Category Archives: Friendship

Young Love (#85)

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August 28-31, 1969

 

During our 10 days of counseling at Camp Moyoca, Nate and I got attached to our high school campers, even the obstreperous ones, and both of us were glad we’d had the chance to spend time with them. For me it was also a treat to work alongside old buddies again, and for Nate it was a chance to meet them.

Water skiing.I also loved getting to water ski again, and both of us found it satisfying to sit alongside “our kids” at late-night campfires listening to their testimonies of new commitments to Christ.

Nate referred to these 10 days as “a spiritual experience of depth,” and I was pleased at how well he managed his cabin-full of boisterous boys. (No doubt his recent military training factored in.)

Jim.It was pure pleasure to watch him stockpile experiences at “my” camp, knowing that in years to come if I spoke of old memories there, he would understand. And one other perk was that when the last day came, a lifelong friendship with the camp director, Jim Gwinn, had begun.

Just after the camp bus pulled away carrying campers back to the city, Nate and I had to race away, too. It was his turn to stand up in a friend’s wedding, and this time the ceremony was back in the Champaign area.

Those 156 miles were becoming a regular gig for us, and we went straight from camp to the groom’s house, where Nate tried on his white tux and was brought up to speed on wedding details.

Bob and Roseann's wedding.

In our free hours, we headed back to our newly-rented apartment to paint, finishing the first coat and starting the second. The rooms were gradually morphing from turquoise to white, taking on a fresh, clean look.

Painting the apt.Back home Mom and Dad were assembling pieces of hand-me-down furniture and a small stove for us. They were also donating the old carpeting from their new home (the tenant beneath us would be appreciative), and an aunt was contributing a couch.

Mom had arranged to borrow a giant van from friends, and our apartment paint needed to be dry before they arrived. So after the weekend’s wedding festivities, Nate and I painted long into the night to get the job completed, tackling those 156 miles afterwards to make it home in time for the annual double birthday party for Dad and Tom – both born on September 1st.

Everything was coming together nicely, except for one thing. My new first graders would be walking into their classroom in just a few days, and I hadn’t decorated a single bulletin board – much less made a teaching plan for Day #1.

“Be a good worker, one who does not need to be ashamed.” (2 Timothy 2:15)

Young Love (#84)

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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)

Young Love (#82)

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August 15-16, 1969

As we readied to drive the 156 miles from Champaign back to Wilmette, Nate and I reflected on everything that had happened since we’d left. We had found a room for him to rent until the wedding, signed the lease on an apartment that would become our first home as Mr. & Mrs., and most importantly, secured a teaching job for me. Not bad for two day’s work.

Ready to paint.Just before leaving, we stopped at a hardware store and bought several cans of paint, dropping them off at our new address: 620 Healey Street, Champaign. The apartment walls were swimming-pool-blue, which wasn’t going to blend too well with our registry choices of orange, yellow, and kiwi green. So we knew we had our work cut out for us when we returned.

Once back in Wilmette, we shared our three “finds” with my parents, asking to borrow their VW van to begin moving things to Champaign… the next morning. It was only 2½ weeks before the first school day, and we couldn’t wait to get back to our new life together as a couple. At long last our formerly separate paths were converging.

By now Mom and Dad had given up trying to talk sense into us and just shared our joy – especially the part about me finding a job. The one comment Mom did make was, “What about camp?”

“Oh,” I said, “we’re still planning on that. But not till Sunday evening.” (It was Friday.)

The next morning Nate and I, in his car and my folks’ van, headed for my Chicago apartment, and with my roommates’ help, we began carrying things out. That turned out to be far more emotional than I’d anticipated. As we packed up my few possessions (mostly a collection of glass items and a model Corvette) I found myself grieving over the end of this unique phase of life – single working girl in the big city with three fabulous roommates. It had been such a happy time, and I had trouble holding back tears.

Our apartment

Living with Marti, Marsha, and ClarLyn in our garden apartment had been a remarkable phase of life that wouldn’t come around again. And saying goodbye was much harder than I thought it would be.

But these three had been faithful cheerleaders in my initial relationship with Nate, and they generously shared my happiness when we became engaged. I would never forget their enthusiasm and how much it meant to me.

Roommates

As Nate and I left, it was comforting to know the four of us would be together again at the wedding in November. The girls had all agreed to play a part, so as I surrendered my key, this made the parting less painful.

After we’d said goodbye, Nate was ready (as always) with something helpful to say. This time he used the old adage, “The one constant in life is change.” But then he said, “Don’t worry, Meg. It’s all going to turn out just right.” And his warm hug of support cemented that in my mind.

Then we were off – two vehicles pointed toward a new life in Champaign. And we couldn’t wait to get there!

“The Lord will go before you, the God of Israel will be your rear guard.” (Isaiah 52:12)