(Summer 1999–Prayer Journaling while “Homeless in Seattle”)

Dear LORD Shepherd,
Hunger gnaws as I attempt to shed a few pounds instead of gaining them during these weeks of inactivity in motels. It is quiet here with no one to talk to but You. My eyes scan this room: Scratched nightstands hold orange, sixties-something lamps on both sides of this large bed. I lean against a faded orange vinyl headboard. A television sits on top of a dark bureau. Two vinyl chairs address a small, scuffed table. An ironing board waits against a blank wall for my husband’s white shirts. I no longer smell the old-motel-odor that greeted us when we first arrived because I since amalgamated with it. Engines rumble outside and traffic lights flash. An airplane roars overhead. Commercial buildings break the horizon.

I shall not want? But, I DO want! I want a steak dinner with dessert. I want my own beautiful home—a two-story in the country, complete with guest rooms and a fireplace. I want a home near our children, grandchildren, friends, and relatives. I want my husband home in the evenings, content in his work and ministry. I want to write books and have them published. The things I shall NOT want are debts, worries, sickness, loss, homelessness, and loneliness.

I stand before You, Shepherd of my life, and give all my wants to You. I need not cling to or insist upon having them. You are God. You are love. You are wise. I remember the story of a small child trying to quote the 23rd Psalm,“The Lord is my shepherd, that’s all I want.” Oh to have the faith of a child! Oh to be so completely satisfied in You that I too could so beautifully misquote this verse and say, You are all I want. I know Your love and presence are enough. “Lord, I believe. Help Thou my unbelief.”
. . .
LORD, we certainly aren’t lying down in “green pastures” right now—separated from our children, homeless, and out of our ministry vocation. How I pray this gypsy life-style will soon end. Please bring us home to our family, a church, and a house of our own. I can’t know the future. I have no assurance of how it will all turn out, or what You will do about it. But LORD, in the meantime maybe I can just lie down in Your peaceful presence. That will be enough. Maybe that is where You intended for me to lie down all along—simply resting in You. There is no place of greater safety.

“He leads me.” You don’t push. You don’t shove. You don’t even pull. Actually, there is someone I wouldn’t mind if You would push a little sometimes. He is about five foot ten, one hundred and sixty pounds, gray hair and beard. Know him? I’ve known him for the last thirty years, and let me tell You, I really think he could at least use a nudge in the right direction. I know I’m usually “chomping at the bit,” and I know this life partner You graced me with has protected me time and again from acting too quickly, too rashly. Yet this time, surely this time, You could work on speeding him up to make a decision on what to do.

It isn’t that I mind these days alone with You, or the writing I so love to do, but what kind of reputation do vagabonds have? People we know, who surely watch for the outcome of this drama, may think you abandoned us. What about the imposition this puts on our relatives who store our stuff? Yet, You gently lead. Your sheep know Your voice so You don’t have to push them, You simply call them and they follow.
. . .
I had precious little sleep last night. A bunch of drunks sang karaoke at the bar until after 2:00 a.m. from the restaurant next door to this motel room. Then at 5:30 a.m. the recycling truck backed under our second story window to collect a seemingly endless supply of bottles and cans, not to mention the loading devices grinding and whining. Just when those irritations finally faded into the distance, and I clung desperately to the hope of miraculously falling back to sleep, a garbage truck came to collect a week’s supply of motel and restaurant garbage!

Thank You for meeting me in those early morning hours and refreshing my spirit in Your Word. “Your compassions fail not. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness!” Lam. 3:22-23. Yet now with the growing darkness of another night comes an even greater weariness. In spite of my early morning joy, the burdens feel heavier and seemingly insurmountable mountains loom on the horizon. Tonight my husband shook his head and whispered, “I’m not doing well.” I knew what that meant. The shadow of depression is on him again—stealing the hope that life will ever change. It’s been ten months since our little church had to close its doors and he remains a displaced pastor. My heart sinks and my own faith is tested again.

Your sweet Spirit reminds me not to doubt in the darkness what You showed me in the light. You remind me that Your promise to care for us and go before us has not changed one pinch! When my soul is too weary to go on and the night is too dark to see what to do,“You will guide me with Your counsel, and afterward receive me to glory” Psa. 73:24. You reprogram my heart and mind. I choose to trust You and once again You restore my soul!
. . .
Today is the last day of our on-the-road job. Last night was the last night of living in a motel. Tomorrow we fly to Alaska for a month to visit our children and check out the job market. This is a time to celebrate! You blessed me these past weeks of homelessness in many unforeseen ways. You created a banquet of provision right in the middle of trouble and hardship. As I passed through the Valley of Weeping, You showed me how to make it a place of springs and You covered it with blessings as plentiful as the autumn rains (Psa. 84:6).

“Living on the road” we could rest from all the stress of selling our home, packing, moving, storing our stuff, and the adjustment of an empty nest. While in motels and enduring frozen dinners, there was no house cleaning, planning or preparing meals, or entertaining house guests, and I even lost unneeded pounds. During this time I spent many hours alone with You and in Your Word—uninterrupted time!

You inspired me to make this valley a place of springs. This normally arid place blossomed and became a fruitful time to write devotionals. I’m amazed as I look back at Your plan and purpose in using such a difficult place for so much blessing. I could not have imagined it!

I am ready to move on, but as long as You kept us in this situation, You provided more than strength to endure. You set a banquet before me in the presence of the enemies of insecurity, joblessness, homelessness, and purposelessness. Even though we cannot understand our circumstances, I acknowledge Your hand of love, power, and wisdom to make our paths straight. You are our loving, lavish Provider in the most unexpected places!

We left the desert of central Washington in January of ’97. A call from a tiny group in Seattle that appeared as a viable church plant, came in answer to our prayers. At this point in our lives, it also seemed timely and wise to buy our own home. The two elders, unsure of the church’s survival, did not recommend this investment. However, my dad agreed with us and gave us $3,000 down payment on an 1200 sq. ft. repossessed house in Wilderness Rim. We nearly panicked when unforeseen closing costs exceeded our resources. However, God answered our prayer for wisdom. By selling our little Festiva to Charissa, who borrowed from Jonathan, we amazingly became home owners for the first time.

With change, also comes loss. Charissa, a senior in high school, went to live with Dr. Riley, his wife, and five children in Grandview until she graduated in spring. Joel moved with us in the middle of his junior year and enrolled at Mt. Si High and Seattle Community College in the Running Start program. As church secretary, I accompanied Conrad the twenty-five miles into Sammamish every day, which left Joel to come home from school to an empty house. Becoming an only child was painful enough, now loneliness and depression pressed into his heart. The first day, he got off at the wrong street in our forested area of winding roads and wandered through the cold, drenching January rain for a couple hours before finally finding “home”.

In the meantime, down in Texas, Jami fell in love with a beautiful, tall, farm girl from Illinois. In March, by the good graces and air-miles from our church people, we flew to Mt. Morris, Illinois to attend Jami and Kristy’s wedding. That fall Charissa entered Seattle Pacific University. We did not have the finances to help our children with college tuition, but encouraged them to “choose the best and let God do the rest.” God again proved faithful. He gave them motivation to work for good grades, scholarships, jobs, and choose financially profitable careers to pay back school loans.

When Jonathan graduated in spring of ’98 with his AA degree in Airframe and Powerplant, he and Becky moved to Anchorage, Alaska. A few weeks later, with an engineering degree, Jami and Kristy also moved to Anchorage. Both boys gained employment at Aero Twin on Merrill Field where Jonathan became lead mechanic and Jami did engineering. Their childhood years in the near frigid zone of Saskatchewan somehow left a positive imprint in their minds. Alaska was the last frontier and they were young and full of adventure. At one point the CBA director told us of a church we could interim in North Pole, Alaska. That suggestion felt like they wanted to send us to Siberia!

Sammamish Church seemed a much better option. However, we met in a double-wide, leaky trailer in the middle of Microsoft mansions. This remnant of a split had left a small group of tired loyalists. We sadly realized we could not build a new work on a split foundation. In January, a year after our arrival, we drove up to a camp near Lynden to seek God’s will. As we knelt before Him, we became aware of the words and music coming from our CD player:

God will make a way where there seems to be no way. He works in ways we cannot see. God will make a way for me. He will be my guide, hold me closely to His side. With love and strength for each new day, God will make a way. By a roadway through the wilderness He leads me. Water in the desert I will see. Heaven and earth will fade, but His word will still remain. God will do something new today…. (by Don Moen)

That spring, Conrad’s mother passed away of Alzheimer’s in Portland and we drove to Fresno for her funeral. In August, we flew to Alaska for vacation and attended the large, growing Grace Community Church in Anchorage where we saw people respond to His call to become transformed followers of Jesus Christ. Conrad also met Pastor Keith Lauwers who reached out to him at a pastors’ luncheon.

Back in Seattle, God gave Conrad wisdom to take our church through the process of seeing for themselves that God had better things in mind for them. He endeavored to facilitate reconciliation between the original factions and encouraged the people to relocate into healthy churches. Sammamish church closed that fall.

Several ministry opportunities presented themselves to us, but Conrad’s motivation had met its end. He decided to work with Olan Mills Portrait sales again, but income fell short of expenses. By April of ’99, God miraculously sold our home with good equity so we did’t lose it. We stayed with my sister Karen and her family in Salem, Oregon, and stored our belongings.

Still in high school, Joel moved in with a family from our church. After graduation in May, he flew up to Anchorage to join his brothers working at Aero Twin for the summer and lived with Jami and Kristy in Jonathan’s duplex. In August he flew back to Portland, loaded his ’66 pick-up, and drove to Letourneau University. On the way he saw smoke in his rear-view mirrors! The overheated muffler ignited the wooden floor boards in his truck box! He, and another LeTourneau traveler, used a fire extinguisher, purchased the night before, and ice from his cooler to put the fire out before he lost everything. No one ever stole his burnt bicycle. Amazing!

When not at my sister’s, I lived in motels with Conrad as he continued with Olan Mills in the Seattle/Tacoma area. Homeless, without children, a church, or a ministry, darkness closed in upon us. Except, Psalm 18:28 says, “You, LORD, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light.” God graciously gave me this gift of time to seek Him, to write, and to prayer journal. . . .

Though Noah floated in the dead center of God’s will, a very long, dark, damp, and very smelly year at sea followed. And the animals were not smiling in spite of Sunday School graphics. Just because we obey God, doesn’t mean an easy, comfortable life follows. Satan says, “Just keep the peace, compromise, and I will give you the world!” Deep down we knew we had not compromised our convictions for a church paycheck. Jesus said, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” Jhn. 16:33. Hebrews tells us, “God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness” Heb. 12:10.

After Conrad put his name into the CBA office, a small church in Washington asked us to candidate. Nearly the whole church joined the search committee, and we sat in a large circle for questioning. The Yakima area is covered with vineyards so someone asked if we drank wine. We answered that we had on occasion. The questioner’s brother was an alcoholic, so if the church called us, they wouldn’t attend. The rest still voted for us to come. Of all people, they billeted us to stay overnight with the dissenting couple. I wanted to die and go to heaven, but no, I had to follow through. They were nice enough, but we never saw them again.

We packed and cleaned up our little bungalow. With a last glance at those empty rooms filled with memories, longing, and heartache, I said my goodbye. We drove into Grandview where a rental home, sight unseen, awaited us. I walked into an amazing, 3200 sq. ft., four bedroom, two story home. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked a broad orchard-filled valley and Horse Heaven Hills. It felt like heaven! I thanked God for this house everyday for the next six years. It felt so big after Haley House, we all slept in a corner of the living room that first night.

Conrad once again uncompromisingly preached the Word, and the enemy, entrenched in bitter hearts, crawled out of hiding. One year later the board called Conrad into the church office after his Sunday message and asked him to resign. When he asked why, they said they heard he had been in counseling for manipulation and lying. When asked the source of this information, each board member turned to another one until the question rested on one. This one said he heard it from the former pastor, who heard it from someone in the CBA office, whom we had never personally met.

Conrad called the CBA directors together with the former pastor. Our Christian counselor sent a letter stating, “These accusations could not be farther from the truth. One of Conrad’s greatest attributes is his integrity.” Things were set back in order. Three months later a woman in the church invited church members to her home to “lynch” the pastor under the auspices of an auditing meeting. Discovering this undercurrent, and battling tension headaches, Conrad resigned.

Part-time work became available here and there until a janitorial job opened at a Christian school. When a job to sell portraits in churches opened, Conrad took it. This job required traveling throughout the Pacific Northwest, which wore on our marriage and children. One weekend, after two years on the road, he decided to quit rather than continue to face the mounting temptations of a traveler. The very day he arrived home and said he quit his job, I told him Sam Jaramillo had just asked for him to join his insurance business. God rewards faith! I worked as secretary for a United Methodist church for two years, and then at Grandview Grace for another two. Charissa nannied three little children and Joel did yard work for our neighbors.

During this whole time, God exonerated us in our small town through our children. What a joy for Conrad to baptize Joel at Grandview Grace and hear Jonathan publicly pray for Joel at his baptism. After his graduation in ’92, Jonathan moved to Portland to live with Conrad’s sister and attend Mount Hood College for an AA degree in Forestry.

We rejoiced over Jami’s wrestling victories, including an all-star Russian team featured on the evening news. He also qualified for the state wrestling championship, and became the first Student of the Month featured on a half page in the newspaper. After his graduation in ’93, he headed to LeTourneau University in Longview, Texas.

Charissa won the title of Grandview Junior Miss and received all five judges awards. We never realized her public performance gift until we saw her completely at ease on stage—so like her daddy! When we first moved to Grandview, girls threw stones at her and mocked her. God’s “poetic justice” gave her this title because, “ Those who honor Me I will honor” 1 Sam. 2:30.

Joel did some football, wrestling, tennis, and played a silver trumpet. This agricultural area brought in many migrant workers. The Hispanic population in the schools registered about ninety percent. Hispanic boys mature physically earlier and Joel suffered legitimate fears of gangs and bully intimidations. Also, as the youngest of four siblings, he felt the loss as each sibling left the nest.

We continued to attend Grandview Grace and led a college and career Bible study. Hosting their Christmas party in ’94, I noted Jonathan and Becky Mead playing Balderdash together. I intuitively knew something would come of this. December 29 of ’95 Jonathan and Becky married. That fall, they moved to Vancouver, Washington, where Jonathan earned his AA degree in Airframe and Power Plant while Becky taught school.

One day Conrad came home from selling insurance and shared about a client who loved his job. His own heart cried out for this joy. Realizing God stirring our hearts, we bowed to ask once again for full-time ministry. God answered and led us west. . . .

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make you paths straight.” Proverbs 3:5-6

In June of ’87, the phone rang and after Conrad answered it, he just kept saying, “No. No. No!” The call came from his brother-in-law to tell us Conrad’s dad passed away of a heart aneurism in Austria, where he served as a PTL missionary. Mother would come home and we would hold his memorial service in Fresno, California.

Somehow it never seemed like Daddy really died—he just never came home from Europe. I believe God purposed to illustrate His love for the world with earthly father/son relationships. Therefore, the relationship between fathers and sons powerfully impacts sons and their sons for generations. Some sons suffer what should not have been, but was; Others suffer what should have been, but was not. As every son, Conrad wanted to meet his dad’s expectations, so much so, that in his compliant nature, he negated his own unique and God-given identity.

Both Conrad and his dad loved the Lord and preached His Word, but the personalities of these two polar opposite men created a relational vacuum. Basically, one thrived on studying truth as a student of theology, the other thrived on the joy of relationships and presenting truth. When Conrad lost his Daddy, he also lost this pseudo identity. This loss was immense, but we did not realize how much at the time. That same year, as a father himself, Conrad did experience the joy of baptizing his oldest son, Jonathan, and leading his youngest son, Joel, to Jesus.

Our church looked forward to soon celebrate its 100th Anniversary, yet it seemed a lack of vision persisted. Hope filled Conrad’s heart when he hired the Pastor of Adult Ministries. Having a relationship with someone to share the ministry exhilarated him, and God strengthened us by that joy. However, an undercurrent against the new pastoral addition grew. Our hearts broke and we prayed and fasted. Some people threatened to leave the church. I couldn’t bear that though and felt it may be better if we left instead. We consulted with the CBA director who advised us to resign quickly. Though we respected and took his advice, hindsight revealed that was not such a wise idea.

The director had suggested another available CBA church on the coast, but we declined, hoping for another kind of ministry other than a pastorate—perhaps even some wonderful multimedia ministry. . . but it didn’t happen. We moved into a 900 sq. ft., dilapidated bungalow on Haley Road with our four children to remain in the same school district. Conrad stood in the unemployment line with a very colorful group of other people.

At first he tried to sell health insurance, but ended up working at a warehouse for $5.50 an hour. Sometimes he awoke at night, either from hearing rats in the walls of that old house, or with panic attacks. I felt angry to have to take food stamps; I wanted God to take care of us, not the government! Had God forsaken us? We felt an acute identity crisis and our faith sorely tested.

One night Conrad came home from work and said, “Now I know why people jump off bridges. I just feel so lost!” We wept, we prayed, and wept some more. As the months passed we sought a Christian counselor. He told Conrad his foundations were being shaken—the foundations and ideologies of the fundamentalist churches in which both of us were born and raised.

For three years our foundations shook. We started “Peters’ Painting” and painted apartments and a warehouse. Conrad sold Rainbow vacuums. My teaching credentials had expired so I cleaned houses. Three Christmas seasons came and went. Two of them brought charitable loads of food and gifts. We were grateful… and humbled. Our kids developed a work ethic by acquiring jobs to pay for their clothes. Jonathan worked on a neighbor’s horse ranch cleaning stalls. Jami worked for a cocker spaniel breeder cleaning pens. Charissa babysat and cleaned houses. Joel kept me smiling. Part of two summers, my parents took Jonathan to Canada to ease our expenses—something I always deeply regretted! He already was growing up way too fast!

Conrad did rejoice to baptize Charissa at Gateway Baptist church in ’90. He also baptized Jami, now fifteen years old, at a Riverside Church retreat. That year my Dad bought us an ’86 white Buick. We counted our blessings in spite of dark days!

Every day I went to the mailbox hoping against hope for a miracle, and every day my heart sank. We were running out of wood, even green wood, for the old coal burning stove that squatted in the living room. Mold grew in the corners of the rooms and crawled up the legs of our furniture. Could this possibly be the “belly of a fish”? One dark October night Conrad and I took a drive. We ended up in the Boring Post Office parking lot to pray and weep before the LORD.

Years before, the Lord had given me Romans 1:1,5 as a life verse —a seemingly strange passage. What I saw was, Conrad and MarJean, servants of Christ Jesus, called and set apart for the gospel of God. . . Through Him and for His name’s sake receive grace and mercy to call all people to the obedience that comes from faith. That was our assignment. We felt broken and helpless, but we told the Lord that night we were willing to go back into ministry. How quickly He answered our prayer! But not without a battle. . . .

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to HIS purpose. For those God foreknew He also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of His Son, that He might be the firstborn among many brothers.”
Romans 8:28-29

A man’s steps are directed by the LORD. How then can anyone understand his own way? Proverbs 20:24

Back in Fresno, California, in a small rental between Conrad’s sister’s home and a smelly chicken ranch, I stood doing dishes one day and suddenly realized. . . I felt happy! All the tension and responsibilities over the past years at Carrot River had lifted. Here we were, poor as church mice, few belongings, no job, but I felt happy!

We enrolled the boys in a Christian school, bought a schnauzer puppy we named Pepper, enjoyed living close to cousins, and living next to horse barns and corrals bordering one side of our ranch style house. It was September, ’82. Joel was only a year old, Charissa three, and the boys, ages seven and eight.

Just after Christmas, a maintenance job opened for Conrad at Link Care Center. In January of ’83 we moved into one of their apartments next to a swimming pool, and a few doors down from Conrad’s semi-retired parents. The kids spent time with grandparents, learned to swim, and played with the missionary kids whose parents were enrolled at the missionary center for care and repair.

Just before Charissa turned four years old, she asked Jesus into her heart. I thought, Oh Lord, she is too young! Yet, she never wavered in her faith. At the end of the school year, each teacher at the Christian school presented a trophy for “Christian Character.” Both Jonathan and Jami received these coveted awards. Conrad, struggling with his new identity as a displaced pastor, shed tears of joy.

A few weeks later, he received a call to candidate at a good-sized and long-established church near Gresham, Oregon. Our hearts filled with joy and by June first, we moved into the parsonage on Carpenter Lane and Conrad pastored Pleasant Home Baptist Church. We thanked God for His sweet grace.

After the first few weeks, Conrad came home, leaned on the kitchen counter, and said, “I don’t think they need me here.” The last pastor, a gifted administrator, ran the church like a fine tuned machine. However, God knew what He wanted to do in and through us. In time, people thanked us for our ministry and new families came.

Sunday school, Sunday morning worship, Sunday night, and Wednesday night Bible study were the basic weekly norm for the last 100 years. In fact, the church would soon celebrate it’s 100th anniversary. The church had a choir, Children’s Church, Vacation Bible School, Christmas programs, potlucks, board meetings, and business meetings—all very typical conservative church repertoire back in the ’80’s.

We were young—early thirties, with four young children. The former pastor retired from pastoral ministry and perhaps the pastoral search committee thought a young family would bring new life to the church. We did that. However, some people find change, any change, difficult. Besides that, Conrad’s strengths did not include administration, but rather his enthusiastic preaching and enjoyment of people.

At one point, the board asked him to take time away and come back with his vision for the church. Conrad’s extroversion performs best by processing verbally with other people. Solitary confinement puts him to sleep. Who would take the heat for making changes? That would be the pastor’s job. Whew! The pressure was on.

Then one Sunday a new seminary couple visited and happened to be looking for a ministry. We got together, shared hearts, and prayed with them. Terry was trained in Navigators and eager to teach small group discipleship—just what we believed could spark the church into renewed growth and strength.

Conrad approached the board. They liked the idea, voted to open such a position, and told Conrad he could choose the person to fill it. He chose Terry. I felt a huge weight lift off my own shoulders! Finally Conrad had a man to share the burden of ministry with him and he perked right up. A new vision and implementation of discipleship for the church began.

In the meantime, we enjoyed family life on the parsonage acreage. We acquired some horses, dogs, hamsters, and parakeets. Besides horseback riding and monitoring all the pets and kids, I longed to teach women. However, I deferred to an older woman to teach the women’s class and stayed in the nursery so more women could attend. In time, my longing metamorphosed into writing a monthly Bible study for the women instead.

Every year I attended the Conservative Baptist Pastors’ Wives Retreat with 300-400 women. The second year, I worked together with the executive team to plan the next year’s retreat. The idea of starting a monthly letter to the pastors’ wives ignited joy and fear. Thoughts of, Who do you think you are among all these seasoned pastors’ wives?! nearly dissuaded me, however, God’s Spirit gave me courage.

We launched Courage For Pastors’ Wives, a small in-house publication that connected 600 women with words of encouragement every other month for the next five years. We could not get a retreat speaker that year, but God gave me an idea for a multimedia presentation. I began in April to write the allegorical script, photograph illustrations, and find and write music. With Conrad’s help in photography, recording, and narration, we completed the project just in time, three months later.

The Weaver ended up as an hour-long story narrative with 300 dissolving slides set to music. We not only presented it at this retreat but later to many other churches and groups. I realized that God did not just inspire me write the Courage publication and Weaver presentation for others; They were for me! Soon I would need more courage and faith than ever before. . .

In his heart a man plans his course, but the LORD determines his steps. Proverbs 16:9

God’s unexpected sovereign plan unfolded on our vacation to visit my brother and his wife back in Carrot River, Saskatchewan. When we arrived, they told us their pastor had just resigned. The Gospel Mission asked Conrad to fill the pulpit, which he did. Then they asked him to consider pastoring the church. For twenty years my parents had prayed for that church. Were we God’s answer? A deep desire to go gripped my heart. I grew up there so I also knew the sacrifices of living in the remote north. I earnestly prayed, “Lord, if we’re not to go, please don’t let it happen!”

Finally after extensive medical testing, Canada granted us permission for landed immigrant status. Conrad drove a U-Haul and Dad followed in a loaded pickup pulling our Land Cruiser. We left the Bay area at 70° F. on December 20th,’76 and arrived in Carrot River on Christmas Eve at -30° F. In the weeks and months following, Conrad preached the Word with passion and without compromise. Chairs were added to the isles each Sunday.

That first year we caught every Canadian bug that came around. Some months I never did make it church. One night the boys’ fevers rose so high that we fearfully and fervently prayed over them. When we said “Amen,” their bodies were miraculously cool!

Normally I can’t think well under stress or in chaos. One morning at church, right before Sunday School at the peak of mayhem, I hurriedly moved through droves of children. Suddenly, Jonathan  grabbed my leg with both arms. I caught my breath, then knelt down to him and held him close for a few precious moments before he ran off. I could have hurt his feelings so easily by impatiently pushing him off, but God was transforming me!

Joy filled us at the prospect of adding to our family. However, sadness displaced it with two miscarriages. The second time, for lack of space, the hospital placed an elderly, Christian lady in my room. While in labor, I read “. . . every branch that bears fruit, He prunes it so that it may bear more fruit” Jn. 15:2. I felt a literal pruning and sobbed into my pillow. Suddenly, I felt Jesus’ arms draw around me. . . Berle had hobbled over and, without a word, embraced me. Knowing she lost more than one child, put my loss into perspective and renewed my hope. While in recovery, I dared walk to the nursery window. There God’s Spirit gently whispered that a relationship with Jesus is even more beautiful than a baby! Paul says, “I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord” Phil. 3:8. Only He was and is enough to fill that void.

Life went on and we adapted to country ways by growing and harvesting a large vegetable garden. I baked bread, buns, and cinnamon rolls. We visited the people and enjoyed the country hospitality of spontaneous meal invitations. We bought a snow machine and enjoyed winter activities with our boys, towing them in a Grampa-built sleigh. The first time on a snow machine, I rode behind Conrad. When he put out his foot, as he would on a motor cycle, the drag whipped him off the machine, and I continued down the trail alone. . . laughing my head off!

In time, Conrad’s enthusiastic passion from the pulpit caught some of these settled-down farmers off guard. They rallied for a while, then spiritual warfare broke out! Rumors spread of our intended mutiny from the church conference. On this hearsay, MB Conference men showed up and surrounded Conrad alone in the church kitchen. Yet, when he answered their questions, they backed down and left. Some dear people chose to leave the church, but Wednesday night prayer meeting filled with other dear people praying and studying the Word as never before.

I prayer journaled throughout those days, poured my heart out to God, then wrote the scriptures He gave in response to my outpouring. He met me with comfort and strength. I cannot imagine my state of mind without this communication with Him.

After three years I became pregnant again, but another miscarriage threatened. I did not have the strength for this, but God assured me that if it should happen, His grace was sufficient. My mother-heart cried for my baby to live, but my will determinedly said, “LORD, I want Your will. . . even more than this baby.” Charissa Joy arrived May 17, ’79. What grace and joy in hard times! Another joyful birth came that same year when Jonathan prayed to receive Jesus as his Savior.

Two years later on May 9, ’81, God granted us a third son—Joel Daniel, meaning “God is my judge.” Days later, I hemorrhaged. I felt the pallor and weakness of life literally drain out of me, but clarity and strength returned after a blood transfusion—the same powerful effect of Christ’s blood on our spiritual lives.

My days filled to the brim caring for four little ones. On one of those endless trips down the hall at bedtime for drinks or whatever. I almost put the law down, “Go to sleep!” But, by God’s grace, I went in again and Jami said he didn’t know if he was a Christian. We talked and prayed with him to receive Jesus, making it sure. Other people came to Christ and we held baptisms in roadside dugouts. Our people invited friends and neighbors to our Christmas dinner programs live with music and drama.

After six years, in spite of many joys, cumulative stress succeeded in taking Conrad’s former enthusiasm, leaving him inexplicably tired and depressed. Hypoglycemia seemed a possible cause. The guilt of falling asleep at his desk caused us to seek counsel from trusted sources who confirmed our need to resign. We drove back to California, now with four children and a few possessions after a huge garage sale. Conrad drove and wept.

Many things in our ministry we did not understand, but 1 Corinthians 4:5 says, “Therefore judge nothing before the appointed time; wait till the Lord comes. He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of men’s hearts. At that time each will receive his praise from God.”

So eager to begin our family, I completed the last three months of teaching with morning sickness. At the same time, Conrad developed an excruciating pain and weakness in his left arm. A week in the hospital for tests, biopsy, and spinal tap, yielded a diagnoses of Idiopathic Brachial Plexitis. The pain finally abated by graduation, and he received his Master’s of Divinity. That summer of ’73, Conrad’s parents’ church in San Mateo, California, called us to join Conrad’s dad as co-pastor. We marveled at God’s timely provision!

We left for California in a moving truck, towing our blue ’65 Ford pick-up. Michael, breaking in his new Volkswagen, followed us on his way back to BIOLA. We sang and praised God mile after mile for taking us through school and calling us to serve him. When we stopped for gas, Michael told us our little dog, Cupie, had jumped out of the back of our capped and loaded pickup bed fifty miles back. We brought her puppies into the cab and didn’t feel like singing anymore.

A few days after we arrived in San Mateo, Conrad sat up in bed with his head in his hands while irrational fear gripped his heart and mind. We prayed. . . and it passed. In spite of this panic attack, he loved teaching the young married class and preaching Sunday nights. We helped start an AWANA kids’ program and Calvary Christian School, did chalk-talks and sang together.

Our “gift of God,” Jonathan Conrad, arrived December 5, ’73 at 9 lbs. 10 oz.. The hard delivery and 24/7 demands of a new baby came harder than I imagined. Most evenings, Conrad remained at the church. My German heritage said we needed to eat dinner on time and together. This ministry was not what I signed up for. My marriage also was not turning out as I thought. One night after an argument, I took off in the car not knowing where I was going. With geographical dyslexia, my fear of getting lost kept me from going too far for too long, but the rage within me to leave scared me even more. One day I desperately scrawled across two pages of my journal, “I give up!!” God’s Holy Spirit breathed softly, “Yes, My child, give UP to Me.” I wept in brokenness. . . releasing my hopes, dreams, and expectations UP to “the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort. . . .” (2 Cor. 1:3). His quiet peace followed.

The next year the church ordained Conrad to the ministry. By then another baby was on the way. Our landlords sold the duplex, but thankfully, we found a three-bedroom house to rent before Jamison Lee arrived June 29, ‘75. What a precious baby boy! He was so good, slept all the time, and none of his brother’s loud noises woke him up. I felt some concern. Mom came from Fresno to help with the baby and one evening encouraged us to go for a drive with Jonathan. The next day every little noise woke Jami up. I said to Mom, “There’s sure nothing wrong with his hearing!”

A year later, Mom told us what happened the night we went for a drive. Jami lay asleep while she slammed the door as hard as she could, banged pans over his cradle, and clapped her hands. He slept through it all. Then she gently touched him and he instantly awoke. She had called my dad, told him Jami was deaf, and they prayed together over the phone. The next day was when everything woke him up. Not wanting to submit this precious miracle to Conrad’s typical skepticism, they waited a whole year before telling us.

Between AWANA club, singing, Christmas programs, puppet shows, chalk talks, choir practices, Easter cantatas, the young married class, the church building project, teaching art at the new School, and caring for two babies. . . I was not doing well.

One evening after Conrad left for AWANA, I tried to get Jonathan to go to sleep, but he refused. Fed, dry, and comfortable, he continued to scream. At nearly two-years-old, I figured he needed discipline. I went into his room with a wooden spoon, tried again to get him to lie down, but he screamed louder. Mindlessly, I raised the spoon and came down with several hard whacks on his bottom, but as I raised the spoon again, it suddenly flew backwards out of my hand (his guardian angel grabbed it). I ran out of the room screaming, “God help me!!!”

I managed to phone Conrad. When he came, he held us until I calmed and Jonathan slept. We talked and cried and prayed. . . and realized we had crossed a line. My recipe for disaster: Mix a polio compromised nervous system with over achievement and add one part old nature. Thinking we can do everything all the time, can cross a line where we cannot handle life anymore. How much better to make wise choices before we get to that point! Conrad, certified to give TJTA Tests, gave it to me shortly after that incident. My test results— “suicidal.” Although not aware of that idea, it did reveal my neurological limit.

I remember lying in bed at night visualizing and weeping over my sin. God met me and reminded me that He had taken my punishment, and by His wounds I was healed (Isa. 53:5). He breathed these words into my heart and mind, “. . . though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool (Isa. 1:18).

Oh what a Savior!!! Jesus came to rescue us from ourselves. He rescued me, forgave me, and cleansed me. . . white as snow. I did not know it then, but another life-changing provision was on the way. . . .

Our first year of marriage, that honeymoon of wedded bliss, Conrad held down three part-time jobs besides attending the Mennonite Seminary full time. Every Sunday we traveled seventy miles round trip to work with the youth at Hanford Baptist Church. Many Sundays I read the Sunday School lesson aloud as we drove, which Conrad then taught when we got there. He also drove a Salvation Army bus and worked as grounds keeper at the college. I worked in the college library and drove between Fresno State University for art classes, and Fresno Pacific for education and literature classes.

Not exactly an easy year, but we were in love! Except once after a tiff. I went for a walk and realized I felt no love for him, which totally scared me! I kept walking and cried out to God. His sweet Spirit reminded me that love was not always a feeling, but a life-long commitment. The feelings would come and go and I needed to trust Him for that.

I officially joined the baptist church where Conrad directed the youth. Mom told me Dad grieved that I left the Mennonite church. I thought little of it. Being Mennonite was like being Jewish—a cultural heritage. I loved my heritage, but I knew religion is only man’s futile attempt to reach God. Jesus is God’s way to reach man. I was good with that.

One day in Chapel, Dr. Earl Radmacher from Western Seminary spoke. He so impressed Conrad that we decided to move to Portland. After my graduation we loaded our ’65 Mustang and a U-Haul trailer, including cement block bookshelves. The weight scales registered at 3,000 pounds! We miraculously arrived in spite of an overheated engine and clutch issues.

Conrad’s sister and her husband invited us to live with them while we looked for a rental. I so wanted a Townhouse apartment, but God provided a tiny affordable house on Roethe Road only a couple blocks from my student teaching assignment. Sauve’s Island Community Church hired us as youth directors and expected me to lead the choir, which I actually did.

Conrad enrolled at Western Seminary and found employment as a checker at Fred Meyer. We discovered irreparable damage to our drive-line on the Mustang from pulling excessing weight, so we sold it. My Dad offered to give us a ’64 Chevy Nova. Conrad needed to feel he could care for me, so we declined their offer, which hurt them deeply. With credit for buying a bed and dresser on time payments, we qualified to purchase a brand new Chevy Vega for $2600.00.

In the meantime, Conrad’s fifteen year-old brother became unexplainably ill in Asia, so his parents sent him back to America to live with us. Too ill to attend full time, he enrolled part time at the high school where I student taught. Second semester I substitute taught, never knowing who would call at 6 a.m. or what class I would face that day. With all the challenges, my IBS flared and I developed a rash on my hands. On Valentines Day we picked up a “poodle mix” at the animal shelter to cheer us up and named her Cupid.

By fall, God provided a teaching position at Sam Barlow High School in spite of a glutted teaching market. We moved into a two bedroom house in Milwaukie and Conrad’s parents returned from the mission field to care for Dan. A youth position at Milwaukie Baptist opened. We applied and, in grave presumption, resigned at Sauvie’s Island. Much to our humiliation and financial panic, the vote did not pass.

However, Gladstone Baptist Church did hire us. These kids began as typical conservative church teens—goofing off, irreverent, and critical. . . until one prayer meeting night. Michael Blackler, a Japanese missionary kid home from BIOLA, began to pray. . . his prayer took my breath away with its simple, unpretentious, heart-honest cry to God. We sensed Jesus in the room and all began to pray for real. Our Bible study and prayer times grew. Some evenings we met down by the river and more and more kids attended. What beautiful times with truly great kids! We took them to Explo ’72—a Campus Crusade For Christ event in Dallas, Texas. Thousands of teens filled the Cotton Bowl to hear God’s Word preached and Andre Crouch sing, “To God Be The Glory!”

By Conrad’s last year of seminary, he began to wear down. Irrational fears overcame him whenever we drove into the country to visit his sister and her husband, now pastoring Aims Community Church. We resigned from youth work and Conrad found employment working on dialysis machines. He drove a ’56 Chevy purchased from a missionary kid. I drove our Vega forty miles a day to my teaching job. At the end of my first year, standing in line for my paycheck, I overheard a teacher talk about moving. Her house was available so we moved again, closer to my school.

During the first autumn rains, I drove to school at a good clip behind a school bus. I changed lanes, passed the bus, and slipped between two vehicles. Suddenly, I heard a crash ahead of me, tried to swerve, hit the car in front of me, and felt the impact of a truck behind me. The four-car pileup totaled our Vega and a policeman drove me to school. Upon arrival, I fell apart and Conrad had to leave seminary to rescue me.

We ate humble pie and telephoned my parents to ask if we could now buy the Chevy Nova. They graciously agreed. We traveled back to Fresno at Christmas break to spend time with them. When we opened our gifts, my dad handed us an envelop with a note that read, “Because Jesus cancelled our debt, we too cancel your debt on the Nova. Love Dad.” We all wept.

So young, such hard lessons, a faithful God, and more to come. . .

I approached the group of yearbook students pouring over photographs and noted the dark-haired, handsome student displaying them. His name was Conrad and the pictures came from Viet Nam where his parents served as missionaries with Pocket Testament League. Carol had pointed him out to me a few days earlier, so when Don asked me to go with him to the mall one evening, I invited Carol and then also asked Conrad, the fun extrovert of the group, to join us.

Some time later, after a heated theological discussion, my former boyfriend cynically told Conrad he should talk to me because I thought just like he did. Conrad followed Steve’s advice and asked me on a double date March 23, ’68 with his cousin from San Francisco—his home town. I bowled quite horribly that night but Conrad seemed refreshingly easy-going and fun-loving in contrast to my practical, no-nonsense German heritage. I also could not miss his strong theological convictions. More dates followed and I felt a deep peace. He invited me to visit the Baptist Church he attended. I noted the passionate preaching and robust choruses lead by a pianist literally bouncing through the songs—quite unlike my more formal, reverent Mennonite church services with well trained choirs and reserved audiences.

After my last performance in our school drama, Conrad gave me  a bouquet of roses, and when I slid into his car, he leaned over and gave me a quick kiss. Summer came. He left for Mexico on an extended mission trip and I continued to work in the library. We missed each other so much and I poured over his letters. One beautiful September day after he returned, we sat beneath some shade trees on the lawn at McDonalds. When he asked if I thought two people could live together as cheaply as one, I answered, “Yes.” Even though he had told me he wanted to be a preacher, I was so “in love” that his career choice didn’t matter. His dark hair, sparkling eyes, beautiful smile, rolling laughter, and kindred spirit were irresistible!

One December evening as I sat on our kitchen counter, I gathered courage to tell my parents that Conrad had asked me to marry him. They asked what I told him. I said I told him yes, after which I jumped down from my perch and ran to my room in sobs. Mother followed me and held me in her arms. The next day from his campus office window, my dad watched Conrad walk back and forth before knocking on his door. My sweet dad graciously gave His blessing.

Conrad’s last name was Peters, a good Mennonite name, so my relatives were good with that. However, Conrad’s ancestors were German, Scotch, Swiss, and even possibly Jewish, but certainly not Mennonite. His sister had married a Mennonite who worked on the college campus and Conrad lived with them. My parents wanted me to graduate before we married, but perceiving Conrad’s loneliness, granted permission after my junior year. That spring he also escorted me to our Homecoming festivities. This formerly shy, naive, Canadian farm girl who decided to reach past her fears to others was honored as homecoming queen. Miracles really do happen from the inside out.

Just before he graduated, Conrad contracted severe bronchitis, which repeatedly took his breath away, scaring us all! With a possible diagnosis of multiple sclerosis, my friend, Judy, asked if I would still marry him. I thoughtfully and naively answered, yes. Yes I would.

Our Concert Choir planned a trip to Europe for the month of June. I wasn’t excited since my wedding trumped everything. Yet my parents insisted. We set our wedding for July 25, ’69, a month after I would return. My European trip did prove wonderful! With 31 kids for 31 days, we traveled and sang through Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Holland, Denmark, Italy, and France. Experiencing European culture and perspective changed me more than I realized at the time. I was growing up. However, I missed Conrad terribly and embarrassingly fell into his arms in sobs when I returned.

The day of our wedding arrived at 103° degrees. Conrad borrowed an air-conditioned station wagon to transport our wedding cake from Hanford to Fresno. When an officer pulled him over for speeding, Conrad told him it was his wedding day. The officer said he would wave the ticket if Conrad provided vehicle registration, which he could not.

Our wedding at the Butler MB Church was not until 8:00 p.m. because Mother wanted to give the Mennonite farmers time to get there. Ending the year in a whirlwind of exams, travel preparation, and the trip to Europe, I could not mentally or emotionally prepare myself for my wedding. I walked down the isle on my Dad’s arm in a surreal mixture of fact and fantasy. Our wedding was beautiful with eight attendants, and 300 guests. Conrad’s sister played the organ on auto pilot because she cried so hard. I sang, “Wither Though Goest,” Conrad publicly prayed for us, and six of our attendants sang to us. Conrad’s parents called from Singapore during the reception and my ten-year-old sister wept in my arms.

Photoshoots came after our wedding because I held to tradition—the groom not seeing the bride until she walks down the isle. We drove our ‘65 Ford Mustang, a wedding gift from my parents, all the way to Bakersfield that night because of Conrad’s concern that classmates might follow us, which they did not. We arrived at 3:00 a.m. absolutely exhausted! The first day as we walked along the beach, I looked at my rings feeling sudden panic of “What have I done?!” That night I told Conrad how I felt, we prayed together, and the fear left. We had enough money for a weekend honeymoon so spent the next couple days traveling the coast to Santa Barbara and Solvang.

Back at our new apartment at the Mennonite Seminary, our new life together began. . .