STOP in the name of love! Before you start reading part two, you must have read part one which is two blogs before this one, to allow an even keel.

We will wait for you.

Welcome back!

… My family first moved to Stockton, California, because my dad wanted to go to the Bible school there.

Once dad finished Bible school, the plan was to move back to Arizona where he would help out with the Spanish apostolic church…

My first memories of church took place in Stockton, California at Christian Life Center way back in the late 70s, early 80s.

I loved Christian Life Center. Its size was grand.

I loved looking up at the stained glass that was shaped like flames of fire-Holy Ghost Fire! Every Sunday evening service, I would count these flames that were lined up on both sides of the church.

With the exception of perhaps one sermon, I was too little to remember any of the preaching, but I do remember the songs, the singing.

One service, I remember Pastor Kenneth Haney, his wife and I think it was their daughter Stephanie, singing a special.

I remember the melody to the chorus, but the only lines I remember from the chorus are, “I’ll see you in the rapture, see you in the rapture…”

In my mind’s eye, I can see the three of them behind the pulpit singing that song, and it still fills me with longing and sweet hope.

And so it goes, our family started going to a Spanish apostolic church in Lathrop, California, once we moved there.

Little Missy age seven, was okay with this because something new was always exciting.

The Spanish apostolic church in Lathrop, could fit inside Christian Life Center, and although it wasn’t as pretty to me, it still passed my seven years old inspection.

The main services were done mostly in Spanish, but my Sunday School class was all in English, and when us kids sang in front of the church, all the songs were in English too.

Something that was done at this church that was new to me, was the ladies and even some of the girls wearing velos. (Velo is the Spanish word for veil, velos is plural. It’s a head covering.)

Of course, my sister and I wanted in on the velo action and mom said, yes that she would buy us each one.

So, one Sunday after Sunday School, little Missy gathered with the rest of the hermanas around hermana so and so, who carried a white box filled with velos for sale.

I waited patiently for my turn to go through the box of velos.

Finally, I was handed the box, and I took my time obsessing over each one.

Most of the velos were black in color, but it was the different colored flowers that were stitched on the black veil that made it hard to choose from.

I reasoned with myself to go with a completely white velo, thinking it would match more of my clothes.

I narrowed it down to two.

It was between a white oval shaped one that was all lace with a floral pattern, or a squared white one, trimmed in lace, with two white flowers stitched on it.

I went with the latter and couldn’t wait to wear it to be like the rest of the hermanas…

There was a cookout for the church, and Miguel’s family hosted it.

It was a very exciting occasion. There were a lot of people and a lot of good food. Us kids ran around outside playing without a care in the world.

Then, the party was over, and the people had all left.

It was almost completely dark out, but I wasn’t ready to go back inside the motorhome just yet.

I sat on the ground and started playing with the loose dirt, grabbing handfuls of it and throwing it back on the ground.

All of a sudden, unknowingly, I grabbed pieces of still hot charcoal that had been buried in the loose dirt.

Even though I let go of it right away, it did its damage.

My hand was burned.

My parents had invited Miguel’s parents to the motorhome for a nightcap of coffee and told my sibs to go to bed.

But not little Missy.

She didn’t have to go to bed.

She got to sit at the table with her mom and dad, sitting across from Miguel’s parents.

Under normal circumstances, us kids were never allowed to hang out with the adults. We were always told to get lost and stay there. (Or something to that effect.)

My parents talked with Miguel’s parents and little Missy held onto every word that was spoken while her hand danced in a bowl filled with water and ice.

I milked soaking my hand for all it was worth, and kept asking for more ice until Miguel’s parents said goodnight.

~missy salcido wead