Doris White Graver's Memories of Richsquare

As a child I thought Richsquare was the "little brown church in the vale." This little brick ivy-covered building has nestled there among the trees for many years now. It speaks of tranquility. The ornate bell-tower reaches heavenward, telling the story of gracious and saintly people who have worshipped there. Just beyond a grove of trees and to the rear of the church is a small cemetery with stones dating back to the early 1800's. Trim and serene it lies, with flowers blooming and birds singing. I can hear the piano playing, calling us to come inside. Happy voices sing their praise. Quiet now pervades the scene, and in the stillness prayers are being uttered. Indeed, with the writer of old, I can truly say, "No spot is so dear to my childhood as the little brown church in the vale."

* written several years ago while attending Southern Baptist Theological Seminary for a semester.

Recollections of Richsquare

I have many recollections an happy memories of Richsquare -  

the love and caring I always felt there - the quiet - 

Truman Kentworthy preaching (or speaking) and I,  

quite small, a little restless - but I can see him yet in my "mind's eye" -

I remember the really great singing - 

Mildred Johnson asking us in Sunday School class,

"Who are our fine-feathered friends?" and I,

in my innate wisdom thought of the expression,

"And how are you, my fine-feathered friends?"

(I must have been no older than six) -

I remember the pitch-in dinners

and being "totally awe-struck" by the caring

that had been put into preparing the dishes 

by everyone.

(In my "later years," I appreciate this even more!)

I remember Mable Johnson playing the piano so beautifully

to call us inside -

"The Little Brown Church in the Vale" -

the fun we had outside -

and the visiting when church was over

(and before it began!)

I remember the grape hyacinths that bloomed there at the front -

the myrtle that grew and bloomed by the fence

on the way to the cemetery - 

picking berries in the grove - 

and the violets - 

These and many other memories I have of Richsquare.

* Original Note: Doris sent the following (now above) in a letter. As I read it, it sounded to me more like poetry than prose so I took the liberty to arrange it as it appears here!  - L. Jordan

Doris White Graver

Daughter of Sidney and Gladys White

Sister of Bob, Keith, Byron, Don, and Marjorie