Category Archives: Life’s disappointments

Young Love (#81)

Posted on by

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)

Young Love (#80)

Posted on by

Swimming poolChoosing places to live, one for each of us, was going to be simple compared to finding a teaching position. So we tackled that happy chore first, quickly narrowing it down to two finalists. One apartment was in a large complex of several hundred units and was only two years old. Best of all, there was a big swimming pool in the middle. The apartment lacked personality and was small, but there were lots of other students renting there… and that beautiful pool!

620 Healey St.The other was a third-floor walkup in a very old brick building. It had glass-paned doors between the rooms, a cute step into the bathroom, built-in glass-front cabinets, leaded windows, and best of all, a wood-burning fireplace. For both of us, it was no contest. We chose the walkup and were given the good news that it was available immediately.

As for a job, my meeting at the Champaign Board of Education started happy but ended sad. The interviewer told me I wouldn’t have any trouble getting a teaching position based on my two years of experience in the Chicago Public Schools, but then he asked why I had left Chicago.

I told him I was about to marry a grad student at the U of I and would be moving just in time for the start of the academic year. That’s when his face fell. “Oh.” he said. “I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but we have a policy against hiring spouses of students. They come and then they quickly go, and it makes for a very unstable teaching staff. You won’t be able to teach in this district or anywhere nearby.”

I was pretty sure I heard a door slam and wondered why God would bring us this far and then say “no way.” So I asked a question.

“Well – would you have any advice for me?”

“The only thing I can suggest is looking in other towns away from the Champaign/Urbana area… that is if you don’t mind a long commute. Do you have a car?”

I thought about our Corvette and the variety of crises it seemed to attract, knowing I probably couldn’t count on it for a long daily drive. But Nate had his VW, so I answered with a yes.

The interviewer pushed a paper across his polished desktop and said, “Call these schools. Last I heard, there were still a few openings.” I thanked him and reminded myself how much I loved road trips.

MapWhen I reconnected with Nate, he was eager to report he’d found a room near the university with a cheap month-to-month rent that would work until we married. He comforted me about my disappointment at the Board of Ed but agreed we should investigate the outlying schools.

The closest one was in Danville, 40 miles away. An 80-mile round trip each day would be a commitment of time, gas money, and wear and tear on a car. So he asked how badly I wanted to teach, and after I said “a lot,” he urged me to call.

When I did, I was greeted with a good-news-bad-news situation.

“You hem me in behind and before, and you lay your hand upon me.” (Psalm 139:5)

Young Love (#76)

Posted on by

August 1, 1969

Inch by inch Mom was releasing her hold on “708,” as she referred to her old home. Gradually she was stepping away from the happiness she and her family knew while living at that address, but she needed one more visit for two reasons:

  1. Many remaining items from their garage sale a week earlier were still stashed in the garages and basements of neighbors’ homes and needed to be dealt with.
  2. My brother, Tom, had prearranged a political meeting at 708 for a man who was running for Congress.

TomTom (left) had worked hard on this candidate’s campaign and had scheduled the event many weeks before the house sold. No one had expected it to sell as fast as it did.

 

 

RallyAlthough the rally was landing on the same day as the new owners would be moving in, they agreed to let Tom (and Mom) host the event in the back yard, a gracious gift. The newspaper had publicized the event as an opportunity for university students to join the candidate’s team, and Tom would be leading the charge.

Meanwhile, Mom busied herself collecting her garage sale possessions, hosting the sale “Part 2” in the next-door-neighbor’s driveway. And of course, as the day unfolded, she ended up inside her old house, helping the new family with whatever she could. She had done a good job readying the home for its new occupants, and her diary comment was, “708 SPOTLESS.”

Spotless“Going home” is satisfying for most of us, and after moving from a beloved house, going home to a different one can be unsettling. All of us can testify to running errands in the weeks after a move and automatically ending up on the route to our old address rather than the new house. There comes a day, though, when the transition must be made, even if we have to concentrate hard to get it done.

Tom’s rally was a success with about 50 attendees, and the candidate was appreciative. Mom’s garage sale succeeded, too, and as she hauled the remaining items away, she left 708 for good. Once she made up her mind that she had really moved out, it took only 3 days before a very special note popped up in her diary. They had been out to dinner, after which she wrote: “…and then to our new home, which we LOVE!”

In the end, Mom and Dad lived in their smaller home for more than 30 years, and Mom never loved any home more than that one.

“The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places.” (Psalm 16:6)