Young Love (#89)

Posted on February 2, 2017 by Margaret

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.

It 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.

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?”

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)

Posted on February 1, 2017 by Margaret

September 3-4, 1969

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.

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!

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!”

He 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 (#87)

Posted on January 31, 2017 by Margaret

September 3, 1969

As Nate and I were unloading in Champaign, Mom and Dad were loading up back home, but their good deed hit a road block — literally. The two of them had driven to a friend’s house to borrow a giant van on our behalf, and Mom (who said she’d driven since the age of 12 and had a spotless record) took the wheel. Dad followed in the car.

Before Mom got to the end of the block, she’d had an accident, scraping the side of a car parked in the street. It belonged to a neighbor’s guest, and Mom felt terrible. When she got out to inspect the van, she felt even worse. She’d nailed two-for-one.

The neighbors quickly called the police, and when all was said and done, Mom had added a moving violation to the morning, making it three-for-one.

I’m not sure what Dad said at the time, but my guess is that the words “dollars and cents” came out, along with “burning the candle at both ends.” I think Dad knew (being married to Mom) that even though he’d just retired at 70, putting his feet up someplace wasn’t in the cards.

Promising to get everything fixed when they returned from hauling our things to Champaign, they drove out of the neighborhood and proceeded as planned, picking up what would become our apartment stove and other “recycled” furniture items. Together they drove the 156 mile route, and we welcomed them with a tour of our 3 rooms and a well-earned cup of coffee. They only stayed a few minutes, though, and climbed right back into the van to head home, rounding out the day at 355 miles.

Late that night, Mom wrote of her remorse in her diary. The pages that followed detailed further frustration at having to take the borrowed van to a body shop on three different occasions before they finally got it right. As for poor Dad, his insurance and checkbook took a healthy hit (van, car, and ticket), making him wonder if he shouldn’t have just shipped the items professionally.

Down in Champaign, though, we were jubilant over our good fortune as the apartment began to feel homey. And it got even better. Nate’s parents phoned to tell us that a small but brand new refrigerator was on its way!

When it arrived, we were speechless. It wasn’t small at all but a full-size Kelvinator. The senior Nymans insisted they’d ordered and paid for only a small one and tried repeatedly to straighten it out with the Champaign appliance store. We, too, made several attempts to get them to pick it up. In the end, they said, “Oh, just keep it,” and we used that beautiful ‘fridge for 23 years.

With all this good fortune coming our way, Nate and I decided to celebrate by buying a few practical orange items to enhance our tiny kitchenette.