Thirty five years ago this summer, I moved from Bolivar to Willow Springs to start my first job after college, as Associate Pastor at Trinity Baptist Church.
Young, green, know-it-all, self-rightous, intolerant, probably unloving in many ways.
I didn’t last long.
Mom and Dad followed me from Bolivar in their old station wagon with a trailer full of ‘late basement, early attic’ family furniture. I’ve long since disposed of almost all of it, save for an antique rocking chair.
This was my first-ever rental. I went directly from the college dorm to a teensy two-bedroom house with a wood-burning fireplace and a furnace with a big gas tank in the back yard. And a huge yard it was to mow, with a gas mower borrowed from Rex up the street.
I bought a waterbed a week later.
And moved less than 13 months later after a meltdown at the church.
Two photos from that move-in day: