| Ahh, the story we all love to tell. Our own. Okay, it's not that I wrote my story just cuz I wanted to write my story. Maybe there's something there, along the way, in my story, that may . . . keep you going as a writer? Make you love our Father more? Make you smile? Maybe even laugh out loud? Check it out and see what happens. Herein lies my tale, as captured on my blog (that has since gone the way of the dinosaur). These entries are from my posts dated April 2nd to July 1st, 2005, a continuation of the posts describing my Mount Hermon adventures. You may want to start there. |
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The Entire Adventure Part 1
Hey y'all!! It's April 2nd, 2005, straight up 1:00 p.m. Well, I guess 1:00 p.m. isn't exactly straight
up, but oh well. In three hours it'll be exactly a year. And what a year it's been.
Today, I'd like to start going back a bit, to lay the groundwork for this incredible year. You may
think I've always dreamed of being a novelist. Wrong. You may be wondering (along with me)
why just a few weeks ago the good folks at the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference chose
me as their 2005 Writer of the Year.
Don't give me that look. You read it right.
Truth is, I don't know why they did such a dastardly deed. As soon as I heard Dave Talbott start to
read about the Writer of the Year and realized he was reading about ME!, I completely lost track of
everything else he said. Yes, I did hear the words "burned" and "ashes of despair" and then my
name which was my cue to walk on down and receive the plaque and check. I shook his hand and
remember saying, "This is wrong," but he didn't yank the plaque or the check back so I guess he
meant to give them to me. Anyway . . .
Needless to say, it was a pretty amazing moment. Thanks to Lynn on my right and Fred on my left, I
didn't do any long-lasting damage to myself as I experienced my coronary. Thanks to Karen and
Steve and everyone on the committee for ending my incredible year with the incredibly
unthinkable. Thanks to You, Lord Jesus, because I have this sneaky little feeling that what lies
ahead . . . wow. Thank You, Lord!!
So. Here we are. Part 1 of the Entire Adventure. And here's all I'll say about it now. My life
begins and ends in Jesus Christ. He has set me apart in Him for His glory. You'll see what I mean
if you stick with me as I blog. I'm not like most people you've met. But I'm just the way Christ
wants and needs me to be. I'm not a writer or a novelist or a career-minded single white female.
I'm just His. I didn't earn the right to be a published novelist. I didn't set out to be a published
novelist. I didn't even set out to be a writer. I don't even read that much. I've never even read C.S.
Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia! Oh, the shame of it!!!
Why has this year happened? Because in July 1996, I was available. Totally clueless to what lay
ahead, totally open to whatever played out in my life. Just open and available and waiting to see
what God had in store.
Oh, my. I had no clue.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 2
So. Here we are again. And back we go, back to June 1965, when, in a small hospital in
Bellefonte, Pennsylvania, I came kicking and screaming into the world. I'm sure my big brother,
Chris, who was already almost three at the time, didn't know what to think of me. But we became
fast friends, and he's still my best friend, even to this day. Anyway, I have a picture of him reading
to me when I looked about a year old, and he looked about four. The funny thing is he never did
like to read. Hmm. There's something special there, in that moment captured on film. I love that
picture almost more than any other childhood photo.
Truth is, I remember very little of my childhood. Now, that doesn't mean I had a bad one. I'm
pretty sure I had a good one. Of the memories I have, they are mostly good. I don't remember ever
fighting with my brother, or causing Mom and Dad any major grief. They may have a different
story, but this is my blog, and this is my story, so I'm sticking to it.
Growing up in central Pennsylvania, I loved the distinct four seasons—well, I loved three of the
distinct four seasons. I hated the hot, humid, hazy days of summer. My dad and uncle and grandpa
owned a chain of small convenience stores, much like 7-11's, but before they became popular.
They were called Fleisher's Dairy Stores and we had about 15 of them around the area. I say we
because to me, they were my stores. And hey. My name was right there above the door. Right?
Anyway, one day my dad hauled home a gigantic box that had housed one of the store's new
coolers. How he got it home and into our basement, I still have no clue. But that box down in the
basement became my very special place, my "cabin," where I created my own world complete with
two different sets of Barbies and Kens, a Barbie Townhouse with elevator, cars, clothes, campers,
and all kinds of Barbie accessories. Oh, and don't forget Steve, Stephanie, and Sweets: the
Sunshine Family. How I loved the Sunshine Family! I had their house, barn, horse, dog, truck, and
just about everything else imaginable. All set up in the cabin. My little cool place to escape the
heat of the Pennsylvanian summer. I still think it's the reason I survived the hot weather, and why I
still hate hot weather, even to this day.
Anyway . . .
With all my Barbie and Sunshine Family stuff down in the cabin, one Christmas my mom and dad
bought me a tape recorder. At first I had no idea what to do with it. Mom always taped Oliver B.
Green off the radio, so maybe I said to her one day, "I wanna tape recorder!" Who knows. But I
took that tape recorder down to my cabin and began what grew into 30 hour-long tapes of "Life
With the Sunshine Family."
Looking back on it, I think that tape recorder and those tapes were the only even remotest hint that
someday I would become a storyteller. Pretty pathetic, I know.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 3
I saved one of those tapes. Or, should I say, only one of those tapes survived. It's hilarious to me
that the one tape that survived included a Sunday morning when the Sunshine Family got up
(grudgingly) to go to church. I usually hem-hawed around about going to church back then, mainly
because I have never been a morning person and I would have loved to have just plain stayed in
bed. We traveled a bit from church to church in my early years, but I'm glad Mom made me get up
and go. From that moment on November 8th, 1972, when I was seven and asked Jesus Christ to
forgive my sins and be my "personal savior," my Christian upbringing involved just about every
denomination known to Christiandom. We started off as Baptists, so on that particular Sunday the
Sunshine Family endured a typical Baptist church service complete with organ music, hymn singing,
taking up the collection (for which Steve had to be reminded by his wife how much to make the
check out for), a hell-fire type sermon, and a "Just As I Am" altar call.
Hey. I could preach a little hell-fire when I was nine.
A few years ago, I threw that tape in the garbage. The only remaining link to my storytelling
infancy. And thank goodness I did. How embarrassing. I was a terrible storyteller back then, and
the fact that I recorded 30 hours of bad stories about my Sunshine Family should be an indication to
my ability to prattle on about nothing.
I think the other 29 tapes of "Life With the Sunshine Family" got taped over with Oliver B. Green
messages.
Thank You, Lord!
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 4
Sometimes when I tell people I was "saved at seven," they look at me and are just itchin' to ask,
"Are you sure it took? When did you rededicate your life?" I really don't mind those questions
because yes, I'm am sure it took. I'm a firm believer that once the Lord Jesus Christ gets hold of
your heart, He never lets you go. It doesn't matter how young that heart may be. Or how many times
your friends rededicate their lives at church camp.
But, think about it. Seven years old. Wow. I still marvel at that. Before I wore glasses. Before I
learned multiplication. Seven-year-olds are pretty small. Well, at least they were back in 1972.
How many of you were saved even younger than that?
There are two childhood memories I keep and hold dear. I remember that Sunday night in
November, 1972, when my best friend, Kathy, took me by the hand and led me down the aisle to
accept Jesus. Her mom and dad were leading my mom and dad as well. It was pretty cool. My
brother wasn't there that night, but he "walked the aisle" with my mom that next Wednesday night.
Anyway, yes, it is a bit of a fuzzy memory, but I remember the pastor's wife, Mrs. Hertzler, sitting
with Kathy and me and teaching me about Jesus. Kathy, you see, also only seven, had already
"accepted Jesus," and she couldn't wait for me to accept Him, too.
Wow. What a cool best friend.
My second favorite memory, and a more vivid one so I was probably a little older, is when I was
sitting in the backseat of the car as we drove down main street past the new library in downtown
Bellefonte, Pennsylvania. I was in a giggly place that day, filled with joy for whatever reason (yep,
I think it was the Holy Spirit), and I remember saying to myself—not out loud, just to myself—that
if later in my life, wherever I was or whatever I was doing, if I ever doubted my relationship with
Jesus, NOT TO. Just don't do it. Not for a second.
He became my Lord and Savior that night in 1972, and He has never left me. So, yes, it stuck. I
belonged to Him. His Holy Spirit filled my little heart that night, and He has never taken a
vacation. He's always been with me. His joy has always circulated through me in one form or
another. For as long as I can remember.
Well, even past that. Before my earliest memory. Even before I was born.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 5
By now I'm sure you've noticed the quotation marks I've put around the terms "saved at seven,"
"accepted Jesus," etc. It's not that I want to make light of these terms, it's just that they are the
"usual" terms we use to explain the experience. They have become almost generic terms which
mean less and less to someone who has never tasted of the experience. So. Here's the deal about
the " "s. When I was seven, I asked Jesus Christ to forgive me of my sins and to come into my heart
to be my personal Lord and Savior. Did I have any idea what that meant? Well, I'll be honest,
probably not. But if anyone asked me, that's what I told them. I became a Christian that night.
(Speak of another almost generic term that has lost its meaning these days.) What do I say now?
Glad you asked. : )
This is what I say. When I was seven, I asked Jesus Christ to forgive me of my sins and to come
into my heart to be my personal Lord and Savior.
Okay. I see you scratching your heads.
The bottom line question is: what does a person have to do to be saved? Is there any special
terminology or prayer that a person must use? The answer is no. Nothing we could ever do or say
would earn us salvation. What is salvation? Salvation gives us, mere human beings, the ability to
stand before the Almighty God without shame or guilt or blame. Salvation frees us of our sins,
makes us right (or one, as the Bible says) with God. How is that possible?
Jesus Christ.
Jesus loves me, this I know. For the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him belong. They are weak
but He is strong. Yes, Jesus loves me! Yes, Jesus loves me! Yes, Jesus loves me! The Bible tells
me so.
Easy enough for a seven-year-old to grasp.
: )
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 6
It's all about love. Isn't that cool? Quote the one verse in the Bible almost everyone knows. John 3:
16. It's true, baby!!!
I knew it was true in 1972. And that truth has laid the foundation of my life since. Have I always
stood firmly on that foundation, resisting the enemy and boldly proclaiming my love for Christ as a
faithful witness for all He's done in my life? Nope. Not hardly. It's been 33 years of ups and
downs. Over the years that foundation stone got so cluttered with stupid stuff that seemed so right
and proper at the time, that now I'm amazed there was any stone left at all under my feet to stand
on. Sometimes I laid down on that cluttered stone and refused to move even a step forward.
Refused to even lean in the right direction. But I never jumped off that stone. I have never
completely turned my back on the One who is Love.
How could I? How can any of us, once we've tasted of the pure love of Jesus Christ, ever turn our
backs on Him and reject Him?
Now there's a debate for another time, and for another medium. This is a blog, for crying out loud!
And my blog at that, so I'll just say that I (and I can only speak for myself anyway) could never
reject the love of Christ. I've tasted it. And it's the truest and sweetest love I've ever known.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 7
But let's talk about that cluttered stone for a second. Since this is my blog, I'm gonna lay out a few
of my opinions on ya. Izz dat okiedokie? Hope so, cuz here I go. In my humble opinion, I think
those two words (three words actually) describe 98% of the problems the current world's Christian
Church (especially in America) is facing. These three words: cluttered foundation stones. (I also
think the term "church" means little in terms of the true "Body of Christ," but we'll go into that later.
Maybe.)
Anyway, that's my opinion, and here's my solution. Three words. Get a broom. In ten words. Get
a broom, people, and sweep the clutter off your foundation stone!!!! (Lotsa !!!s.)
Hey. That's not a command. Who am I to command you to do anything? It's just a suggestion. And
I can only make that suggestion because that's what I did, and hey, did it ever work for me. Yay!!
Thank You, Lord!
I'm hoping all of you remember what I mean by a foundation stone. If not, I'll spell it out for you.
Four words. The Lord Jesus Christ. Colossians 2:9-10 says, "For in Him (Christ) dwells all the
fullness of the Godhead bodily; and you are complete in Him, who is the head of all principality
and power." The New Living Translation says it this way, "For in Christ the fullness of God lives
in a human body, and you are complete through your union with Christ. He is the Lord over every
ruler and authority in the universe."
Oooooo . . . I like that. Especially the word "complete."
So. That's all the preaching I'll do here. If you have questions about Christ, you can check out my
"believe" page on my Website. I try not to preach there. But if you want real preaching that will
change your life, check out Gayle Erwin at www.servant.org. He teaches about just who Jesus
was, is, and always will be. And about the Father. And about the Spirit. If we don't know exactly
Who our God is, how can we follow and serve Him?
Just something to think about. And next time, no preaching. Promise. : )
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 8
I think I was a cute kid. But I'm not sure. Most of the pictures that survived my childhood show a
blonde-haired sweetie with an angel-like face. I have the pictures, but there's no guarantee they are
actually of me.
(That's a joke. Of course they're of me. I think.)
Anyway, I know I loved school. I always have. My brain is an "academic" type of brain—it loves
to organize, read, write, listen, and share opinions. Needless to say, I was an almost straight-A
student, right up until I dropped out of my third college.
Yep, that's me. An almost straight-A student who dropped out of her third college without
graduating or procuring a degree of any type. A cute blonde-haired angel who hated to wear
dresses and, with the first $10 her mother ever gave her, ran out and bought a . . . football.
That's me, all right.
Okay, now that I'm depressed, I'm going away for a while.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 9
Yes, I bought a football.
We lived in a pretty remote location outside the small town of Milesburg in central Pennsylvania,
and going over to visit the nearest neighbors required some real commitment and sacrifice. Did I
really want to ride my bike all the way over there just to say hi and then almost immediately have to
turn around and ride my bike back home again? (We lived on a hill, too!) So, mainly, when I
wasn't in school, I stayed fairly close to home and kicked the football around to myself (then
shucked and jived like a pro avoiding imaginary tacklers until one "chased me down and threw me
to the turf."). (Don't ask.) Then, after my football adventures, I would go down into my basement
cabin and play with the Sunshine Family for a while. I would only drag out my bike if my brother
pestered me enough to ride with him to Milesburg or something. I remember I liked to climb the
tree in our side yard. It was an easy tree to climb. I wasn't very daring. And I loved to shoot
baskets at the hoop my dad set up for me (after I bugged him to death about it). The only problem
was that the only tree he could nail a hoop to was on a small hill, so if I didn't follow my shot
immediately and get the rebound every time, the ball would fall, hit the angle of the hill, roll across
the flat spot, and then down over another huge hill, across the street, down another huge hill, and
into our neighbor's yard. (Needless to say, I learned to follow my shot!)
I loved school when I was a kid, hated drying the dishes, loved watching my brother work around
the yard with his lawn tractor, hated having my long blonde hair brushed, loved exploring the
woods by our house, hated the mosquitoes and snakes that would chase me, loved it when my dad
would read the Bible to us every night, hated the hot-horrible-hazy-horrible-humid-horrible days of
summer, loved the three-foot snowfalls we'd get in the winter, hated when the ice down at the
swamp melted so we couldn't go ice skating anymore . . .
Typical stuff. Typical bratty little blonde-haired angel-faced tom-boy.
Notice I never mentioned that I loved to read? Or write?
Hmm.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 10
I still think it's hilarious that I loved going to school and got good grades while I was there, yet
when I came home from school I never liked to read or write. Hey, when that school bus dropped
us off after a long day of getting educated, my brother and I threw down our books and ran outside.
And if I didn't run outside, then I ran downstairs to my basement wonderland. As far as I can
remember in all of my childhood of my own free will, except for Doctor Seuss, I really don't
remember reading a thing.
Hmm. Sick. I know.
Moving right along . . .
We read Beowulf in junior high. And Watership Down. I remember there were cute bunnies and
very mean bunnies, but that's about it. Oh, I did read Tisha right after we moved to Oregon. No, I
should say I devoured Tisha. I must have read it 16 times. The true story of the Chechako
Alaskan schoolmarm and her adventures teaching the children of Chicken, Alaska. Facinating.
The only specific "creative writing" classes I took were in high school. I remember writing a play
about a bum in Central Park, a long journal entry about my thumb, a long series of journals about
our one-point loss to Creswell (our only loss of the season!), and a 40 page short story called,
When Love Brought Us Through. Oh, how I toiled on that short story. So much, I actually missed
my deadline and turned it in late! Still got an A-. Hmm.
Needless to say, I do not still have that short story. It went up in flames long before the rest of my
stuff.
But that's a story for another time.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 11
So. Back to the Adventure. Let's see . . .
In June 1979, I celebrated my 14th birthday in a campground in Virginia somewhere. (I think it was
Virginia). We had piled all our earthly possessions into our Pace Arrow motorhome and left
Pennsylvania headed for Oregon (via Walt Disney World in Florida—we made a vacation out of
it). I cried and cried on my birthday. Have the pictures to prove it. I didn't want to leave, but a
year after we settled in Florence, Oregon, I was hooked and hardly missed Pennsylvania at all.
When we left, we weren't aiming for Florence (which is the most beautiful town on the Oregon
Coast, in my opinion), we were aiming for a Christian school in Canyonville, the one mom heard
about and wanted to enroll us (my brother and I) in. But once we pulled into Canyonville (sorry
Canyonvillians . . . wait, that didn't come our right . . .), let's just say, we got back on the freeway.
And then had no idea where we were heading next. North on I-5. Eugene. Too big. To the coast
to see the ocean. To air out a little before we started off again.
We ended up in Florence. And that's where we stayed. And I am so glad. That little town (it's not
so little anymore) will always be a sweet spot in my soul. My best friends live there. My heart
lives there with them.
Anyway . . . my freshman year at Siuslaw High School, in response to an assignment Mr. Affinito
gave out in his SUTOE class (and I cannot for the life of me remember what SUTOE stood for), I
wrote a one-page declaration of what I wanted to be when I grew up. For the most part, this is
what it said. "I want to be a high school teacher and a coach."
Yep.
That's all I can ever remember wanting to be. Oh, I wanted to be a professional tennis player for a
while, and then a dog breeder. Siberian Huskies. Or Alaskan Malmutes. Gorgeous dogs. Oh, and
a paramedic. I really wanted to be a paramedic. Just like Roy and John on Emergency. You
know. Squad 51.
But teaching and coaching . . . that became my one and only dream. And not just teaching and
coaching anywhere, but at Siuslaw High School. I had no idea what I wanted to teach, but I knew I
wanted to coach the girls' basketball team to a state championship. That was definitely part of my
dream.
I carried that dream to Lane Community College in Eugene. Signed up for classes. And still had no
idea what I wanted to teach.
Hmm. Something's amiss there. Doncha think?
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 12
So I'm in college now, and it's time to choose a major. Secondary Education sounds good, but at
the freshman level, it's a bit premature. Pick a subject, please. You can't just teach "secondary
education."
Well.
Much to my mother's chagrin, I have always enjoyed sports, and the four sports I played during my
four years at Siuslaw High School are still some of my most treasured memories. (I love all you
guys, by the way . . . Shanny and Susie and Trish and Steph and Melisa and Darla and Sam and
Christine and Denise and Tatia and Kenon and Kristi and Cathy and Rhonda and Mr. Scanlan and
Mr. Little and Mr. Daniel and Mr. Dean and Mr. Giddens and . . . the list goes on and on!)
Anyway . . .
Faced with the task of choosing my future road, I fell back on what I knew. (You know the advice:
write about what you know. Right?) Well, my PE teacher just knew I'd make a terrific PE teacher
(thanks for believin', Mrs. McCain!), so I signed up for PE. Even though (forgive me, Mrs.
McCain!) I really did not want to be a PE teacher. A full day of teaching PE, then a full night/full
year of coaching all three sports? My mom would definitely not approve of that. But. Without
having even a hint of a clue of a different route my little heart wanted to follow, for two years at
LCC, I was a PE major. But after taking this one Biology class . . .
His name was Jay Marston. Professor. Biology 101, probably (I can't remember). His enthusiasm
for Biology was intensely infectious. And I caught the bug. From that moment on, I just knew I
wanted to teach Biology at Siuslaw High School. At the same time I coached the girls' basketball
team (and assistant-coached the volleyball and track teams, too. Why not?) to multiple state
championships.
Well. Looking back. HAH! What in the world did I think I was doing? What did I know about
Biology! This was a woman who up to that point—except for the mold in her refrigerator—never
even grew a house plant!!
Hmm.
To be continued . . .
Hey y'all!! It's April 2nd, 2005, straight up 1:00 p.m. Well, I guess 1:00 p.m. isn't exactly straight
up, but oh well. In three hours it'll be exactly a year. And what a year it's been.
Today, I'd like to start going back a bit, to lay the groundwork for this incredible year. You may
think I've always dreamed of being a novelist. Wrong. You may be wondering (along with me)
why just a few weeks ago the good folks at the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference chose
me as their 2005 Writer of the Year.
Don't give me that look. You read it right.
Truth is, I don't know why they did such a dastardly deed. As soon as I heard Dave Talbott start to
read about the Writer of the Year and realized he was reading about ME!, I completely lost track of
everything else he said. Yes, I did hear the words "burned" and "ashes of despair" and then my
name which was my cue to walk on down and receive the plaque and check. I shook his hand and
remember saying, "This is wrong," but he didn't yank the plaque or the check back so I guess he
meant to give them to me. Anyway . . .
Needless to say, it was a pretty amazing moment. Thanks to Lynn on my right and Fred on my left, I
didn't do any long-lasting damage to myself as I experienced my coronary. Thanks to Karen and
Steve and everyone on the committee for ending my incredible year with the incredibly
unthinkable. Thanks to You, Lord Jesus, because I have this sneaky little feeling that what lies
ahead . . . wow. Thank You, Lord!!
So. Here we are. Part 1 of the Entire Adventure. And here's all I'll say about it now. My life
begins and ends in Jesus Christ. He has set me apart in Him for His glory. You'll see what I mean
if you stick with me as I blog. I'm not like most people you've met. But I'm just the way Christ
wants and needs me to be. I'm not a writer or a novelist or a career-minded single white female.
I'm just His. I didn't earn the right to be a published novelist. I didn't set out to be a published
novelist. I didn't even set out to be a writer. I don't even read that much. I've never even read C.S.
Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia! Oh, the shame of it!!!
Why has this year happened? Because in July 1996, I was available. Totally clueless to what lay
ahead, totally open to whatever played out in my life. Just open and available and waiting to see
what God had in store.
Oh, my. I had no clue.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 2
So. Here we are again. And back we go, back to June 1965, when, in a small hospital in
Bellefonte, Pennsylvania, I came kicking and screaming into the world. I'm sure my big brother,
Chris, who was already almost three at the time, didn't know what to think of me. But we became
fast friends, and he's still my best friend, even to this day. Anyway, I have a picture of him reading
to me when I looked about a year old, and he looked about four. The funny thing is he never did
like to read. Hmm. There's something special there, in that moment captured on film. I love that
picture almost more than any other childhood photo.
Truth is, I remember very little of my childhood. Now, that doesn't mean I had a bad one. I'm
pretty sure I had a good one. Of the memories I have, they are mostly good. I don't remember ever
fighting with my brother, or causing Mom and Dad any major grief. They may have a different
story, but this is my blog, and this is my story, so I'm sticking to it.
Growing up in central Pennsylvania, I loved the distinct four seasons—well, I loved three of the
distinct four seasons. I hated the hot, humid, hazy days of summer. My dad and uncle and grandpa
owned a chain of small convenience stores, much like 7-11's, but before they became popular.
They were called Fleisher's Dairy Stores and we had about 15 of them around the area. I say we
because to me, they were my stores. And hey. My name was right there above the door. Right?
Anyway, one day my dad hauled home a gigantic box that had housed one of the store's new
coolers. How he got it home and into our basement, I still have no clue. But that box down in the
basement became my very special place, my "cabin," where I created my own world complete with
two different sets of Barbies and Kens, a Barbie Townhouse with elevator, cars, clothes, campers,
and all kinds of Barbie accessories. Oh, and don't forget Steve, Stephanie, and Sweets: the
Sunshine Family. How I loved the Sunshine Family! I had their house, barn, horse, dog, truck, and
just about everything else imaginable. All set up in the cabin. My little cool place to escape the
heat of the Pennsylvanian summer. I still think it's the reason I survived the hot weather, and why I
still hate hot weather, even to this day.
Anyway . . .
With all my Barbie and Sunshine Family stuff down in the cabin, one Christmas my mom and dad
bought me a tape recorder. At first I had no idea what to do with it. Mom always taped Oliver B.
Green off the radio, so maybe I said to her one day, "I wanna tape recorder!" Who knows. But I
took that tape recorder down to my cabin and began what grew into 30 hour-long tapes of "Life
With the Sunshine Family."
Looking back on it, I think that tape recorder and those tapes were the only even remotest hint that
someday I would become a storyteller. Pretty pathetic, I know.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 3
I saved one of those tapes. Or, should I say, only one of those tapes survived. It's hilarious to me
that the one tape that survived included a Sunday morning when the Sunshine Family got up
(grudgingly) to go to church. I usually hem-hawed around about going to church back then, mainly
because I have never been a morning person and I would have loved to have just plain stayed in
bed. We traveled a bit from church to church in my early years, but I'm glad Mom made me get up
and go. From that moment on November 8th, 1972, when I was seven and asked Jesus Christ to
forgive my sins and be my "personal savior," my Christian upbringing involved just about every
denomination known to Christiandom. We started off as Baptists, so on that particular Sunday the
Sunshine Family endured a typical Baptist church service complete with organ music, hymn singing,
taking up the collection (for which Steve had to be reminded by his wife how much to make the
check out for), a hell-fire type sermon, and a "Just As I Am" altar call.
Hey. I could preach a little hell-fire when I was nine.
A few years ago, I threw that tape in the garbage. The only remaining link to my storytelling
infancy. And thank goodness I did. How embarrassing. I was a terrible storyteller back then, and
the fact that I recorded 30 hours of bad stories about my Sunshine Family should be an indication to
my ability to prattle on about nothing.
I think the other 29 tapes of "Life With the Sunshine Family" got taped over with Oliver B. Green
messages.
Thank You, Lord!
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 4
Sometimes when I tell people I was "saved at seven," they look at me and are just itchin' to ask,
"Are you sure it took? When did you rededicate your life?" I really don't mind those questions
because yes, I'm am sure it took. I'm a firm believer that once the Lord Jesus Christ gets hold of
your heart, He never lets you go. It doesn't matter how young that heart may be. Or how many times
your friends rededicate their lives at church camp.
But, think about it. Seven years old. Wow. I still marvel at that. Before I wore glasses. Before I
learned multiplication. Seven-year-olds are pretty small. Well, at least they were back in 1972.
How many of you were saved even younger than that?
There are two childhood memories I keep and hold dear. I remember that Sunday night in
November, 1972, when my best friend, Kathy, took me by the hand and led me down the aisle to
accept Jesus. Her mom and dad were leading my mom and dad as well. It was pretty cool. My
brother wasn't there that night, but he "walked the aisle" with my mom that next Wednesday night.
Anyway, yes, it is a bit of a fuzzy memory, but I remember the pastor's wife, Mrs. Hertzler, sitting
with Kathy and me and teaching me about Jesus. Kathy, you see, also only seven, had already
"accepted Jesus," and she couldn't wait for me to accept Him, too.
Wow. What a cool best friend.
My second favorite memory, and a more vivid one so I was probably a little older, is when I was
sitting in the backseat of the car as we drove down main street past the new library in downtown
Bellefonte, Pennsylvania. I was in a giggly place that day, filled with joy for whatever reason (yep,
I think it was the Holy Spirit), and I remember saying to myself—not out loud, just to myself—that
if later in my life, wherever I was or whatever I was doing, if I ever doubted my relationship with
Jesus, NOT TO. Just don't do it. Not for a second.
He became my Lord and Savior that night in 1972, and He has never left me. So, yes, it stuck. I
belonged to Him. His Holy Spirit filled my little heart that night, and He has never taken a
vacation. He's always been with me. His joy has always circulated through me in one form or
another. For as long as I can remember.
Well, even past that. Before my earliest memory. Even before I was born.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 5
By now I'm sure you've noticed the quotation marks I've put around the terms "saved at seven,"
"accepted Jesus," etc. It's not that I want to make light of these terms, it's just that they are the
"usual" terms we use to explain the experience. They have become almost generic terms which
mean less and less to someone who has never tasted of the experience. So. Here's the deal about
the " "s. When I was seven, I asked Jesus Christ to forgive me of my sins and to come into my heart
to be my personal Lord and Savior. Did I have any idea what that meant? Well, I'll be honest,
probably not. But if anyone asked me, that's what I told them. I became a Christian that night.
(Speak of another almost generic term that has lost its meaning these days.) What do I say now?
Glad you asked. : )
This is what I say. When I was seven, I asked Jesus Christ to forgive me of my sins and to come
into my heart to be my personal Lord and Savior.
Okay. I see you scratching your heads.
The bottom line question is: what does a person have to do to be saved? Is there any special
terminology or prayer that a person must use? The answer is no. Nothing we could ever do or say
would earn us salvation. What is salvation? Salvation gives us, mere human beings, the ability to
stand before the Almighty God without shame or guilt or blame. Salvation frees us of our sins,
makes us right (or one, as the Bible says) with God. How is that possible?
Jesus Christ.
Jesus loves me, this I know. For the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him belong. They are weak
but He is strong. Yes, Jesus loves me! Yes, Jesus loves me! Yes, Jesus loves me! The Bible tells
me so.
Easy enough for a seven-year-old to grasp.
: )
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 6
It's all about love. Isn't that cool? Quote the one verse in the Bible almost everyone knows. John 3:
16. It's true, baby!!!
I knew it was true in 1972. And that truth has laid the foundation of my life since. Have I always
stood firmly on that foundation, resisting the enemy and boldly proclaiming my love for Christ as a
faithful witness for all He's done in my life? Nope. Not hardly. It's been 33 years of ups and
downs. Over the years that foundation stone got so cluttered with stupid stuff that seemed so right
and proper at the time, that now I'm amazed there was any stone left at all under my feet to stand
on. Sometimes I laid down on that cluttered stone and refused to move even a step forward.
Refused to even lean in the right direction. But I never jumped off that stone. I have never
completely turned my back on the One who is Love.
How could I? How can any of us, once we've tasted of the pure love of Jesus Christ, ever turn our
backs on Him and reject Him?
Now there's a debate for another time, and for another medium. This is a blog, for crying out loud!
And my blog at that, so I'll just say that I (and I can only speak for myself anyway) could never
reject the love of Christ. I've tasted it. And it's the truest and sweetest love I've ever known.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 7
But let's talk about that cluttered stone for a second. Since this is my blog, I'm gonna lay out a few
of my opinions on ya. Izz dat okiedokie? Hope so, cuz here I go. In my humble opinion, I think
those two words (three words actually) describe 98% of the problems the current world's Christian
Church (especially in America) is facing. These three words: cluttered foundation stones. (I also
think the term "church" means little in terms of the true "Body of Christ," but we'll go into that later.
Maybe.)
Anyway, that's my opinion, and here's my solution. Three words. Get a broom. In ten words. Get
a broom, people, and sweep the clutter off your foundation stone!!!! (Lotsa !!!s.)
Hey. That's not a command. Who am I to command you to do anything? It's just a suggestion. And
I can only make that suggestion because that's what I did, and hey, did it ever work for me. Yay!!
Thank You, Lord!
I'm hoping all of you remember what I mean by a foundation stone. If not, I'll spell it out for you.
Four words. The Lord Jesus Christ. Colossians 2:9-10 says, "For in Him (Christ) dwells all the
fullness of the Godhead bodily; and you are complete in Him, who is the head of all principality
and power." The New Living Translation says it this way, "For in Christ the fullness of God lives
in a human body, and you are complete through your union with Christ. He is the Lord over every
ruler and authority in the universe."
Oooooo . . . I like that. Especially the word "complete."
So. That's all the preaching I'll do here. If you have questions about Christ, you can check out my
"believe" page on my Website. I try not to preach there. But if you want real preaching that will
change your life, check out Gayle Erwin at www.servant.org. He teaches about just who Jesus
was, is, and always will be. And about the Father. And about the Spirit. If we don't know exactly
Who our God is, how can we follow and serve Him?
Just something to think about. And next time, no preaching. Promise. : )
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 8
I think I was a cute kid. But I'm not sure. Most of the pictures that survived my childhood show a
blonde-haired sweetie with an angel-like face. I have the pictures, but there's no guarantee they are
actually of me.
(That's a joke. Of course they're of me. I think.)
Anyway, I know I loved school. I always have. My brain is an "academic" type of brain—it loves
to organize, read, write, listen, and share opinions. Needless to say, I was an almost straight-A
student, right up until I dropped out of my third college.
Yep, that's me. An almost straight-A student who dropped out of her third college without
graduating or procuring a degree of any type. A cute blonde-haired angel who hated to wear
dresses and, with the first $10 her mother ever gave her, ran out and bought a . . . football.
That's me, all right.
Okay, now that I'm depressed, I'm going away for a while.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 9
Yes, I bought a football.
We lived in a pretty remote location outside the small town of Milesburg in central Pennsylvania,
and going over to visit the nearest neighbors required some real commitment and sacrifice. Did I
really want to ride my bike all the way over there just to say hi and then almost immediately have to
turn around and ride my bike back home again? (We lived on a hill, too!) So, mainly, when I
wasn't in school, I stayed fairly close to home and kicked the football around to myself (then
shucked and jived like a pro avoiding imaginary tacklers until one "chased me down and threw me
to the turf."). (Don't ask.) Then, after my football adventures, I would go down into my basement
cabin and play with the Sunshine Family for a while. I would only drag out my bike if my brother
pestered me enough to ride with him to Milesburg or something. I remember I liked to climb the
tree in our side yard. It was an easy tree to climb. I wasn't very daring. And I loved to shoot
baskets at the hoop my dad set up for me (after I bugged him to death about it). The only problem
was that the only tree he could nail a hoop to was on a small hill, so if I didn't follow my shot
immediately and get the rebound every time, the ball would fall, hit the angle of the hill, roll across
the flat spot, and then down over another huge hill, across the street, down another huge hill, and
into our neighbor's yard. (Needless to say, I learned to follow my shot!)
I loved school when I was a kid, hated drying the dishes, loved watching my brother work around
the yard with his lawn tractor, hated having my long blonde hair brushed, loved exploring the
woods by our house, hated the mosquitoes and snakes that would chase me, loved it when my dad
would read the Bible to us every night, hated the hot-horrible-hazy-horrible-humid-horrible days of
summer, loved the three-foot snowfalls we'd get in the winter, hated when the ice down at the
swamp melted so we couldn't go ice skating anymore . . .
Typical stuff. Typical bratty little blonde-haired angel-faced tom-boy.
Notice I never mentioned that I loved to read? Or write?
Hmm.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 10
I still think it's hilarious that I loved going to school and got good grades while I was there, yet
when I came home from school I never liked to read or write. Hey, when that school bus dropped
us off after a long day of getting educated, my brother and I threw down our books and ran outside.
And if I didn't run outside, then I ran downstairs to my basement wonderland. As far as I can
remember in all of my childhood of my own free will, except for Doctor Seuss, I really don't
remember reading a thing.
Hmm. Sick. I know.
Moving right along . . .
We read Beowulf in junior high. And Watership Down. I remember there were cute bunnies and
very mean bunnies, but that's about it. Oh, I did read Tisha right after we moved to Oregon. No, I
should say I devoured Tisha. I must have read it 16 times. The true story of the Chechako
Alaskan schoolmarm and her adventures teaching the children of Chicken, Alaska. Facinating.
The only specific "creative writing" classes I took were in high school. I remember writing a play
about a bum in Central Park, a long journal entry about my thumb, a long series of journals about
our one-point loss to Creswell (our only loss of the season!), and a 40 page short story called,
When Love Brought Us Through. Oh, how I toiled on that short story. So much, I actually missed
my deadline and turned it in late! Still got an A-. Hmm.
Needless to say, I do not still have that short story. It went up in flames long before the rest of my
stuff.
But that's a story for another time.
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 11
So. Back to the Adventure. Let's see . . .
In June 1979, I celebrated my 14th birthday in a campground in Virginia somewhere. (I think it was
Virginia). We had piled all our earthly possessions into our Pace Arrow motorhome and left
Pennsylvania headed for Oregon (via Walt Disney World in Florida—we made a vacation out of
it). I cried and cried on my birthday. Have the pictures to prove it. I didn't want to leave, but a
year after we settled in Florence, Oregon, I was hooked and hardly missed Pennsylvania at all.
When we left, we weren't aiming for Florence (which is the most beautiful town on the Oregon
Coast, in my opinion), we were aiming for a Christian school in Canyonville, the one mom heard
about and wanted to enroll us (my brother and I) in. But once we pulled into Canyonville (sorry
Canyonvillians . . . wait, that didn't come our right . . .), let's just say, we got back on the freeway.
And then had no idea where we were heading next. North on I-5. Eugene. Too big. To the coast
to see the ocean. To air out a little before we started off again.
We ended up in Florence. And that's where we stayed. And I am so glad. That little town (it's not
so little anymore) will always be a sweet spot in my soul. My best friends live there. My heart
lives there with them.
Anyway . . . my freshman year at Siuslaw High School, in response to an assignment Mr. Affinito
gave out in his SUTOE class (and I cannot for the life of me remember what SUTOE stood for), I
wrote a one-page declaration of what I wanted to be when I grew up. For the most part, this is
what it said. "I want to be a high school teacher and a coach."
Yep.
That's all I can ever remember wanting to be. Oh, I wanted to be a professional tennis player for a
while, and then a dog breeder. Siberian Huskies. Or Alaskan Malmutes. Gorgeous dogs. Oh, and
a paramedic. I really wanted to be a paramedic. Just like Roy and John on Emergency. You
know. Squad 51.
But teaching and coaching . . . that became my one and only dream. And not just teaching and
coaching anywhere, but at Siuslaw High School. I had no idea what I wanted to teach, but I knew I
wanted to coach the girls' basketball team to a state championship. That was definitely part of my
dream.
I carried that dream to Lane Community College in Eugene. Signed up for classes. And still had no
idea what I wanted to teach.
Hmm. Something's amiss there. Doncha think?
To be continued . . .
The Entire Adventure Part 12
So I'm in college now, and it's time to choose a major. Secondary Education sounds good, but at
the freshman level, it's a bit premature. Pick a subject, please. You can't just teach "secondary
education."
Well.
Much to my mother's chagrin, I have always enjoyed sports, and the four sports I played during my
four years at Siuslaw High School are still some of my most treasured memories. (I love all you
guys, by the way . . . Shanny and Susie and Trish and Steph and Melisa and Darla and Sam and
Christine and Denise and Tatia and Kenon and Kristi and Cathy and Rhonda and Mr. Scanlan and
Mr. Little and Mr. Daniel and Mr. Dean and Mr. Giddens and . . . the list goes on and on!)
Anyway . . .
Faced with the task of choosing my future road, I fell back on what I knew. (You know the advice:
write about what you know. Right?) Well, my PE teacher just knew I'd make a terrific PE teacher
(thanks for believin', Mrs. McCain!), so I signed up for PE. Even though (forgive me, Mrs.
McCain!) I really did not want to be a PE teacher. A full day of teaching PE, then a full night/full
year of coaching all three sports? My mom would definitely not approve of that. But. Without
having even a hint of a clue of a different route my little heart wanted to follow, for two years at
LCC, I was a PE major. But after taking this one Biology class . . .
His name was Jay Marston. Professor. Biology 101, probably (I can't remember). His enthusiasm
for Biology was intensely infectious. And I caught the bug. From that moment on, I just knew I
wanted to teach Biology at Siuslaw High School. At the same time I coached the girls' basketball
team (and assistant-coached the volleyball and track teams, too. Why not?) to multiple state
championships.
Well. Looking back. HAH! What in the world did I think I was doing? What did I know about
Biology! This was a woman who up to that point—except for the mold in her refrigerator—never
even grew a house plant!!
Hmm.
To be continued . . .