The Church on the Corner

Harvest Baptist Church looks like your typical country church. It has one small old building, newer buildings around it, and the church members speak with thick Southern accents. The after-church socials have some of the finest Southern cuisine around, but the ladies there just call it "good home cookin'". But this is no ordinary country church... it's ten minutes from downtown Jacksonville, Florida, in the large suburb of Arlington. This is also the place where I spent much of my childhood. It was and is an interesting place, to say the least.

Preacher McCormick was, of course, the head pastor. He was your typical Southern minister. He loved his pickup truck, country gospel music, and meeting everyone in a hundred-mile radius of town. He had that Southern style of preaching which shocks the uninitiated. We teenagers sitting in the back of the church knew what was coming when he got... really... quiet... WELL GLORY! It was a SHOUTFEST! We loved watching any Yankee visitors around jump and wet their pants.

I not only attended the church, I also spent eight years in the small Christian school... seven of them around Preacher's son, Derrick. He's a nice guy, a little older than me, and the perfect cowboy. He was a big man on the rodeo circuit and spoke so countryfied he needed an interpreter to talk to Americans. Derrick won second place at State Convention in Male Poetry Recitation with a poem that began like this:

I'm just a dumb ol' countryboy.
I ain't so very smart.
And when I talk, I get mixed up.
My gears are hard to start.

The McCormick family is entertaining enough, but others also added their little twists to my time at Harvest. My friend Nicole attended school with me. I'm sure you know the type... tall, thin, big curly hair, apparent space case but still a sweetheart. Nicole had a talent I could never quite develop. I took no for an answer. "Mom, may I get some extra money?" "No." *shrug* Not her. She didn't quit until she got what she wanted. "Lara, may I borrow some money?" "Nic, I can't. I need what I have for next week." Lara, please?" "No" "Please?" "No." (a half hour later) "Please?" "AAARRGGHH! Here, now quiet."

Because I was academically advanced (we all know that's PC for "nerd"), I got stuck in ninth grade as a teacher's aide for the elementary classrooms. Those kids hated calling me "Miss Ray" as much as I hated hearing it, but school rules required it. So I always got "Miss Ray, Miss Ray" all day long, even when I wasn't working with the rugrats. One of those kids who got stuck with me was Jeremy. He was an Indiana transplant with dreams of playing for Bob Knight. He was a fun kid, but not someone to horseplay with. One day I got him in a headlock, and do you know how he got out? He blew his nose on my shirtsleeve.

I could go on for days, but Harvest is really something that has to be experienced rather than just talked about. Of course, some things have changed... Derrick retired from rodeo, Nicole is married and at another church, and little Jeremy is now 6'3" and 20 years old. But Preacher is still preaching and everyone is still waiting to give a visitor a warm Southern welcome. So if you ever go to Jacksonville, stop by the little building on Arlington Road. Meet the people, enjoy the sermon, and stick around for some good Southern cooking at the socials. Just wait until after church to buy that Big Gulp at the Seven-Eleven store across the street or you might regret it during the message.