September 1983. I was fresh out of college, and working in a Baptist church in a small town in south-central Missouri.
This was a thousand lifetimes ago.
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:
It’s wedding season.
This shot — of me kissing my sister Karen — was taken as she departed her wedding in 1984, at First Baptist Church, Lee’s Summit:
Interestingly to me, Beth’s then-boyfriend is at far right, and my cousin Cindy is immediately left of him in the photo, holding her infant son who is now one of my aunt/uncle’s primary caregivers.