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    My Mom was a Baptist and my Dad was Methodist. The little rural community of Victor where I grew up had a Methodist church and a Baptist church across the road from each other, a cemetery, and one house. There were not enough members of either of these churches to support full-time clergy. The Baptists would usually hire a seminary student from a nearby college to preach on the 2nd and 4th Sundayís of each month. The Methodists had a preacher come in every 3rd Sunday. Virtually every church-goer in the community went to both churches, no matter which one they belonged to. The rule for the 1st Sunday and the occasional 5th Sunday, when there was no preacher for either church, was that the first person to get there that morning got to choose. Seems like it was always the Methodist church those times. So we always went to one church one Sunday and the other church the next Sunday. But then, so did everyone else.

    When those little churches disbanded, it was a lot harder going into town to bigger churches, because we still went to the Methodist church one Sunday and the Baptist the next. Right after we kids all left home, my Mom joined the Methodist church, much to my Dadís surprise.