Hello. I am Roy Moss (Roy Lee Moss, Jr.) the son of R. L. Moss. Sr. and Pearl Cutrell Moss of Monahans, Ward County, Texas. One grandfather, Lee Otis Moss, was a farmer and moonshiner. (You guess which occupation was first.) The other William Cornelius Cutrell, was assessor for Jones County, Texas. Grandpa Cutrell died from a lung problem about a decade before I was born. I was a grown man when Grandpa Moss passed on. Both my grandmothers were loving, precious women. Grandma Cutrell was still visiting the nursing home in her late 80s to ‘cheer up the old folks.’ She departed this life at the age of 98. My other grandparents were well into their 80s at death.
My father was an oil field welder most of my life. Mother was a homemaker, and only went to work as secretary and bookkeeper in the family welding business after my dad’s heart attack in the early 1960s. After that heart attack the doctors told him he would never work another day in his life. He was given specific instructions never to pick up a hammer again.
Upon that forecast my dad’s partner dissolved the partnership, keeping the location, name and phone number. My dad got some cash and 2 acres of bare land on the other side of town. He kept two of the hired hands while the others stayed put. Using a building design he and I had come up with when I was 13, he supervised the erecting of a new shop on his land and went back into business under his own name. When he had recovered sufficiently to begin welding again, he was careful to obey the doctor’s orders about using a hammer. Either my brother or I would accompany him to the field and use the chipping hammer to clean the flux off the pipe between welds. Though he would wrestle pipe around and lift heavy loads, he could always tell the doctor that he was not lifting a hammer.
I went to work in the welding shop when I was ten years old and did my first welding job under his supervision before I turned eleven. From then until I retired at the age of 68, I have held a multitude of jobs, but, to the best of my memory, never more than six at once.
In 1963, while enrolled in the aerospace engineering program at the University of Texas in Austin, I received the infilling of the Holy Ghost and was baptized in Jesus name. A call to preach soon followed and I began an active ministry in early 1964. After further schooling and ministering a short time as an evangelist, then spending six months as associate minister to Rev. Barry King at the First United Pentecostal Church of Oklahoma City, I moved to Bartlesville, Oklahoma, to found Truth Tabernacle United Pentecostal Church in 1967. I served as pastor of that church for 46 years until my retirement in 2013, when I was succeeded by Rev. Brian Fuller. Upon retirement from pastoring, my wife, Barbara, and I moved to Newark, Delaware, where we are trying to be of assistance to our son-in-law, Dr. Steven Beardsley, pastor of the Newark United Pentecostal Church. When the occasion arises I still preach. I am also involved in the writing ministry. (Well, yes.)
I married Barbara Carol Stafford of Morris, Oklahoma, in 1969. We have two children, Roy Allan of West Virginia, and Regina Carol Beardsley of Delaware. We have two granddaughters (Lindsay and Mallory) in West Virginia, and five grandchildren (Vincent, Caleb, Marcus, Candace, Cassandra) in Delaware.
The aim of this blog is consistent with its name. It is composed of bits and pieces picked up over nearly five decades of active, involved ministry, along with personal reminiscences. It is not my purpose to foment arguments or to just stir up controversy. The aim of part of this exercise is to take a fresh stroll down little traveled by-ways of the Bible. There is no requirement that you agree with my conclusions. But if you read, and think, it may open new vistas to you as well.
Since this is somewhat the equivalent of a verbal (or written) patchwork quilt, I shall not be constrained by another’s pattern. I do not intend to produce a ‘Dutch Doll,’ ‘Wedding Ring,’ or any other standard written ‘quilt.’ There is no need to look for a pattern. This will probably be a real ‘Crazy Quilt,’ in format, subject and style.
So grab a cup of hot chocolate or a glass of iced tea, depending on the season, wrap the quilt of these ramblings about you, and, with mixed metaphors in mind, let us begin our journey.