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Creative Designer & Sunday school teacher. Remember God is constant, Fashion is always evolving. I Love to write I think at times it may even the best way to communicate.
I am a mom of three middle school girls, growing, teaching them and learning along the way.
I hope to grow and inspire others with my life and writing.
** I had to edit my first post to achieve the proper word count for the entry.
The frilly dress, shiny black shoes and those itchy socks with the lace ruffles on the cuff and I was ready to go. It was one of those hot, sunny Sunday's when mom would dress me up to join grandma to worship service. This was summer and our journey had just begun. First we had to catch a cab. We stood in what I guess I would describe as some sort of side by side line and waved down our ride as the drivers shouted out their routes, by the time it made its way down to our street it would always be packed. It was full with people headed to different places, some headed to work, others to school, us to church. Somehow grandma and I always found a way to join three other people in the back seat of the overcrowded one way cab. It was like any other day for them but for me it was only a summer experience. I was accustomed to comfort, air conditioning and a hail cabbed without having to make a busy line. Since the cabs didn't make requested stops, we would get off somewhere along the route where we could easily walk the rest of the way in New York that would never happen. The cab would have left us right at the doorstop. But this wasn't New York and we would have to walk in the heat, at least there was shade along the way even if it was sparingly. When we would walk, we were enveloped by the joyous noise we heard, it was the chorus of singing and the upbeat sounds of the tambourines that were coming from the church. They sang, praised, shouted “Hallelujah'' and shook those tambourines so loudly that it could be heard three streets down. I remember the grey unfinished floors, the dull wooden benches, the smell of tomato sauce from the corner store, the kids laughing while they played in front of the steps. At home there were no children laughing outside, no pleasant aromas, the floors were polished, the wooden benches were new in comparison and had a comfort built in so when you prayed you could kneel easily with complete comfort. The moment I stepped up the two high cement steps, and even though I was holding grandma's hand, I felt like a big girl. We made our way in slowly. The women all in short sleeve knee length dresses sat at the front and fanned themselves continuously. The young ones did it furiously, while the elder ladies did with a sort of patience and grace. The men wore buttoned down crisp shirts with ties regardless of the heat and the nonexistent air conditioner or fans. I would choose where we would sit. I looked forward to picking our seats, this was one of the best parts of going with grandma. It was kind of her to let me choose especially since I always saw the grownups sit first and then shuffle their kids in after them. Once I chose the seats we would join in the praise; we began singing and clapping our hands to the rhythm without missing a beat. The music stopped after four or five songs and everyone took out their bibles. Some bibles were in cases, some were just pulled out of purses, still others were already in hand ready to be opened, most were leather black or brown but there was the occasional one or two red ones that stood out. When we sat I was always in awe of grandma; she looked so stoic which was a true feat considering the heat. It was amazing. She almost looked like she was prepared to give a speech. The preacher would begin by reading the word, at times some would stand and share testimonies of the inspiring things that God had made possible in their lives. I can't remember one testimonial in particular but they were always met with a roar and an amen or hallelujah in the end. The pastor would then give the congregation a blessing and everyone would file their ways out of the pews quickly. We walk down the steps greeting each other and saying goodbyes on the way out. What would always catch me by surprise is that even though the service was several hours, it was hot and the young kids were fidgeting, no one ever seemed to be in a rush, not even grandma. Once outside the aroma of tomato sauce from the corner store seemed like it was calling to me. I was always hungry by the end. We waved our final goodbye's and grandma smiled. Her smiles were the best and she always had the biggest ones right after service. It was like she was floating on air. I always wondered whether she was reflecting on the preacher's words or was she thinking about the lunch that was waiting for us. Mom went all out on Sunday meals. Grandma and I would then finally begin our trek back home, the walk, the line, the crowded one way cab and as grandma dropped me off I would begin to wonder where we would sit next time and what frilly dress was I gonna wear. I looked forward to her happy smile and to our everything but ordinary trip to Sunday service.
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