I have written in essays past about my
parents’ conversion to faithful churchgoers in the early 1950’s when I was just
a child of seven. At that time, through
the eyes of a child, the only dramatics changes I noticed were the all-Downing
all-night domino/beer binges stopped, and I seemed to gather a new bunch of
friends at the church. When you’re seven
years old, you don’t notice the adults around you very much, choosing rather to
size up the kids in your age bracket instead.
Such was the case as my family and I began attending Peace Tabernacle in
Baytown, Texas, pastored by Rev. V. A. Guidroz.
The first adult I remember noticing at my
new church with any regularity was, naturally, my Sunday School teacher, Glory
Guidroz. Glory was one of several adult
Guidroz children who served their parents in some church capacity. A friendly woman with a pleasant face, she
made me feel welcome in this strange world of new kids. On my first Sunday at church, she put my name
on the attendance board on the wall and a gold star next to it and told me that
when I had five stars on my attendance board I would be a genuine full-fledged
member of the class. Four weeks later I
watched proudly as she affixed my fifth gold star, and I felt like I had
arrived.
As time advanced, I made many new friends
and even learned to recognize some of the adults…mainly those who were parents
of the kids I had become acquainted with.
There was one woman, though, who, though she had no dealings with the
younger youth, still seemed to be somewhat visible to everyone, and even caught
the attention of us younger kids…although (please forgive me) not in a
respectful way. She was known to us as
“The Lady Who Sings Funny.”
Miss Anniedeen Bateman was a school
teacher, unmarried, who lived with her mother.
During the summer vacation, they would disappear to Alto, Texas, to a
family farm and then magically reappear about the time school was to start in
the fall. A watercolorist, pianist, and
singer, very talented in any creative endeavor, she was deeply involved with
the music of the church, directing Christmas choirs and whatever other special
choirs the church deemed appropriate and singing special songs during
services. It was in this activity that
she caught the attention of us kids. You
have to remember that in the era of the fifties in deepest, darkest Texas
(especially in somewhat conservative Pentecostal churches,) practically
everyone sung with sort of a down home country twang backed up with a piano and
maybe an organ or guitar. Sister
Anniedeen Bateman, however, put her musical skills to the forefront and played
every song exactly as it was written in the book and sang with an operatic
gusto that was so far over the heads of us immature little rug runners that we
would listen, giggle, and squirm until she finished her song. (Even as I write
this, I am embarrassed.) Occasionally,
as we played after services, we would attempt to duplicate her operatic skills,
but it was hopeless.
I came into closer contact with Sister Anniedeen
(as she was affectionately called by the church members) a few short years
later when I reached my early teens. She
had begun giving piano lessons at her home, and my sister, Judy, had become a
favored student, though she was five years younger than I. After Judy had been at it for about a year,
Mother decided that I needed some culture in my life and signed me up for
lessons also. Actually, I was a little
excited about it, and got Judy’s early study books out and began to practice on
our home piano. I had about the first
six songs perfectly nailed (I thought) and was ready to impress Sister
Anniedeen when I finally sat down at her piano.
I took off on the first song at about sixty miles an hour with no
concept of rhythm, and she yelled (quietly), “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Let’s follow the rhythm! Now ready?
A-one, a-two, a-three…..” I told
myself silently that this was apparently not going to be as easy as I thought. I lasted for about a year and a half, but,
once I discovered girls and guitars, my piano career (truly regretfully)
fizzled. However, she still would not
let me off the musical hook. In her
eyes, everyone has a musical talent, and she insisted that I receive a few
voice lessons, and so, in a matter of a few months, I sang my first solo at
church…quavering voice, knocking knees and all.
But I found that I sort of enjoyed it.
It was in my teenage years that I began to
see the value of Sister Anniedeen. She
took a special interest in the youth of the church, serving as our Sunday
School teacher, guidance counselor, and to a certain extent,
disciplinarian. She opened her home to
youth gatherings and was instrumental in creating the Conquerors’ Club, a social
organization for youth which emphasized personal responsibility, devotion to
the church, and Bible understanding. The
club spread to several other churches in the Galveston Bay area and was highly
popular amongst the youth for several years.
Our Sunday School classes were heavily Bible oriented, and she was not
afraid to offer pointed advice about how we as young people should conduct
ourselves. The Conquerors’ Club was
instrumental in keeping dozens of youth in the churches of the Galveston area,
and out of it came many ministers, missionaries, and church workers.
Shirley and I married in 1961 and having
been booted out of the Conquerors’ Club due to our marriage, our contact with
Sister Anniedeen became limited to church and an occasional older youth visit
to her home. Shirley had suffered
through the loss of her mother in 1957 due to cancer. My father-in-law remarried, only to relive
the same cancer nightmare with his second wife.
In 1963, however, we were stunned to learn that a third marriage was
imminent. The Reverend James L. Creel
announced the engagement and pending marriage to none other than Sister
Anniedeen Bateman.
It seemed strange at first to realize that
Sister Anniedeen wasn’t just “Sister Anniedeen” anymore, but rather “Mom” or
“Mom-in-law.” Shirley and I probably had
less of an adjustment than the rest of the family to make because we basically
disappeared for four years as I joined the United States Air Force in the fall
of 1963. Although we occasionally visited
Baytown while on leave or traveling to a new assignment, it was not until the
fall of 1967 that we moved back to Baytown to reestablish a home. By then, the new order had been well
established. Sister Anniedeen brought
order to a family which had suffered the loss of two mothers, and the fact that
she was new at parenting didn’t seem to be a drawback. After all, once a teacher, always a
teacher. She applied her teaching skills
to parenting with the same enthusiasm.
The cycle was complete when a child of the new union, Rocky, was born.
In 1970, our church in Baytown suffered
through a tumultuous time resulting in a minister leaving under clouded
circumstances. As it turned out, I found
that my in-laws and I were on opposite sides of the issue, and, when the climax
occurred, there were some hurt feelings and strained relationships. From our marriage in 1963 to 1970, I had
addressed my father-in-law as “Brother Lemuel” and my now-mother-in-law as
“Sister Anniedeen.” In 1971, my in-laws
moved to Casper, Wyoming, to take the pastorship of a church. Shirley and I visited them the next two
summers, and somehow a new relationship with my in-laws was formed. In the fall of 1973 I wrote them a letter and said that
after twelve years of marriage to their daughter, I would like to go beyond the
“Brother/Sister” relationship and call them “Mom” and “Dad.” I still remember the wonderful, gracious
letter I received in return which I still have stored in my archives somewhere. From that moment, they were “Mom” and “Dad.” We moved to Wyoming in 1974, and for the next
seventeen years my bond with Mom and Dad grew stronger with each passing
day. For the remainder of this essay I
will refer to “Brother Lemuel” and “Sister Anniedeen” as Dad and Mom.
I haven’t the time to describe my every
experience with Dad and Mom. Dad,
quick-witted, quick-tempered, opinionated, and outspoken, met his match with
Mom, who could match her husband in every aspect except maybe the quick temper. She was far more temperate in her emotions
and was the consummate dutiful wife.
Serving as the pastor’s wife, she enthusiastically performed her duties,
and continued to display her musical talents with piano/organ playing, singing,
choir directing…and insuring that we did our parts also. She still reached out to the youth in Sunday
School classes and social gatherings, stressing not just the social aspects,
but also the need for the youth to have a spiritual foundation.
As the years drifted by I began to suffer
the dreaded “middle aged spread” and started having to really watch my
weight. It was during this time that Mom
really began to get on my nerves. OK,
I’m just kidding, but she had always been somewhat of a health nut…always
watching her calories, etc. So when she
would see me eating a greasy hamburger with double meat and double cheese with
extra fries, she could not stop herself from saying something. I was tempted to start eating only in the
dark, but that’s hard to do in a restaurant.
I finally resigned myself to the idea that she was just looking out for
my best interests, whether I wanted her to or not.
I have written in previous essays of my
daily morning trips to their home on the way to work for coffee and
breakfast. I was touched after Dad died
in 1989 when Mom asked me to keep coming by for our morning visit and
coffee. It was about a year later that I
truly discovered the depth of her spiritual faith and Christian behavior. A short time after Dad died, our church
elected a new pastor. As is the case
sometimes, all was wonderful for a while, but things began to unravel after a
year or so. Controversy began to swirl around the pastor, and, as luck would
have it, Mom and I again wound up on opposing sides. I am not a person who
likes confrontation. When I have something
to say, I prefer to write it down. I
wrote letters to two people respectfully stating my opinion and what I though
needed to be done. One of them was to
Mom in which I also stated that until the trouble blew over, I felt it best not
to come by for breakfast in the mornings.
Within a few days after mailing the
letters, I received a phone call at my office.
The caller was the other letter recipient, and it was clear that in her mind
my spirit was bad, I had bitterness in my heart, and I needed to pray through
this issue and clean up my bad attitude.
It was obvious to this woman that I was completely wrong. By coincidence, a day later I received a
written letter from Mom, and my only regret is that I have since misplaced
it. She was so gracious and so
understanding, praying that the turmoil would soon be resolved and we could
reestablish our relationship. It was so
beautifully written that I instantly wanted to resolve any conflict I had with
her. As it turned out, the issue was soon
resolved, and in short order we were having breakfast again. My respect for my mother-in-law went through
the roof.
In 1991 Shirley and I moved back to Texas,
and Mom stayed in Wyoming even after Dad’s passing. Although by that time in her seventies, she had
always entertained a yen for missionary work.
As a result, she began a fifteen-year career of teaching through the
United Pentecostal Church Foreign Missions Department in India and Sri Lanka. Although she established a rewarding
relationship with the churches in those areas, the highly polluted air of the
Indian cities slowly began to take a toll on her health. She developed a nagging cough which at times
would flare up, but through medication it was controllable. By 2009 and then in
her late eighties with most of the family in the Houston area, she decided to
retire from her missionary teaching, sell her home in Casper, Wyoming, and move
back to the land of her roots. Shirley
and I retired in 2009 and moved to the Spring area to be near kids and grandkids,
and Mom settled not too far from us in a retirement home. We all attended the same great church and enjoyed
a closer relationship than ever before.
She and I had many interesting discussions
about the end time and Bible prophecy.
For years, she had been a highly respected Bible scholar and teacher and
was a virtual well of information concerning scripture and prophecy. She had that characteristic (and I say this
with much love) of most dedicated Bible scholars: the scriptures are CRYSTAL clear in their
meanings. The Book of Revelations is as
understandable as your daily newspaper. But…not to me. She would expound on some aspect of the
prophetic Second Coming, and I would ask what scripture was she drawing her
conclusion from. Given the scripture, I
would read it, and she would say, “See?”
And I would lamely answer, “Um…OK.”
Her Bible and Sunday School lessons, however, were masterful. In a 45-minute lesson she would quote dozens
of scriptures and never use a note; she knew them all. Occasionally I would try to convince myself
that I was a great teacher…and then I would listen to her and realize I had a
long way to go to be at her teaching level.
Being the independent sort, Mom had
always driven her car from The Woodlands to our church every Sunday. But in a moment of realization that her
driving days probably should be over (much to the relief of the family), she
gave her car to the missionary with whom she had worked for fifteen years. He was ecstatic and the family was relieved
to get her off of Interstate 45. But
even in this act of giving she reflected her missionary spirit when she said,
“At least my car will still be on the mission field.”
On October 20, 2019, she attended her last
church service. We did not know it at
the time. A few days later her rasping
cough from the scarred lungs caused by the Indian air pollution flared up
again, but this time it did not go away, but worsened. While in the hospital, the cough became
pneumonia. The progression was a slow
decline, ending in her passing on November 19, 2019. The Iron Lady, about whom I had joked would
outlive all of us, had demonstrated that we are all but mere mortals.
In the nearly seventy years that I knew
Anniedeen Creel, first as “Sister Anniedeen” and finally as “Mom.” she was always the model of stability and control.
Every morning for those seventy years she exercised and prayed, keeping
body and soul healthy. Her Christian
walk was rock solid; she NEVER changed her philosophy, her religion, and her
personal standards. She and I discussed
more than once the evolution of churches and people over the last many years,
and she always made it clear: “People and churches may change, but God never
changes…stay the course.” Though she has
left us for a better place, her memory and legacy will live in our hearts. But the void of her presence
will take a little getting used to. Love
you, Mom.
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