Jimmy Matthew at the April Revival

A Piedmont Lantern Story

The April Revival came to Piedmont the way revivals always did: announced early, poorly prepared for, and endured collectively.

A white tent went up over at the fairground, ropes pulled tight, canvas snapping like it was tryin’ to get your attention. Hand-painted signs bloomed along the road: REVIVAL — ALL ARE WELCOME, which Jimmy Matthew took to mean all must attend.

He sat between Mawmaw and Jim Leroy on a metal chair that pinched the optimism right out of him.

The service began with singing. Loud singing. Singing that assumed participation as a moral obligation. Jimmy sang exactly three words before losing the tune and mouthing vowels with what he hoped looked like conviction.

The preacher arrived mid-hymn, stompin’ around like the ground owed him money. He wiped his brow with a brilliant white handkerchief, raised a hand holding a battered old bible, and waited for silence to do its work.

Silence, Jimmy noted, took its time.

“Brothers and sisters,” the preacher boomed, “we are here tonight to be renewed.”

Jimmy perked up. Renewed sounded like something that might end early.

“We’re here,” the preacher continued, “to be convicted.”

Jimmy slumped. Uh-oh, there it was.

The sermon rolled on. Fire. Brimstone. Grace. More fire. Jimmy’s attention wandered. He counted tent poles. He traced patterns in the dirt with his shoe. He wondered if revival was contagious and whether he could catch it accidentally.

Beside him, Jim Leroy whispered, “You reckon we’ll get snacks?”

Jimmy nodded solemnly. “After we repent.”

The preacher’s voice rose. People began to shout amens. A woman near the front wept enthusiastically. Miss Watson fainted and fell out flat on her back.

Jimmy felt a stirring.

Not in his soul. In his legs.

They had fallen asleep.

As the preacher called for sinners to come forward, Jimmy’s foot twitched. His chair squealed. Mawmaw shot him a look that could resurrect the dead.

“Go on,” she whispered. “If you’re feelin’ called.”

Jimmy froze.

Called? He hadn’t heard his name.

But folks were watching now. Expectant. Hopeful. The aisle seemed to stretch like it had been expecting him.

Jimmy stood.

Not because he felt holy. Because sitting had become unbearable.

He shuffled forward, heart pounding, brain empty. When he reached the front, the preacher loomed over him, eyes bright.

“Son,” the preacher said, laying a hand on Jimmy’s head, “what brings you here tonight?”

Jimmy thought fast. Too fast.

“I reckon,” he said honestly, “I’m tired of gettin’ into trouble all the time.”

The preacher smiled wide. “That’ll do.”

Hands pressed in. Prayers rose. Someone shouted, “Hallelujah!” Jimmy closed his eyes.

Nothing happened.

No lightning. No warmth. No sudden understanding of scripture.

Just a deep, unexpected quiet.

When it was over, Jimmy returned to his seat lighter somehow. Not saved, exactly. But… noticed.

Jim Leroy leaned over. “You feel different?”

Jimmy considered. “I feel hungry.”

Afterward, under the stars, Piedmont buzzed with revival talk. Souls saved. Spirits moved. Decisions made.

Jimmy ate a deviled egg and looked at the tent, now glowing soft in the night.

He hadn’t been transformed.

But he had stood up. He’d walked forward. He’d told the truth without quite meaning to.

Which, for Jimmy Matthew, was about as holy as things were ever apt to get.

And glory, hallelujah! Sometimes that’s enough.

About Ol' Big Jim

Jim L. Wright is a storyteller with a lifetime of experiences as colorful as the characters he creates. Born and raised in Piedmont, Alabama, Jim’s connection to the land, history, and people of the region runs deep. His debut novel New Yesterdays is set in his hometown, where he grew up listening to stories of the past—stories that sparked his imagination and curiosity for history. Today, Jim lives in Leeds, Alabama, with his husband Zeek, a tour operator who shares his passion for adventure and discovery. Known affectionately as “Ol’ Big Jim,” he has had a diverse career that includes time as a storekeeper, an embalmer, a hospital orderly, and a medical coder. There are even whispers—unconfirmed, of course—that he once played piano in a house of ill repute. No matter the job, one thing has remained constant: Jim is a teller of tales. His stories—sometimes humorous, sometimes thought-provoking—are often inspired by his unique life experiences. Many of these tales can be found on his popular blog, Ol’ Big Jim, where he continues to share his musings with a loyal readership. Jim’s adventures have taken him far beyond Alabama. For seven years, he lived in Amman, Jordan, the world’s oldest continuously inhabited city. His time there, spent in smoky coffee shops, enjoying a hookah and a cup of tea while scribbling in his ever-present notebook, deeply influenced his worldview and his writing. When Jim isn’t writing, he’s thinking about writing. His stories, whether tall tales from his past or imaginative reimagining is of historical events should read from his past or imaginative reimaginings of historical events, reflect a life lived fully and authentically. With New Yesterdays, Jim brings readers a rich tapestry of history, fantasy, and human connection. Visit his blog at www.olbigjim.com to read more of his stories, or follow him on social media to keep up with his latest musings and projects, one of which is a series that follows Bonita McCauley, an amateur detective who gets into some very sticky situations. His book, New Yesterdays, can be found at Amazon US, Amazon UK, Smashwords, and Barnes and Noble.

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