On the Occasion of My Church’s 150th Birthday Part 2: The Youth Years

Can I share something up front? Looking back over my student years (back then we called it youth ministry), I wish I had been more involved. I was involved during my middle school years, but during high school I drifted away. I still attended Sunday School regularly, but that comprised the majority of my involvement. I became consumed with school and grades and extracurricular activities and work, and church fell by the wayside. Do you know what’s sweet though? My teachers and friends at church never stopped asking, never stopped trying to get me to come to stuff.

Without further ado, seventh grade. After I touted my super stellar memory, I realized last night that I cannot, for the life of me, remember who taught my seventh grade Sunday School class. If that was you, my utmost apologies. Seventh grade brought yet another building transition. This time we moved to the Ruth Ray Hunt Youth Building. When they say First Baptist Dallas takes up five city blocks, they’re not lying. And seventh grade was on the fifth floor. And there was one elevator. Most Sundays my youthful legs propelled me up the five flights, but every once in a while I took the elevator along with 20 to 30 of my closest (at that moment) friends to the top floor.

I didn’t include any choir memories in my previous installment, but this go round, I’m going to change that. The summer after seventh grade, the Clarion Choir went on tour to Washington, D.C. I remember Tennessee was a long state to drive through. The bus ride was also my introduction to Veggie Tales; I learned to sing silly songs. My seventh grade self didn’t fully appreciate the amazingness that was D.C. I remember we went to Arlington National Cemetery. I also remember the hideous red, white and blue polo shirts we wore on the regular. And I remember learning how to wash them by hand in the sink with Woolite and letting them dry overnight. Except they didn’t, and the next day I wound up wearing a damp shirt. (I’m thankful that by the time I became a Clarion Choir sponsor someone had wised up to washing the whole choir’s shirts in the washing machine and drying them.) Beyond that, I remember the boy I had a crush on (for his sake and mine, I’ll take that info to the grave), and I remember who became a couple because those things are important to a seventh grader.

Eighth grade. (You know, I just want to thank those volunteers over the years who have served with middle schoolers. Those are literally the most awkward years of your life, and it takes a special grace and patience to have regular encounters with those angst-y adolescents.) Same floor. Still five flights. We just moved down the hall. Cathy Bolton and Penny Graves were my Sunday School teachers. I don’t remember much from Sunday School.

The summer after eighth grade we went to Colorado on choir tour. Before we embarked on our tour, we, as a choir, participated in Backyard Bible Clubs. That summer we took Vacation Bible School to church member’s houses around the metroplex. If I didn’t already love VBS, those Backyard Bible Clubs made me love (LOVE) it. Every day we’d travel to our respective houses and love on neighborhood kids for a few hours. I was at Barbara Cole’s house. She was the picture of hospitality and made it such a fun experience for us. After serving through Mission Dallas, we traveled to the mountains of Colorado. I remember the Garden of the Gods. And Pike’s Peak. We took the tram to the top. It was so cold and the air was so thin. I couldn’t take breaths deep enough. We also visited Focus on the Family and the Olympic training center.

Onward and upward, but actually down a floor in the youth building…high school. Freshman year my Sunday School teacher was Holly Cole. That year, the Chapel Choir and Orchestra went to Israel on tour. (Remember my previous mention of missing out? I didn’t go. I missed out.) In preparation for tour, we had to watch a series of what amounted to the most boring videos in all of Sunday School history. Seriously. Boring. I also remember that was the year Scott Ward stepped down as Youth Minister to go to another church. Up until that point, I didn’t think ministers went other places. My children’s ministers were in place for decades. Dr. Criswell celebrated 50 years at our church. Ministry seemed to have a permanence. Until that Sunday. And I can still remember the Sunday we found out. It shook my world a little. Even as a ninth grader I knew what I was losing. I knew who I was losing. (I’m glad, a few years later, he came back.)

Tenth grade. Okay y’all. It was my favorite year. Each year made an impact, but there was something special about tenth grade. The Sedwicks were our directors. My Sunday School teachers were Jody Mow and Jana Bellington and those ladies poured into our lives each and every Sunday. I saw and felt a deep love for the Lord in each of their lives. I learned a lot that year. I learned a lot about practically walking out my faith as a young woman. Every leader in that class led with such sincerity and dedication. And some twenty years later, I remember that.

Junior year. We moved down a floor or two (I think two because weren’t the youth offices on three?). My Sunday School teacher was Kylie Minne. She was the youth intern’s new wife. A few months into the school year, she announced she was (surprise!) pregnant.

Senior year. I want to say so much about senior year. My Sunday School teacher was Joni Cleveland. I didn’t appreciate then the degree of blessing bestowed on my life to have her teach me the Bible. I appreciate it now. Because now, in God’s unique way of working, she and I teach women’s Bible study on the same team. I remember we learned much (MUCH) about the end times in preparation for the test we took at the end of the year to measure our Bible knowledge. Wasn’t there a special Easter reenactment, too? And senior Sunday. There was a moment we were all circled up, praying together, and I realized we’d never be like that again. Seventeen years together (for some of us), and that moment was it.

There’s so much I didn’t say, but this post has already reached epic lengths. I do want to acknowledge that after Scott left, Shane took over as Youth Minister. He loved Jesus, and he loved us so well. His enthusiasm for ministry brought me back to volunteer when I got to college. The Lord, in His faithfulness, gave me sweet friendships over the years. It is a joy when those friends come back to visit and bring their babies to leave in my care on Sunday mornings. And I take pride in the fact that there are three of us currently on staff at First Baptist Dallas from the Class of 2001.

Stay tuned! Depending on how exhausted I am from the birthday party tomorrow, I’ll try to write part 3…College Ministry and beyond!

On the Occasion of My Church’s 150th Birthday

Not many 34 year olds can say they’ve been a member of one church their whole life. I can. When I was five-months-old my parents began attending First Baptist Dallas. I don’t have too many memories of those early years at church, but I know, based on the testimony of those who have come up to me over the years, that I regularly had my diaper changed and learned about Jesus.

My earliest memories from the hallowed halls of the Truett Building began in the first grade. The Kellys were my Sunday School directors. A sweet older woman was my teacher. She faithfully sat with a group of us first graders week after week and taught us the Bible. At Christmas, our class put on a Christmas play, reenacting the events surrounding the birth of Jesus. I think I was an angel. (An aside…as we were cleaning up from Resurrection Road this year and putting away child-sized Bible costumes, I came across a tub that said something like, “Kelly’s Sunday School Class costumes.” They were the costumes from the Christmas play passed down over the years.) I think it was after first grade that I went to Criswell Kids Camp. That was the summer I learned to roller skate in the skating rink at church.

In second grade the Lord blessed me with the best Sunday School directors, Rosaleen and Kenneth Davidson. They loved Jesus, and they loved us. Sunday in and Sunday out we’d gather as a group and sing the songs carefully written on a large tablet. “This is the Day that the Lord has Made” played on repeat almost every Sunday. 

The summer after second grade I attended Vacation Bible School. Because the members of our church came from all over the metroplex, the church dispatched charter buses to almost every suburb. We rode the bus that left from Town East Mall every morning. I don’t remember too many specifics from VBS, but I do remember the day all the kids gathered in Ralph Baker Hall to hear the gospel presentation given by the pastor at the time, Joel Gregory. I had heard about Jesus my whole life, but on that particular day, the Holy Spirit caused me to realize my need for salvation. I went forward with the masses, and who, but Rosaleen Davidson found me in the crowd and sat down with me to talk about the next steps. I think that’s when I made a “Step Towards God” and not too long afterwards, Libby Reynolds came to our house, shared the gospel with me again, and that night, on the floor of the living room of my house, I confessed that I was a sinner in need of a Savior. Since that night, I’ve not wavered. I’ve never even really doubted. I needed Jesus. And He found me. And He has had me tightly in His grip ever since.

Third grade found me in the Griffin’s Sunday School class. Their daughter, Lindsay, was also in our class and we’d both made professions of faith and were ready to be baptized, so we decided to do it on the same Sunday. We were baptized in the Historic Sanctuary by Paul Gomez. The other significant memory from my third grade year was perfect attendance. I didn’t miss a Sunday. I think there’s a crown in heaven for that.

In fourth grade, we moved from Primaries to Juniors, and across the plaza to the Burt Building. I can laugh now at the geriatric nature of that building. It was literally “foggy” in the Burt Building with dust and asbestos. Bless. My fourth grade Sunday School teacher was Emily Bright. I remember she sang in the choir and always had to leave a little early to make it to choir. When I went to work for the church in 2010, my cubicle was right next to Emily’s.

In fifth grade, my Sunday School directors were Ann and Phil LeRoux. (Another aside…these two continue to serve faithfully in the Children’s Ministry at the Welcome Desks. I served with Ann at the Welcome Desk for several years before I began working as the Babies Coordinator.) My Sunday School teacher was Mrs. Lloyd. I remember doing Resurrection Eggs in her class at Easter.

Sixth grade. I remember a lot about sixth grade. We had donut holes every Sunday. The boys liked to throw them at one another. Our Sunday School class was located at the intersection of the Veal Building and Burt. I would help my parents set up in their Sunday School class and take the elevator in the Criswell Education Building to six (?) and then cross over to Burt. The Chapel Choir went to Africa that year. I remember the outfits. And my Sunday School teacher was Marianne Taylor. She was also an older woman who loved Jesus. She taught us about the other names of Jesus.

That completes my elementary school experience. I might go in later and add details about choir programs and Mission Friends and GAs. And the library. Don’t tell anyone, but I regularly skipped Sunday School to sit in the library and read Nancy Drew. I think Jesus knew my introverted-self needed that. The next post will document my Youth Ministry experience. I think I remember every Sunday School teacher.