"Stop Plowing, We're Going to the Revival"

It was a typical morning in July, very hot and no sign of even a faint breeze.  Daddy was plowing in one field  and I was plowing in another nearer the house.  Suddenly, he stopped and headed toward the house.  He said, "Put your horse up and get cleaned up.  We're are going  to church, to the revival."  I was stunned.

Now revivals were big events in rural churches.  They were usually held during the summer after crops were "laid by"  Services were generally held at 11 in the morning and again at night.  Morning services were attended almost entirely by women and children as while most crops may have been cultivated for the final time, much farm work was still to be done.  I never understood whether Dad felt a need for some hell fire preaching or wanted a break from the heat.  Whatever his reason, I welcomed the break.

Our little community had a Methodist and a Baptist church and members of  both denominations looked forward to revivals at both churches and attended both.  Even in later years when mama and daddy might not go to a night service at the Baptist church, my male cousins, my brother and I would catch a ride or walk.  Church was about the only social life we had.