| 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 . . .