Mama had us kids up, fed and properly dressed for Sunday church. Brother David probably even had on his second set of church clothes because he had messed up the first ones. We piled into the car and were off. Mama took a deep breath, thankful for at least a few minutes to sit before herding kids out of the car and into their prospective classes.
When it was time for the church service, we were seated and quiet. If we dared talk or wiggle too much an arm attached to my mother would find its way to our heads and we would get thumped.
After the singing came the sermon. I didn’t pay much attention to the preacher’s message. But when he said, “Brer Rabbit” or “Sister Ellen,” my ears perked up. Story time! Those were the Preacher Parables, his stories of illustration.
When the Preacher said, “Sister Ellen,” the whole congregation smiled. They had heard “Sister Ellen” stories before. It wasn’t long before smiles turned to laughter. When “Sister Ellen” came across the country to visit, it seemed that everyone already knew her. If they had thought the Preacher was making up stories, they soon learned that “Sister Ellen” was real as well as the stories told (with a bit of improvisation).
Church is where I learned much of our family’s history. That’s when I heard about the Brannin boys and the ranch. That’s where I learned about Daddy’s first baptism and of Mama walking three miles to school and getting caught in a blizzard. We heard tales of the kids thumbing their nose at Grandfather Ward, about Spider the horse, and Sister Ellen daring Sister Barbara to run to the outhouse as fast as she could and opening the door with Effie Bowlegs inside. That’s when I first knew of Daddy’s precious teddy bear and the funeral Sister Ellen conducted for her doll.
Somehow the Preacher always used his “Preacher Parables” to give practical illustrations and application. I have learned that in teaching, students remember stories and their applications longer than other portions of the lesson. I guess that’s why I like to tell stories.
