The Sunday Sermonette – Pocahontas and the Polka.
The Sunday Sermonette – Pocahontas and the Polka.
Pocahontas Maria Price! Was she a thrilling character in a dime-back novel? A femme fatale hiding behind a fan of feathers and lace? Or Native American Royalty? No. She was my great-great-aunt on Mother’s side of the family. Her mother, enthralled by the deep friendship between Pocahontas and John Smith, saddled her with that intriguing name.
As a child in the late 50s, I didn’t call my aunt, Aunt Pocahontas. I called her by her nickname, Aunt Pokey. And the reason I did is steeped in family lore. In the early 1920s, Aunt Pokey took the train to Chicago. Why is lost in the misty hallways of time. While there, she won 1st prize in a polka contest due to her nimble feet. Being a member of the D’Lo Baptist, she knew her award would be frowned upon. So she came home, keeping her secret to herself.
However, word got out. Aunt Pokey was “churched” by the Baptists for dancing and asked to leave. But she was not one to take hard times lying down. Aunt Pokey, a symbol of resilience, happily danced down the street to the D’Lo Methodist Church, where she was welcomed with open arms. While there, people started calling her Pokey, much to her amusement. And thus, her nickname stuck.
My Aunt Pokey, born in the 1880s, was a walking, breathing stereotype of Southern women from back in the day—tough as an old boot with a heart of gold. By the time I tumbled into her life, she had witnessed the invention of electricity and the telephone, lived through the Great Depression, two World Wars, and had married a man who repaired pots and pans in Simpson County where they lived at the time.
Aunt Pokey had grinning dentures, a bad case of arthritis, and bulging varicose veins. Despite her aches and pains, I remember her helping Granny clean the house and wash clothes. In the evenings, Aunt Pokey, Granny, and I would sit on Granny’s front porch at 214 Boling Street in Jackson, Mississippi. They’d shell peas and, in the fading summer’s light, regale me with stories about days from long ago.
Early one Sunday morning, we piled into Granny’s old, faded-blue Buick Special and rode to the John’s Baptist Church, deep in the woods near D’Lo, which was “out the Cato Road,” Aunt Pokey was fond of saying. The church was having dinner on the ground, and the dirt road in front of it was lined with cars. As morning worship began, someone asked Granny to help with the food. So, Aunt Pokey and I went to church.
After an opening prayer, the energetic music director led the congregation in singing one of Aunt Pokey’s favorite hymns. She loved to sing about Jesus and took the Good Book to heart when it said to sing and make a joyful noise. Standing just over five feet tall, she rose up on her arches, threw her head back, opened her mouth, and wailed out. Her singing was nosy, a bit pitchy, but oh, so joyful!
I can still hear her singing to the top of her lungs: “My soul in sad exile was out on life’s sea, so burdened with sin and distressed. Till I heard a sweet voice saying, ‘Make Me your choice.’ And I entered the Haven of Rest. I’ve anchored my soul in the Haven of Rest, I’ll sail the wide seas no more. The tempest may sweep over wild, stormy, and deep, but in Jesus I’m safe evermore.”
Dear ones, can you sing those words? Have you anchored your soul in the Haven of Rest? Are you floating on the restless waters of doubt and fear in a boat of your choice that you hope will carry you across stormy seas filled with distress and loneliness.
The treacherous waters surrounding us these days—political unrest, worldwide collapse, moral decay, and families torn asunder by it all—can plunge us into a vortex of anxiety if we’re not firmly anchored in the Haven of Rest promised to us by faith in Father God and His son, Jesus. In these turbulent times, faith is our anchor, our Haven of Rest.
I’m thankful for those days sitting on Granny’s front porch, listening to her and Aunt Pokey brighten my young life with tales of old. I’m most grateful, though, that Aunt Pokey introduced me to a hymn that resonates in my heart to this good day. I’m thankful I’ve “Anchored my soul in the Haven of Rest.” Have you?
Ponder this and go forth.
(Originally posted August 4, 2024)
