It was snowing. And snowing. And freezing. And I had to attend classes on crutches. We had to let some loan payments slip in order to buy food and medicine. But an amazing thing began to happen. Even though we were careful not to bemoan our plight to other student families, it seemed that several times when we could barely scrape up enough for the next meal, a little bit of money would show up.
Sometimes it would be with an unsigned card, in an envelope, put on the inside of our storm door. Other times we would find an envelope with money in our campus mailbox. I'm not sure if my wife was working there at the time, but if she was, she was never aware of anyone placing gifts in our own box. Birthday, Christmas and anniversary money always came at the right time.
We also got to know a couple, Mike and Jane, who were a great encouragement to us. Mike worked full time as a machinist, so that Jane could get her degree. They were not professing Christians, but surely showed Christian love and obedience to Christ's teaching. Once, when our car broke down, Mike cheerfully crawled under it for an hour or so, on a bitter cold day, and fixed the problem. And this after having just gotten off of work on third shift. Sadly, however, as we had done with so many "friends" before, we didn't develop a close relationship with Mike and Jane because they didn't believe as we did. Even among fellow believers the doctrines had to match, or we couldn't bind together. The Lord would begin to set that straight later on in our lives.
The most memorable of acquaintances, though, was a long-haired hippie-looking fellow named Jim. He approached me one day when I was trying to manipulate my crutches and dropping books. He was wearing a rumpled khaki outfit and asked if he could carry my books. I reluctantly agreed, but warned him that it could go no further, as I was married. (Kidding!) Jim was a student at Judson, and he and his wife, Rosie, would often house-sit around the area, including the home of the noted Christian childrens book writer, V. Gilbert Beers.
Jim wanted to become a full time youth pastor at a large church. Being at a Christian school in the north presented a first for us, in that the students chose Christian careers, rather than being "called," as I had been taught. As our friendship grew with Jim and Rosie, our discussions centered on the fundamental faith. But I don't recall any judgemental behavior, which often comes with the territory. We certainly did it enough.
Jim was my sound technician for my senior project, which was a stationary stage setting for Robert Bolt's "A Man For All Seasons." We destroyed Lois's curling iron to carve grooves in styrofoam to simulate castle block and recorded roosters crowing, wind howling and dogs barking. All in all, it was great fun, and I got an A+.
Having visited a number of churches, we finally settled on a fairly large non-denominational church. More song-leading, choir-directing and solos. We would meet a number of interesting and loving people --- especially one amazing man, Norman Jonsson, the creator of Tony The Tiger and The Jolly Green Giant.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Judson U --- Again
We had many good experiences at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, but two stand out the most. One is that I got great administrative training in the Air Force. I started out as Chief Clerk (not a very exciting title), then served 6 months as Acting First Sergeant, then finally Special Assistant to the squadron commander.
I could have made a career of the military and reached full retirement at age 41, but I chose to take a 3-month early out for education purposes. This decision was based upon the fact that the Vietnam war was still going strong, and I was assigned to a tactical fighter squadron. We always had to keep a duffle bag packed and would sporadically be called to the base on alert, never knowing if we would be boarding the plane for a 12-month overseas tour in-country.
Not wanting to have another opportunity to look death in the face, combined with the annoyance of having to salute and obey second lieutenants (nurses, supply officers, etc.) just because they had a degree, well, it just seemed like moving on was the right thing to do.
The greatest experience, however, was the new addition to our family. Following an early-pregnancy miscarriage, my wife gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Our only companion previously was a golden German shepherd, given to us by another airman who was shipping out. The dog had been through both obedience school and guard dog school. But when he growled at my daughter, he was history. We found him a good home in Orlando when we went down for the music conference (see previous blog).
I had mentioned before that my mother doubted that I would ever finish college if I got married. I was determined to prove her wrong. So we loaded up the family and moved to Elgin, Illinois (just outside of Chicago), where we lived on campus, and I attended classes. Most of my credits were at Judson University, so it seemed more prudent to complete my studies and get my degree there. Judson had also become fully accredited since I last attended, so all of my credits were good.
The school operated on a trimester program, where you could attend classes five days a week and earn a four-year degree in three. I only had one year to go, but it was probably the most difficult year of my life. The GI bill was paying for my education, but only a small part of it. I had to take out a government-insured student loan, and we struggled to get by.
My wife worked in the mail room on campus, and I delivered fourth class mail door to door. Back then the post office wouldn't deliver all of those annoying coupons and ads, so companies were contracted to deliver them in baggies that you hung on the doorknob. You were paid by the piece, so you could do quite well if you were willing to work at it.
My routine was that my wife would drive the car, a VW station wagon, and I would sprint to each house and deliver my goods. This worked great until one winter day, when I slipped on a patch of snow-covered ice and went down with my full weight on my foot, breaking a bone near my ankle. No disability offered. No jobs available. No income. Things couldn't get any worse.
Then the car broke down. Now I was in a position to see the outpouring of the love of God to me and my family.
I could have made a career of the military and reached full retirement at age 41, but I chose to take a 3-month early out for education purposes. This decision was based upon the fact that the Vietnam war was still going strong, and I was assigned to a tactical fighter squadron. We always had to keep a duffle bag packed and would sporadically be called to the base on alert, never knowing if we would be boarding the plane for a 12-month overseas tour in-country.
Not wanting to have another opportunity to look death in the face, combined with the annoyance of having to salute and obey second lieutenants (nurses, supply officers, etc.) just because they had a degree, well, it just seemed like moving on was the right thing to do.
The greatest experience, however, was the new addition to our family. Following an early-pregnancy miscarriage, my wife gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Our only companion previously was a golden German shepherd, given to us by another airman who was shipping out. The dog had been through both obedience school and guard dog school. But when he growled at my daughter, he was history. We found him a good home in Orlando when we went down for the music conference (see previous blog).
I had mentioned before that my mother doubted that I would ever finish college if I got married. I was determined to prove her wrong. So we loaded up the family and moved to Elgin, Illinois (just outside of Chicago), where we lived on campus, and I attended classes. Most of my credits were at Judson University, so it seemed more prudent to complete my studies and get my degree there. Judson had also become fully accredited since I last attended, so all of my credits were good.
The school operated on a trimester program, where you could attend classes five days a week and earn a four-year degree in three. I only had one year to go, but it was probably the most difficult year of my life. The GI bill was paying for my education, but only a small part of it. I had to take out a government-insured student loan, and we struggled to get by.
My wife worked in the mail room on campus, and I delivered fourth class mail door to door. Back then the post office wouldn't deliver all of those annoying coupons and ads, so companies were contracted to deliver them in baggies that you hung on the doorknob. You were paid by the piece, so you could do quite well if you were willing to work at it.
My routine was that my wife would drive the car, a VW station wagon, and I would sprint to each house and deliver my goods. This worked great until one winter day, when I slipped on a patch of snow-covered ice and went down with my full weight on my foot, breaking a bone near my ankle. No disability offered. No jobs available. No income. Things couldn't get any worse.
Then the car broke down. Now I was in a position to see the outpouring of the love of God to me and my family.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
With A Song In My Parts
Sunrise Baptist (I don't remember the real name.) was a nice, homey church of about 120 people and a portly pastor. Over years to come I would realize that whenever anyone would hear me sing in the congregation, I would soon be pressed into some type of service, be it choir, choir leader, Sunday school teacher --- whatever. I never felt that I had that good of a voice, but either I sang more loudly than anyone else, or I could carry a tune in a bucket.
This church was no different. Before long I was their new song leader and choir director. We had to join first, of course. This was done on our Statement of Faith. You just affirmed to the congregation that you knew Jesus and wanted a church home. They generally didn't ask very many questions because they wanted new workers.
Also being a fine arts major (even though I flunked out) and a veteran Campus Lifer, my credentials immediately secured me a spot on the staff (unpaid, of course). I assembled my fledgling choir, some of which didn't even have buckets to carry their tunes in, and began to hone them into a single instrument that wouldn't cause the congregation to squirm in their seats. This would take several Sundays.
On the home front we were getting to know several couples in our trailer park, all of which had at least one spouse stationed at Myrtle Beach Air Force Base, and none of which were professed Christians. It would be better to say that they weren't outspoken Christians, testimony-on-the-sleeve kind of thing. It was a lot like our experience in the Phillipines, where the heathens seemed to be more human, and a lot more interesting.
But even with our off-base relationships we were faithful at church --- both services on Sunday, Wednesday nights, week-long revivals and such. The only Christian couple that we actually met were a lieutenant and his wife. We attended a Christian function with them, had dessert (cheesecake, yuch-h-h!) at their house, and discussed the fact that our relationship couldn't go much further because I was an enlisted man.
I was more likely to have "spiritual" discussions on occasion with other guys at work. But more often than not they merely attempted to embarrass me with dirty jokes, vulgar comments about women and how much fun it was to get wasted (drunk). One guy even brought to church a woman that he was having an affair with. I shook his hand, welcomed her, then tried to avoid eye contact for the rest of the service. I didn't realize then that I was already developing a legalistic outlook on life, even though I constantly maintained that I was not legalistic.
Being able to conduct myself well from the platform, I became a big hit with the church folk. The choir liked me. The people liked me. The pastor wasn't too sure about me. It's funny that the two main things I remember about him was that he was always the outdoor grill cook at church picnics (He would always lick his fingers in between moving the meat around on the grill., and he drove a new car. He would go to car dealers and convince them that if he drove their cars around, it was good advertising for them, not to mention the fact that they were supporting the Lord's work.
Well, apparently I was doing so much that the deacons began to feel badly that they weren't paying me and wanted to come up with some way to encourage me monetarily. I had heard of an upcoming music conference in Boca Raton, Florida, led by John W. Peterson and Don Wyrtzen, and I asked if they would consider paying for my trip. They loved the idea and proceeded to approve it. Only problem was that the pastor was the boss of them, and he wasn't crazy about the idea. They stood up to him, though, and soon my wife and I were headed to Florida, she to spend some time with her parents, and me to join with some of the most talented voices and orchestral performers in the Southeast.
I came back to the church rested and elated at my musical experience, eager to share my adventure and thank everyone for my trip. No one asked. The pastor wouldn't even give me the opportunity to address the congregation on what I had witnessed and learned. It was clear that they feared him. And yet they felt that they needed him. They knew that when my tour was up, I would move on. What could they do?
As I had done before, I felt that I owed it to him to meet with him, one on one, before we were to leave the church. I told him that I felt that he had too much control, that he wasn't sensitive to the needs of the people. He replied, "You may be right." And that was that.
I found out just before we left that my choir director/song leader replacement was one of the guys that had told dirty jokes in the office. Maybe it was time for him to have a little talk with Jesus.
This church was no different. Before long I was their new song leader and choir director. We had to join first, of course. This was done on our Statement of Faith. You just affirmed to the congregation that you knew Jesus and wanted a church home. They generally didn't ask very many questions because they wanted new workers.
Also being a fine arts major (even though I flunked out) and a veteran Campus Lifer, my credentials immediately secured me a spot on the staff (unpaid, of course). I assembled my fledgling choir, some of which didn't even have buckets to carry their tunes in, and began to hone them into a single instrument that wouldn't cause the congregation to squirm in their seats. This would take several Sundays.
On the home front we were getting to know several couples in our trailer park, all of which had at least one spouse stationed at Myrtle Beach Air Force Base, and none of which were professed Christians. It would be better to say that they weren't outspoken Christians, testimony-on-the-sleeve kind of thing. It was a lot like our experience in the Phillipines, where the heathens seemed to be more human, and a lot more interesting.
But even with our off-base relationships we were faithful at church --- both services on Sunday, Wednesday nights, week-long revivals and such. The only Christian couple that we actually met were a lieutenant and his wife. We attended a Christian function with them, had dessert (cheesecake, yuch-h-h!) at their house, and discussed the fact that our relationship couldn't go much further because I was an enlisted man.
I was more likely to have "spiritual" discussions on occasion with other guys at work. But more often than not they merely attempted to embarrass me with dirty jokes, vulgar comments about women and how much fun it was to get wasted (drunk). One guy even brought to church a woman that he was having an affair with. I shook his hand, welcomed her, then tried to avoid eye contact for the rest of the service. I didn't realize then that I was already developing a legalistic outlook on life, even though I constantly maintained that I was not legalistic.
Being able to conduct myself well from the platform, I became a big hit with the church folk. The choir liked me. The people liked me. The pastor wasn't too sure about me. It's funny that the two main things I remember about him was that he was always the outdoor grill cook at church picnics (He would always lick his fingers in between moving the meat around on the grill., and he drove a new car. He would go to car dealers and convince them that if he drove their cars around, it was good advertising for them, not to mention the fact that they were supporting the Lord's work.
Well, apparently I was doing so much that the deacons began to feel badly that they weren't paying me and wanted to come up with some way to encourage me monetarily. I had heard of an upcoming music conference in Boca Raton, Florida, led by John W. Peterson and Don Wyrtzen, and I asked if they would consider paying for my trip. They loved the idea and proceeded to approve it. Only problem was that the pastor was the boss of them, and he wasn't crazy about the idea. They stood up to him, though, and soon my wife and I were headed to Florida, she to spend some time with her parents, and me to join with some of the most talented voices and orchestral performers in the Southeast.
I came back to the church rested and elated at my musical experience, eager to share my adventure and thank everyone for my trip. No one asked. The pastor wouldn't even give me the opportunity to address the congregation on what I had witnessed and learned. It was clear that they feared him. And yet they felt that they needed him. They knew that when my tour was up, I would move on. What could they do?
As I had done before, I felt that I owed it to him to meet with him, one on one, before we were to leave the church. I told him that I felt that he had too much control, that he wasn't sensitive to the needs of the people. He replied, "You may be right." And that was that.
I found out just before we left that my choir director/song leader replacement was one of the guys that had told dirty jokes in the office. Maybe it was time for him to have a little talk with Jesus.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Down By The Sea
After 16 months of living off base in the Phillippine Islands, everything back in America looked good. Even gas stations looked like theme parks as we drove by. My parents kept our old VW for us, and we began to look for a place to live in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.
Being just a sergeant, we still had to live off base, but this was so much better. We rented a place in nearby Garden City, just two blocks from the beach. My career had to change because there was no longer a need for so many air traffic controllers, so the Air Force took my next best skill, which was typing, and decided to make me an administrative specialist. I asked if I happened to fail at the admin training, could I get on as an air traffic controller? They said "no way, but no problem," I could become a cook or a military police officer. All of a sudden being a clerk wasn't so bad. And keeping up the typing has helped me to this day.
First on the spiritual agenda was to find a church. My wife's parents were quick to point out that there just happened to be a "chapel" right there in Myrtle Beach. (Plymouth Bretheren churches not only didn't want to be called Plymouth Bretheren, they didn't want to be called "church;" they peferred "chapel" or "assembly.")
We visited one Sunday, but didn't much care for it. The people were nice but the preaching basically consisted of church-bashing --- that is, citing everything wrong with everyone who didn't believe what they did. But visiting them once wasn't enough for them; they began to visit us, regularly, usually at supper time. I finally made it clear on one visit that we did not believe that this was where the Lord wanted us to worship and that we would not be back. That stopped the visits.
But it didn't stop the leaders. They wrote a letter to my in-laws, accusing us of abandoning the true church. This was followed by the arrival of "bretheren" material being sent to us by my wife's parents. The most notable (and dogmatic) of the writings was by an itinerant preacher by the name of Alfred P. Gibbs, one of the founders of the Plymouth Bretheren movement in the U.S.. He considered all other churches to be apostate, that is, turned away from the true faith, and were in line for serious condemnation. Looking back, I realize that it was our first experience with what could be considered a cult group.
This made us more determined to not be a part of the Plymouth Bretheren. Ironically, some six years later we would be actively involved in an "assembly" in Orlando, Florida. But for now we would show them; we became Southern Baptists.
Being just a sergeant, we still had to live off base, but this was so much better. We rented a place in nearby Garden City, just two blocks from the beach. My career had to change because there was no longer a need for so many air traffic controllers, so the Air Force took my next best skill, which was typing, and decided to make me an administrative specialist. I asked if I happened to fail at the admin training, could I get on as an air traffic controller? They said "no way, but no problem," I could become a cook or a military police officer. All of a sudden being a clerk wasn't so bad. And keeping up the typing has helped me to this day.
First on the spiritual agenda was to find a church. My wife's parents were quick to point out that there just happened to be a "chapel" right there in Myrtle Beach. (Plymouth Bretheren churches not only didn't want to be called Plymouth Bretheren, they didn't want to be called "church;" they peferred "chapel" or "assembly.")
We visited one Sunday, but didn't much care for it. The people were nice but the preaching basically consisted of church-bashing --- that is, citing everything wrong with everyone who didn't believe what they did. But visiting them once wasn't enough for them; they began to visit us, regularly, usually at supper time. I finally made it clear on one visit that we did not believe that this was where the Lord wanted us to worship and that we would not be back. That stopped the visits.
But it didn't stop the leaders. They wrote a letter to my in-laws, accusing us of abandoning the true church. This was followed by the arrival of "bretheren" material being sent to us by my wife's parents. The most notable (and dogmatic) of the writings was by an itinerant preacher by the name of Alfred P. Gibbs, one of the founders of the Plymouth Bretheren movement in the U.S.. He considered all other churches to be apostate, that is, turned away from the true faith, and were in line for serious condemnation. Looking back, I realize that it was our first experience with what could be considered a cult group.
This made us more determined to not be a part of the Plymouth Bretheren. Ironically, some six years later we would be actively involved in an "assembly" in Orlando, Florida. But for now we would show them; we became Southern Baptists.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
You're In The (Air Force) Now
It was a time of war. In an effort to stop the spread of Communism in other parts of the world, the United States saw fit to enter the Vietnam conflict. President Nixon had just introduced the draft lottery, in order to provide an equitable distribution of the national conscription. I won. Since I didn’t particularly want to die in Southeast Asia as an Army soldier, I joined the Air Force.
I left for basic training in February of 1969. After shedding 15 pounds, I was sent to Biloxi, Mississippi for air traffic control training. I was insecure and still madly in love. So, I had my wife join me at tech school. We scraped and got by on my meager military pay. We also visited a few churches, but did not commit to one because we knew my assignment would be brief. After a visit with my folks in North Carolina and her folks in Florida, I shipped out for my overseas assignment. Neil Armstrong had just walked on the moon, and I was headed for the Philippine Islands.
My wife had gotten a good job back home and was living with her folks, so we could have saved a good amount to help us get established when I got back. But, once again, stupidity prevailed. I very soon got lonely and homesick. There were several of us married guys like that. The routine for getting a spouse to join you was to meet with the chaplain, get a note stating that your current mental state would be detrimental to your service and that it was necessary for your mate to come over on a temporary visa. You then presented this recommendation to the first sergeant, who, basically, had no other choice but to approve it.
So, after a lot of paperwork and more Filipino pesos than I would have liked to have spent, my wife arrived in Manila, terrified and tired. I rationalized that it would be good for her to experience a third world country, but, truth be known, I needed her. Now, almost 40 years later, I still have trouble being away from her for any length of time --- but I’m getting better.
Being a lower-ranked enlisted man, we were required to live off base. We found an apartment in nearby Angeles City, complete with little-to-no running water, no hot water, bats, pigs and cobras all about, and a view of Mount Pinatubo, an inactive volcano, which became VERY active in 1991. The heat and humidity were oppressive, the rain lasted forever, and the locals left a lot to be desired. But we were happy. At least I was.
We became friends with other couples in the compound, especially one pair from Ohio. One fellow we met had gotten a nearby apartment and arranged for his wife to join him. He shared a meal with us, and we talked about our faith. He was a devout Christian, and we thought we would be able to share that bond with him during our stay. However, he and his wife never seemed to get along with the other folks, and we soon came to realize that we were preferring our non-Christian friends to them. Looking back, I believe that we had not treated them with enough respect. And for that I am truly sorry.
I worked rotating 12-hour shifts, so we had good excuse not to go to church. We had picked up a used car, so on my time off we often escaped to Subic Bay on the coast or north to Baguio in the mountains. As I recall our adventures --- water-skiing in shark-infested waters, driving across rickety bridges suspended 1,000 feet above the nearest tree-top, being stopped by armed militia seeking “donations,” and wandering through underground Japanese tunnels --- I can now see God’s sparing hand upon us.
At the end of my overseas tour I was given opportunity of picking three possible locations for my next assignment. I had learned from seasoned veterans that you always made your preferred destination the third choice. Taking a chance, my choices were Minot, North Dakota (Thank the Lord I didn’t go there!), Naples, Italy (wouldn’t have minded looking up my wife’s relatives), and, finally, Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. The plan worked. For the next two years I would swim in the ocean, eat inexpensive lobster tails --- and become a desk jockey.
I would also return to some serious church-going.
I left for basic training in February of 1969. After shedding 15 pounds, I was sent to Biloxi, Mississippi for air traffic control training. I was insecure and still madly in love. So, I had my wife join me at tech school. We scraped and got by on my meager military pay. We also visited a few churches, but did not commit to one because we knew my assignment would be brief. After a visit with my folks in North Carolina and her folks in Florida, I shipped out for my overseas assignment. Neil Armstrong had just walked on the moon, and I was headed for the Philippine Islands.
My wife had gotten a good job back home and was living with her folks, so we could have saved a good amount to help us get established when I got back. But, once again, stupidity prevailed. I very soon got lonely and homesick. There were several of us married guys like that. The routine for getting a spouse to join you was to meet with the chaplain, get a note stating that your current mental state would be detrimental to your service and that it was necessary for your mate to come over on a temporary visa. You then presented this recommendation to the first sergeant, who, basically, had no other choice but to approve it.
So, after a lot of paperwork and more Filipino pesos than I would have liked to have spent, my wife arrived in Manila, terrified and tired. I rationalized that it would be good for her to experience a third world country, but, truth be known, I needed her. Now, almost 40 years later, I still have trouble being away from her for any length of time --- but I’m getting better.
Being a lower-ranked enlisted man, we were required to live off base. We found an apartment in nearby Angeles City, complete with little-to-no running water, no hot water, bats, pigs and cobras all about, and a view of Mount Pinatubo, an inactive volcano, which became VERY active in 1991. The heat and humidity were oppressive, the rain lasted forever, and the locals left a lot to be desired. But we were happy. At least I was.
We became friends with other couples in the compound, especially one pair from Ohio. One fellow we met had gotten a nearby apartment and arranged for his wife to join him. He shared a meal with us, and we talked about our faith. He was a devout Christian, and we thought we would be able to share that bond with him during our stay. However, he and his wife never seemed to get along with the other folks, and we soon came to realize that we were preferring our non-Christian friends to them. Looking back, I believe that we had not treated them with enough respect. And for that I am truly sorry.
I worked rotating 12-hour shifts, so we had good excuse not to go to church. We had picked up a used car, so on my time off we often escaped to Subic Bay on the coast or north to Baguio in the mountains. As I recall our adventures --- water-skiing in shark-infested waters, driving across rickety bridges suspended 1,000 feet above the nearest tree-top, being stopped by armed militia seeking “donations,” and wandering through underground Japanese tunnels --- I can now see God’s sparing hand upon us.
At the end of my overseas tour I was given opportunity of picking three possible locations for my next assignment. I had learned from seasoned veterans that you always made your preferred destination the third choice. Taking a chance, my choices were Minot, North Dakota (Thank the Lord I didn’t go there!), Naples, Italy (wouldn’t have minded looking up my wife’s relatives), and, finally, Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. The plan worked. For the next two years I would swim in the ocean, eat inexpensive lobster tails --- and become a desk jockey.
I would also return to some serious church-going.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)