I was very young when we attended the cult church so I don’t remember everything that happened there but I do remember sitting in church for hours. My mom was great to bring snacks and activities for me to pass the time. I probably made the best tissue flowers out of any preschooler alive. The adult women were supposed to wear skirts or dresses wether they were in church or not. I don’t recall anyone but my Grandmama and Mommay (great grandma) adhering to that rule. You were supposed to live off the bare minimums. This, of course, was so you could give more money to the church. You were always heavily encouraged to give more to the church. As far as the services go, I believe there was everything Pentecostal minus any snake handling. Shouting, fainting, speaking in tongues, laying on of hands. Don’t get me wrong, I believe in receiving the Holy Spirit and His gifts, I’m just saying there was a lot of that going on.
This sort of brings me to the wringer washer burn. We lived in the country very near to my maternal grandparents and at some point, my aunt and uncle. We all lived in trailers and my grandparent’s lived with my two aunts and one uncle in this tiny trailer with a built on room or two. I remember it being small as a young child so you know it had to be small. Anyway, my grandmama was in the kitchen washing clothes with a wringer washer which is a large metal tub with two rolling pins above it that squeeze the water out for you for those of you too young to know. She left to go get some more clothes to wash and told me sternly, “don’t get near that wringer washer!” (Apparently I was obsessed). Well, I didn’t waste any time pulling a stool up to the washer and trying to put something through the wringer. As I struggled to get the clothes in the wringers, the tiny fingers on my left hand got caught with the clothing. Before I knew it my arm was halfway through and all I could do was yell for my Grandmama. She came running and opened the pins to release my arm. It had pulled through 3/4 of my arm with friction burning and at my elbow it had been stuck for a bit and the wound was very deep. My grandmother soaked my arm in a stainless steel tub full of ice water then put salve on it an bandaged it up. She and my uncle, who is a pastor, (and I’m sure others) prayed over it and I went on my way. I’ve been told not too long afterward it became infected and after a good cleaning, it was prayed over again by my uncle and it healed up rather quickly. I never went to the Dr. for it. So, there’s a good example of laying on of hands. I’ve seen it work many times so I can’t disbelieve.
My uncle and family left the cult church not too many years after all that realizing they had been bamboozled. My uncle is actually a very well known and respected pastor in Texas now and the scar on my slowly shrunk from 3/4 of my arm as I grew to only about 1/4 at the elbow. It was definitely a memorable time.
A Southern Gals Take on Daily Life 