Young Love (#103)

October 27 – 29, 1969

 

Although both Nate and I slipped quickly back into our work routines, we began the week knowing we’d be driving the 156 miles back to Wilmette on Friday. There was still a tall stack of wedding invitations to address and mail.

MusicSheet music needed to be sent to the 7 bridesmaids so they could memorize their singing parts, and we needed to figure out their headpieces. I hadn’t had the final fitting on my gown, and Nate had to work on the tuxes, getting the sizes from each of the men.

We needed to meet with the photographer and sit down with the pastor. Figuring out the order of service and writing up a program was on the long to-do list, too, as well as checking with the bridesmaids to see how they were doing sewing their gowns.

I needed to find hostesses for our reception supper in the church basement and chat again with the caterer. Mary and I wanted to shop together for wedding shoes and a few things to pack for the honeymoon. And coming from a family that loved to play jokes on people, we needed to find a getaway driver that could be trusted.

Through the week it was difficult to stay focused on teaching my first graders to read while my mind was on the wedding. My little girls quickly picked up on the excitement and peppered me with questions.

“What does your wedding dress look like, Miss Johnson? Will you have a veil? Is there a flower girl? What will she wear? Can we come?”

The brideDuring free time they drew pictures of brides and grooms, wanting me to take them all home – which I did. When I told them my groom was keenly interested in their artwork, they beamed and ran for the crayons. On the playground I found myself running around with the kids as if I was one of them, full of happy energy.

One thing the children didn’t like, though, was that I’d soon be changing my name. “But you’re Miss Johnson,” they said. I had them practice repeating “Mrs. Nyman,” insisting it would still be me, but most of them turned up their noses and said, “We’re gonna call you Miss Johnson anyway.”

PumpkinsNate and I bought pumpkins and carved them in our tiny kitchen, enjoying every minute together. The mailbox continued to bring fun messages from loved ones. My Uncle Edward from California (Aunt Joyce’s husband) wrote:

“My Magee – We sure look forward to the BIG event and a chance to meet Nate, with whom I must now share my love and affection. I do remember you both daily and am REAL happy for both of you. When you need me, call me collect!”

Uncle Edward.

When he said he “remembered us daily,” he meant in prayer – an awesome gift. Blessing was pouring toward us from all directions, and in our nightly prayer times we couldn’t help but be overwhelmed.

“Give thanks for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.” (Ephesians 5:20)

Young Love (#88)

September 3-4, 1969

 

Nate on Murphy bed.Nate and I were having fun “playing house” as we arranged and rearranged our few possessions, enjoying every minute. Although we didn’t have a bedroom set, we did have the bed that pulled down from an upright position in the closet. It was made with swoopy metal bands attached to springs that had seen their better day and felt more like a hammock than a bed. But there was nothing wrong with hammocks.

These days of settling into our little home were deeply satisfying for both of us, and we personalized much of what we owned with the wonder of a new invention called Contact paper.

Contact paper.But very soon our days would no longer be our own. School was about to start for both of us, and after that it would be nose-to-the-grindstone.

The Danville school district held an orientation meeting for teachers, and the reality of my upcoming teaching task began to weigh heavily. I needed encouragement, and just at my lowest point, the Lord delivered it.

 

 

Two of the other teachers at the orientation meeting were first-timers, too, both scheduled at McKinley School where I would be teaching, and both in the same distance-predicament I was – living in Champaign and working in Danville.

As we were getting acquainted over the reality of our 80-mile commute, we simultaneously came up with the same thought: Let’s carpool!

JudyLinda

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Judy (left), Linda, and I decided that very day to work out a driving schedule. Judy and I would drive on alternate weeks, and Linda would help with gas. It was a good arrangement and gave all of us a psychological boost.

Linda would be teaching 2nd grade, Judy 6th, and I had 1st. Right away I sensed we would become close buddies and felt a rush of optimism about the coming year. We met our principal that day, along with the other four teachers in our school, and all of us could hardly wait to meet our students.

The district also passed out copies of curriculum for each grade level, and at last I had a map to direct me through the unfamiliar territory of 1st grade.

Driving the 40 miles home, my nervousness about the school year completely melted away. I couldn’t wait to tell Nate all about the day. And something else happened as I drove along on I-74. It occurred to me for the first time how much fun it was going to be to come home to Nate every day. From here on we would be sharing our lives, not just in letters and phone calls and occasional kisses but up close and personal, day to day…. and night to night.

When I finally got home and climbed the stairs to our apartment, Nate was at the door ready to deliver an abundance of those kisses, and I felt an overwhelming whoosh of joy wrapped inside his arms.

Then suddenly he stepped back and said, “And guess what! We just got our first mail!”

Our first mailHe reached into his pocket and pulled out a postcard addressed to “Occupant” at our address…. and our “Apartment 6.” We danced around our newly-rugged living room with a burst of joy, realizing we finally had our very own address, just for the two of us.

But as I drank in the happy, handsome face of my groom, giddy with love for him, a wisp of worry floated across my mind —

With all this freedom and privacy, would we be able to resist each other until our wedding night?

“Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!” (Psalm 27:14)

Young Love (#84)

August 18-28, 1969

 

Camp borchureAfter a weekend spent painting our newly rented apartment in Champaign, we cleaned our brushes and raced back to Wilmette to gear up for an adventure as counselors at Camp Moyoca, the Moody Church youth camp.

This would be another new experience for Nate, but I had counseled in other summers and had a memory-bank full of good times there. Each of us would have a cabin of high school teens, boys for him, girls for me, though we hoped we’d be able to slip away between events to have some boy-girl time of our own.

Day #1 at camp happened to be Nate’s birthday. Tradition had long dictated that anyone having a birthday while at camp got thrown into the lake fully clothed. With my summer birthday, I’d experienced that “loving” attention repeatedly through the years and knew it often grew into a combination of wild and embarrassing – not to mention the Kangaroo Court that sometimes preceded it.

I wondered how Nate would take such a brute-force baptism. He had lived a quiet, orderly life and had never experienced (or even witnessed) such a thing. So as we drove the 45 miles to the camp, I tried to warn him.

JeanetteBut I needn’t have worried. Mercifully, he was spared. I don’t know whose directive that was, but I suspect the camp cook, Jeanette. She was going to be the caterer for our wedding, and we’d already met with her several times about the menu, giving her a chance to get to know Nate a little.

Jeanette cooked at camp every summer, and if we wanted to eat, we stayed on her good side. All of us did whatever she said (a healthy mix of admiration and fear), and I was pleased that she’d taken a special shine to Nate. To this day I wonder if she hadn’t been the one to order his birthday pardon.

Thankfully my birthday had just passed, or I would have been tossed in the lake for sure. And if Nate had seen such a scuffle, he might have felt compelled to rise to my defense, assuring a dunking for him, too – all in the name of fun, of course.

The hatAs the days passed, Nate became friends with other staff members, some of whom had been my friends since early Sunday school days. It pleased me that he was getting to know them, but even more important was that these friends were getting to know him. I was proud of him for throwing himself into every activity with enthusiasm, despite so many new experiences. Throughout the 10 days I didn’t hear a single complaint. Actually it was quite the opposite.

When we were able to steal away privately here and there, Nate reflected on all he was learning in the meetings and how he hoped to apply those things to our marriage. Both of us were growing closer to the Lord and also each other, and we began to see that God Himself had been the one to arrange these very special days at camp.

“Remember your Creator in the days of your youth.” (Ecclesiastes 12:1)