copyright Grace Albaugh 2009
Saturday, hubby and I attended the baptism of a mother and her two sons at our church. It was a wonderfully spiritual event and it lifted my heart to see this sweet woman want to live her life connected to our Father in Heaven and his son Jesus Christ.
Mother and daddy never had me baptised when I was an infant. I don't know why? My brother and sister who are older than I were. This created much fear in the hearts of my dear neighbor friends. When daddy died I was only eight years old. Poor Linda and Lisa, who were good Catholic girls, were convinced that I would never see my father again because I was not baptised. We sat in their bedroom as they cried for me and my loss. Needless to say I ran home and told mother we needed to rectify this immediately. She could see how troubled I was so she called our Pastor at St Phillips Lutheran Church and arranged for me to be baptised the next Saturday. It was a private affair attended by my mother, siblings, and a few family friends.
About an hour before the little service took place mother called me in from playing outside and asked me to wash up and change my clothes. I did the same "good" job of washing up that any eight year old would do and got into my dress and patten leather shoes. Off to the church we went and Pastor Bob had gentle and loving words for me. He bathed my forehead in sacred baptismal waters and took a linen napkin embroidered with a cross to dry it. He gently wiped underneath my bangs and what emerged was a beautiful linen cloth smudged with a days worth of dirt. Mother was mortified but our dear friends and Pastor Bob thought it was perfect. What else would you expect at the baptism of an active eight year old?
(this picture is the linen napkin from my baptism. Mother had it framed dirt and all)
Mother and daddy never had me baptised when I was an infant. I don't know why? My brother and sister who are older than I were. This created much fear in the hearts of my dear neighbor friends. When daddy died I was only eight years old. Poor Linda and Lisa, who were good Catholic girls, were convinced that I would never see my father again because I was not baptised. We sat in their bedroom as they cried for me and my loss. Needless to say I ran home and told mother we needed to rectify this immediately. She could see how troubled I was so she called our Pastor at St Phillips Lutheran Church and arranged for me to be baptised the next Saturday. It was a private affair attended by my mother, siblings, and a few family friends.
About an hour before the little service took place mother called me in from playing outside and asked me to wash up and change my clothes. I did the same "good" job of washing up that any eight year old would do and got into my dress and patten leather shoes. Off to the church we went and Pastor Bob had gentle and loving words for me. He bathed my forehead in sacred baptismal waters and took a linen napkin embroidered with a cross to dry it. He gently wiped underneath my bangs and what emerged was a beautiful linen cloth smudged with a days worth of dirt. Mother was mortified but our dear friends and Pastor Bob thought it was perfect. What else would you expect at the baptism of an active eight year old?
(this picture is the linen napkin from my baptism. Mother had it framed dirt and all)
2 comments:
Great story, Grace. Reminds me of how our pediatrician always checked our kids legs for bruises -- to make sure they were active and getting plenty of chances to scramble and climb. He earns a spot as a top doc every year!
A little dirt never hurts! I have a friend, who was baptized when she was 3 - she cried out that water was going in her eyes and she need her sunglasses! Great post!
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