William Garfield Doss^[1]

1933 - 2009  (76 years)

• Name	William Garfield Doss
  Born	28 Jun 1933	Franklin County, Virginia
  Gender	Male
  Died	27 Nov 2009	Dry Fork, Virginia
  Buried	County Line Church Cemetery, Henry County, Virginia   [2]
  Person ID	I14366	My Reynolds Line | Thomas Carter of Goochland
  Last Modified	24 Jan 2020

  
  

  Father	William E. Doss,   b. 27 May 1910, Pittsylvania Co., Virginia ,   d. 1 Mar 1961, Greensboro, Guilford Co., North Carolina  (Age 50 years)
  Mother	Lona Green Walker,   b. 20 Oct 1913, Pittsylvania County, Virginia ,   d. 6 Aug 2002  (Age 88 years)
  Family ID	F5048	Group Sheet  |  Family Chart

  
  

  Family	Janice Cleo 'Poet' Reynolds,   b. 20 Apr 1937, Pittsylvania County, Virginia ,   d. 2021  (Age 83 years)
  Notes	Janice Doss - Facebook Old, yellowed hand written on lined notebook paper - from many, many years ago... The little one room clapboard church was symbolic of the community it served. Paint peeling, one window patched with a long strip of adhesive tape, a roof that should have been repaired last year. Grass that struggled vainly during the week to reach that saintly domain, only to be ruthlessly trodden into the earth each Lord's Day by the countless little feet that ran in wild abandon upon release from within. As long as any one could remember, Brother Plybon had patiently raked and sewn new seed around the church each year, never complaining when the harvest of his labors was demolished.. During rainy weather, someone had thrown a plank from the front steps to the grassy area beyond. Inside, straight back pews stood in neat rows with narrow isles down each side. Near the front, the pews became shorter and this was where the children all sat during revivals under the watchful eye of the preacher. Two steps up and the pulpit area began with three short pews for the choir. To the right of the choir sat the ancient old piano where Miss Piney , with eyes closed, waited for the spirit that flowed through her fingertips and brought forth the hymns the congregation sang. In spite of all this, the little church held a dignity peculiarly all its own. Nestled in a grove of old oak trees that seemed to hover protectively around it, the little church had stood for more than 70 odd years. Poverty, depression, drought, sickness, death, despair - all the ailments of the community, sooner or later, came to its door, anguish bottled up for a lifetime spilled over before its impoverished altar. And still it stood firm. Eventually the clapboard would be painted, the roof repaired, the window replaced. Worn and weathered, the little church passed the final test, the test of time. It had learned to endure. Janice Doss 1 hr · Preacher Larkin was letting 'em have it again, arms flailing, sweat pouring, he beat the air with his fists and passed the Good Word to his fellow man. Night flies buzzed around the bare bulb and at least one in the audience seemed to be more engrossed in their progress than in the good man's words. Jenny Randolph was convinced that each time Preacher hit a high pitch, one of the larger ones, flying in wild abandon plunged swiftly toward some spot in the audience where it was quickly squashed between two hands. From somewhere in the back came an answering clap followed by "Amen!." Preacher Larkin had reached the height of his powers and the faster he went, the more suicide flights came from the ceiling. Guiltily, remembering her Grandma's views on people who didn't pay attention when the Lord's word was being revealed, Jenny brought her attention back to the sermon. Old men nodded and young men gazed in rapt attention as with face contorted, the good brother brought his message to his flock. "Ah-h-h, I tell you, the Lord takes care of His own. Ah-h-h, I tell you brother, Live your life so that you can call on the Lord. Ah-h-h, The good book tells us, Ah-h that if any among you asks for bread, will He cast him a stone. Ah-h-h, I tell you, the Lord does not give stones, Ah-h-h the Lord loves those who live by His word. Ah-h-h, it may look like a stone, it may feel look like a stone and when you go to bite it may be hard like a stone. Ah-h-h His way is not always easy, but His path is not hard to find, and Brother, you take that bread that looks like a stone and sink your teeth into it . " Brother Larkin's body became very still, as with arms outstretched, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "My brethren, you'll find a bread the sweetness and tenderness you've never tasted before. A bread that will sustain you all the days of your life. The Lord loves you. Don't settle for the stones of the devil. Give your life to the Lord. Put your future in His hands. As we stand and sing our invitational hymn, come, and let His blood wash away your sins. Be washed in the blood of the Lamb. -janice
  Children	1. Living   2. Living
  Last Modified	23 Jun 2020
  Family ID	F4896	Group Sheet  |  Family Chart

  
  

• Event Map

  Died - 27 Nov 2009 - Dry Fork, Virginia  = Link to Google Earth

  
  

• Photos » Slide Show		Garfield Doss Garfield Doss.jpg
  		Garfield Doss & Jr. Garfield Doss & Jr..jpg
  		William Garfield Doss 14366 WilliamGDoss.jpg

  
  

• Sources

  [S141] Sandra June Reynolds. [S32] Find-A-Grave.com, https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/68619782/william-garfield-doss. William Garfield Doss, Sr Birth: 28 Jun 1933 Franklin County, Virginia Death: 27 Nov 2009 (aged 76) Dry Fork, Pittsylvania County, Virginia Burial: County Line Christian Church Cemetery Axton, Henry County, Virginia [S107] Family Histories, Janice Cleo Doss (nee Reynolds ). Janice Doss April 28 at 4:19 PM · In Memory of Mama (Nannie K. Reynolds) When the clouds of life are heavy and I am restful in the night, I close my eyes and memory takes me back to bright sunlight. For many years I did not see the one who walked with me. Along my childhood paths when life was easy and carefree. And when I scaled the heights, I thought I did it all alone But someone in the shadows always saw me safely home. I danced upon the edge of cliffs that I refused to see, While far below with arms outstretched, she waited there for me. And when I fell, she picked me up and gently set me down And if the way was wrong she always quietly turned me round. I know that she was human, but somehow I can't recall My Mama's voice in anger, memory hasn't stored at all. I never see a hollyhock, all stately standing tall, That I don't remember those that Mama planted round the yard. And every tub and broken crock was beauty in her eye, To hold the plants she loved so much and always kept close by. Her day began before the dawn and ended in the night, And every single thing she did, she always did just right. Laundry crackling in the breeze, so neat upon the line, Countless rows of Mason jars all filled at canning time. And when the winter weather kept us all inside, Mama made the quilts she stitched with so much love and pride. Oatmeal in the morning on the warming shelf Mama gone to milk the cows and churn the milk herself. Pinto beans upon the stove for children after school, As in the background of our lives, our Mama always moved. And when the little ones were born she gave them loving care, And when they needed her, they knew that she was always there. A soothing hand on fevered brow, a smile to calm the fears, We took for granted she was there to brush away our tears. She moves in memory through my mind and now I know that she Was beautiful in ways my childish eye could not then see. So fair of face, so full of grace, so little time for fun, She found her joy in tasks at hand, the work was never done. In retrospect, I wonder now, if Mama longed for more, As in her hand-me-down high heels, she mopped the kitchen floor. Bitterness and hatred against her fellow man As foreign to her as the language in an unknown distant land. And when she suffered grief that I cannot begin to know, Her head would bow and down her face the tears would quietly flow. She didn't bend, she didn't break, no bitterness displayed, The storms of life she conquered and continued on her way. Life may be a battle, but in the rounds of life, Mama always fought with courage and she never threw the fight. She never burdened others with the trials she had to bear, And surely in her life she carried more than her fair share. I know she wasn't perfect, of course, mistakes she made, But they are just a pebble in the pool of all she gave. Unrelenting years finally wore my Mama down, Her face is lined with living, but she seldom wears a frown, And though she may seem shorter and her hair 1s nearly white Her spirit's still a beacon in the darkest night. It gives me strength when mine is gone. I'm Mama's child, I must go on. -janice (1995)