FRONT-PORCH GOSPEL: This life story begins in 1973 (kind of) – part 11

“It was a day much like today,” Mama said, looking down the hill toward the Whatley house. I could tell at that moment – maybe by a slight weakness in her voice – that the surgery from just a few weeks ago had taken a toll on her. I grew up a little that cold day, and that would only be the start of this long journey.

“Everybody was home,” she said, a bit wistfully, “It was much too cold for anybody to be out. The wind chill was almost zero. Your daddy was doing so well that winter, the best I can remember. Tim and Wayne were not more than eight and nine, Jean maybe fourteen, and my baby five, maybe, or six.”

When she said ‘baby,’ she glanced at me out of the side of her eye to see if I would react (I always did, you know); but I did not react at all, except to return the wry smile she gave me as she went so far back into time and somewhere deep into her very being.

“We had the fireplace roaring as high as we could get it and all the space heaters, too. Jean helped me make some hot chocolate, and we all kind of alternated between going back and forth into the kitchen getting refills and standing in the living room looking out at the snow that was steadily falling.

“I think we all hoped it would just snow all day and all night. It wasn’t heavy then, and the wind was blowing out of the north and blowing the snow up against the front bank of the house until it looked a foot deep.

“I think we got so hypnotized by the snow and trying to stay warm in this drafty old wood house that it was a while before we noticed that somebody was missing. I noticed first and looked over to Jean and asked her where you were. Immediately we knew it wasn’t normal for you not to be right there with your daddy, or for Tim and Wayne not to be picking at you, so we were suddenly a little concerned.

“I figured you would be back in your room reading one of your westerns; so, I sent the boys to go look there, and the rest of us started looking around the rest of the house. Everybody called your name out, kind of jokingly at first like you were hiding, and then we realized that you were nowhere to be found. That’s when we starting getting really worried. If you weren’t in the house …”

Mama paused right there, her voice broke a little and trailed off, and she seemed to recapture that same worried look she must’ve had on her face that cold snowy Georgia afternoon more than a decade ago.

“We went out to the backyard and hollered out for you, but Wayne came out here on the porch and looked down the hills that were as white then as they are now. It wasn’t a second before he hollered out, ‘Mama, ya’ll better come out here on the porch. I found the little booger. He’s shooting the ball down at the Whatleys, that crazy kid.’

“We all came running out to the porch but were still afraid to remove the knot out of our stomachs until we put our eyes on you. By the time everybody got to the porch, Wayne had already walked out into the yard and down the hill, pointing out toward the Whatley house as he saw us all hurrying out the front door. We all looked, and, sure enough, we could see your dark clothes against the snow; but they weren’t all dark, they were starting to turn white.

“I hollered out for Wayne to ‘please hurry and get ‘em before my baby freezes to death,’ and I knew my voice still sounded frantic; but I knew you had to be freezing.”

“Reckon I was makin’ any shots in the snow?” I joked, interrupting her for the first time.

“Oh, I ‘magine you were. That’s all you ever did, except read your Bible and those L’amour westerns,” she snapped back pleasantly, and that’s the first time she laughed as she told the story.

I was glad my little joke cheered her up, and it occurred to me just then that that was one of the first times I had heard her really laugh since her surgery.  

Part 11 continues next week.

Coach Steven Bowen, a long-time Red Oak teacher and coach, now enjoys his time as a writer and preacher of the gospel. And, after a ten-year hiatus, he’s also returned to work with students at Ferris High School as well. 

In addition to his evangelistic travels, he works and writes for the Church of Christ of Red Oak at Uhl Road and Ovilla. Their worship times are 10 a.m. Sundays and 7:30 pm. Wednesdays. Email coachbowen1984@gmail.com or call or text (972) 824-5197.