The Preacher, the Poet, and the Pianist

In the Beginning … Before I start the narrative of the Preacher, the Poet, and the Pianist, I must first tell you about Mickey, for that’s where it all began. Mickey was my high school sweetheart. In small-town Decatur, Georgia, just outside the capital city, in the 1950’s most students walked home from school carrying our books in our arms. Bookbags were non-existent. One radiant Indian Summer afternoon awash with the deep ochers and reds of early November, a boy came up beside me and offered to carry my books, typical act of teenage gallantry in those days. It so happened that his house was in my neighborhood so our paths home were the same. I was so shy and sheltered that I barely glanced at him, just enough to see that he was quite handsome with dark hair and blue-green eyes. I did notice the big senior ring on his finger. He told me his name and asked for mine. He said that he was in my algebra class, but I was so focused on the math and being an all-A student that I didn’t remember or recognize him. That was it—until a few days later he phoned my house (Back then all residential and business telephone users were listed alphabetically in the “Phone Book.”) and asked me if I would like to go to a movie with him Saturday night. I was only 14 and had never been out on a date so I knew Mama would instantly say no. Surprise, surprise! She said she knew him from the local Colonial grocery store where he was a bag boy and had met his mother there. “He’s a nice Christian boy,” she said and not only okayed the date but also said we should buy me a new outfit to wear. Surprise again. All my clothes were hand-me-downs from my two older sisters. The next afternoon she took me to Belk’s Department Store on the town square and purchased a stunning black velvet pencil skirt with a matching red top trimmed at the collar and cuffs with the black velvet. It was my first grown-up looking outfit. Things were happening so fast. Before I knew it, Saturday was here and Mickey was at the front door. And bigger surprises were coming. The film was not showing in the local Decatur movie house but in the fabulous Fox Theater on Peachtree Street in downtown Atlanta! I was wide-eyed at the lavish Arabian décor of the entire theater. The moving clouds and twinkling stars in the lofty ceiling made it seem like we were wandering in some ancient and exotic Persian city. But the biggest surprise of all: no Alfred Hitchcock, no Clark Gable, Marilyn Monroe, or Marlon Brando, no Hollywood stars. The movie was a Billy Graham film about a young woman who had temper tantrums. Now I was a pretty good child but I had a strong will and a temper that was not always controlled. Mama called me her “black sheep” and her little “angel with horns.” Billy’s message hit me hard. Even though Mama had told us girls the story of Jesus and we were all members of a Presbyterian church, I realized I had never confessed my sins and accepted Jesus into my heart as Savior. I never really thought much about all that. I was too busy trying to make good grades and having fun with my family and friends. While the audience sang “Just As I Am” tears began to saturate my red top. I couldn’t stop them. I wanted to go forward to receive Jesus but I was on my first date with a boy I had learned was immensely popular at school, a senior, president of student government, second officer in the ROTC and captain of the rifle team. What could I do but stand there and cry. And we were up in the balcony. It would have been a long walk to the orchestra pit where Christian workers were greeting the penitents. I don’t remember much about the rest of our date. We may have gone to Howard Johnson’s for ice cream or Krispy Kreme for doughnuts. All I could think about was my need of Jesus. I was desperate to find a place that offered the opportunity to go forward to receive Jesus. They didn’t do that at my church. Maybe at another church. The next Saturday night Mickey took me to a Youth for Christ rally. Mostly high school students in attendance. Everyone seemed so joyful during the singing. No wonder. They had Jesus. The special music was a duet sung by Henry and Louise Grosh, a couple that seemed to be in charge. Not only were the voices beautiful, but the song was so moving that it touched that sensitive “I need Jesus” spot in my heart. Sunday morning I grabbed the Journal-Constitution before Daddy got up and took it to my room. I scanned the Church Announcements section and found that an Assembly of God church, meeting temporarily in an old abandoned movie theater building not too far away, was having a revival all week. I knew right away that was the place I needed to go. Mama agreed to take me Wednesday night. A petit middle-aged woman was the evangelist. The pastor introduced her as Sister Louise Nankerville. She wore a long, rough sackcloth dress and spoke softly. I was among those who raised a hand when she asked if anyone wanted prayer. She invited us to stand and then come forward. I did. A Christian lady helped me to confess my sinfulness and receive Jesus. I felt a million pounds lift off my heart. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any better, the pastor took the microphone and in a rich baritone voice sang “Now I belong to Jesus, Jesus belongs to me. Not for the years of time alone, but for eternity.” Yes, there were tears, tears of JOY!!