Category Archives: God’s plans for us

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)

Young Love (#81)

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August 15-17, 1969

Nate and I had pressed our parents hard to agree to a wedding well ahead of when they thought we should marry. Rather than wait until after he had graduated from law school, we insisted we would be just fine if we married while he was still a student. Being separated had worn down both of us, and we’d had our fill of it.

BaconThe most important piece of that plan, then, was that I find a way to bring home the bacon while he studied. And the best way to do that would be to teach school.

My former teaching position in Chicago had fallen into my lap with very little effort, despite not having a degree in education. So I mistakenly assumed the same thing would happen in Champaign — teacher shortages were still the norm around the country. It was a shock to hear they wouldn’t hire me there, no matter what my experience, because they knew I wouldn’t stay more than a year or two.

There was still one possibility, though.

If I was willing to clock some significant miles every day, I could teach in an outlying district. Danville, Illinois, 40 miles from Champaign, was on a list indicating they had one opening left at a school named McKinley.

My school.

Nate and I went back to the phone booth in front of 7-Eleven, and I called the principal. Talking to him was encouraging. His one opening could be mine, he said, if I wanted it. I was thrilled, and felt God was orchestrating this good fortune for us. But then came the bad news. “I assume you’re qualified to teach 1st grade,” he said.

“First grade?” The job hadn’t been for kindergarten, as I’d thought.

I knew absolutely nothing about teaching 1st grade except that it was a critical year in every student’s education. Children needed to be taught the fundamentals of reading and math among other things, and it was mandatory that a 1st grade teacher prepare them well for the more complicated curriculum of 2nd grade. I felt that if I took the position I’d be in over my head.

So, when the principal asked if I was interested, I was surprised to hear myself say — with gusto — “Absolutely. I’ll take the job!”

At McKinley SchoolNate and I drove out to see the school that afternoon, and the custodian let us in. As I stood in front of 25 empty desks in the 1st grade classroom, I wondered why on earth I’d said yes. But my tenderhearted fiancé put his arm around me and said, “Don’t worry, Meg. It can’t be that much different than kindergarten. And the most important thing is that you’ll love the children, no matter what their age.”

I bought that, and stopped worrying. It would be fun to get acquainted with a roomful of new students and to make friends with the other teachers, one in each grade. Besides, how hard could the job possibly be?

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)