Simpler Times - Happy Birthday to Me

by Cindy Hester

Does this look like a child who would plan
her own birthday party? (Nevr mind...
don't bother answering that!)

I have always heard it said  if you want a job done right, you've got to do it yourself. Well, I guess that theory must have hit home with me at an early age. It was early spring, and my 6th  birthday was just around the corner. I really don't know how it snowballed so out of control. I just remember innocently swinging out on the playground at recess and someone mentioning my upcoming birthday. One thing led to another and of course the subject of a party came up. The next thing I know everyone is wanting to  know if they are invited. Me being the people pleasing child I was, I invited them all!

 

I was never much of a party planner, but I had a friend who could plan a trip to the bathroom and make it seem like a vacation. Before I knew it, I was obeying orders by creating and distributing hand-written invitations to well over 20 of my friends at school. I can remember not being too terribly worried because I never expected they would actually show up.

As I began getting positive responses from almost everyone, the fact I had not yet told my parents about the party began to sink in. My stomach churned every time I thought about the dilemma. If I told Momma and Daddy, they might say no, and I had already said everyone could come. But if I didn't say something, there would be no cake or punch, or worse, I could be in major trouble!

The days rocked on to that fateful Friday of the party. I stood miserably in the bus line with all of those children headed to my house with presents. My momma still knew nothing of the mayhem that was about to descend upon her. Little did I know, she had been planning a family party on Saturday at my grandparents house. My grandmother was baking my favorite cake, and all of my cousins were planning to attend. Dad had been preaching a revival that week, and I am sure she had not had time to clean house for a party much less bake a birthday cake.

I remember one of my friend's moms running up with my present handing it quickly to her daughter who was waiting in the bus line with all of the other kids headed to my house. She told her daughter to be sure and call whenever the party was over. Inside I was shouting "TELL HER THERE IS NO PARTY!!!" but nothing would come out of my mouth!

The whole bus ride home I was sick at my stomach. You have to understand, back then there were no Party City stores, and grocery stores did not have pre-baked birthday cakes. It was a big event to plan a birthday party, and most of them were family events.

The bus finally screeched to a halt in front of my house and children began pouring out one after the other until around 25 kids were running in my front yard. There stood Mom, her hair rolled in bobbie pins and tied in a scarf. She wore no makeup and had a look of absolute horror on her face. If looks could kill, I probably wouldn't have lived past 6.

God bless her though. She must have looked past the anger she had to have been feeling to my trembling lower lip and decided to refrain from embarassing me at the moment. She went inside and began calling my aunt and a few others to join us (with a cake, ice cream and something to drink.) We played Red Rover, chase and dodge ball. I opened presents and played with friends until parents began arriving. It actually turned out to be a really good party. (Although it was the last I planned on my own!!)

I did have to sit through a long, long lecture on honesty and respect, and I did have to dry the dishes every night for about a month...but I sure got some good presents! All that said, though, my Mom did inadvertenly get me back the next year.

I had the biggest crush in second grade on this boy. He had these big green eyes, and I thought he was soooo cute. Luckily I drew his name for our school classroom Christmas party (that was before we had to worry about offending anyone by celebrating Christmas.) Well, it just so happens I knew the perfect present for him. Perry Brothers had the coolest metal Tonka truck that I just knew he would love. I figured he would really think I was the coolest girl in school whenever he opened that present.

Well, to put it mildly, it was a rough morning...I was nervous, and I forgot his present! The school let me call Mom to bring it to the party so he would have something to open. Mom was a little late, but I just knew it would be worth it all whenever he opened my best gift ever. All other presents had been opened and it seemed almost like a movie. It was perfect. Everyone was standing around his desk watching. The anticipation grew to a fevered pitch. Then, much to my horror, out pops three pair of huge granny panties and a floral robe! Just what every little boy ever wished for! He threw the box to the ground and ran crying from the room.

Poor Momma had gotten the boxes mixed up and brought my great-aunt's present instead of his truck! At first I was so angry and embarrassed. However, the anger and embarrassment only lasted until the moment I Iooked up and saw past my anger at her trembling lower lip and remembered the grace she had shown to me the day I showed up with 25 uninvited guests for a birthday party she ended up hosting without any preparation. 

I probably did give her a long lecture that day on the way home  as we later laughed recounting the story to my aunt and my grandmother. Somehow I don't think I was able to get her to dry the dishes for a month as punishment for her crime. Instead we decided to call it even. Little did I know, I had begun to learn one of the most important lessons I would ever take with me in life..."Gratitude is born in the heart that takes the time to count up past mercies." 

Readers...please don't go away!!

Just a brief update. I have had to take a brief hiatus in my Simpler Times writing because of a business trip to Washington State. By the way, should you ever have the opportunity to go to Seattle or any of the surrounding area, take advantage of it...you will NOT regret it.

At any rate, I will be picking up where I left off sometime this week. I look forward to getting back to my regular writing schedule. In the meantime, here are some pictures from my trip for you to enjoy...

Simpler Times - Shall We Gather at the River

by Cindy Hester



My Grandfather, Bro. C. L. Moore, after
Baptizing Three New Members

of Bethel Baptist Church, Bold Springs



Long before baptisteries, new Christians who wished to follow Jesus’ example of believer’s baptism experienced that baptism in a river, creek, or pond. I will always remember my baptism which was performed by my Dad in a lake near the Chesswood Baptist Church, Livingston, Texas.

Dad had felt a calling from God to form a mission church on the south side of town near Chesswood Subdivision. He stepped out in obedient faith, and serving as a local missionary of the Polk County Missionary Association he began and organized the Chesswood Baptist Church where he pastored for 29 years before "retiring", then serving as Pastor of Soda Baptist Church for 15 years. The charter members of Chesswood Baptist Church originally met and worshipped in homes until they were able to lease a small hamburger “joint” (as Dad used to call it.) Sunday school classes met anywhere from the walk-in freezer to the outdoor awning of the small restaurant.

There were many sweet days of fellowship in that little restaurant. I laugh whenever I think of my mother teaching the Sunday school class in the walk-in freezer. We had a few mischievous boys whom she was terrified would someday lock her and the class in it. She would teach that class with her chair sitting in the doorway. If anyone was going to close that door, they were going to have to move her and her chair to get the job done!

Home-made pews filled what used to be the main dining room of the restaurant, and an old, slightly out of tune piano filled the building with hymns. A couple of the keys stuck every so often, but it did not matter. The spirit flowing from that musical praise grabbed the heart and soul in a way that only divinely inspired worship could.

Dad had a heart for lost souls. He knew what God’s love could do for them. He knew what God’s love had done for him. It was his mission, his very heart to spread that message. Those charter members felt that same calling. It was a wonderful place to be, and I always looked forward to Sundays and Wednesdays there. God was at work in ways that left a lasting impression on my life.

  

Chesswood Baptist Church as it Looks Today



The church grew and was able to purchase prime property on Highway 59. It was in the original sanctuary on the new property that I came face to face with my Heavenly Father. The congregation was singing “Just as I Am” and my feet would not stay planted in that pew. It was uncomfortable for me as a child to walk that aisle to the alter in front of everyone, but it was even more uncomfortable to stay put. I walked to my Daddy’s waiting arms crying the entire way. My heart was stirred and in awe of something far greater than I could understand at the time. He talked with me to ensure I understood the step of faith I was taking. He then presented me to the church as having asked Christ into my heart and wanting to follow Jesus in believer’s baptism. It was one of the most profound moments of my life.

Once we got home, he called me back to a quiet room, sat me in his lap and talked more with me about this decision. At the time I was a young child of 5, and he wanted to make sure I fully understood the plan of salvation. My heart overflowed with love as Dad held me close reading from the Bible and praying over my life and for continued understanding of God’s plan for my life. I later reached an age of greater understanding of my need for a Savior. It was at this time I was baptized in that lake with those dear souls singing “Shall We Gather at the River.”

I cherish the days I attended baptisms watching my Dad and grandfather walk out into the water carrying a pole or stick ahead of them to ensure there were no sudden deep drops in the bottom of the pond. I treasure the remembrance of the sound of katydids and frogs breaking the reverently quiet air as new Christians followed into the water to publicly demonstrate a symbol of their faith. I value what that symbol represents. Troubles did not magically disappear, and sudden perfection had not been reached. Through salvation, however, an Omnipotent Power had arrived, and an all-sufficient supply of grace and mercy had become available. Through baptism, a beginning act of faith and obedience was acheived. Thank God for His power, mercy, and grace to continue drawing us to a life of faithful obedience.

My Dad, Bro. Frank E. Hood, baptizing my little brother, Andy Hood,

at Chesswood Baptist Church, Livingston, Texas.

Matthew 3:13-17

New International Version (NIV)

The Baptism of Jesus

13 Then Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John.

14 But John tried to deter him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?”

15 Jesus replied, “Let it be so now; it is proper for us to do this to fulfill all righteousness.” Then John consented.

16 As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. 17 And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.”

Simpler Times - Those Summer Revivals

"Melody...Cindy...put away your bikes and come get ready for church! Hurry, we're going to be late!!" Many were the days we were called away from mud pies, Barbie dolls, our doll orphanage, or whatever happened to be capturing our imaginations that day to clean up and head out somewhere to attend a revival with Dad. As a child I remember whining, "we've got to go to church AGAIN?!?" As an adult I look back on those days with fondness. I now realize just how much they shaped and prepared me to face the more complicated, difficult days of adulthood.

We may have had to stop playing a little earlier than usual, but we were surely compensated for it with good food. Often members of the church hosting the revival would graciously invite us into their homes for an evening meal prior to the services. One particular home stands out in my mind because of its uniqueness. I have no idea when it was actually built, but it must have been in the early 1900's because it still had the dog trot down the middle. Now for those of you who are unfamiliar with "dog-trot" houses, they were essentially two houses under one roof with an open covered porch separating the two sections. Usually the living room, dining area, and the kitchen were on one side, and the bedrooms on the other. The idea of the open porch way was for better air flow creating a cooler place to sit on those hot summer days and evenings. Also, the bedrooms did not get heated up so much when cooking in the kitchen.

(Example of a dog-trot home)
The main house at the circa-1845 Barrington Farm is a vernacular dog-trot structure, with a center breezeway that provides ventilation and shade.
www/oldhousesonline.com

The home was owned by one of the little widow women in the church, and my goodness she could cook! The vegetables were fresh from the garden, and everything was well seasoned from being cooked in iron pots and skillets. The sweet tea was to die for, and dessert...what can I say other than out of this world. It was one of those evenings that your memory records it all...the smell of freshly-cut grass, blooming gardenias...the feel of the warm breeze flowing through the dog-trot porch as we sat patiently waiting for the dinner table to be set...the clinking sound of dishes and laughter as the women visited and worked together...the ideal definition of a perfect summer evening.

When the hard-working souls of a farming community met together for revival, revival usually showed up. The warmth and sense of anticipation infiltrated the church building...something my soul recognized, even as a young child. These people had spent time praying for and expecting revival. Their love for the Lord was evident. Their very existence depended upon God's favor. The success or failure of their crops depended on nature's grace. The cost of raising and feeding their cattle was dependent upon natural forces. These folks knew God's grace in the good times and His provision in the worst of times. Many had lived through the Great Depression. They knew what it was like to have nothing and be brought back to sufficiency. They knew the meaning true meaning of contentment.

Visiting before revival services.

Perhaps my favorite revival services were those held at the Bethel Baptist Church of Bold Springs, Texas. It was the church where my grandfather pastored and the church my parents grew up attending. Both sets of my grandparents were there as well as many other friends and family members. People from all over the community came out to attend the services, to worship the Lord, and to hear my Dad preach. The hand of the Lord was surely upon Daddy. He definitely was born to minister and preach the Word of God.

Rev. Frank Edward Hood (Daddy)

in his early days of ministry.

At Bold Springs, the ladies would often bring dishes and everyone would gather out under the trees for dinner on the ground (I am quite sure was supposed to be dinner on the grounds because we did not eat off the ground.) We would eat until we nearly popped, then go in for church. As a small child I can remember laying with my head in my Maw Maw Moore's lap watching those old ceiling fans turn. Paw Paw Moore would rub my eyebrows until my eyelids got so heavy I had to close them whether I wanted to or not.

Rev. C. L. Moore (my Paw Paw Moore),
Pastor of Bethel Baptist Church, Bold Springs, Texas



Aunt Wayne Wilder always brought some kind of snack for all of the kids after church (usually Chicken in a Biscuits.) This one particular night after my sister and I had gotten our snacks Mom told us to go ahead and load up in the car since we were about to leave. She followed, but just as she opened the door, Aunt Wayne called out to tell her something. Not paying any further attention to the back seat, Mom got in the car, shut the door, and hiked her skirt up saying, "I have just got to get out of this girdle before I explode! This thing is so tight it is killing me!!" She worked and struggled getting that girdle off, then playfully rolled it up and threw it in the back seat saying, "Whew that feels much better."

A girdle from the 1960's



My sweet, modest, young Momma (Mrs. Gracie Hood)





Thank heavens overhead lights in cars did not stay on for an extra few seconds like they do nowadays, because about the time the girdle left her hand, a male voice from behind her seat said in a long, drawn out southern drawl, "Sister Gracie, you doing all right this evening? Sure was a good service wasn't it?" My mother was mortified! Anyone who knows her at all understands how modest she is. She attempted to reply, "I'm fine, and yes, it was a good service," but words would not come. She got tickled at the absurdity of the whole situation and could do nothing but laugh. There we sat...Mom silently shaking with laughter, us girls giggling in the back seat, and the gentleman with us staring blankly out of the back window until Dad finally made it to the car.

To make matters worse, Dad looked at Mom with a puzzled look on his face and said, "Grace, are you okay?" About that time Melody held up the girdle and we all busted out laughing. Grinning, Dad looked back at our passenger and said, "I'm sorry I forgot to tell Gracie we were taking you home." Mom lived through her embarrassment in time, but she still turns a little red and shakes with laughter each time I bring it up. Thank You, Lord, for Your sense of humor and for the happy memories of those summer revivals.

Simpler Times - A Heritage

"Somewhere along the line of development we discover who we really are, and then we make our real decision for which we are responsible. Make that decision primarily for yourself because you can never really live anyone else's life not even your child's. The influence you exert is through your own life and what you become yourself."  Eleanor Roosevelt

This past weekend my brother and sisters and most of their families got together with my Mom for a workday weekend at the farm. Since then, I have been reflecting over the miracle of family, of heritage, and of love. "Simpler Times" is not so named because the days were easy. During these times there were many inconveniences, numerous injustices and often countless, seemingly insurmountable difficulties. Despite these circumstances, however, life seemed genuine, unassuming, less complicated, and people more loyal to one another.

A part of my quest in writing about these times is to recount memories connecting my present to my past. It is also my mission in sharing these priceless memories to somehow reach into your heart and remind you of your own heritage. Whether you've had the best ancestry, or one you may wish to forget...whether you have the fondest of memories, or the worst of nightmares...you have a heritage...an important story that is yours alone. More significantly, you have a choice in the direction your heritage takes from this point forward.

I was blessed to have had two wonderful sets of grandparents, and I still have access to their old homeplaces where I can return to enjoy the spirit of their presence. The value of the history these homesteads hold is priceless to me. You will hear many memories of both places in my writings.

Since my Dad went home to be with the Lord, however, my family has found a haven in the family farm that has been a part of our heritage for over a hundred years. Even though the old homeplace is gone, the memories remain. I cannot explain how incredible an experience it is to watch the sixth generation of direct Hood descendents walk on the same ground and play in the same dirt that was claimed well over a century ago.

This old homeplace is where my great-great grandfather brought his sons to begin a new life. Somewhere along the way one of the sons, Mr. Wiley, met Miss Jenny, fell in love and they had three sons - Arch, Frank and Lynn. Mr. Arch grew up, met Miss Winnie, and somewhere in his 40's became quite smitten with her (as is quite evident in this rare picture I found of them in their early courtship or newly married days.) Later down the line their only son who also happens to be my father, Frank Edward Hood, was born on that very land in a bedroom of the old homeplace.

Miss Winnie (my Maw Maw Hood) and Mr. Arch (my Paw Paw Hood)

After my grandfather and grandmother Hood passed away, this farm was my Dad's connection to his past. It was his haven and sanctuary from the pressures of the ministry. I truly believe this place, its memories, and its serenity kept him grounded and connected with his earthly father and deepened his relationship with his heavenly Father. Additionally, as Mom and Dad's family grew, it became a treasured meeting place where we gathered to sit around the campfire listening to Dad recount stories of his childhood, tell countless jokes, pray numerous prayers, and simply enjoy life in the moment.

My Mom (Gracie) and Dad (Frank Edward)...Dad telling one of his stories.

Each of us children has his or her own special memories here. It is the perfect spot to get away from the television, the phone, and the pressures of life. It is here the past, present and future meet. Here deadlines lose thier significance in the total scheme of things. Here, looking into the star-filled heavens I find a connection with my Heavenly Father and feel the closeness of my earthly father. Here I find my roots and a deep heritage worth sharing.

Simpler Times - The Front Porch

by Cindy Hester

Laughter, togetherness, security, joy, conversation, the sweet smell of honeysuckle mixed with freshly cut grass...each of these come to mind when I think about the hours spent on my grandparents’ front porch.

Days were filled with work. There were meals to cook, gardens to tend, cows to milk, and hospital and home visits to be made (my grandfather Moore was a minister, you know.) There were corn, greens, peas, tomatoes and berries to be picked, potatoes to dig, flower gardens to hoe, marriages to perform, and people to bury (again, the preacher.) There were peas to shell, corn to shuck, and vegetables to can.



Paw Paw and Maw Maw Moore's Front Porch

 At the end of the day when work was done and the sun began to set came the most anticipated time of the day...sitting together on the front porch. The evening usually began with us watching the Martin birds flitting in and out of the birdhouses my Paw Paw Moore was notorious for building. If my sister and I had been particularly helpful that day, we would be lucky enough to be sipping on an Orange Crush soda we had earned, or eating the most delicious, refreshing orange pineapple ice cream from the corner store.

Often we sat quietly listening to the crickets chirp and watching fireflies dance to their songs. Not far into the evening, the sound of Mrs. Abbott’s piano playing drifted past the trees from her house a ways down the road. Even as a young child I can remember the stirring I felt in my heart as the melody of “Amazing Grace” and “How Great Thou Art” pierced the deepest corners of my soul. My Paw Paw Moore would sing along in his smooth, baritone voice. It was beautiful, and somehow I knew this involved more than mere music.




Paw Paw and Maw Maw Hood's Front Porch


At my Maw Maw and Paw Paw Hood’s house, evenings began with Paw Paw coming outside after dinner, the smell of Dial soap on his freshly washed skin (they were lucky enough to already have indoor plumbing.) I can still hear Maw Maw whistling while she finished washing the last of the night’s dishes. Paw Paw would walk over to the covered tin pot which hung from the eave of the porch, fill the water dipper, and quench his lingering thirst with a long slow drink of water.

He would then move to his chair, kick up his feet, and every now and then he would take a bag of tobacco and a paper wrapper, roll a cigarette, and take a few puffs. I can just see his silhouette sitting in that metal rocker in his undershirt and kakis and every so often seeing the red tip of his cigarette reminding me of those fireflies.

Maw Maw Hood, having finished the dishes, would come outside, give “Arch” an earful for smoking in front of us girls and move to one of the swings on either end of the porch. He would usually take one more puff, put the cigarette out, then chuckling under his breath gently remind us girls we should never smoke. I can remember lying on the porch swing staring at the stars giggling inside even though I was really too young to understand what the fuss was all about.

Porches were not only for nighttime. There were hot afternoons spent playing “Go Fish” and going through an old trunk containing treasures from the past with Maw Maw Hood. Then there were days sitting listening to the radio with Maw Maw Moore singing along to Bobby Sherman singing “Julie, Julie, Julie, do you love me?” and playing paper dolls (cut from the Montgomery Ward catalogue no less!)




My Mom and Aunt Wayne telling secrets on Aunt Wayne's front porch.



Porches were for shelling peas, shucking corn, and telling secrets. Most important, porches were where relationships thrived, and memories took shape. Perhaps Rochlin said it best in his book, Home, Sweet Home....” Nobody thought much about the front porch when most Americans had them and used them. The great American front porch was just there, open and sociable, an unassigned part of the house that belonged to everyone and no one, a place for family and friends to pass the time." I think I’m going to make it a point to spend a little less time watching television, and a little more time on my porch making memories with my grandbabies.

Good times visiting on the front porch at my sisters house.





Simpler Times - The Party Line

by Cindy Hester

Oh my, my...the party line. People get all up in arms about how everyone knows each other's business because of social media such as Facebook. I am here to tell you that Facebook couldn't hold a candle to the telephone party line back in the day. At least with Facebook you have pictures to prove most of the gossip and drama. On the party line, however, there was rarely actual proof, and stories usually got bigger and better the more they were told.

Trust me, because of party lines, the community could  learn who tithed and who didn't, who drank and who didn't, who cursed and who didn't, and definitely who gossiped and who didn't, and a LOT was learned about relationships (more than was needed or wanted!)

Let me give a little history lesson for those of you too young to understand how the telephone party line worked. In rural America during the early to mid-twentieth century, several telephone subscribers were often connected to the same "loop". Now don't ask me what a loop is, but essentially what this meant was that there could be as many as a dozen households using the same telephone line. (Kind of like having more than one telephone in your home that all uses the same line...no, not cell phones...land line telephones...oh, this is more difficult to explain than I imagined...)

The way you knew an incoming call was for you was that each household on the same line had a distinctive ring. Now, mind you, any one of the other telephones on your loop could simply pick up the phone at any time and listen in on your telephone conversation. Not only that, if the line was currently in use, the person wishing to make his or her own outgoing call had to wait until the active telephone conversation was completed before getting his or her turn at making a call.

As you can imagine, this could be quite frustrating for someone needing to make an urgent call, and quite tempting to the curious soul who felt it a calling from God to know everyone's business and to share it with the world. Now remember, in the early 1960's, there were very few televisions in households in rural America. The ones who were lucky enough to have a TV certainly did not have cable with multiple channels to view. You were lucky to receive any one of the three major networks, and even then it often required going outside to turn the antenna pole in order to improve reception. So you can see how inviting these party line telephone conversations could be.

I cannot count the times my Paw Paw Hood would come in from working the cows and catch my Maw Maw listening in. He'd say, "Winnie, hand me that phone!" Sometimes she would, sometimes she wouldn't. When she did give him the phone, do you think it got hung back up in the cradle? No way! (the cradle is the place that held the receiver...what do you mean, what is a receiver?!...oh well, I digress...) He could not help but put the phone to his ear and start listening. I always knew whether it was anything worth hearing by how long he would keep listening in. Then Maw Maw Winnie would get aggravated and say, "Arch, if you're gonna' listen in, at least put the phone where we can both hear!" (Trust me, that was waaaay before speaker phones were invented for home use.)

Other than with the cows and Maw Maw Winnie, the most aggravated I ever remember my Paw Paw Arch get was over that party line. He came in all hot and sweaty from working his cattle. Something was wrong, either with the cows or the equipment. He needed to make a call to assess the situation, but two of the community ladies were having their afternoon chat on the party line. Now, their "chats" were known to run a little long, but since my Paw Paw was usually out in the fields working this time of day, he was not aware of this fact.

He picked up the phone and politely hung it up whenever he realized the line was in use. He paced the floor a while, picked up the phone once again, and firmly requested to use the line as he had somewhat of an emergency. The ladies promised to end their conversation, but advised they needed a couple more moments of privacy. Amazingly patient, he hung up the phone once more, paced a few more minutes, then tried the line for the third time. I immediately knew there was trouble when I heard the ladies cackling laughter and I saw my fair-skinned Paw Paw turn blood red.

I am not exactly sure what all was said that particular afternoon to end the ladie's daily chat. I do remember my sister and I swiftly being ushered from the room as my grandmother muttered sternly under her breath, "Watch what you say, Arch. I have to face these ladies at church!" The one thing of which I am sure is he never again had to ask twice to use the line to make a call!