Welcome, friends! I intend to share stories here from time to time written by some of my writing friends. Today I get to introduce you to the words of Pastor John Tate, a longtime camp and family friend. He’s the author of my current top-of-the-pile bedside book, What We Knew in the Light: Recollections From Green Pastures For Dark Valleys. John wrote this collection of personal stories to share via email as a way to encourage and shepherd his congregation through the pandemic anxiety and separation of 2020 and has graciously allowed me to bring one of my favorites to you.
Please find a quiet corner and treat yourself to this delightful and surprising tale. You can thank me later : )
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GULLYWASHER
Some of my favorite lunches were had with a little lady in her ’80s. This sweet saint, we’ll call her Miss Myrtle, came to the church every Thursday morning to do some light cleaning and water the plants.
No plants were ever more lovingly cared for. After worship on Sundays, Myrtle would carry the plants from their place on the altar or the foyer or from off the sill in front of the baptistry, down to the counter in the church kitchen. She did this because the kitchen windows were the only ones in the building that weren’t stained glass, and Myrtle wanted her lilies, mums, and marigolds to enjoy full sun during the week. On the shelf in the janitor’s closet were six old Coca-Cola bottles filled with tap water that she used for the watering. When he asked her why she didn’t come just use a cup from the sink, she said, “Oh, I’d love to give ‘em all rainwater, but if it’s got to be out of the tap, it’s best that the water sit out for more than twenty-four hours. That gives time for the getting out of the bad stuff.”
My office was just down the hall from the little classroom where Myrtle liked to eat her lunch on those Thursdays. Whenever I heard her go in and sit down, I’d grab my granola bar, cold cut sandwich, and apple to join her. We usually didn’t talk about a whole lot. We talked about the weather, things going on in the city, and how the Braves were doing (she loved the old Atlanta skipper, Bobby Cox). I’d ask her about her family. She’d tell me about her life growing up in the low country of South Carolina and what it was like when she and her late husband moved to Augusta, Georgia after the war. But her bag of Lay’s potato chips and little bottle of Ensure didn’t last very long, and she’d be back about her business.
But one day, when the conversation turned to matters of her faith and relationship with God, she shared something that has blessed me for years. We were talking about knowing God as a friend and having our faith be personal when she sat back, put her hands in her lap, lowered her head, lifted her eyes and said, “Pastor, I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told another soul in my entire life. Then with a sweet little smile, she declared, “God and I have been very close ever since the afternoon of my wedding day.”
She proceeded to wistfully reminisce about a wonderful answered prayer from many years ago. Myrtle and her husband were married in her home church in Smoaks, South Carolina. She recalled to me that it was a lovely summer wedding with a large reception held on the grounds following the ceremony. By mid-afternoon, it was time for the newlyweds to leave for their new home and her husband’s hometown of Bamberg, some 20 miles away. They didn’t have a car and would be making the trip by horse and buggy.
Myrtle got kind of bashful when she remembered how funny it felt, once they clip-clopped out of sight from everyone at the church, to be alone with a man. She loved Richard, of course, but she’d only just kissed him for the first time in front of the minister and hundreds of her family and friends. She told me that the ride to Bamberg was pretty uncomfortable. She hadn’t changed but was still wearing her wedding dress. The dirt road was awfully rutted and bumpy and after a while she was in great need of a bathroom. She’d had a lot of punch!
She told me she really didn’t know how to tell her new husband that she needed to relieve herself, and she was embarrassed to think what that might look like anyway in her big white dress out in the backwoods. She tried and tried to hold it, but Bamberg didn’t come soon enough and, with her 82-year-old cheeks cherry red, Myrtle told me that she wet herself.
“Pastor, I was as mortified as I could be. As hard as it would have been to tell Richard that I had to go to the bathroom, it was going to be doubly hard explaining that I’d gone in his buggy. It was the most awful thing.” But then came the miracle.
“In my humiliation,” Myrtle continued, all I knew to do was pray. I said, ‘Lord, I’m in an awful fix here. I’m begging you, please, to send a thunderstorm. A big gullywasher to wash the whole thing clean.’”
At this, Myrtle lifted her head, grinning ear to ear, and told me that not ten minutes later one of those late-day pop-up thunderstorms so common on hazy, hot southern summer days, came on so fast that the team of horses couldn’t get the newlyweds to shelter before they were both drenched to the bone. Myrtle said that she just laughed and laughed until she almost cried. “God gave me a pretty good wink that day, and we’ve shared a lifetime of looks ever since.”
Just as every house is built by first laying a foundation, every relationship with God is built by times when we cried out to Him and He responded to us in some way. We all have stories similar to Myrtle’s, and, while some of them may seem strange or difficult to explain, the warmth of friendship they engender is priceless. We do well to think back today to some of those times in our early walk with the Lord and to ask ourselves if we’ve been doing much building on them. God loves sharing memories with us and is always ready to be a part of our history. Nothing beats a Father’s wink.
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Want more?
John continues to share new stories every Saturday with his circle of family and friends. Just write to John at johnisaactate@gmail.com and ask to be added to his list.
You can also read Swimming Trunks (another story from the book) here on Emmanuel Church’s website.
You can also buy the book on Amazon by clicking on the highlighted title in the blurb below.
Written during a season of separation, What We Knew in the Light is a collection of encouraging stories told to a beleaguered church by a loving shepherd. Drawn from personal experiences gained from a lifetime spent in fellowships of believers, Pastor Tate’s colorful, poignant, and often humorous tales seek to remind folks of the blessings of brighter days as they pass through dark valleys. Each tale is told with a simple, yet powerful application for living and is presented with pastoral care and compassion. Wherever you are in your pilgrimage, What We Knew in the Light is sure to be an encouragement.
Happy reading, my friends! And, as always, I love to know your thoughts and stories. Please don’t hesitate to comment here or drop me a line.
It is always so interesting to hear how our God establishes relationship- speaks with-is heard by individuals. I like John’s (Myrtle’s) story so well for this.
I’m glad you enjoyed it. I just love picturing that sweet lady with her embarrassing secret, astonished by the way God showed His love for her.
I clicked over to The Swimming Trunks story, too. Such wise and practical guidance the father gave his son, and us the readers, into the mysteries of faith.
I thought of you as I read so many of the stories in John’s book. I know devotion books aren’t really your favorites, but I thought you might enjoy his storytelling style and interesting insights. I’m glad you popped over to the swimming trunks story : )
I liked the story about Myrtle because it reminds me that God is right there in my really stressful and embarrassing moments! And humor is to be found if we will look for it. (Usually later) I think sometimes when we are fretting the most, He is trying to get our attention and remind us that it really is going to be ok! His love is truly present and miraculous!
So, true! I love your insights, Jeanette : )