It started. Exactly on time. The weather men and women said that it would. Around 2:00 p.m., the snow would begin to fall, then it would fall and fall and fall. Falling all through the night, leaving inches and inches of snow.
We Midwesterners know the drill. We head to the grocery stores in throngs, acting as if milk may never be delivered to the refrigerated coolers again. When I was there, late morning, around 11:00, there were only two carts left for pushing purposefully through the aisles. When I was at the gym around noon, the closings were starting their slow scroll along the bottom of the screen. It’s not just the schools who were dismissing early and canceling evening activities. The Baptists were canceling Wednesday night prayer meeting, left and right. All praying would have to commence from home.
I was raised Baptist. I know for a fact that Baptists are not comfortable with Sunday-morning-only church attendance. They like to go on Sunday evening too. And to qualify as a truly faithful Baptist, Wednesday evening prayer and Bible study is highly suggested. It’s like extra credit with God. I know all this to be true because my daddy was a Southern Baptist minister, and I got lots of extra credit growing up.
I don’t ever recall my father, Preacher Bill, canceling church because of the weather. Of course, we lived right next door to the church, so unless it was another flood of biblical proportion, he could always buckle on his boots, cross the yard, turn on the lights, and wait to see who of God’s people were going to show.
But I do remember one Wednesday night when nobody came for his show. Looking back, it seems like even the spirit of the Lord failed to make his presence known.
I was probably about eight or nine years old. Somehow, I was allowed to stay home. I’m sure it wasn’t just because of the weather. I must have been sick, and it had to be with the measles or something highly contagious. We didn’t get to stay home because we had a stuffy nose, not even on Wednesday night.
