For shy little hillbilly Altha Murphy, it was a long journey from the Ozark foothills to serving in twenty-one churches during a forty-six-year period. In this memoir, The Pastor's Helpmate, Murphy shares her personal stories and anecdotes of what it was like to be the wife of a pastor who served in churches in the backwoods, small towns, and the inner city. Filled with poignant insights, Murphy illustrates how God has worked in her life. She expresses the doubts, fears, and perplexities she and her husband, Truett, experienced throughout their life with the church. The Pastor's Helpmate illustrates how she found comfort in the Bible and through relationships with parishioners, neighbors, family members, and students. She describes how her life was enriched by all of the people she met throughout the years. With honesty and humor, Murphy provides a peek into the day-to-day life of a pastor and his family. From good to bad, and sad to funny, The Pastor's Helpmate relates the joy gained from the lifetime bonds that were formed and the lessons learned during her long journey.

The Pastor's Helpmate

A Wife's-Eye View from the Parsonage WindowBy Altha Murphy

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2008 Altha Murphy
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-4415-8

Contents

Foreword.........................................xiThe Revival......................................1The Tough Times..................................3The Missions.....................................6Bowman...........................................9The Christmas Meal...............................12The Cotton.......................................14The Terror.......................................16The Goodbye......................................18Sidney: Lessons Learned..........................20The Animals......................................23Kilroy...........................................25Ruddell Hill.....................................29The Recreation...................................33The Move.........................................35The Farmhouse....................................38Mena.............................................41The Party........................................45The Healing......................................47The Seminary.....................................49Belmont..........................................53Fort Worth.......................................57The Upset........................................60The Next Church: Beech Grove.....................66The School.......................................69The Embarrassment................................72A Glass of Water.................................74The Scare........................................77Vine Street......................................79The Train........................................82Bardstown Junction...............................85The Older Ladies.................................88The New Building.................................91The Skating Party................................94The Later Churches...............................96Immanuel.........................................96Grubbs School....................................99Mount Vernon.....................................101The Flood........................................103New Hope.........................................107Strawberry.......................................108Clear Springs....................................109The Neighbors....................................112The Golden Anniversary...........................115Back to the Classroom............................118Afterword........................................121Biography........................................123

Chapter One

The Revival

Harold and Bernice Brewer, along with Truett and me, had some experiences in out-of-the-way places while we were students at Southern Baptist College (now Williams Baptist College) in Walnut Ridge, Arkansas. One such place was Charter Oak, also known as Nubbin Ridge, near Ravenden Springs. An old abandoned schoolhouse stood in that community. Harold and Truett thought perhaps they could conduct a revival there, since it had probably been years since there had been church services there, if ever. After visiting around in the community, they found enough people interested to justify trying out their plan. Truett would preach, and Harold would lead singing.

This was an experience for all of us, but especially for Bernice. She had grown up in Memphis, Tennessee, which was quite different from Nubbin Ridge, Arkansas. At times we drove from the college, but often we stayed with families in the community. They led a simple life, but they were generous and gentle toward us. They shared what they had and welcomed us into their homes. They were a hard-working people, and it was obvious life had not been easy for them.

We appreciated their hospitality. However, had we been older and wiser, I feel we would have appreciated it more.

I had always had a weak stomach. When I was growing up, I was fond of macaroni and tomatoes, and was always happy when I saw a dish of that on the table. But usually one of my big brothers, who loved to tease me, said something about what the macaroni looked like. I couldn't help it. I couldn't eat another bite. That was what he intended, because it meant more for him.

The four of us were staying with an older widow. At least, she seemed old to us. Now I realize when people are young, almost everyone else seems old. She literally lived off the land. She served food from her big garden. She knew what mushrooms were safe, and she gathered those from the woods. She served some sort of fowl she shot in the woods.

This lady also dipped snuff. I was not accustomed to that. No one in my family, including my grandmother who lived with us during her last years, had ever used tobacco in any form. I had seen people who dipped snuff or chewed tobacco with the juice running down their chins, and it was not a pretty sight.

At that time a song titled "Chew Tobacco Rag" was making its way around, especially on the radio. Harold knew about my weak stomach. He sat next to me at the table. While our hostess was at the wood cook stove, he leaned over and, under his breath, whispered these words from that song, "Chew tobacco, chew tobacco, chew tobacco rag." I thought about the snuff and wondered if some of the juice could possibly have dripped into the food. I could hardly eat after that, but didn't want the lady to be off ended. So I forced some more bites down. Harold thought the whole thing was hilarious.

Bernice suffered from eczema on her hands and couldn't put them in water. When the lady noticed, she said, "Girl, what's that on your hands?"

"I have eczema," Bernice explained. "I have been to the doctor, and he gave me something to put on them."

"Well, don't that just beat anything?" the lady said. "They sure do have newfangled names for things nowadays. We always called that the itch." Bernice's mouth flew open, but no words came out.

We had good response to the services. After it was over, we began having Sunday school and church services there on a regular basis. Some folks from Ravenden Springs attended, and we made new friends. This led to Truett's conducting some revivals in the area in later years.

Chapter Two

The Tough Times

Life wasn't always easy at Southern Baptist College. It seemed that near the end of a semester or at the beginning of a new one, discouraging circumstances always presented themselves. It was a temptation to forget school and just make a living for ourselves. Looking back, I wonder if we were being tested to see if we would stick it out.

On one such occasion, we found ourselves with no food in the house except some small sweet potatoes. Our parents were not able to help us financially, but we wouldn't have asked them, anyway. When we visited them, they gave us food from the garden and fruit. However, there was the issue of money for gas to travel to see them.

Southern had a day care program to care for students' small children. Mrs. Morgan, the school nurse, was in charge of it. The day care provided jobs for some of the student wives. Mickey Bugg, our next door neighbor, worked there on certain days. She had her husband didn't have children.

Donnie, our toddler, stayed in day care while I attended classes. He was usually good natured and easy-going. After one student had stopped by to observe the children, he said to me, "You won't ever have to worry about your boy having a nervous breakdown."

Of course, that statement piqued my curiosity. "Why do you say that?" I asked.

"He doesn't let things bother him. If another child comes along and pushes him out of his chair, he just finds another one. It's no big deal. He doesn't whine, cry, get mad, or fight back."

On that particular day, Donnie cried, and they were unable to quiet him. Mickey was working at the time. When she left for home, she took him with her. She told the nurse to tell me she had taken him, that it would be okay. She didn't tell the nurse why. She suspected he was hungry. He must have been, because when she got to their apartment, she fed him bread and milk, which happened to be all they had to eat. He stopped crying, and we picked up a happy little boy when we came home. She told us what happened. The Buggs shared their bread and milk with us, and we shared our sweet potatoes with them. We all hung in there until things got better.

On another occasion we found ourselves short on groceries. We had staples like fl our, sugar, and milk. I could make biscuits and gravy, but that was about it. It looked as if we were going to have to leave school. That night we knelt by the couch and poured out our hearts to God, asking for his guidance. Our prayer was interrupted by a knock on the door. There stood Dr. John Ed Steely, a Bible professor. He had a quart jar in his hand. "We thought you might like some huckleberries," he said.

We thanked him, and he left. We looked at each other. God must have answered our prayer before we got through praying. Why not? Isaiah 65:24NIV says, "Before they call I will answer. While they are yet speaking, I will hear. "

I lost no time getting to the kitchen. I had never eaten a huckleberry cobbler, but found myself making one. I have never had one since, but I do believe that was the best cobbler I ever tasted. Not only did we leave the table with full stomachs, but also with a stronger faith that everything was going to turn out all right. It did.

On still another occasion, groceries were scarce, as well as clothes. Murphy's Corner Baptist Church, a small congregation in Black River Baptist Association, sent a huge supply of clothes and food to the college for students' families who needed them.

We had opportunity to take what we needed. Not only did we take enough food to tide us over a rough spot, but I also got some nice clothes. All my life I had loved shoes, but until this experience, I didn't know what size I needed. My family had always ordered a pair of shoes for me in the spring, and another pair in the fall. They had been a size 7 in medium width. I found a pretty pair of pumps, but they looked narrow. I couldn't resist slipping my foot into one. They were a perfect fit. From that time on, my shoe size was 7 1/2 AA.

After we graduated Southern and Ouachita Baptist College, we moved to Louisville, Kentucky, so Truett could attend seminary. We stayed in Kentucky seventeen years where he served as pastor of churches, and I taught in public schools.

By that time, both our dads had died, and our mothers were aged widows. We felt a need to be near them during their last years. Our first church after moving back to Arkansas was Immanuel Baptist Church in Newport. We found that some members from Murphy's Corner were now members of Immanuel. I recalled the time when that congregation, though small, had shared with those training for Christian service. It was mind-boggling to realize that some of them had helped someone who would become their pastor years later. I wanted to share that bit of information with them, but my husband was not comfortable with that, so I didn't mention it. I have never forgotten the tough times. Those memories have strengthened me through other times. It etched in my mind the truth that God provides for His own, and He uses other Christians to do that.

Chapter Three

The Missions

Not long after we began attending Southern Baptist College, the Earle Baptist Church called Truett as pastor of their two missions. One was on Twist Plantation between Jonesboro and Memphis and the other at Wallin's Chapel near Earle. Sponsoring churches establish missions in areas where few people attend church. They support the missions financially, and send personnel to work as long as needed. The purpose is to support the mission until it is able to become a church on its own.

In these two missions, each one had church services twice a month. They met each week for Sunday school and Training Union. At that time, no one from the Earle church was helping out at Wallin's Chapel. A lady named Mrs. Brawley was in regular attendance at Twist. She was a gentle, capable Christian who had great influence in that community.

The Twist plantation reminded me of the historical accounts I had studied in the history of the Old South. Families lived there as sharecroppers. They bought all their supplies at the company store many times going in debt for seed, fertilizer, and other products needed to raise their crops. At harvest time in the fall, the profits were divided between them and the owner of the land. At that time they settled the debt they had charged at the store for the year.

Besides our mission on the plantation, a congregation consisting of African Americans attended another church. They invited Truett to preach for them one Sunday afternoon. He accepted the invitation without a second thought. These people were friendly, supportive, and seemed to enjoy the service. He felt good about the experience. However, the next weekend, there was a little mumbling and grumbling among some of our members. Although the majority had no problem with it, a few felt it was inappropriate, but that's all that ever came of it. After he was criticized and called a very descriptive name, the issue was laid to rest.

Truett's parents and sister, Gladys, lived in Lake City at that time. His other sister, Johnnye, lived in Jonesboro. At times we spent Saturday nights with them on our way to the missions. We always had to get back home on Sunday night to be there for Monday's classes.

The St. Francis River usually overflowed in the spring. Once, on the way home, we had to drive through water that came into our car. Our car was not the latest model. For a while it had the glass out of the door on the driver's side. We took care of that by placing a raincoat to cover the empty space. One weekend the back of the driver's seat fell off on our way home. Truett said, "If you could sit in the back seat and hold the back of my seat up, I could do a better job driving." I looked the situation over, tried it for a few minutes, then laid the back down.

"No, thanks, I'll pass on that one," I told him. It must have been uncomfortable for him, but what were his options? We had to get home to be at school the next morning.

Donnie was two at the time. He slept in the back seat without missing a wink. Those were the days before restraints for children. For the remainder of his life, he could sleep anywhere under any circumstance. All he needed was room to stretch out. I look back on those early years thinking, It's no wonder. He was conditioned at a young age to take advantage of every opportunity.

We had fun on those trips to Wallin's Chapel. We often spent Saturday nights with a young couple. On some occasions, the men went frog gigging and brought back a large amount of bull frogs. I had never eaten frog legs. If they didn't do something (cut a nerve, I think), those legs jumped and quivered in the skillet. With my queasy stomach, it was hard to get the first bites down, especially if I had seen them frying. However, by now I had learned that one accepted with grace the hospitality offered in any home, and was grateful for it. Once I got past the memory of seeing them fried, I discovered they were quite tasty. Not a lot different from chicken, I decided. A few years later, I even found myself cooking frog legs, after the nerve had been cut, of course. However, if I now eat at a restaurant serving them, I choose another meat.

At other times, the men would come home with a rabbit or two. I was accustomed to eating rabbit meat, but not the way this couple served it. They made tamales with it, and they were delicious.

Today I wouldn't look forward to driving through deep water, going down the road with a raincoat serving as a window, or having the back off the driver's seat. We didn't worry about it then. We took it in stride, facing one day at a time. Those experiences made for a deep appreciation when things got better.

Today preachers and their families don't spend much time in church members' homes. They don't often enjoy being invited to those Sunday dinners when the children had to wait until the adults ate before their turn. Often those children hoped and prayed all the chicken legs wouldn't be gone before they got to the table. Memories of those meals are precious. Even more precious are memories of the fellowship, the laughter, the sharing of each others' lives. Life was simpler, more carefree. Yes, there were sorrows, but those were also shared. Bonds were formed that lasted a lifetime.

Chapter Four

Bowman

Truett graduated from the two-year college in the spring of 1951. Since I had taken only twelve hours my first semester, I had to attend the first summer session to graduate. By that time, we were no longer going to Twist and Wallin's Chapel, but had a mission from the Lake City Baptist Church.

That church sponsored three missions: Bowman, Cothern, and Lower Poplar Ridge. Three students at Southern were serving as mission pastors. Marvin Reynolds was at Lower Poplar Ridge, Bobby Allen at Cothern, and Truett at Bowman. We traveled from the college on weekends until we graduated, then we moved to Bowman.

The Bowman school district had consolidated with Lake City, so the mission met in what had been the school building. It had four huge rooms with a hall down the center. We held services in the room on the southeast corner.

I had a contract to teach first grade at Lake City beginning in the fall, and Truett had one to drive a school bus there. The men of the church made us an apartment at Bowman on the southwest corner of the building. We were happy with the arrangement. We wouldn't have to pay rent and electricity. We wouldn't have to drive on weekends, and we could live in the community with our church people. We would be within three miles of the school where we would be employed.

From the huge room, the men partitioned off a living room and kitchen. That left space for a large bedroom. Besides having room for our beds and other furniture, there was plenty of storage room. It was the only place we ever lived where we could go to church by walking across the hall.

We were not allowed to have Sunday evening services at the mission. People were expected to attend training union and worship services at the mother church each week. Several of our people didn't go to those evening services.

After a time, we, along with the majority of the other members, felt that we were strong enough to organize into a church. Members of the Lake City church did not agree. Some said, "Of the three missions, Bowman is the least likely to survive as a church. The other two are not ready, but they would have a better chance of making it on their own."

That didn't prevent the people at Bowman from going forward with plans to organize. In spite of opposition, we organized with twenty-seven charter members. Two families went back to Lake City, but there were no hard feelings. That was their choice to make. They had probably come there with the intention of helping as long as they were needed. We ordained Leland Cummings, Bill Little, and Lehman Blackshear as deacons in the new church.

(Continues...)

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