Category Archives: Thankfulness

Young Love (#90)

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September 15-18, 1969

 

The school year was in full swing, and Nate dove into his studies with unflagging diligence. I was learning the names and personalities of 25 first graders, steadily gaining confidence that I could teach them after all.

First grade.

The carpool with Judy and Linda was working out well, except for the days when I had to drive the Corvette. On those days, poor Linda sat hunched over “on the hump” between the two bucket seats. This confirmed for Nate and I that we needed to sell our good-looking but impractical car. We couldn’t do that, though, without having another set of wheels lined up.

I wrote a letter to Dad, presenting the problem, asking if he might give us a small loan, depending on what we got for the Corvette. We arranged that I would make a trip home in a couple of weeks to go car shopping with him.

Later, feeling bad about not being able to manage life without Mom and Dad’s frequent assistance, I wrote them a long letter of gratitude. They’d done so much to get us moved to Champaign, and had agreed to let us get married earlier than they’d wanted. I apologized for not being home when the wedding needed so much attention, and thanked them profusely for everything I could think of.

Mom's diaryThey were pleased (see diary, left), and Mom wrote back. “I just re-read your letter. It really ‘sends’ me, darling. There’s been a letter to you in my heart and a book about your engagement too, but somehow I cannot relax in this ‘boxed’ atmosphere [not yet unpacked after their move], so I will forego until a later date. Suffice it to say you have all our love and prayers.”

Then she got down to practical matters. “I’m sure Dad will loan you the money for a car. Then it can be up to you to decide what car to get. I see you’ve learned that prestige costs convenience…. although you’ll never get younger.”

Mom always sparkled.

She also wrote that it would be her joy to resume planning our wedding and then signed her letter like this: “Thank my Nathan for just being Nathan. And your Mama adores you, Margaret Ann.” How thrilling it was to read that she viewed Nate as “hers,” a sure sign she was growing to love him.

A few days later, Nate received a letter from Mom on another topic. It came to the mailbox at his rented room.

Letter to Nate

The real fun was about to begin! And though Nate didn’t show me Mom’s note, later he hinted that something special was going to happen the weekend I went home. When I guessed, he spilled the beans. But I was glad I knew ahead of time.

Velvet.Mom had lined up all kinds of wedding-related appointments for that same weekend, in addition to the bridal shower and the car shopping with Dad. We also needed to mail out the last of the burgundy velvet for the bridesmaids’ gowns.

And Mom made one final suggestion for that weekend – that I donate blood to a family friend who would soon undergo surgery.

“In humility, count others more significant than yourselves.” (Philippians 2:3)

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 (#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)