Williston United Methodist 70's Sunday School

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh Kentucky

This time last year we were in Kentucky! How I miss those bluegrass fields with the grazing horses, the neatly painted white fences, the irratic stone slave fences, the narrow winding lanes through all this wonderful countryside.
Oh that I were a man of means and I could afford the luxury of having a place near Lexington, where I could spend the fall and winters, affording to attend a few UK basketball games, going over to Asbury in Wilmore for the revivals and campus life activities, staying a few days at Shaker Village of Mount Pleasant, etc.
But I am not a man of any means, only a man who dreams.

Misawa, Japan

We can only assume at this point that Amber and Nathaniel went to Japan to the Misawa Air Force Base with Landon. Nikki let us know today that he showed up on the Air Force World Wide Web. She said that she has his phone, email, etc.
Cannot begin to convey how our hearts sunk when we learned it was so far away, that Misawa is a family base, meaning family usually goes, and that it could be for three years.
Little Nathaniel will be six or so if we ever get to see him again. It is doubtful Meme will ever see him again. For that matter, I do not even hold out hope that I shall.

Forever Orbiting

 

Falling Creek

Early view of Falling Creek Methodist before the addition of the porch for wheelchair access on the left, the monument by the left front door, the sidewalk over to the restrooms and sunday school building off to the right. I liked it better before the "fall".
It is now called a community church, pastored by a retired Methodist ministress Cheryl Pringle, who ministered at Falling Creek when it was on the Methodist circuit of small country churches.

Go down Moses

 

 

the turning away

 

The Select Like

Recently it was pointed out to me that none of my friends from the former church we attended ever comment on anything you post on Facebook anymore. I  said that I knew that. There was a time when we were a part of that fellowship that they would. The photographs were lovely, the poems even liked at times. At what point in this process did all this cease?
It is the interesting aspect of our walk that Facebook reveals, that even though we are brothers and sisters I assume, even though we have chosen differing paths, we say through our silence that we are not. I am like the crazy Uncle Si who says things that are not always so nice or correct. Is that a reason to no longer consider me a part of the family?
It is a great sorrow that one of my own family members has totally blocked us from their lives.
The crime we committed is certainly not equal to the sentence. We cannot even ask forgiveness.
I have said many things I wish I could take back. I can only say again, forgive me.
In the future, I will make an effort to like my friends posts from former churches who still have me on their Facebook list of friends.
I would like to add that the new radio station(90.1) WPTG has been a  blessing, especially the singing of Lani. Keep up the good work. You are loved.

The sacred wind

Working from the old XP computer, I cannot get the facebook or smug mug transfer button to install. All I can do is send the photographs on this laptop to the blogspot. This is the old pump organ that was in the first church my father ministered at the Berry Methodist Church in northern Kentucky. My sister, who had her 61st birthday on the 14th, was born in Lexington while my father was a ministerial student at Asbury Theological Seminary in Wilmore and student preaching at Berry and Boyd. She, my mother, whose birthday was October 5th, could all play the organ. My father by ear, my mother and sister by note. My father, the Rev Luther Ray Stokes of Homewood, Mississippi passed away in March of 2011. His birthday is tomorrow, October 16th.
The organ has been one of the constant furniture pieces my entire life. It now resides in my sisters living room in Lake City, where we all now live except our younger brother Lewis, who lives in Gainesville. When I was but a little toddler in Sopchoppy, I punched the red velvet covering from the plate below the keyboard.
I think it was Lewis who punched out the filigree later, my father painstakingly replacing it.
It still pumps and plays. Tomorrow perhaps I shall have to visit my sisters house and pump a low note or two, trying to replicate my fathers deep gusto singing.

Empty

 

Just for you too

Lately I have stopped deleting the rejects. I am learning that often with a little help, the rejects can be coaxed into becoming a keeper. I am learning the impossibility of keeping up with the Morans and the Moynehans, causing me constant anguish.
I am no forensic photographer. I do not shoot as a record of just how it was. To go beyond is my desire and attempt to interpret or manipulate the reality into more of a dream or impression.
This does not require the best lens, the most expensive body, again, another futile and frustrating pursuit, never being content with the gear.
Working again with crafts as a little child, painting snakes and stuff, has helped to free me up from some of the stiffness and constant trying to be the best.
I will never be the best at anything. Few ever are. I just want to do my best and that will be enough.

Just for you