A few Sundays ago, when our pastor was on the sick list, our old friend Waltor Stokes conducted services at First Presbyterian Church.
He apologized for his efforts, not only as he began his talk, but throughout the course of his remarks and also at the conclusion of the same.
Yet, from our seat on the third row left, we thought Stokes was doing very well indeed, he discussed Christian living, not only according to standards set by the Apostle Paul, but also as Waltor himself had encountered it in his own life's work which is the YMCA.
As we told him afterward, Old Stuff has never needed a spellbinder at sermon-time. All we want is assurance that the party doing the preaching is sincere in what he says. We don't necessarily have to agree with him either. Sometimes it’s more interesting to disagree.
Anyhow Y-secretary Stokes did a good job of pulpit supply and we told him so. And that reminds us of the Cottage Prayer Services, in various Presbyterian homes around town last week, wherein folks gathered, sang a few hymns, offered sentence prayers, and listened to discussions of prayer by various laymen and laywomen of our church.
These services were planned and carried through as a means of preparing us Calvinists for this week's revival with Dr. John W. Melton of Baton Rouge as a guest minister.
Let's all turn out to as many meetings per day as we can, and make Russell Nunan beam with pride in his flock. Sort of like the way he beams, on a Sunday morning when he's christening a child of the covenant. It can be done, and we ought to do it.
Personally, we believe in prayer, and we surely believe in giving it a chance. And wo are thinking of the Scotch Presbyterian who stood up in Kirk to pray that time. Quote:— "Oh Lord help us to be right always, in fact, Lord help us start out right, for Ye know Yeself Lord, we are fairly haird to turn."
One afternoon last fall we went out to Washington County General Hospital to see Mr. Tyler Nash who had long been a patient there. Now Mr. Nash was getting every sort of attention from the hospital Itself, as well as from his nurses, doctors, and loved ones. But we thought that if we took our banjo out there, and played a few old-time tunes for him, it might mean a little something extra in the way of amusement or at Ieast diversion.
Mrs. Irene Allen was on duty as Mr. Nash's special nurse when we went up to his room to serenade him. She found us a chair, we sat down, made a few adjustments to the C and D strings, then squared away withh a breakdown tune. The old boy seemed to enjoy it, and called for more. After several rather lively numbers, we drifted into "Old Kentucky Home" and were playin’ the chorus a second time when we looked up and saw tears running down Mr. Nash's cheeks.
"I wish I could go home", he said. "Well sir, Mrs. Allen and I will pray that you do".
Now "home" to Tyler Nash is no longer Kentucky, for he counts himself a Mississippian from West Point (in a county that's named for Kentucky's Henry Clay). He came there as a young man, his children grew up there, and it was there that he and "Frisk" (his beloved wife) faced the sunset of their lives together. The prayers may have helped too, for Mr. Nash is back home now in West Point. His beloved "Frisk" is gone to God's upper and better kingdom, but memories of her are all over the place, and Papa Nash is right where he wants to be.
— BC
