I Don't Care To

.
Church had just let out and the parishioners were filing by shaking the preacher's hand. As one older lady came by, his wife standing close by asked her if she would be interested in going to a regional church meeting later that week with them.

Dad pastored a little country church in a southern Missouri town, called Cape Fair. We had just moved there a few months earlier, from a field assignment in western Kansas. Beth and Ira Wagner had answered the call to the ministry while still living in New York State. They attended a bible school graduating in 1957. From there they had first been placed in a western Kansas community before moving to Cape Fair. It was now 1958.

The lady answered cheerfully, "I wouldn't care to." Somewhere in the conversation one of them had told her the day and time they planned to go. Still learning Missouri, hillbilly colloquialisms, they weren't quite sure what she meant.

The day came and Beth and Ira were ready to head to the meeting, (probably an IFCA* meeting held in nearby Galena, MO.). Beth mentioned to Ira, "We better go by Erma's** house and just make sure whether she wants to go or not." [**I don't remember the lady's real name.]

They drove by her house, and into the driveway. Sure enough, she was ready and waiting to go, watching for them to arrive. They learned that day that her response meant, 'she wouldn't mind going, she would enjoy it.' Not that 'she cared nothing about the trip, whatsoever. '

That was a close call and a fast learned lesson of another Missouri colloquialism. They were glad they decided to stop and make sure what she wanted to do and not pull a faux pas and leave her behind!

***************

There's a lot of people I do remember from that country church, even though I was only in the 4th grade and part of the 5th.

Willie and Jaunita Withnall. He was a deacon and always wore overalls. They lived by a store which I think they ran.

Mr and Mrs Jorden who had fraternal twin boys. They didn't even look like brothers. One was tall and skinny, the other was shorter and not-so-skinny. For many years, I remembered their names, but can't recall them now.

Elderly Mrs. Smith who still came to church. She was a typical, sweet little-ole-lady, bun and all. Her husband who was in his upper 90's was unable to come anymore. (I want to say he was also blind, but I'm not sure). Mom and Dad visited with them frequently. They lived in a white clapboard house, right along the edge of the road about a mile or so 'from town.' We would sit in the quaint, homey living room while Dad read scripture to the gentleman and have prayer before we left, on every visit. (Religious pictures and crocheted art hung on the walls.)

On Sunday afternoons, we would go to Wooley Creek. A group of people met there in the school house for Sunday School whether they had any preachin' or not. So we would go out and Dad would do the preachin' for the folks. The Fosters and the Jones attended Wooley Creek.

The Jones were a fairly large but poor family. Their father was like Pa in Little House on the Prairie. Their Pa played the fiddle. The kids would sing, especially three of their girls. They would lean back in the dining room chairs around the pot bellied stove, swinging their bare feet while balancing on those back chair legs, singing their lungs out! Ah, those were the days.

These days folks have an annual singing at Wooley Creek, I learned last year. I need to go.

************

(*Independant Fundamental Church of America)