A promised land? Yes. Giants? Yes! Our move to Oregon proved life-changing to say the least! The first few months, we rented “The Wagner House,” just a few blocks from Gramma and Grampa Schultz. They grew an apple tree and we had a cherry tree. I remember walking to the little corner store on the way to their house and buying a candy bar for a dime. My brother bought a whole bunch of candies for the same price—obviously a better deal.

Summer ended too quickly and my Aunt June tried to prepare me for school. I fearfully became aware of a totally different culture when she instructed me not so say, “How do you do,” when introduced, just, “Hi.” She also told me that in Oregon all the girls shopped for school clothes and wore a different skirt and sweater outfit each day of the week! In Canada, I often wore the same clothes all week and was very grateful to get two mail-order sweaters for Christmas one year.

The first major giant—the dreaded first day of school arrived. I felt scared to death! By God’s sweet grace, I had met Kathy from across the street who volunteered to walk to school with me and introduce me to my classmates. I wore my new skirt and sweater and we walked about nine blocks to the Dallas Junior High, which was a very large, intimidating, three story building. Hundreds of kids milled around the front entrance.

Kathy and I approached a group of laughing, pretty girls. She introduced me and asked them to show me around. I still remember them looking me up and down, then giving us a flat, “No.” Kathy looked around and spotted two other girls standing together. One was very tall and thin, the other was quite short. When Kathy asked them to go in with me, they hesitated, then said, “Oh, all right.” Kathy left us to join the ninth graders. The school bell suddenly sent my heart racing! We funneled up the stairs and through the double front doors. My escorts disappeared and I was on my own. Somehow in my panic, I still found each of my classrooms.

This certainly was a different planet from Carrot River. I found so many cultural giants to get used to. Instead of one classroom and one teacher per grade, there were many classrooms, each with a different subject and teacher. PE was on the lower floor and every day after class we all had to undress and take showers together. The washroom was called a lavatory, an unfamiliar word to me. What we wore was very important for acceptance. I learned the difference between popular and unpopular, between the haves and the have-nots, which simply never existed in Carrot River. I suppose because everyone there were basically “have-nots” so we didn’t know the difference.

We attended a Mennonite Brethren church just a few blocks from our rented house. The giant of dismay loomed when I found myself as the only eighth grade girl among a group of eighth grade boys and a whole bunch of ninth grade girls who all, but one, attended a private Christian school in Salem. Two church girls befriended me. One was kind and conservative, the other, crazy about boys. Hanging out with her, I soon had a crush on a handsome older boy who never knew, yet I entered a dangerous time of life. I decided I did not want to be a “goodie-goodie” Christian because I feared personal rejection for being religious.

If only my relationship with Jesus had remained stronger, which has nothing to do with religion. The awareness of Jesus’ presence could have strengthened me and made me more discerning. As it was, I succumbed to fears, temptations, and even lost my temper when the boys teased me about being Canadian. Junior high boys let girls know of their interest by teasing them, but I was too naive to figure that out.

Part of the PE curriculum included dance lessons. However, the Mennonite kids got written permission from parents to be excused to the library instead. A really nice boy wanted me to go with him to a movie, but I couldn’t do that either. Later in high school, a boy sincerely asked my “Christian” friend, “What do you do at a movie or dance that you don’t already do?” I know our religion purposed to protect us from immorality, however, unless conviction comes from the heart, rules alone only strengthen temptation. My younger cousin once said I was boy crazy. I disagreed. I was the new girl and I figured the boys followed me, I didn’t follow them. Even so, I have since fervently prayed with Job and King David:

“For you write down bitter things against me and make me reap the sins of my youth” Job 13:26. I also relate to King David who writes, “Do not remember the sins of my youth and my rebellious ways; according to your love remember me, for you, LORD, are good” Psalm 25:7. Yes, God is good. He not only forgives the sins of our youth, but draws us back to Himself and patiently, graciously, mercifully, tenaciously, and often painfully teaches us His ways.

This “promised land” did have giants and sometimes I didn’t feel any bigger than a grasshopper compared to the challenges before me, yet “milk and honey” was on the way. . . .