Our son Joel was eighteen months old when he and I left for Spain the first time. We boarded a plane in Dallas at the old Love Field terminal and flew to New York City.
I was barely into my twentys, still wet behind the ears and a little scared about my first international travel. When we arrived at Dulles Airport in New York, I hailed a cab that drove us to a nearby hotel. We had one night's lay-over and my dad had given me enough money to cover a hotel room. He knew that trying to corral a toddler in an airport overnight, would be next to impossible.
After we were settled into our room we watched television for a while then toured the lobby and ground floor, where we found a barber/beauty shop, (the first time I'd ever seen one combined), a gift shop (with nothing in it that I could afford), a restaurant/bar, (much too fancy for a lone mom and her baby), a newsstand/shoe shine stand and a dress shop. When finally my arms felt like they would break from carrying my chunky little boy, I decided to call it a night and return to the room. When I got there, I dressed us for bed and called room service to send up supper. The conversation when something like this:
"This is Mrs. Gehrke in room 305. I'd like to order supper, please."
"Excuse me, what did you say?"
I repeated, "This is Mrs. Gehrke in room 305. I'd like to order supper, please."
"I'm sorry, Mamm, I can't understand what you're saying. Would you repeat it please?"
I repeated it twice more before I finally asked, "Excuse me, are we speaking English here? I just want supper!"
He said, "Oh, you mean dinner?"
"Yeah...dinner, whatever... just bring me two hamburgers, okay?"
"Got it! Two hamburgers...they'll be right up!" That was my introduction to New York City and the cultural confusion had only just begun.
The next morning I arose wondering what we would do until seven p.m. when our plane was scheduled to leave. I'd made arrangements to stay in the room until five-thirty but that was a long way off. I was so eager to get to Spain, having been separated from Ted for over a year, that I was antsy and couldn't relax anywhere. I woke up early, dressed us both for the flight, then took Joel down to the restaurant for breakfast. Determined not to repeat the ordering fiasco from the night before. I could at least, point at a menu in the restaurant.
We ate a good breakfast, I bought a magazine and we went back up to our room to wait. Sometime that morning Joel got whiny and bored so I picked him up and began playing with him on the bed. I had on one of my nicest dresses that I wore on special occasions. I had saved it to wear for this special occasion to meet my husband for the first time in a long time. The dress was made of Japanese silk which had been brought back from Okinawa by an uncle in the Navy. I'd had a dress made of the silk that was on the fashion of a traditional Japanese kimono...a fitted sheath with the standup color and diagonial opening that closed with three gold buttons. It was very beautiful and about three years old at that time. I was sitting on the side of the bed and Joel was climbing my body then jumping onto my lap over and over again. Apparently I had the skirt pulled tight at the knees because on about the third jump I heard a "rrrrip"! I looked down at my dress and at Joel's fat little leg sinking through a tare about eight inches long.
After I got over the initial shock and shed a few tears about losing my beautiful dress, panic started to set in. I started to realise that I had nothing else to wear! The clothes I'd worn from Texas were wadded up in a wrinkled ball in my overnight bag. The blouse had food and dirt adorning the front of it and the skirt was so wrinkled it looked like I'd slept in it (which in truth, I had for several hours on the plane). I thought about washing the blouse in the bathroom sink but in those day you didn't just wash something out and put it back on. It would have to dry then be ironed and so would the skirt. I couldn't afford emergency laundry service from the hotel. My room service had eaten up my reserve money. Our luggage was already on the airplane and completely inaccessible to me, so I just sat there in a panic, staring at the torn dress. Finally I called down to the front desk and asked if there was a clothing store or dress shop near the hotel. I thought maybe I could afford a cheap blouse and just wear the wrinkled skirt with it. The desk clerk said, "Oh certainly, we have a very nice boutique right here in the lobby."
Well I had no idea what a "boutique" was, but I hoped it had something to do with clothing. Never dreaming that it was code language for "expensive", I put on my long winter coat, grabbed Joel and rode the elevator down again. Once there the bell hop pointed me to the dress shop and I went directly there.
I knew the minute I entered the place that although it did contain women's clothing, I was in the wrong place! I could tell by the smell of it that it was way out of my league. I looked around at the elegant apparel, hoping a clerk would not see me before I could get a look at a price tag. I clamped a hand over Joel's mouth and crept behind a rack of dresses and scarves, picked up a tag and felt my face flush when I read, $215.00! It was a plain, green, wool, sleeveless, dress with about two yards of material in it. I couldn't believe it! I was about to panic again, because a snooty looking, elderly woman in spiked heels was eyeing me from across the room. I flashed her a pathetic smile and practically ran for the door without a word.
Back at the desk, I once again was trying to make myself understood by an equally snooty desk clerk, while I asked where I might find a less expensive clothing store nearby. He said that we were not too far from the "garment district" of Queens, New York and that he would call a cab to take me there.
As we arrived in the "district" I became a gawker. I'd never seen anything like it. Clothing stores lined both sides of the street with racks and racks of clothing out on the street and it was mid January! I was confused to see people, pushing these racks full of clothing up and down the sidewalk, to where I wasn't sure. The sidewalks and stores were crowded with shoppers. I wondered, How am I going to handle Joel and try on clothes in this crowd? My cabbie didn't speak English, at least not Texan English, so I couldn't ask him any questions. I was on my own.
Just as he pulled up to the curb to park, Joel started squealing when he spied a policeman on a horse. They were standing on the corner in front of our cab. I paid the cabbie and got out, then walked over to the policeman and asked, "Can my son pet your horse?"
He nodded and flashed us a friendly smile so I held Joel up and he began to pound away on the docile creature's neck. The policeman and I started talking and he asked where we were from and what we were doing in New York City. I told him that we were on our way to Spain to join our daddy in the Air Force and that Joel had ripped my dress this morning and I had only a couple hours to buy something to wear on the plane. "I just hope I can keep him inside a dressing room while I try on clothes." I said.
He hesitated a moment then said, "Would you like to leave him here with me? I won't be going anywhere for another hour or so."
It took me about a minute and a half to decide to trust him. I handed Joel up to the man and he straddled the horse in front of the policeman. He was so delighted that he laughed out loud.
I ran across the street to the nearest dress shop, grabbed the first skirt and blouse in my size, ducked into a dressing rrom and put it on. I paid for the outfit and wore it out of the store. I was back in fifteen minutes or less. The policeman hailed another cab for us, kissed Joel on top of the head and waved goodby as we took off back to the hotel.
By the time we left I had decided that New Your City wasn't such a foreign place after all. Anyplace with cowboys that liked little kids, most definitely felt like home to me!
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Monday, March 10, 2014
Adventures in the Second Mob
The Lord will perfect that which concerneth me: Thy mercy, O Lord, endureth forever: forsake not the works of Thine own hands. Psalm 138:8
Ted's Air Force job in 1968 was in the Control Tower Mobile unit at Maron Air Force Base in Sevilla, Spain. Their out fit was sent to various places in Europe and the Middle East to set up mobile towers. They were affectionately known as the 2nd Mob.
Because of this job, Ted came home periodically and announced that he was being sent TDY (Temporary Duty) to Italy, Germany, Greece or Turkey or some other exotic place. Although this was an exciting job for him, it was hard on our family and the Baptist Fellowship that he pastored, in the Chapel, on base. At those times one of the substitute "preachers" would take over the preaching and the board would do their best to administrate the operation until he returned. Usually three weeks was the length of any TDY and we managed pretty well without him for that length of time.
On evening Ted came in and said, "I have some bad news."
I sighed and asked "What"?
"I'm being sent to Turkey for an extended time. I'll probably be gone for two months."
"Oh, no! What will happen to the Fellowship. Will we be paid while you're gone?"
"The Fellowship will be okay. The board won't let anything happen to it and you'll just keep most of my last check and I'll take as little money as I can. The Air Force will feed and house me...and that is my first job after all."
"Sounds miserable." I replied and tred to drop the subject, knowing that whining about it would only make us both cranky.
In the next few days we prepared for his long TDY. Ted met with the Fellowship Board and made arrangements for one of the guys to preach and someone to take his chapel Sunday School class. We all hunkered down to get along without him.
He left within the week and the days dragged by. We were up to about a hundred in attendance at the Fellowship when he left and for the first couple of weeks, folks stayed with us. After the second week, attendance began to drop. Added to this, my money started to dwindle. The ladies of the Fellowship and neighbors were now bringing us casseroles and cupcakes so I wouldn't have to use my "pittance" for food.
The Fellowship was structured along the lines of any Baptist church in the states. We couldn't call ourselves a church unless we were under a mission board, which we weren't. We baptized new converts in the Base Chapel. We held communion on a regular basis. We had a once a month lady's Bible Study. We had a youth group and a once a week prayer meeting. Yet we were not a church. As a matter of fact within our Fellowship were, Methodist, Pentecostals, Baptists, and probably a couple more that I'm forgetting. Our drawing card was that our services were closer to the way most of these folks worshipped at home than the chapel was.
When the attendance started to drop, the head of our lady's Bible Study called an "emergency meeting".
She began the meeting with this announcement, "This is ridiculous and unacceptable! We need to start praying on a daily basis that God will send our pastor home early." She then commissioned a couple of us to go see Major Miller, the commander of the 2nd Mob and a member of our Fellowship board. She told us to appeal to him to see if he could intervene with the Air Force to send Ted home early. He had been gone three weeks by this time and we didn't see how we could possibly carry on for another five weeks without him.
Two of us did go to the Major and if I remember right his response was something like, "You're joking, right?" Then he laughed! "There is no way the Air Force is going to let anyone come home early. The work there is not finished and it's an important operation. You may as well give it up."
"Well, our lady's Bible Study is going to pray daily that he gets to come home early. We believe that God can work miracles even with the U.S. Air Force and cause that to happen. So will you please ask?"
He looked at us, trying to wipe the smirk off his face and said, "Ok, I'll try, but don't hold your breath."
We tried not to hold it against him knowing that he was as concerned about the drop in attendance at the Fellowship as we were. Added to that, a couple of counseling situations had arisen and they all wished Ted was home to take care of his ministry. That was on Thursday of the third week. We had started praying the day before.
The Major did ask the next day and came over to my house that evening to report the bad news to me. The following day, Saturday, the ladies reconvened for another prayer meeting.
The Monday before I had spoken to Ted on the phone. I could call him every once in a while on the Chapel phone. He said that he was broke and even if he could get out early there was little chance that he could get a ride to Spain. He said that without money he'd have nothing for food or a taxi to get him home. Since we didn't have phones in our homes he'd be miles from home when he landed in Sevilla. More than likely they would take him to Madrid and drop him off and there he'd be. It all seemed impossible.
My situation on the home front was that I had food for at least another week, a half tank of gas in the car and 300 pesetas ($5.00 in American money). I knew that the members of the Fellowship wouldn't let us go hungry and someone would pick us up for church if we ran out of gasoline so I wasn't worried about us. There was a check waiting for Ted at Maron AFB when he returned, but neither of us could get to it at the moment and the check was desperately needed.
In that Saturday morning prayer meeting the lady's group prayed that the Lord would not only provide him a ride home, but that he would be taken care of him even without money. That he'd be able to eat and when he arrived in Spain he'd get transportation home. Then one bold prayer warrior prayed that God would send him back in time for tomorrow's service. New believer! I thought privately. They think anything is possible. I hope she's not too disappointed if he doesn't make it home for tomorrow's church service.
We went to bed early on Saturday night so we'd not miss our ride to church the next morning. About 11:00 p.m. I was awakened by a knock at the door. I grabbed my robe and rushed downstairs. I opened the door and there stood Ted with a big smile on his face. I gasped and thought of the maiden in the New Testament who found Peter on the doorstep while the church was praying for his release from prison. She actually slammed the door in his face in unbelief. Well, at least I didn't do that. He grabbed me, hugged and kissed me, proving that he was real and then threw his duffel bag into the house.
"Do you have any pesetas?" he asked. I looked outside and saw a Spanish taxi in front of the house.
"Yes, I have 300."
"That's what I need." he declared as I went for my purse.
After he paid the taxi driver we went into the living room and he told me his story. "Most of the work on my end was done so I requested to come home early. I was told that it would be okay if I could find transportation but they weren't expecting another plane in for two weeks. I was filling in in the control tower so I was there about mid-morning of the following day when a plane landed for refueling. I rushed down to base ops and inquired where they were going. "They're going to Madrid for some high level meetings. They have Generals and Senators on board. I got excited and went to the CO to ask if I could hitch a ride with them. He asked, "Do you have any civilian clothes with you, Sarge?" I said, "Yes Sir!" He said, "Go put them on and hurry out to the plane. Keep your mouth shut and act like a Senator!"
I ran back to the tower and called a friend to bring my gear to me while I changed into my civies. He arrived with my bag just as I was boarding. The steward led me to a jump seat right behind the pilot then he asked, "Are you hungry, Sarge?"
I was starving but I said, "Not really. I think I'll just go to sleep and sleep all the way. That way if I get hungry I won't know it."
He paused then asked, "Are you broke?"
"No, I think I have like twenty cents left." I smiled and he smiled. He walked away and I tried to get comfortable on the jump seat.
In a short time he returned with a covered plate. I uncovered it to find a ham steak almost as big as the plate, sweet potatoes, green beans and applesauce and a small loaf of bread. "I don't think my twenty cents will cover all this," I said.
"Don't worry about it." He waved his hand. "We always carry more than they can eat."
When I had finished all of that food, he returned with a huge piece of apple pie and apologized because he had run out of whipped cream to top it with.
Just before touchdown in Madrid he came back and woke me up and said, "We're about to land in Madrid. When we do you just watch the others and do exactly as they do."
I stepped off the plane and stood there watching official Air Force cars pick up the Senators and Generals one at a time. Finally one stopped in front of me. An Airman jumped out and grabbed my bag and asked, "Where to, Sir?"
I straightened my tie and tried to look important and replied, "Torrejon, Terminal. I settled in the back seat, wondering how long a guy could get in the brigg for impersonating a Senator.
I walked into the terminal and asked the man at the front desk, "Anything going to Seville tonight?"
He looked at me in my suit rather suspiciously, and asked, "Do you have and Air Force I.D.?"
I opened my wallet and showed him my I.D. and he said. "Grab your bag and run. There's one about to taxi out to the runway."
When I arrived in Sevilla I hailed a taxi and prayed, Lord, please let Laura have some pesetas!" ...so here I am!"
"Just wait until you hear my side of the story!" I said. Then I added, "Let's go wake up the Major!" We all lived in base housing so he was just a couple blocks away. We jumped into the car and drove over to his house and rather than ring the doorbell and wake the whole family, we walked across the lawn to their bedroom window and tapped on it. We peeked inside and saw him sit up in bed. He got up and came over and opened the window.'
I was standing there smiling and pointing at Ted..
"Gehrke" he said. what are you doing here? Then he added quickly, "No, I don't want to know. Go away, it's after midnight!"
"I just wanted to let you know that God still answers prayer." I said.
"Thanks," he said, "I'm sure I'll sleep a lot better...you can tell me all about it in the morning." He was already cranking the window closed. We drove home laughing about seeing the Major in his boxers and the look on his face when he saw Ted.
The Fellowship wasn't always exciting and fun but it was a unique ministry and our school in Christianity 101. There we learned to trust God in little things and we learned just how weak and dependant we were on Him. It was the beginning of the long journey we called our ministry and our on the job training for the pastorate... a priceless education.
Ted's Air Force job in 1968 was in the Control Tower Mobile unit at Maron Air Force Base in Sevilla, Spain. Their out fit was sent to various places in Europe and the Middle East to set up mobile towers. They were affectionately known as the 2nd Mob.
Because of this job, Ted came home periodically and announced that he was being sent TDY (Temporary Duty) to Italy, Germany, Greece or Turkey or some other exotic place. Although this was an exciting job for him, it was hard on our family and the Baptist Fellowship that he pastored, in the Chapel, on base. At those times one of the substitute "preachers" would take over the preaching and the board would do their best to administrate the operation until he returned. Usually three weeks was the length of any TDY and we managed pretty well without him for that length of time.
On evening Ted came in and said, "I have some bad news."
I sighed and asked "What"?
"I'm being sent to Turkey for an extended time. I'll probably be gone for two months."
"Oh, no! What will happen to the Fellowship. Will we be paid while you're gone?"
"The Fellowship will be okay. The board won't let anything happen to it and you'll just keep most of my last check and I'll take as little money as I can. The Air Force will feed and house me...and that is my first job after all."
"Sounds miserable." I replied and tred to drop the subject, knowing that whining about it would only make us both cranky.
In the next few days we prepared for his long TDY. Ted met with the Fellowship Board and made arrangements for one of the guys to preach and someone to take his chapel Sunday School class. We all hunkered down to get along without him.
He left within the week and the days dragged by. We were up to about a hundred in attendance at the Fellowship when he left and for the first couple of weeks, folks stayed with us. After the second week, attendance began to drop. Added to this, my money started to dwindle. The ladies of the Fellowship and neighbors were now bringing us casseroles and cupcakes so I wouldn't have to use my "pittance" for food.
The Fellowship was structured along the lines of any Baptist church in the states. We couldn't call ourselves a church unless we were under a mission board, which we weren't. We baptized new converts in the Base Chapel. We held communion on a regular basis. We had a once a month lady's Bible Study. We had a youth group and a once a week prayer meeting. Yet we were not a church. As a matter of fact within our Fellowship were, Methodist, Pentecostals, Baptists, and probably a couple more that I'm forgetting. Our drawing card was that our services were closer to the way most of these folks worshipped at home than the chapel was.
When the attendance started to drop, the head of our lady's Bible Study called an "emergency meeting".
She began the meeting with this announcement, "This is ridiculous and unacceptable! We need to start praying on a daily basis that God will send our pastor home early." She then commissioned a couple of us to go see Major Miller, the commander of the 2nd Mob and a member of our Fellowship board. She told us to appeal to him to see if he could intervene with the Air Force to send Ted home early. He had been gone three weeks by this time and we didn't see how we could possibly carry on for another five weeks without him.
Two of us did go to the Major and if I remember right his response was something like, "You're joking, right?" Then he laughed! "There is no way the Air Force is going to let anyone come home early. The work there is not finished and it's an important operation. You may as well give it up."
"Well, our lady's Bible Study is going to pray daily that he gets to come home early. We believe that God can work miracles even with the U.S. Air Force and cause that to happen. So will you please ask?"
He looked at us, trying to wipe the smirk off his face and said, "Ok, I'll try, but don't hold your breath."
We tried not to hold it against him knowing that he was as concerned about the drop in attendance at the Fellowship as we were. Added to that, a couple of counseling situations had arisen and they all wished Ted was home to take care of his ministry. That was on Thursday of the third week. We had started praying the day before.
The Major did ask the next day and came over to my house that evening to report the bad news to me. The following day, Saturday, the ladies reconvened for another prayer meeting.
The Monday before I had spoken to Ted on the phone. I could call him every once in a while on the Chapel phone. He said that he was broke and even if he could get out early there was little chance that he could get a ride to Spain. He said that without money he'd have nothing for food or a taxi to get him home. Since we didn't have phones in our homes he'd be miles from home when he landed in Sevilla. More than likely they would take him to Madrid and drop him off and there he'd be. It all seemed impossible.
My situation on the home front was that I had food for at least another week, a half tank of gas in the car and 300 pesetas ($5.00 in American money). I knew that the members of the Fellowship wouldn't let us go hungry and someone would pick us up for church if we ran out of gasoline so I wasn't worried about us. There was a check waiting for Ted at Maron AFB when he returned, but neither of us could get to it at the moment and the check was desperately needed.
In that Saturday morning prayer meeting the lady's group prayed that the Lord would not only provide him a ride home, but that he would be taken care of him even without money. That he'd be able to eat and when he arrived in Spain he'd get transportation home. Then one bold prayer warrior prayed that God would send him back in time for tomorrow's service. New believer! I thought privately. They think anything is possible. I hope she's not too disappointed if he doesn't make it home for tomorrow's church service.
We went to bed early on Saturday night so we'd not miss our ride to church the next morning. About 11:00 p.m. I was awakened by a knock at the door. I grabbed my robe and rushed downstairs. I opened the door and there stood Ted with a big smile on his face. I gasped and thought of the maiden in the New Testament who found Peter on the doorstep while the church was praying for his release from prison. She actually slammed the door in his face in unbelief. Well, at least I didn't do that. He grabbed me, hugged and kissed me, proving that he was real and then threw his duffel bag into the house.
"Do you have any pesetas?" he asked. I looked outside and saw a Spanish taxi in front of the house.
"Yes, I have 300."
"That's what I need." he declared as I went for my purse.
After he paid the taxi driver we went into the living room and he told me his story. "Most of the work on my end was done so I requested to come home early. I was told that it would be okay if I could find transportation but they weren't expecting another plane in for two weeks. I was filling in in the control tower so I was there about mid-morning of the following day when a plane landed for refueling. I rushed down to base ops and inquired where they were going. "They're going to Madrid for some high level meetings. They have Generals and Senators on board. I got excited and went to the CO to ask if I could hitch a ride with them. He asked, "Do you have any civilian clothes with you, Sarge?" I said, "Yes Sir!" He said, "Go put them on and hurry out to the plane. Keep your mouth shut and act like a Senator!"
I ran back to the tower and called a friend to bring my gear to me while I changed into my civies. He arrived with my bag just as I was boarding. The steward led me to a jump seat right behind the pilot then he asked, "Are you hungry, Sarge?"
I was starving but I said, "Not really. I think I'll just go to sleep and sleep all the way. That way if I get hungry I won't know it."
He paused then asked, "Are you broke?"
"No, I think I have like twenty cents left." I smiled and he smiled. He walked away and I tried to get comfortable on the jump seat.
In a short time he returned with a covered plate. I uncovered it to find a ham steak almost as big as the plate, sweet potatoes, green beans and applesauce and a small loaf of bread. "I don't think my twenty cents will cover all this," I said.
"Don't worry about it." He waved his hand. "We always carry more than they can eat."
When I had finished all of that food, he returned with a huge piece of apple pie and apologized because he had run out of whipped cream to top it with.
Just before touchdown in Madrid he came back and woke me up and said, "We're about to land in Madrid. When we do you just watch the others and do exactly as they do."
I stepped off the plane and stood there watching official Air Force cars pick up the Senators and Generals one at a time. Finally one stopped in front of me. An Airman jumped out and grabbed my bag and asked, "Where to, Sir?"
I straightened my tie and tried to look important and replied, "Torrejon, Terminal. I settled in the back seat, wondering how long a guy could get in the brigg for impersonating a Senator.
I walked into the terminal and asked the man at the front desk, "Anything going to Seville tonight?"
He looked at me in my suit rather suspiciously, and asked, "Do you have and Air Force I.D.?"
I opened my wallet and showed him my I.D. and he said. "Grab your bag and run. There's one about to taxi out to the runway."
When I arrived in Sevilla I hailed a taxi and prayed, Lord, please let Laura have some pesetas!" ...so here I am!"
"Just wait until you hear my side of the story!" I said. Then I added, "Let's go wake up the Major!" We all lived in base housing so he was just a couple blocks away. We jumped into the car and drove over to his house and rather than ring the doorbell and wake the whole family, we walked across the lawn to their bedroom window and tapped on it. We peeked inside and saw him sit up in bed. He got up and came over and opened the window.'
I was standing there smiling and pointing at Ted..
"Gehrke" he said. what are you doing here? Then he added quickly, "No, I don't want to know. Go away, it's after midnight!"
"I just wanted to let you know that God still answers prayer." I said.
"Thanks," he said, "I'm sure I'll sleep a lot better...you can tell me all about it in the morning." He was already cranking the window closed. We drove home laughing about seeing the Major in his boxers and the look on his face when he saw Ted.
The Fellowship wasn't always exciting and fun but it was a unique ministry and our school in Christianity 101. There we learned to trust God in little things and we learned just how weak and dependant we were on Him. It was the beginning of the long journey we called our ministry and our on the job training for the pastorate... a priceless education.
Friday, March 7, 2014
The Night The House Cracked
Can there be anything more frightening than an earthquake? I guess maybe a tsunami would qualify but thankfully I've never experienced a tsunami. In Spain in 1965, I did however, live through an earthquake. I can't wait to tell you about it!
It was Sunday night in Sevilla and we were always exhausted on Sunday nights. Ted had preached twice by then and spent the afternoon studying and writing. Usually we'd have people over after church in the evening, so the house was always full until midnight, then we had to clean up after them. It was always late when we finally collapsed into our beds.
My dad was living with us. He'd been there since Mother's death the year before. The kids were in their bedrooms asleep and Daddy asleep in the spare room. Ted and I had gone to bed last, so we'd only been asleep a couple of hours, when I awoke and felt the bed shaking...not violently, it was more like a tremor. I touched Ted's back and asked quietly, "Why is the bed shaking?"
He didn't move but I heard him sigh. "It's just the dog scratching underneath our bed." he mumbled.
"Ted, our dog is not big enough to move the bed." I argued. Our dog was a miniature greyhound who stood about a foot high and weighed 12 pounds.
Suddenly the shaking became violent. The bed was now skating across the floor. Ted sat straight up, fully awake now, and exclaimed, "The Lord is coming!" He jumped out of bed and pulled his pants on. (I've always thought this was funny. He didn't want to meet the Lord with his pants off!) By then I was sitting up too, looking out the balcony doors of our bedroom. By the light of the street lamp I could see the housing unit across the street. It was swaying back and forth.
"Ted, it's an earthquake!" I yelled. (Note how certain and declarative we both were when the truth was, neither of us had a clue.)
Fully awake now, he took charge and I was glad. "You go get your dad and I'll get the kids. We have to move everyone downstairs!"
I ran into Daddy's room and started yelling for him to get up. He didn't budge...he just kept snoring. I shook him and yelled a couple more times. Finally he said, "Huh, what's wrong?"
He sat up on the side of his bed and reached for his pants. "Forget you pants! we have to get downstairs!" I yelled at him again.
"You go on. I'll be right behind you!"
"No, I'm not leaving you to walk down those swaying stairs alone. Come on now!" I demanded. So he stood up and grabbed his pants. I took his arm and we started downstairs. About midway down, I realized that it had stopped shaking, so we proceeded at a slower, steadier pace.
When we reached the downstairs, Ted and the kids were sitting at the dinning room table.
I looked behind them at the plaster wall and saw a long crack, about an inch wide, that went diagonally from the ceiling to the floor. I pointed to it and said, "Maybe we'd better go outside, I don't know if the house is safe any more."
We led Daddy and the kids out into the yard. There we met up with neighbors who were also afraid of their "cracked" houses. After standing around talking about it for an hour or so, we realized that the danger had passed and our houses were still standing. Daddy had already gone back to his bed and Ted and I were holding two sleeping children, so we took them back to their beds and returned to ours.
It took me a couple hours to get to sleep. Every sound startled me and every time Ted moved, I grabbed him and gasped.
The next day we talked it to death. Everyone wanted to know what was the first thing we did when the earthquake hit. We told them our stories and they told us theirs. I remember that I was particularly impressed with our Chaplain's story. He lived in a high rise apartment in downtown Seville and he said that when he realized it was an earthquake, he fell out of bed and onto his knees, praying that the Lord would spare the city.
The Lord did spare the city. It was quite a large quake...about a 6.4, if I remember right, but for four days before the quake, it had rained and the rain soaked ground made it a sponge. Because of that, the high risers were cushioned when they shook. We were blessed.
And the cracks in our walls? Well, the Air Force in their tender mercy, sent around Spanish workers who put a layer of plaster over all the cracks then painted over them, so we couldn't see them any more and therefore stopped worrying about them. I guess the USAF wasn't really concerned that the houses would collapse.
All in all it was an exciting event, but honestly, I don't think I've ever been as scared or felt as helpless in my life. In an earthquake, there's simply no place to run!
It was Sunday night in Sevilla and we were always exhausted on Sunday nights. Ted had preached twice by then and spent the afternoon studying and writing. Usually we'd have people over after church in the evening, so the house was always full until midnight, then we had to clean up after them. It was always late when we finally collapsed into our beds.
My dad was living with us. He'd been there since Mother's death the year before. The kids were in their bedrooms asleep and Daddy asleep in the spare room. Ted and I had gone to bed last, so we'd only been asleep a couple of hours, when I awoke and felt the bed shaking...not violently, it was more like a tremor. I touched Ted's back and asked quietly, "Why is the bed shaking?"
He didn't move but I heard him sigh. "It's just the dog scratching underneath our bed." he mumbled.
"Ted, our dog is not big enough to move the bed." I argued. Our dog was a miniature greyhound who stood about a foot high and weighed 12 pounds.
Suddenly the shaking became violent. The bed was now skating across the floor. Ted sat straight up, fully awake now, and exclaimed, "The Lord is coming!" He jumped out of bed and pulled his pants on. (I've always thought this was funny. He didn't want to meet the Lord with his pants off!) By then I was sitting up too, looking out the balcony doors of our bedroom. By the light of the street lamp I could see the housing unit across the street. It was swaying back and forth.
"Ted, it's an earthquake!" I yelled. (Note how certain and declarative we both were when the truth was, neither of us had a clue.)
Fully awake now, he took charge and I was glad. "You go get your dad and I'll get the kids. We have to move everyone downstairs!"
I ran into Daddy's room and started yelling for him to get up. He didn't budge...he just kept snoring. I shook him and yelled a couple more times. Finally he said, "Huh, what's wrong?"
He sat up on the side of his bed and reached for his pants. "Forget you pants! we have to get downstairs!" I yelled at him again.
"You go on. I'll be right behind you!"
"No, I'm not leaving you to walk down those swaying stairs alone. Come on now!" I demanded. So he stood up and grabbed his pants. I took his arm and we started downstairs. About midway down, I realized that it had stopped shaking, so we proceeded at a slower, steadier pace.
When we reached the downstairs, Ted and the kids were sitting at the dinning room table.
I looked behind them at the plaster wall and saw a long crack, about an inch wide, that went diagonally from the ceiling to the floor. I pointed to it and said, "Maybe we'd better go outside, I don't know if the house is safe any more."
We led Daddy and the kids out into the yard. There we met up with neighbors who were also afraid of their "cracked" houses. After standing around talking about it for an hour or so, we realized that the danger had passed and our houses were still standing. Daddy had already gone back to his bed and Ted and I were holding two sleeping children, so we took them back to their beds and returned to ours.
It took me a couple hours to get to sleep. Every sound startled me and every time Ted moved, I grabbed him and gasped.
The next day we talked it to death. Everyone wanted to know what was the first thing we did when the earthquake hit. We told them our stories and they told us theirs. I remember that I was particularly impressed with our Chaplain's story. He lived in a high rise apartment in downtown Seville and he said that when he realized it was an earthquake, he fell out of bed and onto his knees, praying that the Lord would spare the city.
The Lord did spare the city. It was quite a large quake...about a 6.4, if I remember right, but for four days before the quake, it had rained and the rain soaked ground made it a sponge. Because of that, the high risers were cushioned when they shook. We were blessed.
And the cracks in our walls? Well, the Air Force in their tender mercy, sent around Spanish workers who put a layer of plaster over all the cracks then painted over them, so we couldn't see them any more and therefore stopped worrying about them. I guess the USAF wasn't really concerned that the houses would collapse.
All in all it was an exciting event, but honestly, I don't think I've ever been as scared or felt as helpless in my life. In an earthquake, there's simply no place to run!
Thursday, March 6, 2014
"Lead Me Gently Home..."
"He...shall gently lead those that are with young." Isaiah 40:11
Today's offering is another "homegrown" story. It's another "treasure" in my earthen vessel. I hope you enjoy it and my prayer, as always, is that it edifies your faith.
I guess if you analyzed it, my Dad's faith was best shown by his strong sense of duty. Daddy was a faithful man. That was the one trait that stood out above all others in his character. The best way for me to illustrate this is by telling you about his funeral.
We had a closed coffin because of the circumstances of his death, (See The Angel From Arkansas) and on top of that coffin we placed two symbols of his life. One was a floppy, old, sweat-stained, Stetson hat and the other his old, dogeared Bible which had the cover re-glued, upside down. These two items, the hat and the bible, pretty much summed up his life of work and faith. Daddy died of a heat stroke while collecting honey. He fell dead in the middle of an intolerably hot, summer day in central Texas. We found him in the field behind the same Baptist church where he had worked and worshipped for a good portion of his life.
Ted preached his funeral sermon. In that sermon he told the story of Daddy's conversion to Christ. As I listened to the familiar story, I suddenly realized the roots and reason for Daddy's faithfulness.
Daddy had lived a pretty wild, raucous youth...drinking, gambling and carousing for many years. Then in 1925 he married my mother and bought a small farm north of Riesel, Texas in a little place called Perry.
One summer day he was plowing his field, a mile or so from their farm with a single plow pulled by a mule. He'd been clearing the field of stumps and stones so a crop could be planted. It was hard work and the hard, dusty, dry soil made plowing bumpy and jerky. After a struggle, he finally got the mule going at a pretty good pace in the right direction. Suddenly his plow hit a buried tree root. Daddy's body went flying over the top of it and when he landed on the other side he hit his head on something, perhaps a rock, he never really knew for sure, but it knocked him out. He didn't know how long he'd laid there when he came to with a bad headache and discovered that he was totally blind! He rubbed his eyes and strained to see, but to no avail so he began yelling for help. In his panic he stood and stumbled a few paces, then fell over something else. After that he laid still, afraid to move again.
It was very hot, well into the hundreds and he was flat on his face in the dirt and at least a mile from the nearest house. He experienced fear like he'd never known before. He was as blind as a bat, in terrible pain and not sure how he was going to get home. Added to that, it was about noon and the hot Texas sun was beating down on him. He also knew that no one would think to look for him until after dark and during those summer days, dark may not come until almost ten p.m. I could be dead by then, he reasoned. He listened for his mule but couldn't hear a living thing around him. "Fool mule, he's probably in the barn eating hey by now!"
When he heard the sound of his own voice he kept talking. Somehow it seemed to calm him and slow down his paniced gasping for breath. To his surprise he found himself praying. He hadn't really prayed since he was a little boy but it seemed appropriate now. He said, "Lord, here I am in trouble. I know I'm a miserable sinner and not worthy to ask You for anything, but if you could restore my sight so I can get home, I'll serve You for the rest of my life. I'll go to church on Sunday and every Sunday after that for as long as I live!" He told me once that it never occurred to him that God would be "coming up short" on that deal. But at that time, that was about as humble as he could get.
He said that as he prayed, light began seeping into the corner of his eyes and ever so slowly, it pushed away the darkness. He squinted in the bright sunlight until he could open his eyes completely. To his great relief he could see again. After a few minutes he examined himself, got his bearings and walked the long trek home.
From that moment on he was a faithful, duty bound Christian. As far as I know he never missed a church service. I don't even remember his ever being sick on Sunday. He went to prayer meetings, evening services, Sunday School, Baptist Brotherhood, and any other meeting offered by his church. During Daddy's lifetime he served as church janitor, yardman, teacher and prayer partner. His commitment never wavered. When we were on vacation he'd find a church for us to visit. He used to say, "You can't take a vacation from church."
One of my greatest memories is of him kneeling by his bedside each night before he went to bed. He would pray for people by name...our family, his neighbors, the pastor, the President, the country and any pressing need we may have had at the time and then he'd end his prayers with, "...and Lord, bless all those for whom it is my duty to pray for." There was that word...duty. It both motivated and characterized his life.
The Air Force G.I.'s used to say, "I've got the duty tonight." and we all knew what that meant. It meant that they had guard duty, the responsibility to guard some place or equipment. No one was allowed to sleep on duty. They had to remain vigilant and awake so that whatever had been entrusted to them would be safe. That is what my dad understood about being a Christian. From the time of that prayer in the dusty field, he had the duty for Christ.
At age seventy-two, Daddy collapsed in another dusty, Texas, field and died of a heat stroke. Ted ended his sermon with those words, then continued, "This time as darkness engulfed him, the light didn't creep into the corner of his eyes, in the way that it had so many years before, instead it burst upon him suddenly and he saw clearly...immediately, the face of his Savior, Jesus Christ. Now he could rest from his duty and this time he didn't have to walk the long trek home, because he was already there."
During the funeral service, the congregation closed by singing Daddy's favorite hymn. It was Lead Me Gently Home. I'm including it here because like his life and his death, it defined him.
"Lead me gently home, Father.
Lead me gently home.
When life's toils have ended
and parting days have come.
Sin no more shall temp me,
Ne're from Thee I'll roam.
If Thou wilt only lead me, Father
Lead me gently home.
Chorus:
Lead me gently home, Father
Lead me gently home.
Lest I fall upon the wayside,
Lead me gently home."
Monday, March 3, 2014
"Here I Raise My Ebenezer"
It has been a month since I posted anything on my blog because I went to Texas on vacation. I'll probably post something about that at a later date... have to let it percolate. :) But the time away has given me a chance to think about my blog and why I'm doing this. I picked up a book that I've written for my grandchildren of stories of our lives as a family. I opened it at the beginning to look for a story that I might want to post and as I read the forwards that I had written, for three different volumes of the "book", I got my latest post. They each gave my reasons for writing. As I read them, it stirred within me, once again, the desire to see more folks write down their experiences. For that reason, I am determined to encourage everyone I know, (especially people in my age group) to get their stories down. They are all unique, all important, especially to their children and grandchildren.
I am constantly surprised by what my children do not know about me and their family... seemingly insignificant things like, where we attended college, "Grandma, you graduated from Calvin College? Who knew!" or "You mean we are Jewish! Wait a minute! I thought we were Irish!" Or to their other Grandmother..."You had another husband besides Grandpa. What else haven't you told us?" These are important things for them to know.
But the really important things for them to know are the things that have made us who we are. The journey we've taken through life that has brought us to this place. The prophet, Samuel placed a "stone of help" which he called an Ebenezer stone and said, "Hither to hath the Lord helped us." (1 Samuel 7:12) In the old hymn, Come, Thou Fount the song writer recorded the incident thus, "...here I raise my Ebenezer, hither by Thy help I've come." That is the biblical principle. You shouldn't need more, but just in case you do, I've recorded my three forwards below. I hope this encourages you all, young and old to write your life!
I am constantly surprised by what my children do not know about me and their family... seemingly insignificant things like, where we attended college, "Grandma, you graduated from Calvin College? Who knew!" or "You mean we are Jewish! Wait a minute! I thought we were Irish!" Or to their other Grandmother..."You had another husband besides Grandpa. What else haven't you told us?" These are important things for them to know.
But the really important things for them to know are the things that have made us who we are. The journey we've taken through life that has brought us to this place. The prophet, Samuel placed a "stone of help" which he called an Ebenezer stone and said, "Hither to hath the Lord helped us." (1 Samuel 7:12) In the old hymn, Come, Thou Fount the song writer recorded the incident thus, "...here I raise my Ebenezer, hither by Thy help I've come." That is the biblical principle. You shouldn't need more, but just in case you do, I've recorded my three forwards below. I hope this encourages you all, young and old to write your life!
Forward 1
For a long time I have been wanting to write down some of the stories of our life together as a family. I also wanted my grandchildren and great grandchildren to know where I came from and where their grandfather came from. There just never seemed to be a time I could do this. It was a task that seemed unimportant compared to everything else I had to do but this year I got motivated to do it.
What motivated me, you ask? Well mostly it was poverty. I heard a man say that finances or the lack thereof, very often dictate the direction of our lives and I've come to see the truth in that statement. I wanted to give my grandchildren Christmas gifts this year and even the Dollar Store was too expensive for me and my fourteen grandchildren. So when my daughter-in-law, Kim suggested that I write some of my stories and put them in a book for the children, I thought... yes! The title of my little book Treasures in Earthen Vessels, and the scripture on the fly leaf, (Acts 3:6) pretty much tells you why I felt the need to write them. I intend to add a few stories every year until I either die or run out of material so I would encourage you all to give your books to your mom for safe keeping after you read them, then I can retrieve them next Christmas and add to them. Someday maybe I can afford to publish them for you. That way you will have a history of your family in story form to pass on to your children.
A former President said, "We are trying to do a futile thing if we do not know where we came from or what we have been about." History is very important. It is the light at the back of the train that points our direction to the future.
As I said in the story entitled, My Father's Faith, "No one (soldier) was allowed to sleep on duty. They had to remain vigilant and awake so that whatever had been entrusted to them would be safe." My generation will soon pass the "duty" on to you and you will be entrusted with upholding our name and the Christian faith. So my prayer for you is that some of this family history will be and inspiration and help as you assume "the duty". I love you all!
Forward 2
This is the second installment of Treasures in Earthen Vessels, a book I'm preparing for you, my grandchildren. I thought I would get more than eight stories written this year but due to knee surgery in December, I was unable to meet that goal.
These eight stories, however will keep you busy for a while and I will try to write more in the coming year. Someday I hope to put them into a book for all of you but just in case I never get to do that, I want you to have them in separate volumes.
As you have probably already discovered about your Grandma, I see everything through a biblical principle grid. Even the most pagan Disney movie can yield for me a principle to be analyzed and meditated upon. Because of this mindset, which I have very carefully practiced over forty some years, my stories will be full of principles. I'll try not to preach or even point them out. My hope is that you will begin to see them on your own. Now, this my bore you or put you off but it won't hurt you, so be entertained and be instructed with these latest Treasures in Earthen Vessels. Love, Grandma
Forward 3
Not that I need an excuse, but I've found another reason for writing these stories for you children. One modern translation of Psalm 78 says exactly why I should write them and why you should read them. In verses 1-12 it says:
"My people, listen to my teaching; listen to what I say.
I will speak using stories; I will tell secret things from long ago.
We have heard them and known them by what our ancestors have told us;
We will tell those who come later about the praises of the Lord.
We will tell about His power and the miracles He has done.
The Lord made an agreement with Jacob and gave the teachings to Israel, which He commanded our ancestors to teach to their children, then their children would know them, even their children not yet born, and they would tell their children. So they would all trust God and would not forget what He had done but would obey His commands.
They would not be like their ancestors who were stubborn and disobedient.
Their hearts were not loyal to God, and they were not true to Him. The men of Ephraim had bows for weapons, but they ran way on the day of battle.
They didn't keep their agreement with God and refused to live by His teachings.
They forgot what He had done and the miracles He had shown them. He did miracles while their ancestors watched,..."
Now I know that literally He is talking about passing on the scripture, in this Psalm, but applying it personally, I decided that if I can help it, my children will never forget what He did while I watched! I love you all, and Merry Christmas!
Sunday, February 2, 2014
The World's Best Fishing Story
We were stationed in Key West, Florida from 1961 to 1962. I'll never forget the initial trip to the island. We had been home from our first tour of duty in Spain for about a month. Kelly was fourteen months old and Joel was four. During our leave time in Texas. I had taken sick with the flu, so on the trip to Florida I was as sick as I've ever been in my life.
The long, hot ride through the southern states seemed endless to me. I was burning with fever, missing Rosario (my Spanish maid) trying to cope with our two little children without her and definitely experiencing culture shock. I was a mess, physically and emotionally. I thought when we reached the northern border of Florida that we were almost there. Boy, was I wrong! Florida has to be one of the longest states in the union!
We didn't have the money to stop at a motel so Ted drove straight through from Riesel, Texas to Key West, Florida. I languished in a feverish stupor for most of the way, so I was no help to my poor, sleep-deprived husband. Occasionally he would wake me up to tend to one of the kids but mostly he left me alone.
Kelly probably closed her eyes for two hours the whole trip because she could never sleep in the car. Usually that was annoying to all of us but I was thankful for it on this trip because I couldn't stay away to keep Ted awake, so she obliging sat in between us and chattered like a squirrel all the way. Once in a while Joel or I would wake up and whine, "Please make her stop!" As you can imagine it was a pretty miserable trip. I remember as we crossed the bridge that connects the mainland of Florida to the Keys, I stared out at the endless miles of water and a foreboding came over me, "I'll probably not cross this bridge again until we're transferred from this state." I said to Ted. It was a depressing yet prophetic thought.
While not the most pleasant place we were ever stationed, Key West was certainly one of the most eventful. Our son Timothy was born there. We were there during the Cuban Crisis. We lived in brand new base housing, right on a canal. There Ted was able to meet President Kennedy and it was in Key West that Ted became a decorated hero when he risked his life to save a man from an overturned truck, but that's another story for later. There also we learned a lot about the ocean, the beach, boating, fishing and Ted became an avid scuba diver and water skier.
We fell in love with the ocean and deep sea fishing. The other events deserve their own stories but this one is all about the fishing.
I really didn't care much for swimming in the ocean. The salt water wasn't refreshing to me and the sand on the beach was uncomfortable. We couldn't relax in the sun because we had two little children and there was much at the beach that could hurt them. But when we left the kids with a sitter and took a boat out to fish it was an adventure I'll never forget!
I'd never seen anything like the sea creatures that one can observe right off the coast of the Keys. There were giant rays that swam close enough to our boat that we could reach down and stroke there big flapping wings. There were huge sharks, sometimes fifteen feet long who swam around us, checking out our boat with their cold, glassy eyes. There were Jewfish, or seacows as some called them. They were bigger than our little motor boats with red and white leprous looking spots on their skin and mouths large enough to swallow our little vessel if they so desired. Then there were long silver-skinned Barracudas... fierce looking creatures whose evil, toothy smiles extended up a third of their body length displaying sharp saw-like teeth that could tear a man's leg or arm to shreds. Oh, and I'll never forget the jelly fish with their bright blue bubbles and long, stringy tentacles that could wrap around you and paralyze you with their sting. The had an iridescent glow as they pushed through the water.
I don't want to leave out the fish that were good to eat. The day Tim was born, his dad caught a snapper that outweighed our new baby boy. Timmy weighed 7lbs, 11oz and Ted's snapper weighed in at a little over 8lbs. We referred to Tim as "the shrimp" for the first month of his life never dreaming he'd grow up to be our moose! Then there was a grouper which is the only fish that I have ever eaten that I didn't feel had to be battered and deep fried to suit my taste. It is delicious, broiled or grilled with a squeeze of lemon.
When I was eight months pregnant with Timmy, Ted came home one day and said, "A friend has invited us to go out on his cabin cruiser to fish with him tomorrow. Are you up to it if we can get a baby sitter?"
Of course I was up to it! The only thing that could have stopped me was labor pains and they weren't due quite yet. So the next morning we left the kids with a neighbor and headed for the marina and a day of deep sea fishing.
We fished most of the morning without much success but the day was sunny, the water beautiful and the breeze off the ocean kept us cool. It was wonderful. Right after lunch I settled down at the back of the boat with my line trolling in the water while our captain instructed Ted how to drive the cruiser. I was almost asleep in the sun with a straw hat pulled down over my face when my pole jerked. I came awake with a start. It didn't take me long to realize that I had a big one on the other end. The thing began jerking and pulling frantically on my line. The reel was whirring and I was screaming. The two men ran to my side, Ted said, "I'll take it from here," and reached for my pole. He told me later that I looked at him with murder in my eyes and said, "Don't you touch my pole! I can catch this fish!" He stood back and the two of them began yelling instructions... "Give him more line! Pull it back! Give him more line! Play him! Keep winding and pulling on the line!" I wrestled that fish for fifteen minutes or more as we watched him in the distance leaping from the water. I held onto that pole with all my strength and watched the sun glinting on his silver skin as he broke through the surface of the water. It was a beautiful sight and the fight in that valiant creature was something I'll never forget. It felt like I had a German Shepherd on the other end of my line.
I was growing tired but I didn't dare admit it because Ted was standing by my side watching me ever so closely, just waiting to take over my fish fight. I would have collapsed before I'd let that happen.
Ted was extremely protective and I could hear him asking, "Are you okay? You're not hurting yourself are you?" Every once in a while I'd look at him and say, "Shut up, Ted! You're not going to catch my fish!"
Even with all of the jumping, we weren't sure what I had on the line, until he got right up to the back of the boat. Then we looked down at him and realized that I had hooked a Barracuda... a four foot long silver muscle... with teeth!
The creature laid there exhausted, just below the surface. He was a noble but defeated champion, waiting for his fate to be sealed. It was kinda sad.
"How do I get him into the boat?" I asked, examining that murderous looking row of teeth.
"You don't!" said Ted as he reached in front of me and cut my line with his pen knife. I watched in amazement as my prize slithered into the inky deep water below our boat.
"Why did you do that?!" I screamed.
"Because you're not bringing a Barracuda into this boat!"
"But I wanted you to take my picture with him!" I protested. I felt close to tears, not only disappointed and exhausted, but now I couldn't record my victory for future generations, and there were other emotions I still can't explain. I guess you might say that my "thrill of victory" was dissolving into the "agony of defeat". I turned to our captain and asked, as calmly as I could, "How long would you say that fish was?"
"Oh, about 4 feet I'd say."
"...and about how long did I fight him?"
"Oh, about 15 to 20 minutes." He replied.
Then I turned to Ted and said, "Four feet long and a 15 to 20 minute fight, now I don't ever want to hear you claim that the fish and the battle grows in size every time I tell the story, because if I can't have a picture, I should at least be able to brag about it without contradiction!"
"It's a deal." He smiled and gave me a hug and he never once contradicted my story. He was a good man! :)
(C)copyright2014ljgehrke
P.S. Although the above picture is not a picture of "my prize" this one is a close facsimile.
The long, hot ride through the southern states seemed endless to me. I was burning with fever, missing Rosario (my Spanish maid) trying to cope with our two little children without her and definitely experiencing culture shock. I was a mess, physically and emotionally. I thought when we reached the northern border of Florida that we were almost there. Boy, was I wrong! Florida has to be one of the longest states in the union!
We didn't have the money to stop at a motel so Ted drove straight through from Riesel, Texas to Key West, Florida. I languished in a feverish stupor for most of the way, so I was no help to my poor, sleep-deprived husband. Occasionally he would wake me up to tend to one of the kids but mostly he left me alone.
Kelly probably closed her eyes for two hours the whole trip because she could never sleep in the car. Usually that was annoying to all of us but I was thankful for it on this trip because I couldn't stay away to keep Ted awake, so she obliging sat in between us and chattered like a squirrel all the way. Once in a while Joel or I would wake up and whine, "Please make her stop!" As you can imagine it was a pretty miserable trip. I remember as we crossed the bridge that connects the mainland of Florida to the Keys, I stared out at the endless miles of water and a foreboding came over me, "I'll probably not cross this bridge again until we're transferred from this state." I said to Ted. It was a depressing yet prophetic thought.
While not the most pleasant place we were ever stationed, Key West was certainly one of the most eventful. Our son Timothy was born there. We were there during the Cuban Crisis. We lived in brand new base housing, right on a canal. There Ted was able to meet President Kennedy and it was in Key West that Ted became a decorated hero when he risked his life to save a man from an overturned truck, but that's another story for later. There also we learned a lot about the ocean, the beach, boating, fishing and Ted became an avid scuba diver and water skier.
We fell in love with the ocean and deep sea fishing. The other events deserve their own stories but this one is all about the fishing.
I really didn't care much for swimming in the ocean. The salt water wasn't refreshing to me and the sand on the beach was uncomfortable. We couldn't relax in the sun because we had two little children and there was much at the beach that could hurt them. But when we left the kids with a sitter and took a boat out to fish it was an adventure I'll never forget!
I'd never seen anything like the sea creatures that one can observe right off the coast of the Keys. There were giant rays that swam close enough to our boat that we could reach down and stroke there big flapping wings. There were huge sharks, sometimes fifteen feet long who swam around us, checking out our boat with their cold, glassy eyes. There were Jewfish, or seacows as some called them. They were bigger than our little motor boats with red and white leprous looking spots on their skin and mouths large enough to swallow our little vessel if they so desired. Then there were long silver-skinned Barracudas... fierce looking creatures whose evil, toothy smiles extended up a third of their body length displaying sharp saw-like teeth that could tear a man's leg or arm to shreds. Oh, and I'll never forget the jelly fish with their bright blue bubbles and long, stringy tentacles that could wrap around you and paralyze you with their sting. The had an iridescent glow as they pushed through the water.
I don't want to leave out the fish that were good to eat. The day Tim was born, his dad caught a snapper that outweighed our new baby boy. Timmy weighed 7lbs, 11oz and Ted's snapper weighed in at a little over 8lbs. We referred to Tim as "the shrimp" for the first month of his life never dreaming he'd grow up to be our moose! Then there was a grouper which is the only fish that I have ever eaten that I didn't feel had to be battered and deep fried to suit my taste. It is delicious, broiled or grilled with a squeeze of lemon.
When I was eight months pregnant with Timmy, Ted came home one day and said, "A friend has invited us to go out on his cabin cruiser to fish with him tomorrow. Are you up to it if we can get a baby sitter?"
Of course I was up to it! The only thing that could have stopped me was labor pains and they weren't due quite yet. So the next morning we left the kids with a neighbor and headed for the marina and a day of deep sea fishing.
We fished most of the morning without much success but the day was sunny, the water beautiful and the breeze off the ocean kept us cool. It was wonderful. Right after lunch I settled down at the back of the boat with my line trolling in the water while our captain instructed Ted how to drive the cruiser. I was almost asleep in the sun with a straw hat pulled down over my face when my pole jerked. I came awake with a start. It didn't take me long to realize that I had a big one on the other end. The thing began jerking and pulling frantically on my line. The reel was whirring and I was screaming. The two men ran to my side, Ted said, "I'll take it from here," and reached for my pole. He told me later that I looked at him with murder in my eyes and said, "Don't you touch my pole! I can catch this fish!" He stood back and the two of them began yelling instructions... "Give him more line! Pull it back! Give him more line! Play him! Keep winding and pulling on the line!" I wrestled that fish for fifteen minutes or more as we watched him in the distance leaping from the water. I held onto that pole with all my strength and watched the sun glinting on his silver skin as he broke through the surface of the water. It was a beautiful sight and the fight in that valiant creature was something I'll never forget. It felt like I had a German Shepherd on the other end of my line.
I was growing tired but I didn't dare admit it because Ted was standing by my side watching me ever so closely, just waiting to take over my fish fight. I would have collapsed before I'd let that happen.
Ted was extremely protective and I could hear him asking, "Are you okay? You're not hurting yourself are you?" Every once in a while I'd look at him and say, "Shut up, Ted! You're not going to catch my fish!"
Even with all of the jumping, we weren't sure what I had on the line, until he got right up to the back of the boat. Then we looked down at him and realized that I had hooked a Barracuda... a four foot long silver muscle... with teeth!
The creature laid there exhausted, just below the surface. He was a noble but defeated champion, waiting for his fate to be sealed. It was kinda sad.
"How do I get him into the boat?" I asked, examining that murderous looking row of teeth.
"You don't!" said Ted as he reached in front of me and cut my line with his pen knife. I watched in amazement as my prize slithered into the inky deep water below our boat.
"Why did you do that?!" I screamed.
"Because you're not bringing a Barracuda into this boat!"
"But I wanted you to take my picture with him!" I protested. I felt close to tears, not only disappointed and exhausted, but now I couldn't record my victory for future generations, and there were other emotions I still can't explain. I guess you might say that my "thrill of victory" was dissolving into the "agony of defeat". I turned to our captain and asked, as calmly as I could, "How long would you say that fish was?"
"Oh, about 4 feet I'd say."
"...and about how long did I fight him?"
"Oh, about 15 to 20 minutes." He replied.Then I turned to Ted and said, "Four feet long and a 15 to 20 minute fight, now I don't ever want to hear you claim that the fish and the battle grows in size every time I tell the story, because if I can't have a picture, I should at least be able to brag about it without contradiction!"
"It's a deal." He smiled and gave me a hug and he never once contradicted my story. He was a good man! :)
(C)copyright2014ljgehrke
P.S. Although the above picture is not a picture of "my prize" this one is a close facsimile.
Friday, January 31, 2014
They Wake the Queen with Pipes
I first wrote this story shortly after the experience of finding my biological family. That has taught me a valuable lesson. When a person has an experience as powerful and life altering as this one, they need to wait before they bloviate about it. Time gives us a valuable gift...perspective. I still don't know if I can do it justice but because of another powerful experience that is about to happen in our family, I'll try.
On Monday morning my daughter, and her husband will appear in court to finalize the adoption of their four little "foster" children. These children have lived in their home for over two years now. They brought one home from the hospital after her birth. They have prayed every day that God would grant them the right to become their parents. Before that, they prayed, along with their older daughter, that God would give them a larger family. He is about to answer those prayers.This is what is prompting me to write about my adoption and adoption in general. The perspective of my story has changed a lot, so this will be totally different from the original story. I kept the original title because...I'm in love with it. Maybe you'll understand that when you read it.
My adoption was finalized when I was one hour old, but at that time (1938) the doctor's in all their wisdom believed that a baby should be nursed by it's mother for a period of time before they were separated. Maybe this was true but I've always believed that it was a special kind of cruelty for that mother. She nursed me for five days before they took me away.
They were a young couple, living in Texas during the depression. They were both from families whose fathers had abandoned their homes and responsibilities so perhaps they clung to each other in desperation or because of raging hormones...who knows, but out of that union, I was conceived.
My biological father did the "right thing". He dropped out of high school and married his beautiful little half-Indian, pregnant girlfriend. As naive as they were, they tried to make a go of it. He got a job as a nightwatchman for a bank in the nearby town. It came with an apartment above the bank and the unheard of salary of $75.00 a week. They did fine until six weeks before my birth when he lost his job. Once again desperation kicked in, so they did they only thing they could do. They returned to their separate homes.
My father's household was being supported by an older sister who was a school teacher and my mother had siblings who were sick from malnutrition. Most of her brothers and sisters had dropped out of school and were taking odd jobs to put food on the table. I can't imagine a more bleak situation.
Soon the two families got together to discuss what to do with the expected baby. Its future with their families didn't look good. They all decided in this meeting that it would be best for them and for me if I were put up for adoption. I can only imagine the heartbreak of these people and since I learned that story, I've been grateful for their sacrificial love.
Of course, growing up, I didn't know this story. I was raised in New Mexico, far away from East Texas where I was born and where my biological family suffered through the depression and all the hardship that devastating time in our history brought upon the people who lived through it. I have learned since then that I was one of the "lucky" ones. Many families were separated by that event. There were trains filled with orphans who were shipped across the United States to be given to people who took them to work the fields and become servants in their homes, or who in some instances became beloved members of those families. I was indeed blessed.
My adoptive parents were hard working, Christian, "salt of the earth" kind of people who had experienced early in their marriage the loss of the only baby they could ever have. They began praying right after that loss for a child to adopt. They prayed for 13 years. Because my birth mother's doctor was the same doctor they used as a family physician the connection was made and the deal signed, sealed and delivered one hour after my birth.
There was never a child more cherished than me. I was "Daddy's little girl!" He taught me to hunt, ride a horse, shoot several guns and drive a pickup truck at an early age so I could drive while he hunted. My mother said that it was one of the saddest days in his life when I got into middle school and he had to admit that I was a girl. They gave me everything I needed and many things I didn't need. I had a good education, friendship, firm discipline, and a large extended family who accepted and loved me. Added to this they were wonderful examples of genuine Christian love and service to me.
All of this skittered through my mind one afternoon in 1979 as we rode home from the school where I taught and my youngest son in the back seat asked, "Mom, haven't you ever been curious about your biological parents? Wouldn't you like to find them?"
I thought about it a minute than said, "Not really,...besides, why would they want me now? They didn't want me when I was a cute, cuddly, baby girl. What makes you think they'd want me now that I'm a middle-aged, not so cute, grown up woman?"
Everyone fell silent as we contemplated it the rest of the way home. When we got there I went in to begin preparing supper and Ted went to his office in the church. About half and hour later he walked into the kitchen with a strange look on his face. "What?" I asked.
"I found your birth father." he announced in a subdued tone.
"What?!!!" I yelled.
"I picked up the phone and called the city you were born in Texas and within ten minutes I had him on the phone. It just happened so fast I didn't have time to think about it."
He knew their names because the first time I applied for a passport I had to produce my adoption papers, so my mother had reluctantly surrendered them to me.
"I told him you'd call him." he continued.
"Well you shouldn't have done that because I may not call him!"
"I think you'll want to when I tell you what he said."
"What was that?"
When I told him who I was and that I had married the little girl he'd given up for adoption in 1938 he broke down and cried then he asked, "Do you think she could ever forgive me?"
Well he had me there. Of course I'd forgive him. I'd had a wonderful life. I was a happy woman who had never wanted for anything. My life had been blessed and the thought that he might be suffering any guilt from giving me up for adoption, was hard for me to hear. So I called him. We didn't talk long but it wasn't because we were strangers. The minute I heard his voice it sounded familiar. He asked for and I gave him forgiveness then I told him about my life. It made him happy. Since it was close to Christmas we made arrangements to go to Texas and meet him during Christmas break.The night before we met I began to feel a little apprehensive and I said to Ted and the kids, "What if he doesn't like me?" Ted look at me and quoted a scripture, "No man ever yet hated his own flesh!" I sighed, "Maybe I'll look just like my mother."
The moment I looked into his face I knew how appropriate that verse had been. I looked just like him! My biological mother had been dead for five years and he was alone. He had gone into the navy after they gave me up and when he returned they got back together and had another little girl. So I had a sister.
Between him and my sister I had so many questions answered. He told me why they had given me away. He told me about their ethnic background. He was very proud of the fact that he was descended from William the Conqueror and that our family name was Drury as in "Drury Lane, the home of Shakespeare. He talked about my mother's Indian heritage and how she had a great grandmother who lived to 114 years old. We looked at family pictures and compared me and my children to them all. We had a great time.
He only lived two years after we found him but in that time he got to see his oldest grandson married and his first great grandson born. He was blessed to be the grandfather he never thought he be. By that time my Daddy had died and he was the only grandfather Jennifer was able to know.
Now contemplating as and older woman, one thing has become clear to me. Adopted children are rescued children. No matter what circumstance brought them to their adoptive parents, they have been rescued from some situation. Adoption is the best parable for salvation that can be found on earth. Children who are adopted all come from something from which they had to be rescued. Their very survival, happiness or well being depends on grace... the grace of someone who will take them and love them and provide for them until they can provide for themselves.
In the Bible, God uses this illustration abundantly. Because of this the scriptures about the "Fatherhood of God" have come to mean so much to me. Psalm 27:10 says, "When my father and mother forsake me, Then the Lord will take care of me." Is. 49: 16 & 17 says, "Can a woman forget her nursing child, and not have compassion on the son of her womb? Surely they may forget, yet I will not forget you. See I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands..."
My biological mother from her death bed, told my sister about me and ended the story by saying, "If you ever find her, tell her Jesus loves her and so did I."
And the title to this story... It was given to me by my biological father. The first morning we were in his home we were awakened by loud bag pipes playing some Scottish call to arms. We jumped out of bed and rushed into the living room to find out what was assaulting our eardrums. He was standing in front of his stereo smiling, as a record played as loudly as he could crank it up. He saw the startled questions on our faces and said, "They wake the queen with pipes, you know." It was his way of honoring me and it touched my heart. The phrase has come to mean so much to me as I've gained insight into the heart of God through this experience. For me it was truly an "awakening". I really can't think of a more godly act than adoption.
Because of this perspective as an adopted child, I have found it easy to believe in God's soverignity, His love and protection and His presence in my life. These are treasures He places in the hearts of adopted children and I believe with all my heart that..."behind the dim unknown, standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above His own" ( James Russell Lowell)
(c)copyright2014ljgehrke
On Monday morning my daughter, and her husband will appear in court to finalize the adoption of their four little "foster" children. These children have lived in their home for over two years now. They brought one home from the hospital after her birth. They have prayed every day that God would grant them the right to become their parents. Before that, they prayed, along with their older daughter, that God would give them a larger family. He is about to answer those prayers.This is what is prompting me to write about my adoption and adoption in general. The perspective of my story has changed a lot, so this will be totally different from the original story. I kept the original title because...I'm in love with it. Maybe you'll understand that when you read it.
My adoption was finalized when I was one hour old, but at that time (1938) the doctor's in all their wisdom believed that a baby should be nursed by it's mother for a period of time before they were separated. Maybe this was true but I've always believed that it was a special kind of cruelty for that mother. She nursed me for five days before they took me away.
They were a young couple, living in Texas during the depression. They were both from families whose fathers had abandoned their homes and responsibilities so perhaps they clung to each other in desperation or because of raging hormones...who knows, but out of that union, I was conceived.
My biological father did the "right thing". He dropped out of high school and married his beautiful little half-Indian, pregnant girlfriend. As naive as they were, they tried to make a go of it. He got a job as a nightwatchman for a bank in the nearby town. It came with an apartment above the bank and the unheard of salary of $75.00 a week. They did fine until six weeks before my birth when he lost his job. Once again desperation kicked in, so they did they only thing they could do. They returned to their separate homes.
My father's household was being supported by an older sister who was a school teacher and my mother had siblings who were sick from malnutrition. Most of her brothers and sisters had dropped out of school and were taking odd jobs to put food on the table. I can't imagine a more bleak situation.
Soon the two families got together to discuss what to do with the expected baby. Its future with their families didn't look good. They all decided in this meeting that it would be best for them and for me if I were put up for adoption. I can only imagine the heartbreak of these people and since I learned that story, I've been grateful for their sacrificial love.
Of course, growing up, I didn't know this story. I was raised in New Mexico, far away from East Texas where I was born and where my biological family suffered through the depression and all the hardship that devastating time in our history brought upon the people who lived through it. I have learned since then that I was one of the "lucky" ones. Many families were separated by that event. There were trains filled with orphans who were shipped across the United States to be given to people who took them to work the fields and become servants in their homes, or who in some instances became beloved members of those families. I was indeed blessed.
My adoptive parents were hard working, Christian, "salt of the earth" kind of people who had experienced early in their marriage the loss of the only baby they could ever have. They began praying right after that loss for a child to adopt. They prayed for 13 years. Because my birth mother's doctor was the same doctor they used as a family physician the connection was made and the deal signed, sealed and delivered one hour after my birth.
There was never a child more cherished than me. I was "Daddy's little girl!" He taught me to hunt, ride a horse, shoot several guns and drive a pickup truck at an early age so I could drive while he hunted. My mother said that it was one of the saddest days in his life when I got into middle school and he had to admit that I was a girl. They gave me everything I needed and many things I didn't need. I had a good education, friendship, firm discipline, and a large extended family who accepted and loved me. Added to this they were wonderful examples of genuine Christian love and service to me.
All of this skittered through my mind one afternoon in 1979 as we rode home from the school where I taught and my youngest son in the back seat asked, "Mom, haven't you ever been curious about your biological parents? Wouldn't you like to find them?"
I thought about it a minute than said, "Not really,...besides, why would they want me now? They didn't want me when I was a cute, cuddly, baby girl. What makes you think they'd want me now that I'm a middle-aged, not so cute, grown up woman?"
Everyone fell silent as we contemplated it the rest of the way home. When we got there I went in to begin preparing supper and Ted went to his office in the church. About half and hour later he walked into the kitchen with a strange look on his face. "What?" I asked.
"I found your birth father." he announced in a subdued tone.
"What?!!!" I yelled.
"I picked up the phone and called the city you were born in Texas and within ten minutes I had him on the phone. It just happened so fast I didn't have time to think about it."
He knew their names because the first time I applied for a passport I had to produce my adoption papers, so my mother had reluctantly surrendered them to me.
"I told him you'd call him." he continued.
"Well you shouldn't have done that because I may not call him!"
"I think you'll want to when I tell you what he said."
"What was that?"
When I told him who I was and that I had married the little girl he'd given up for adoption in 1938 he broke down and cried then he asked, "Do you think she could ever forgive me?"
Well he had me there. Of course I'd forgive him. I'd had a wonderful life. I was a happy woman who had never wanted for anything. My life had been blessed and the thought that he might be suffering any guilt from giving me up for adoption, was hard for me to hear. So I called him. We didn't talk long but it wasn't because we were strangers. The minute I heard his voice it sounded familiar. He asked for and I gave him forgiveness then I told him about my life. It made him happy. Since it was close to Christmas we made arrangements to go to Texas and meet him during Christmas break.The night before we met I began to feel a little apprehensive and I said to Ted and the kids, "What if he doesn't like me?" Ted look at me and quoted a scripture, "No man ever yet hated his own flesh!" I sighed, "Maybe I'll look just like my mother."
The moment I looked into his face I knew how appropriate that verse had been. I looked just like him! My biological mother had been dead for five years and he was alone. He had gone into the navy after they gave me up and when he returned they got back together and had another little girl. So I had a sister.
Between him and my sister I had so many questions answered. He told me why they had given me away. He told me about their ethnic background. He was very proud of the fact that he was descended from William the Conqueror and that our family name was Drury as in "Drury Lane, the home of Shakespeare. He talked about my mother's Indian heritage and how she had a great grandmother who lived to 114 years old. We looked at family pictures and compared me and my children to them all. We had a great time.
He only lived two years after we found him but in that time he got to see his oldest grandson married and his first great grandson born. He was blessed to be the grandfather he never thought he be. By that time my Daddy had died and he was the only grandfather Jennifer was able to know.
Now contemplating as and older woman, one thing has become clear to me. Adopted children are rescued children. No matter what circumstance brought them to their adoptive parents, they have been rescued from some situation. Adoption is the best parable for salvation that can be found on earth. Children who are adopted all come from something from which they had to be rescued. Their very survival, happiness or well being depends on grace... the grace of someone who will take them and love them and provide for them until they can provide for themselves.
In the Bible, God uses this illustration abundantly. Because of this the scriptures about the "Fatherhood of God" have come to mean so much to me. Psalm 27:10 says, "When my father and mother forsake me, Then the Lord will take care of me." Is. 49: 16 & 17 says, "Can a woman forget her nursing child, and not have compassion on the son of her womb? Surely they may forget, yet I will not forget you. See I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands..."
My biological mother from her death bed, told my sister about me and ended the story by saying, "If you ever find her, tell her Jesus loves her and so did I."
And the title to this story... It was given to me by my biological father. The first morning we were in his home we were awakened by loud bag pipes playing some Scottish call to arms. We jumped out of bed and rushed into the living room to find out what was assaulting our eardrums. He was standing in front of his stereo smiling, as a record played as loudly as he could crank it up. He saw the startled questions on our faces and said, "They wake the queen with pipes, you know." It was his way of honoring me and it touched my heart. The phrase has come to mean so much to me as I've gained insight into the heart of God through this experience. For me it was truly an "awakening". I really can't think of a more godly act than adoption.
Because of this perspective as an adopted child, I have found it easy to believe in God's soverignity, His love and protection and His presence in my life. These are treasures He places in the hearts of adopted children and I believe with all my heart that..."behind the dim unknown, standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above His own" ( James Russell Lowell)
(c)copyright2014ljgehrke
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