The Friendship House

The summer of 1976 I was ten years old and going to hell.

This proclamation was according to my Baptist preacher. Instead of attending the House of the Lord, I was playing hooky from Sunday church. To say I was happy to escape from the tomb of doom and damnation for one Sunday was an understatement.

In my defense, I had nothing to do with my current state of hooky. My sister had gotten to be close friends with our neighbors who had moved from Alaska. Dotty moved with her husband and daughter, Patsy to the rural south the previous year.

Eugene, her husband who was from Mason inherited the family farm after his mother passed. He had been working on the Alaskan pipelines for years. Once the farm was his, he decided that moving back to the south would be a good experience for his young daughter. For the first time in my young life, I had a friend that lived within walking or biking distance. Patsy and I became fast friends.

Dotty and Patsy had a hard time adjusting to southern life. Never having been to the south, the culture shock alone was enough to send them back to Alaska. One of the things that seemed to help was the fact we lived less than two hours from the Gulf of Mexico. This is where playing hooky from church on a Sunday came into play.

Dotty loved the summer heat as much as my sister, Jena. The hotter the better. Jena was already living on her own and could skip church as much as she liked. I was still bound by the rule if I lived in my parents’ house, I did what they said. Somehow Jena convinced my mom that it would do me good to have the day with friends by the Gulf. It was like a miracle to my ten-year old self. 

The sky was a cornflower blue, and we rode the whole way to the Gulf with the windows down and the radio blasting. With the wind whipping my face, I felt that the cage door had blown open. Fly, little bird, fly!

In the mid-70s, the Gulf Coast was still a sleepy coastal area. It was a favorite vacation spot to stick your toes in the sand, play putt-putt or shop in the nearest souvenir hut. The elaborate casinos had not yet realized the revenue stream or taken up the best beach spots.

The Gulf of Mexico has always held a certain charm. Even though it eventually runs into the Atlantic, it is technically its own body of water. Excursions to Ship Island was an exciting day trip for a ten-year old kid. On this particular Sunday, we four gathered near one of the many umbrellas scattered across the coastline. Passing by their brightly colored tops reminded me of M&Ms sticking out of the sand.

For out-of-towners, everyone visited The Friendship House before hitting the beach. It was your basic pancake breakfast joint. Smartly, the owner added large restrooms with changing areas for beach goers. The roof was a bright blue and could be seen at least half a mile away. Decorated in the typical 70s kitschy nautical theme, you could enjoy a pancake before hitting the beach.

Jena and Dotty had worn their swimsuits under their halter tops and shorts, but Patsy and I needed to suit up. I was always self-conscious of anyone seeing me in my swimsuit which was a one-piece. Patsy was tiny, blond and had a cute pink polka dot bikini. I felt far inferior in my purple one piece, already on the chubby side. Even that did not dim my excitement of spending the day by the ocean, looking for seashells.

We quickly changed and flip flopped our way outside to make the short distance across the highway to the sandy beach. The closer you got to the shoreline, the easier it was to walk. Claiming an umbrella, we laid our blankets down and began the process of applying copious amounts of suntan oil. This was years before we would learn the perils of too much sun or UV rays. The more baby oil or coconut suntan oil you applied, the better the initial burn! 

For fair skinned girls like me and Patsy, it was something we were willing to endure. Walking around with peeling skin for a week was a small price to pay for the eventual honey-gold tan we’d have by the start of school.

Patsy headed toward the shoreline with her bucket and little shovel. She announced that she was going to build the world’s largest sandcastle. I decided I would much rather walk along the shore in search of seashells. With the standard, “Do not get too far away and do not do anything stupid” comment from Jena, I eased my feet into the cool Gulf water. Ah…so refreshing while the hot coastal sun beat down upon my oily shoulders.

I wandered a short distance up the coastline when I found several seashells. Sitting down in the edge of the water, I began to inspect my sea treasures. Totally engrossed in what I was doing, it registered that someone was speaking to me. Turning my head back towards the beach, I noticed a lovely woman sitting on a beach lounge chair under the largest floppy hat I’d ever seen.

“Yes?” I called out.

“I used to collect seashells when I was a young girl too! Aren’t they magical?” she asked. She was wearing shades, but I could tell her smile reached her eyes.

“Yes, Ma’am, they are. Do you not collect them anymore?”

“Nah, I have so many. Now I prefer to sit and talk to the sea, instead.”

Puzzled by what she meant, I picked up my bucket and walked over to her. She motioned for me to take the empty chair next to her. I handed her my bucket so she could take a look.

“Wow, you found some real beauties! I see an Atlantic Cockle, a Calico Scallop, and a Lightning Whelk! Impressive!” she exclaimed.

I scrunched up my eyes looking at her as the sun was in my face. I knew nothing about the names, just that I liked them. 

“You sure know a lot about shells.” I replied, looking back into my bucket. 

“Well, I grew up here and always had a dream of being a marine biologist one day. My name is Laura by the way.” She extended her hand to me.

I politely took her hand and gave it a shake; her skin was so soft. “Hi, my name is Molly. You aren’t a marine biologist?”

“No, I gave up that idea long ago. I am a housewife. Boring, right? Nice to meet you, Molly! Do you live in the area?”

“No, Ma’am. We live in Mason. We are playing hooky from church today, even though Preacher Smith says we’re probably going to hell for skipping out on the Lord.” As usual my mouth was acting of its own accord. Suddenly feeling a tad embarrassed, I started shifting the sand under my feet.

“Wow, that’s a scary thought, huh?” She replied. “Not sure if I believe God would send you to a fiery hell for missing church.”

No adult had every spoken to me in this manner before. I wasn’t sure if I should tell her that I agreed or not, so I continued looking at my shells. I guess she sensed I didn’t know what to say because she changed the subject. 

“Molly, why don’t you lie back on the chair and close your eyes. It’s very relaxing.” She motioned for me to lie back. I placed my bucket between our chairs and leaned back, closing my eyes as she instructed.

“That’s it, now take a good deep breath and hold it.” I thought Laura had the voice of an angel. We stayed that way for a few minutes. Our eyes closed, the wind from the ocean on us and the sounds of the rushing waves. I was beginning to feel a bit sleepy.  Laura was right, this was relaxing!

I thought she must be sleepy too because I peeped out of the corner of my eyes. Seeing she was in the same position, I closed mine again. It felt that we stayed like this for a long time when I felt her hand on my arm. I opened my eyes and she motioned for me to be quiet but pointed at my feet. Flitting right above my right big toe was a beautiful blue butterfly!

“OH!” I gasped. I quickly covered my mouth and watched it dance around my toes before flying off. I turned to look at her in amazement.

“What a treat that was!” she exclaimed. “That was a Red-spotted Purple.” 

“A what? It was blue, not purple.” I responded.

“I know, crazy, right? They are one of the most beautiful butterflies we have in Mississippi. You are very lucky to see one to near the water.” She took her shades off, and I noticed her eyes almost matched the color of the butterfly.

“You sure know about a lot of stuff. I hope I know as much as you when I am older. My sister, Jena, is always telling me that I am a real dumbo.”

“Sisters have a way of saying stuff like that but trust me. The older you get, the better friends you will become.” Laura replied.

At this point in my life, I could not imagine being friends with Jena. She was twenty and knew everything. I would never know as much as her because I would always be ten years behind.

Feeling a little braver, I smiled at Laura and said, “Remember what you said earlier about God?”

“Yes.” 

Before I could chicken out, I mumbled that I agreed.

“That’s good, Molly. Remember when we were lying back, with our eyes closed, feeling the wind, and listening to the waves?”

I shook my head in acknowledgement. “Didn’t you feel peaceful and happy?” she asked.

Pondering for a split second, once again I nodded my head, “Yes, I guess I did.”

“Well, we were communing with God. Right here on the beach, on a Sunday. What do you think about that?” She smiled her beautiful smile and her eyes crinkled in the corners.

“We were?” Even I could feel the skepticism in my question.

“Sure, we were! God isn’t contained in a building with a steeple attached. God is everywhere. Even on a beach, right here, right now. He was that butterfly that kissed your toes. He was the little sea animals that once lived in those shells in your bucket. And when your eyes are closed, and you feel peaceful – that’s God. Remember that Molly; you will always be fine in life.”

That was a lot for me to consider. I sure didn’t hear that at Mason Baptist Church, but somehow, I knew what she said was true. I turned and looked back at the ocean. There were seagulls dotting the sky, the sound of the ocean beating across the shore. In that split second, I knew that me, Laura, and everything around me was enjoying the presence of God. 

Without thinking I blurted out, “I get it! God is like one big Friendship House where everyone is welcome, isn’t He?”

Her laughter floated out to sea, “Yes, exactly! What a great analogy, Molly! God is THE friendship house! I bet His pancakes are the best ever!” We both laughed at the thought of God eating pancakes.

Patsy was running up the beach toward us, calling my name and waving her hands. I knew that was my cue that I needed to rejoin my group. I hated to leave my new friend. As I stood up, gathering my bucket and spade, I gave Laura a wistful smile.

“I gotta go now, but thanks for…” my voice trailed off not sure of how to express my gratitude. 

“Molly, it has been a pleasure meeting you today. I enjoyed our time together. Remember what I told you, and the next time you go to The Friendship House, think about me!”

I took one last look back as I walked away. She was already lying back with her eyes closed. Would I see her again? There was something about her that made me feel comfortable in my skin. It didn’t matter that I was a bit chubby or talked too much. I realized I had experienced grace for the first time, and with a huge smile on my face, I ran as fast as I could to catch up with Pasty. Fly, little bird, fly!