Mary Marcia
America's STORYTELLERTelling Untold Stories in Photographs, Prose and Public Speaking
http://tellmeastory-marcia.blogspot.com/
The Hillside Baptist Church in Dallas, Texas, is now a grain store, but memories of what happened on Christmas Eve 1922, at the Hillside Baptist Church are still very much alive.
We have Vinny Diesel to thank for telling us the story.
I'm honored that Vinny trusted me to share his story, "GLORY TO GOD."
Vinny's story is destined to be a Christmas classic. I knew it the moment he told it to me.
This story of a little boy's prayer, and his letter to Santa must be as dear to the heart of God as any prayer could ever be.
2013
JOURNEY TO CHRISTMAS
GLORY
TO GOD
by
Vinny
Diesel
Copyright 2013
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Most of my cows live up to 25 years. Jean is one of the oldest cows I have right now. Jean is 22 years old, and the great-great-great granddaughter of Troy and Vinny.
I'm 98 years old. I was born in 1915.
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The first cow in my herd was my namesake, Vinny. I named him after me. I thought he was a male. It was too late to change his name when I discovered she was a female milking cow.
I'd been a good boy that year...in 1922. I was seven years old. I volunteered to make two cows for our elementary school project: a wooden nativity.
My best friend, Ethan, and his family had cows. I called Ethan's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Milk-it. Why? Because Ethan told me his parents touched the cow's tits (teets). Mamma wouldn't let me say the word 'tits' in the house - so I called them Mr. and Mrs. Milk-it.
I used to go out to Ethan's barn at least three times a week. Ethan's mom was my English teacher. I had trouble with English. Ethan's dad offered to tutor me at their house. He taught me how to spell in the barn around the cows. I remember things were always better when I was around cows. I scrubbed them with soap, and wrote my spelling words in the lather on the cows.
I asked Santa to give me a baby cow that year (1922). I saw my brother write a letter to Santa on formal paper. He dipped the fountain pen in the ink well to write it.
I was so busy I didn't write my letter to Santa until Christmas Eve. I had just finished eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, so I wrote Santa on the back of a napkin with a red crayon. I ate part of the crayon because it looked good for some reason.
My letter went somethin' like this:
Dear Mr. Santa Claus,
I need a baby cow, because I want to start my own farm. When I grow up I want to be a farmer. Just leave the baby cow in my front yard, and that will be much appreciated - or I will come and hunt you down, and take a cow from your house.
Vinny
P.S.
My daddy gave me a gun.
I did not threaten Santa. I just mentioned about my gun. I asked Mom to approve it.
"Vinny, you might not want to tell Santa that you got a Smith & Wesson shotgun," Mom said.
My name was engraved on the stock, where the wooden part is, that you lean against your shoulder.
"And Vinny, "Mom said, "You've got some left over peanut butter and jelly on that napkin."
"Santa won't care about the napkin," I told Mom, "and about the gun - I'm just making sure he knows where I stand."
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I gave my letter to the mailman on Christmas Eve, but I thought my letter might get to Santa too late. I thought maybe - just maybe I should ask God for a baby cow, and God would relay the message to Santa.
I prayed: "Hey, God...If you really love me, you will tell Santa I want a baby cow. We're going to church tonight, and take the Lord's Supper. Then I'm gonna donate all the money I have in the offering bucket. The least you can do is give me a baby cow. Amen."
I went up to my room, and put my suit on. Mom hollered that it was time to go. Service at the Hillside Baptist Church in Dallas started at 7 PM.
Mom, Dad, my brother and I all got into an old blue pickup truck. Maybe it was a Ford. Right as we pulled out of the driveway, Mom said she forgot something in the house. She got out, and headed back in the house. She said she would catch a ride with Mrs. Phillips, our neighbor.
Church had just started when we arrived. We sat in the middle pew. Pastor Anthony started singing, Amazing Grace, and asked us to pick up the hymnals. We sang a couple other songs, and Pastor began to talk about the Nativity story.
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"Who will volunteer to come up and help me? We have costumes and cards so everyone will know what to say," said Pastor Anthony.
Pastor wrote dialogue on the back of his wife's recipe cards.
They got a Mary. Her name was Sandy O'Reilly. I had the biggest crush on Sandy. She had flaming red hair, and she wore it in two braids. She wore her mommy's perfume and it smelled like, well..really strong flowers. She had on a pink dress that she bought in Dallas. I saw it in the window at Macy's a few days before Christmas Eve. Sandy wore white socks with lace, and black patent-leather Mary Jane shoes. At the end of her piggy tails, her mommy put pink ribbons tied in bows.
They used a doll for Baby Jesus - a black baby doll. There was controversy about the black baby doll after church.
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Pastor Anthony was a hunter and taxidermist.
He like to use the animals he stuffed in the Nativity. There were a couple lambs, a couple goats, a dog, and a bear he named SMOKEY.
Pastor kept most of his stuffed animals in his office at church. I had seem them many times. Whenever kids got in trouble at school, the church ladies always found out about it, and we were summoned to the pastor's office for a talk.
A stuffed goat sat on Pastor's couch.
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A squirrel that Pastor named Jimmy, stood on his office desk
by his window.
He put an acorn with it.
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stuffed cat
Pastor called
Meow Meow
that he found
on the side of the road.
We think
it was
our
neighbor's cat.
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Sandy had a parakeet that died.
Her momma asked Pastor to stuff it. It creeped out Sandy, so Pastor kept it.
The parakeet stood on the back of the preacher's chair in his office.
Normally, we don't see all the animals. Some Sundays his bear, SMOKEY, greeted people with a sign on his paw that said, "WELCOME."
Pastor made homemade perfume spray that smelled like barbeque that he sprayed on SMOKEY. I could smell it when we came in church. It always made me hungry.
Pastor's wife didn't like the stuffed animals, so they stayed in his office at church.
One of my friends, Bobby, said the animals in the church office weren't real. I wanted to prove him wrong. So my best friend, Ethan, and Bobby and I snuck down to the basement of Pastor Anthony's house. He lived only a couple blocks away from me.
Back then Pastor never locked his door, and everybody knew it. We found a half-skinned bear in the basement that Pastor was working on. It creeped us out. Bobby peed his pants. We laughed as we ran out.
"Who will be Joseph?" Pastor Anthony asked that Christmas Eve.
No one volunteered.
Suddenly my brother yelled out: "Vinny would love to be Joseph!"
Dad looked at me: "God bless you, Vinny."
What could I do?
I got up, and walked down the isle. It felt like every eye was upon me. Pastor and SMOKEY greeted me at the altar. Did I mention that I had stage fright? I was the kid who always sat at the back of the room so I wouldn't be called on.
I don't know whether I was more nervous to be standing by Sandy, or to read notes off the back of the recipe card. I was afraid I might read the wrong side of the recipe card, and say something like "two cups of sugar" instead of what Joseph was supposed to say.
Joseph's costume was too small for me, and his robe split down the middle. I just went with it. It worked.
My love, Sandy, laughed at me.
I was laughing at her, too, because of the pillow she put in her tummy.
We sang more songs, and Pastor told the Nativity story.
The only line I had to do was turn to the shepherds and say: "Is there room in the Inn?" And to the audience I said: "Wow! Can you imagine asking that question about 2000 years ago?"
Pastor Anthony turned off the lights.
It was dark.
Some lady helped take the pillow out of Sandy.
When the lights came back on, Sandy and I were holding and rocking the black Baby Jesus in our arms. We tried to put Baby Jesus in the manger, but something happened. His head fell off. It rolled down the stairs, and continued to roll halfway down the center isle between the church pews.
It got quiet.
I yelled out: "GLORY TO GOD."
Everyone started laughing.
I fetched Baby Jesus' head, held it up between my hands, and crawled back on stage.
Sandy stood there with her mouth open, and one eyebrow raised.
"Baby Jesus needs to lay in His manger," I told Sandy. "We'll get him a doctor tomorrow."
Laughter rang out in the church.
I noticed Mamma showed up toward the end. She laughed hysterically. My little brother tugged on Mom and Dad's clothes and asked them questions. They couldn't answer because they laughed so hard.
Pastor Anthony said, "Thank you for volunteering, Vinny, and thank you for your dialogue. It blessed the Lord."
I went back to my seat.
Mamma put her hands around my shoulders: "Vinny, what made you think to say 'Glory to God'?"
"Mamma," I said, "I asked God to give me a sign if He was going to give me a baby cow, and I figured when Baby Jesus' head rolled off - it was His sign that He got the word to Santa, and Santa was going to give me a baby cow. So I said, 'Glory to God'."
"My precious sweetheart," Mamma said. "That is very interesting, but don't tell that to the pastor. Just tell him you were overwhelmed with the goodness of God."
"OK, Mamma," I said.
All the way home, my brother asked questions. "Mom, was Jesus black?"
Mamma said, "Actually, yes."
He asked Dad: "Did Jesus' head really roll off when He was born?"
"I don't think so," Dad said.
A thousand questions later, Mom and Dad gave one word replies: "Yes. No. Maybe."
We were all happy to get out of the truck.
Mom ran to the front door, and wouldn't let us in.
She said: "Boys, don't come in until I tell you to. If you come in - bad things will happen to you."
Ten minutes later I heard, "Owwww!" from Mom.
Then she opened the door and let us in.
I looked under the tree. There was a BIG blanket spread out on the floor. It was an old quilt that Mom made from potato sacks. She used to cut the potato sacks in pieces, and then she sewed them all together to make patchwork quilts. Some of the merchants at the stores in Dallas even saved fabric squares for Mamma.
There were lots of presents under our Christmas tree.
I swore I saw that patchwork quilt move.
"I think we should let Vinny open his present first, since it might eat all the other presents."
All I heard was: "Let Vinny open his present first."
I pulled the quilt off - and there - laid a baby cow! It was all brown, with a white patch from the top of his head all the way down his nose. His fur was soft like he had just taken a bath. He didn't make a noise. He probably weighed about 50 pounds.
I had asked for a cow for a long time, and here it was! Later, Mamma told me she bought my baby cow at the Dallas Farmer's Market. She hid it in our neighbor, Mrs. Phillips' garage, and then snuck the cow in our house on Christmas Eve, and put it in the screened porch until we got back from church.
Mamma asked me to put my baby cow back in the screened porch until we opened more presents. I opened more presents. Mamma gave me shears for my cow, and a harness.
"I'm willing to drive you everyday to the ranch, so you can take care of your cow, Vinny," Mamma said.
We had ranch hands that could have taken care of my cow, but Mamma wanted to teach me responsibility. Everyday, after school, she drove me two hours to our ranch, so I could take care of my namesake, Vinny. I named him after me. I thought he was a male. It was too late to change his name when I discovered she was a female milking cow.
Troy, my first Texas longhorn, and Vinny mated. That was the beginning of my first herd. They had a set of twins: a boy and a girl I named Ashton and Marilyn.
Jean is one of the oldest cows I have right now. Jean is 22 years old, and the great-great-great granddaughter of Troy and Vinny.
I'm 98 years old. I was born in 1915.
Things were always better when I was around cows.
I love my cows, and I know each of the 93 females and 15 male Texas longhorns by name. I helped deliver most of them. I know which pair made them, and who is the son of who and the daughter of who.
GLORY
TO GOD
by
Vinny
Diesel
Copyright 2013
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| thegraphicsfairy.com |
Thanks
for
stopping
by!
Come
back
often,
and
invite
a
friend!
Merry
Christmas!
Mary Marcia
America's STORYTELLER
Telling Untold Stories in Photographs, Prose and Public Speaking
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