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Lompoc Welcome 65

Being an Evangelist like I am, has its blessings but it also had its drawbacks. My work at Camarillo had been so enjoyable that when the time eventually came, I did not really want to move. The bishop had asked me to go down to a place called Lompoc, but I wrote back begging for six month's grace. His stern reply left me in no doubt, "Your move," it read, "is "facti accompli" - an accomplished fact!"

Deep Green Moss

As I left Highway 101 for the Lompoc turnoff, an eerie silence seemed to descend over the road. Deep green moss draped the shaded oak trees on both sides. A night fog lay like a sinister carpet upon the fields. Except the purring of my engine, all was hauntingly quiet and still. The tall stacks of a mine glinted in the dusk sun on my left. Then, in a halo of mist, the beautiful timbered church of St. Mary's suddenly rose, a coveted Gothic jewel lovingly built in the center of town. The derelict and broken down Parish House next to it stood out in stark contrast. To my surprise, the church was ablaze with light. A crowd of people milled around the doorway outside. "Are they the members of some neighboring congregation?" I wondered. "Who had come out to welcome me?"

"A Coveted Gothic Jewel"

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