Ken's father was a Baptist minister.  Everyone called him 'Preacher'.  When a tornado hit Pryor in April of 1942, the Baptist Church was one of many buildings that was totally wiped out.  The twister came right down main street and killed over fifty people in a town that was very small.  When I started first grade a couple of years later, many of the children in my class had lost a parent in that storm.

Preacher had been a brick mason before he went to the seminary.  He organized the men in the church into a building crew and they rebuilt the church.  One of the things that he did that made a lasting impression on my life was to install huge stained glass windows.  Four or five down each side and one large one on the front of the church that was a picture of Jesus shepherding a flock of lambs.

I was only five when they built the church, and through the years I remember looking at the windows when I probably should have been listening.  They were beautiful.  I was baptized in that church.  I was married in that church.  I called it "My Church" even though it belonged to God.

Years later when the building was too small and needed to be replaced, most of the windows were stored and  stayed in storage until after I was grown,  and my children were gone.

One of the things I promised myself I would do when I  retired from teaching was to clean off the old paint,  and see them used when we built our new auditorium.  I did that.  Two or three people helped me and we scraped paint for days and days.  It felt good.

Now when you drive down main street in Pryor you can see some of those stained glass windows.  It is not nearly as beautiful as it was in the forties, but the glass pulls at my heart.  Memories.  There are very few people left now that remember what it looked like back then.

Psalms 122:1, 7a  "I was glad when they said unto me, let us go into the house of the Lord…Peace be within your walls…"

I wish I could go back there one more time.  I can, but only if I close my eyes.