On the Journey Back

them in. I like you better without them.”

“Not everyone agrees with you about that Jimmy.” She didn’t agree either, but the things weren’t comfortable and she could chew just as well without them. She’d wear them when she went to town, and that would be enough.

She smiled her toothless smile, and I reached into my pocket for another strip of bacon. We walked on.

When we finally reached the front steps of the First Baptist Church, several familiar-looking adults greeted Granddad and Mamaw and showered William and me with hugs and pats and comments about how big we had gotten since they last saw us.

As we were about to go inside, Mr. Martin’s daughter Alyssa walked by clutching her Bible to her chest. She hesitated for an imperceptible moment, tossed her blonde head, and fixed me in place with her blue eyes like a monarch butterfly to a mounting board. It was impossible to blink, much less look away. Then she smiled, raised her hand in a slight half wave, and walked inside.

“Jimmy, come on to Sunday school before a bug flies in your mouth,” Mamaw said noticing me staring.

She’d been teaching Sunday school for as long as I could remember. By the time I arrived each summer, the other children in class had rows upon rows of stars on their charts for memorized scripture.

I would start with a single blank row, but it usually didn’t take long to accumulate enough stars to where it appeared I had been there since January memorizing scripture along with everyone else. Stamina is what it took, in my opinion, and most of them didn’t have the kind I had, the kind needed to memorize mountains week after week. They would make a good start for a few months, but before long something else caught their attention and their efforts would wane as summer neared. I knew the difference between us was a matter of endurance. I’d heard the fable of the tortoise and the hare; running the long race and staying the course was where it was at.

Sort of like that long walk to and from church.

Mamaw encouraged me to recite from memory as much as I wanted, even tutoring me about the scriptures she presented to the other children earlier in the year. Whether it was her insistence or praise, or my own satisfaction from doing well and delighting her, memorizing verses from the Bible came easy to me when I was at 15