Category Archives: Submitting to God

Young Love (#89)

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September 8-14, 1969
Over the weekend, Nate and I began hunting for a Bible-believing church to become a part of while living in Champaign. He’d been attending worship services on campus during the previous year, but this time we wanted a family-oriented atmosphere that wasn’t all college students.

The first Sunday we attended a Baptist church near our apartment and immediately felt at home. When the senior pastor made an effort to personally welcome us, we were hooked.

The best thing about church, though, wasn’t the pastor or the music but the challenging discussions that happened in our young couples Sunday school class. And of course the subject of sex came up frequently.

Free loveIt was 1969, the year of Woodstock, and “free love” was all around us — even in the university friendships Nate and I were beginning to make. The maxim of the day was, “Make love not war.” But in our couples class, we were learning how to do life God’s way…. which was the opposite of what the culture was telling us. He wanted couples to save sex for marriage and had some good reasons for it.

 

The trouble was, Nate and I were both at the apartment every day, every evening, and often well into the night with endless hours of study. We ate our meals there and relished the together-time after our long-distance history.

Besides, his dorm-style room near campus was sterile and lonely. It seemed silly for him to “go home” in the wee hours of the morning, then return for breakfast. But as hard as we tried to line up what we wanted with what God wanted, we couldn’t do it. It would have to be one or the other – our way or his. And we wanted to deliberately make a decision rather than let it happen by default. We knew if we surrendered Nate’s room and decided to live together, the decision would make itself.

Occasionally we prayed about all this, asking God what we should do. Of course that was ridiculous, because he’d already told us. But he also knew we were trying to step in his direction. So just when our resolve was weakening, he sent us some practical help – a letter from my aunt/mentor in California. She was responding to a letter I’d written her, full of wedding details.

“Dear Margee and Nate. Thanks for the exciting, informative letter. I’ve read and re-read it. I’m trying to place you each day to pray God’s hand of guidance and love over you both. What a rapturous time for you, all joys multiplied because of your oneness in Him! Keep Him in control, and all will be well.”

But that wasn’t all. She wrote, “I should write and remind your Mom…” and I wondered what she meant. But then she explained.

Youthful Aunt Joyce.Back when she was engaged (left), her fiancée (eventually my uncle) bought a home for them well ahead of their marriage. Aunt Joyce lived there by herself for many weeks before the wedding, while Uncle Edward lived nearby. They had battled temptation, too, but had remained faithful to God’s desire that they wait.

Apparently Mom had been stressing to Aunt Joyce about the temptations going on in our Champaign apartment, although she and we had never discussed it.

As always, Aunt Joyce was the voice of reason, calming Mom and calming us, too, with the story of her own experience. Then her letter said, “When we look forward to God’s best for us, we will not be so tempted to take ‘second best’ by not waiting for His time of consummation and approval.”

And then she wrote, “Do you know I love you?”

Question

And because she was willing to risk offending us to deliver a difficult message, we knew she did…. and that God did, too.

“Speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in all aspects into Him.” (Ephesians 4:15)

Young Love (#88)

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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 (#83)

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August 16-17, 1969

 

Nate and I arrived in Champaign with our first load of possessions and carried each box, bag, crate, and suitcase up to our 3rd floor apartment. Up and down, up and down, fueled by the joy of feathering our first nest.

The apartment included a living room with a Murphy bed that pulled down from a closet (in the living room), a kitchenette with 18” of counter space, a dining room, an ironing board that also pulled out of the wall, a small bathroom, and a very empty bedroom. After we’d finished moving in, the rooms still looked pretty bare, but it was a start.

Our hardwood floors were in great shape, but every footstep echoed, and almost immediately the tenant beneath us began banging on her ceiling (our floor) to let us know we were “walking too loud.” After all, it was the sixties, and most homes boasted wall-to-wall carpeting in every room, sometimes even the kitchen and bathroom. “Naked” floors were a sign of inadequacy…. or, in our case, poverty.

Moving into 620We unpacked our clothes (from suitcases) but had no drawers to put them in. So we piled them on the bedroom floor. It would be an easy way to coordinate an outfit, since everything would be visible. And of course we brought the ball Nate had given me immediately after we’d become engaged 6 weeks previously. Hardwood floors made for great dribbling, though the tenant below us disagreed.

Mom and Dad had given us a brand new card table and two folding chairs as a housewarming gift, so we set those up in the dining room. They would be multi-functional – for eating, studying, and meal prep.

My folks had also given us a well worn set of china Mom no longer wanted (from the forties), most of which was chipped or cracked, but we were grateful. Wedding gifts would come eventually, but these hand-me-downs were perfect for the interim. She also contributed a set of pink sheets for the pull-down bed, an orange blanket, and one pillow (just for me, she said, since Nate would be spending his nights elsewhere). With a few kitchen utensils and a couple of sauce pans, we felt quite prepared.

Red glass collectionBest of all, though, I’d brought my red glass goblets, each one different, and each one given by a dear friend at a special time in my life. I’d accumulated them through my college and working years, and they sparkled like jewels in our curtain-less front window.

The purpose of our weekend wasn’t to organize our apartment, though. It was to paint.

 

Painting

Nate had never painted anything in his life, but he was game, despite our attic-level apartment being as hot as an oven. I was the woodwork person, and he partnered with a roller for the better part of two days as we chatted our way through transforming the rooms. It was delightful to dream together about all that would happen in this place in coming months, and although the weekend theme could have been “Surviving Toxic Fumes,” instead it was, “Dreaming of Bright Tomorrows.”

“A dream fulfilled is a tree of life.” (Proverbs 13:12)