillows, blankets, handed out, the suitcases in the trunk, and we were on our way.  For several hours, the boys all sat up…three little heads all looking over the front seat…. talking about pumpkin pie, turkey, and grand mom’s cookies.  Six eyes beams into the night as they remembered past Christmas’s…the folding table up-stairs loaded down with presents. The Beautiful Christmas tree that they knew would we shining brightly no matter what time we arrived and a warm welcome awaited all of us.  I must admit my heart was doing flip-flops as well.

It was a 13-hour drive.  Preacher was tired.  Some times I would relieve him for an hour or two, so he could sleep.  He had been up since before daylight on Sunday morning, and now it was beginning to grow light again…it was Christmas and we were all singing.  I remember the song…”Over the river and through the woods, to Grandmothers house we go, the Horse knows the way to carry the sleigh over the white and drifted snow.  Then we’d get to the part about the pumpkin pies and the children were literally screaming out the words. 

Even now my heart seems to squeeze as I remember all the delicious treats that my children knew awaited them.  We weren’t able to provide all the goodies and extra special treats that they knew would be found at Grandma’s house.

It was nearly 9am when we pulled up in front of the house.  I would lean forward for that first glimpse of the house, that first moment when I’d see mom and dad standing there, looking out the window for their first sight of our car pulling up.  We had arrived! The back doors of the car were thrown open, and three boys spilled out, heading for the house.  The front door opened and I saw mom and dad bending down, gathering their grandchildren in their arms.  I stood back, my eyes awash with tears, as I saw mom looking, waiting.  Her arms were open for me.

Dad wrestled and played with his grandchildren, while mom hurriedly tied her apron around her waist and soon the house smelled like bacon, sausage gravy and buttermilk biscuits.  A jar of her homemade blackberry jam was opened and very soon we were gathered around the kitchen table, in the house I grew up in…and I was home.

The years have passed and this year, I’m back in the states, But this year mom is much older, more feeble, her hands tremble, her walk is slow, her strength almost non-existant.  Breakfast is now my job. Now those long ago Christmas happen only in my memory. But still where mom is, I feel that welcoming pull of Home.

And now, just days ago, mom moved her address.  Dad had gone on ahead 15 years before, and finally, once again, they are united…their address:  Mansion over the Hill Top, Golden Avenue, Glory Land.  I look forward with much anticipation to one day going home…my real home.