What I remember growing up in the old O.B.I. print shop...It was hot in the summer and drafty in the winter. Dust, dirt and grease were everywhere. There were magnificent mountains of machinery that were only to be looked at, but not touched. The dark room was completely off limits whether the red light was on or off. The sheets of photos and templates hanging to dry were beautifully fascinating. The drafting/cutting table looked like fun, but it was only to be looked at as well and not to be touched. If Mother had to go into the printing section, she took me with her, unless I was asleep, and I had to walk in front of her down the wall of press machinery so she could keep an eye out so my little fingers wouldnt wander. There were a lot of conversations that started with Dont touch that...Dont pick that up...Give that to me...Its sharp! I hated wearing shoes but the Pentecostal fire (this is a fact because it happened often) would fall down on my head if I were caught walking barefoot. Mother and Jerry were rather protective and I had a corner where I could play, read, study or nap, but the whirl of the press and the thwack of the stamp writer usually interested me more than what was suppose to be entertainment in my corner. I loved to stand and watch the folder papers shoot out and lay on the rollers. I was at my most happy underfoot and yet somehow Mother and Jerry still managed to get the Standard Bearer (or whatever else they were working on) to press on time. My favorite time was mail day. Big, dusty mail bags piled everywhere and the church ladies all came to help sort the mailers. This meant coffee, cocoa and donuts and a long day would bring ice tea and sandwiches. Sis. Mitchell, Sis. Workman, Sis. Moore (my mother-in-law) Sis. Edwards, Sis. Bills, Sis Mahurin (to name a few because there were many over the years ) would bustle in and start working. It was a labor of love for each of them and full of conversation and laughter. Different zip codes, lots of counting, every stack was double banded and by the end of the day, the bags were organized, tied and ready to take to the Post Office. It started in a small white house on the corner and gained momentum. Now the Standard Bearer is even more widely circulated, requires many more mail bags, the equipment is more modern and mother does her graphic work on the computer instead of the lighted draft table. Instead of stamping each address onto tin plates to run through the presses, she inserts her labels in the computer and presses print. The old white house on the corner has long since been torn down and the Standard Bearer offices are on the hill in the new renovation. But it all started with a greasy printing press, a lighted draft table, a stamp writer, creaky file drawers, big metal desks and a dark room. Bro. D.C. Branham had a dream to publish a paper called the Standard Bearer and he called upon two very special people to see that his dream became a reality. It was always about reaching one more soul for Christ. The editors and the writers would have never had a genre in which to delineate if it hadnt been for the hard work and dedication of the ones in the trenches. My mother, Carol J. Joice and Jerry Buchanan pioneered the Standard Bearer while raising their families, ministering the gospel and bearing the burden for missions. I am proud that I grew up watching such a great vision reach fruition. Their spirit, work ethic and conviction continues to shape my life and makes my childhood memories even more precious.
Posted on: Tue, 26 Nov 2013 08:45:36 +0000