The Big Move

I moved to the junior high on the hill with some trepidation; I had heard stories … most of them grossly exaggerated, but some of them true.  Students had five minutes to change classes in maze of students and hallways; anyone who was tardy was kept 15 minutes after school for the first tardy. I never found what happened for subsequent tardiest.  Then there was ROOM 4 … the detention room for perpetual rule breakers or those who even dared to bring chewing gum on to school premises … yes those where the days. In addition, we actually had a dress code. Girls had to wear dresses or skirts or slacks with tunic tops; boys wore slacks and collared shirts.  It was a tough year.  About mid-year, my parents informed me that we were moving … not very far, but it would mean a change in schools and a change in churches.  I was not overly sad to leave the school and I was just beginning youth group; so the change was not overly traumatic.   We moved to a neighboring county. I am not sure why we made the choice.  I do know that it was in God’s plan.  The first house we built we built did not seem to fit our family’s needs.  The unique thing about our property was that backed up exactly to the land owned by the church we had chosen to attend. We had built our house in proximity to the church.  About that same time, the church added an additional staff person … a youth pastor and needed an additional parsonage. Because of the location of our property, the deacons approached my parents and asked if they would be willing to sell the house and land.  When my parents asked my opinion,  I told them yes, but only if they could get me closer to the church than we already were --- now that was a monumental request seeing we lived three doors from the church.  The only available property  was an unoccupied barn, owned by a man who people would said would never sell … but God moved on his heart and he sold us his barn, we converted it into a house. My schooling remained a problem … I ended up in a small Christian school for one year … a school that confirmed me in my externalism that Jesus loved me for my good behavior… that I had to try really hard to keep Him happy. I came away with an aura of pride that I was better than those girls who wore short skirts and listened to certain kinds of music … this was the 1970’s. I wanted Jesus and my parents to be proud. It was not until years later in Bible College I came across the verse in Titus 2 “Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to His mercy He saved us…” and it was not until well until into my adult years that its meaning gripped my heart.  I longed for a  real relationship with Jesus and my parents, but I was so busy with my legalistic lists trying to impress and earn their love when they just wanted me.  Now I grieve at what I lost … At least I still have Jesus.  And nothing is lost or wasted or in His hands.

Fourth Grade and My Special Friend

Fourth grade was like a breath of fresh air.  I was in  the strict teacher’s class; the other teacher was easy going; always happy, but I was to find out  my teacher was safe.  The schedule was written on the board the every morning, and as a child who liked predictability and that made me feel secure.  My teacher  introduced me to some cool chapter books; she actually read TO us.  She made us write stories, and eventually that gave me the idea that I maybe I could actually write.  I soared in her class, because she saw me as a whole person, and not as kid with problems.  I also think fourth grade was also enriched because I had a special friend who was just a year younger than I was.  Our parents had been reacquainted at a PTA meeting the previous April.   We  were similar in personality and tastes.  Her father pastored a church nearby. In its nascent stages it, met in her house.  That fascinated me … going to church in one’s home !  She also had her very own creek behind  her house. Of course  we were cautioned about  it, but we could always imagine. She also owned a dalmation; I had only read stories about such dogs. I thought such dogs were always black and white. Hers was tan with brown spots; I was later to learn he was  merely dirty form rolling around in Carolina red dirt. They eventually moved to another location with a church and parsonage adjoining.  When my mother saw the house, there was a flicker of recognition. My grandmother had been married in that very house fifty years previous  to my friend’s  church owning it.  Our family had ties to that area of  town, and Grandma had told stories to my mom about her earlier years.  I could just imagine her coming down the stairwell of the house as a bride.  And such adventures we both dreamed up in that house! 

Around the same time, the Bible Club that had met at the Acklands’  home relocated to our home.  It would be meeting in the basement of our house on Fridays.  Our house seemed the perfect location, as we  could entice the children coming home from the local elementary school where I attended.  The same woman who had assisted the Acklands would be the Bible teacher, song leader, and anything else the club required.  We simply provided the snacks and the location.  Those were  generally happy days.   I wanted to bask in the security of childhood forever, but I would learn that time stands still for no one.

Living It: Neighborhood Times and Grandma's House

 Living It : Neighborhood Times and Grandma’s House

I grew up in a neighborhood full of children … there was usually someone to play with. Our safety was ensured by the installation of sidewalks on our side of the street. No one cared if we road our bikes on them …it was really a child’s world. There were woods behind  our houses. We invented, our own world where we were the adults, but it was somewhat troubling to me. I was not ready to be in charge. The absence of parents of was troubling to me … I never played Barbies very much for the same reason.  My gullibility made me an easy target for practical jokes and left me with a deep sense of feeling unworthy and fearful.  I tried to buy in the adage that “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” However, words and cruelty even when done in childhood jest cut deep, because children don’t have the cognitive capacity to discern what is funny and what is not.   

One of the bright spots in those years was Grandma’s house.  The house itself is still standing and overlooks the  Gateway YWCA.  She had 10 children and over 20 grandchildren.  There was usually a cousin or two play with at her house. We generally got along pretty well … Grandma was by nature a peacemaker.  Her front porch itself was place of peace. There was a glider and porch swing on the front porch and swing set in the back yard beneath a spiraling oak tree.  If we got really bored we could walk to Mr. Willard’s store just as our mothers has when they were younger.  Grandma’s house had upstairs – something none of our houses had … our imaginations could run wild there, especially with a cedar chest full of clothes.  The steps yielded hours of a game called rock school.  It was best played with three cousins. Two cousins would be  students, and one would be the teacher.  We would begin by sitting on the lowest step. The teacher would hold a stone or button in her hand and we would ascend the steps by guessing correctly which hand the “teacher held the button/stone in.  The one to get to top first was declared the teacher for the next round --- not very exciting by today’s standards.  However, remember, we did not even know what a desktop computer looked like.  Color television had just  been affordably invented. There was one room, though, I usually avoided, and I that was Grandma’s bedroom.  It was dark and had an ominously ringing clock that frightened me, i.e. it sounded haunted in contrast to her house of peace.   Ironically, I had memorized many verses of Scripture about fear and trust, but somehow I had failed to apply the verses to my life. Memorization had been something I had done to get stickers and smiles, without a thought that I could actually use the Word of God in my everyday life.  Jesus said of the Pharisees in John 5, “You search the Scriptures for in them you think you have eternal life, but you have no dependence on Me … no real life … (para).”  I was already beginning the downward spiral into Pharisaical living, all the while keeping it hidden … but isn’t that what Christian Pharisees do?

Other Influences ' Our friends the Acklands were advancing in years, and Auntie Maud wanted to be near her sister who lived in Canada. Therefore, we packed them up and helped them move to Canada. It was an adventure. They took their beloved dog Tippy (Tippins) … I had known that dog since I had known the Acklands and saying it was like saying good bye to a set of grandparents. We took our little dog along, if I remember correctly. Think of it … an elderly couple … a little kid … two dogs … and my poor parents who were responsible for the whole operation. There was one additional thing. Uncle Harry had to have his tea. These were English people, and so we had tea at the proper times. It was a long journey, but not the final farewell; for the next twenty years, we would make the trek to Canada to check on them, until Jesus took them to Heaven. After all, they were Daddy’s spiritual parents. One of my deepest regrets is that I was not astute enough to ask questions about the Welsh revival and life on the primitive mission field. God puts people in our path for us to minister to, but also to deepen our walk with Him. I remember the tea times at their home. They gave me my own special bunny cup to drink from whenever we gathered at their house for tea. When they moved back to Canada, they let me keep it. Not very far from our home was small, but growing Bible College by the name of Piedmont. Different professors used do supply preaching at our church. One of the men was the Dr. John Reinert. His wife also assisted as organist at our church. I remember how kind he was to a little kid and how sad I was when he died. It seemed sudden to me. It was the first time I ever attended a funeral home visitation. Another professor from those early years was Carl Bollinger, who taught Bible and Science at the college. He stopped by the house on an errand one night when I was playing with my Easy Bake Oven. It was electrically run, but powered mainly by a light bulb. Mr. Bollinger was fascinated with the whole process. Years later when I enrolled at Piedmont, he remembered my little oven. Men who were important enough to teach college but took the time to make a little girl feel like she mattered communicated volumes. Hmm, come to think of it, that is what Jesus the Rabbi of the New Testament did and we are to follow in his steps.

The Truth…Ugly or Not I will take a break from the joys of church and serving Jesus to give an explanation. I know there are people who disapproved of the way my parents raised me. I could see it in their eyes, sense it I how they related to me, and some even told me so when I was a teenager …please no pity. As I was saying this is the truth. As a very young child, I had severe allergies. In fact, they were so severe I had a tonsillectomy before I was four years of age. I took allergy medicine for years, and other measures were taken. However, an astute allergist came back with diagnoses that hinted of neurological issues. I had been born with an abnormally large head; in prekindergarten and kindergarten, I could not keep up in physical tasks (maybe she should flunk kindergarten … but she can read). The doctors finally determined I had a disease/disorder they called Neurofibromatosis. At that time, there was little known about it. My parents were naturally worried, because no one knew where it would end. I had great difficulty with physical tasks in elementary school, and some of my teachers made me feel like damaged goods. One of my classmates called me “the kid with the stretched head.” I saw a neurologist briefly, but spent far more time with orthopedists who thought they could correct the curve in my lower back. After wearing a brace for three years and seeing a physical therapist for just as long … we realized it was a waste. We continued going to church during that time, and I am sure I was prayed for healing in the Alliance tradition, but the Father had other plans. People began to accuse my parents of becoming over protective, but they had to be. The fact of the matter was that I could not do what other children could do. The doctor had said no highly competitive sports, although I played a little in the neighborhood pickup games – I wasn’t very good. I was never allowed to make the treks to the corner drug store --- I just couldn’t keep up. My body image frustrated me more as I grew into adolescence. My self-esteem plummeted. More evidences of NF began to emerge. We bonded more as a family since I felt ostracized from my peers because I was different. My church youth group was the only place where I felt a margin of acceptance. I could not drive, due to coordination issues, although people were convinced it was my over protective parents. I completed high school and went on to college, living at home. Although I had a number of theological doubts particulary surrounding my salvation, I wonder if much of my doubt related to my own questions … did NF happen to me because I sinned and I never had the guts to ask the question. When I began to develop severe headaches after college, it was time to consult another neurologist. He realized that the hydrocephalus that had been present since childhood was an evidence of an Arnold Chiari II Malformation and would demand a shunt. It was a scary thing to be shunted at almost 30 years of age, but God had his hand in it. The diagnosis came in time to prevent greater future issues. NF never goes away. Issues continue to arise and need to monitored. Mom and Daddy were continually concerned until Jesus took them to Heaven I do not want pity. I have strong support system in place. I have written this in their defense particularly for those who believed I was over protected and in extreme gratitude for the years of care, they gave to their daughter.

The Early Years II Mom sang in the choir and Daddy was church treasurer and held a few more church offices. I grew up liking church. It is a good thing … we were there a lot. I never remember being told I had to go. On Sunday mornings, I just assumed it was what we did, I really worried about my neighbors who stayed home, and watched cartoons … I was already heading down the path to legalism. One thing that made it even more fun was when our pastor’s wife, Helen Klinsing (or Mrs. K. as we kids called her) had the burden to start a primary Alliance Youth Fellowship group. She taught me to sing the names of the 12 disciples; I had already musically mastered the books of the New Testament. Life was great in the little primary AYF group. She was kindergarten teacher in a local Christian School and so the squirrelly boys did not faze her she just redirected them. I remember the night I really messed up my memory verse. The verse was John 3:3b, but because we could not read her handwriting on the slip of paper, Mom helped me memorize John 3:36 … a mouthful for a first grader. I was devastated to have learned the wrong verse; I did not like to make mistakes. Mrs. K. complimented on learning the longer one and explained the mistake to my mother. It was a happy little group. Another event that shaped my spiritual was our involvement in s children’s Bible club, which was led by Auntie Maude and Uncle Harry. They were never able to have biological children, but instead, God blessed them with numerous spiritual children. Mrs. Jordan assisted them with great passion and energy; she had lost her only daughter to death, but instead of being bitter, she invested her life in reaching other children … nothing is wasted in the hands of the Redeemer. I attended the Bible Club from the time I was three years old, because Mom was helper. One of the first verses I learned there was “Even a child is known by his doings wherever his work be pure and whether it be right (Proverbs 20:11). It was at that Bible Club I made a profession of faith in Christ. I was only a preschooler and those were the sixties. Much assumption occurred especially with compliant children. I was given believer’s baptism by immersion at my own insistence, and the belief by pastor and parents that my salvation was genuine. God met me before I sought Him … in my church …in home … He was faithful.

Early Church Years I voted early today. This may seem like an odd topic sentence. In some ways, it was an answer to prayer. You see, the building where I voted was constructed close to the site or almost on the exact site where the original church I attended built. A helpful guard happily answered my questions and pointed me to a picture of the church. I was young when the church moved to the southside of Winston-Salem. Just as the doors of the Moravian churches around town are distinctive, the architecture of our church said Alliance to me. It was my church. The things I remember most about the early years were the music. I remember the Beginner department where we lined our chairs in a single row and sang about “The Hallelujah Line … not going back to station of sin … traveling on the pass of the shed blood of Jesus.” I think we enjoyed making the train noises most, but even at the tender age of 4 and 5 we were reminded that Jesus was the only way to Heaven. The songs we sang in big church excited me more. I think two that I remember most are Glory to His Name and Shelter in a Time of Storm. My understanding was greatly limited as nonconcrete thinking four year old. I think in those early years, the greatest favor my parents did for me was to encourage Scripture memory. They even allowed me to say them occasionally on Sunday evenings when Pastor asked for testimonies. Thank God for the patience of a pastor and a congregation who let a lisping four-year-old quote Scripture during those testimony times. Larry Fowler said in Rock Solid Kids, we can look at children as if they are a bother (WRONG), a tool to reach their parents (and that is practical and church growth tool), our future (somewhat true), but the best way to treat children is that they are people. I was treated as person that mattered. I believe that is one that that made me stay despite the doubts that besieged during me teen years. It matters how our kids are treated.

Very Eary Years ...

Very Early Years … It was obvious that the yellow house on Salt Street was little more than a honeymoon cottage, so before Baby Catherine joined them, Bill and Miriam moved to a slightly larger house, mainly for to accommodate their infant and for her safety. Life continued to revolve around family and church. Life was enjoyable and unhurried. Baby Catherine talked on schedule if not a little early, bur much to her mother’s despair she was not walking. Her younger cousin has walked at eight months. The pediatrician rolled his eyes and said not to worry, although special orthopedic shoes were prescribed. Eventually the walking came. There was one traumatic event to both daughter and parents. At about 18 months of age, Cathie and her mother were standing at a local florist. As Miriam was making a purchase, Cathie lost her balance and fell backwards through an open basement door down a flight of a steps. No series injury resulted, but there were many tears. Bill and Miriam resolved that Cathie as she was now called would grow up to love Jesus and books in that order. Miriam read countless books every day to her daughter. Both parents held positions of leadership at the church, and so the family was there every time the doors were open. Cathie’s mother sang in the choir and helped lead the missionary circles; her dad was on the board of deacons; both occasionally taught Sunday school. The family was a Deuteronomy 6 family. Although blessings were offered before every meal, family devotions were a rare occurrence. Spiritual discussions just occurred naturally in the milieu of life. Maybe that is the way God intended our family to be. He was woven into the very fabric of who we were. Christian books and magazines for children abounded. Those days of early and middle childhood were full of God’s grace. (To those English critics reading my blog I realize I switch between first and third persons, but when I write on such a personal level … it just happens … PIU students… do not copy my style, if you happen to read this blog)