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. . .

The outside air blasted through the windows like a furnace! The overheated engine did not allow use of the air-conditioner, and I arrived in Fresno, California sick with heat exhaustion. My beloved “Pink Farm” was now replaced by a corner-lot, ranch style house in a subdivision with a peach tree in the back yard and a palm tree in front. However, our side view included horse pastures surrounded by white fences and palm trees lining a long driveway to someone’s sprawling ranch house.

I began my first real job in the college library that summer while my parents and siblings left on vacation. I stayed with a Mennonite family around the corner whose daughter would also attend FPU. Marilyn and I became wonderful friends! Working with people in the library also eased me into college life. I remembered a girl in high school who came from California her senior year and became student body president. She said hi to everyone by name, even to me! I resolved to reach past my relational fears and follow her example. Soon nobody believed I was an introvert, and I blossomed into what I believe God had intended for me all along.

That fall my boyfriend attended a school on a ship that traveled around the world for a semester. We agreed to casually date others. The next semester he returned and enrolled at FPU, but it wasn’t the same. Yet, I wouldn’t think of hurting him. One night a bunch of us girls hung out in Marilyn’s dorm room discussing relationships. I painfully realized I had to be honest with Steve. Our relationship ended, but when I think of how close I came to never telling him, I can only thank God for giving me the courage to be honest with my heart and with him.

One day, while trying to study in the college library, I felt angry with something my mother did or said, which was not unusual since her favorite words were “discipline” and “obedience” and my favorite word was “freedom.” I decided to write out my feelings to God. He met me there and changed my attitude. That was the first of many times, many years, and many reasons for prayer journaling. And always, God met me, speaking His word into my mind and heart.

Also during this time, God tested my faith. The pride of intellectualism on the college campus became a slippery slope on which to lose one’s faith. I was tempted. I loved the heady conversations with my classmates who read The Koran and other philosophy books. I enjoyed my philosophy class and did well. I remember feeling troubled and going for a walk one day to think things over. The invisible God walked with me and protected me from the evil one who sought my destruction. That day I decided not to question my faith in God or His Word. I would no longer walk in the counsel of the ungodly, or stand in the way of sinners, or sit in the seat of the scornful (Psa. 1:1). This choice had absolutely nothing to do with religion. It had everything to do with my own personal relationship with Jesus. Joy and peace returned to my heart.

I can honestly say my college years were the best relationally joyful years of my life! My parents said I could live in the dorms for one semester to experience dorm life, which I did, and which helped me to feel part of the college culture. God graciously gave me some wonderful friends. Judy, a beautiful tall girl, was Marilyn’s friend first and in Concert Choir with me. She also lived off campus, and we became dear friends. Then I met Shirley and Carol, both originally from Canada, and our birthdays were (and still are) September 25, 26, 27. We related as transplanted Canadians, in our shared faith, as concert choir buddies, social interests . . . . College life—that time-limited, unique microcosm drew us all together like nothing else could. We studied, shared, laughed, sang, played, and made memories in that short space of time, but remembered and cherished for always.

Gratitude for such amazing grace still fills my heart. I never even imagined going to college because I really believed I wasn’t smart enough. Embedded childhood deceptions of feeling stupid still effected me. However, my parents said I should go for one year, which stretched to four and a Bachelor of Arts degree! Amazing and miraculous! I can only bow before such grace and mercy. The next step of my life, ordered by the Lord, waited just over the horizon. Soon I would meet the love of my life . . . .

Cautiously I made my way down the side hall, hoping to pass unnoticed on my way to “High C” in the music room. I feared the social rejection of identifying too closely with this Christian group. My heart was divided. Mother told me years earlier to wait until I was twelve before baptism. By that time, my baptism with the other eighth graders was a formality. Though a child’s heart may be tender toward God, not until adolescence does the real testing come. Jesus says, If anyone is ashamed of me and my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, the Son of Man will be ashamed of them when he comes in his Father’s glory with the holy angels. Mark 8:38.

One night our youth group went to a Youth For Christ rally. Shortly into the film, several of us decided to sneak out and go to a drive-in movie instead. We didn’t have enough money, so one guy hid in the trunk while we drove through the pay gate. Mennonite kids were not allowed to dance or go to movies, but worse than the movie, I was deceitful. Afraid of being found out, the guys made sure to get us home on time. However, the other kids went for ice-cream after the rally so got home later than I did. Busted! Daddy came up to my room and confronted me with the truth. I actually felt relieved! His obvious sadness was punishment enough.

They gave an altar call at the next rally. I knew I was spiritually miserable; I knew how angry I often felt, how vulnerable to temptation, and how easy it was to yield. Acceptance by classmates had become more important to me than a relationship with the Lord. I would not surrender that. The appeal ended. Suddenly a greater fear tore at my heart, and I silently prayed for another chance.

Sometime later my mom and I went to hear a visiting missionary at another church. At the end of his message he asked for a standing commitment to Christ. I felt the Holy Spirit saying, “MarJean, I want ALL of you!” Breaking into a cold sweat, my heart pounding, I stood to my feet. Suddenly it didn’t matter who was there. I only knew Jesus wanted all of me and I wanted all of Him! That night the attitude of my heart and the direction of my life changed. God took me, cleansed me, and began to transform me. Even my parents seemed so much nicer, when actually, my attitude changed toward them. I experienced a new zeal for the spiritual growth of my friends and youth group. A love for God’s word grew in my heart and I wanted to read my Bible every night. Even at my slumber party, I invited the girls to join in my devotions. I became president of my youth group, and felt passionate about the leadership and planning sessions we did together. Obviously—GOD’s work.

I began dating a young man from our sister church in Salem. Because of the distance, we could not spend too much time together, which God used to protect us. It also kept me from interest in anyone else. One weekend our families got together at his parent’s cabin on Devil’s Lake. On Sunday morning, Steve drove the boat and I prepared to ski. I decided to take off from a sitting position on the dock. It worked great and off we flew! As we approached the dock on the way back, my dad waited with his camera. I swung across the wake (showing off) intending to grab the dock without getting wet. However, I was going way too fast! I envisioned the inevitable, fatal crash into the dock. In a split second, I leaned toward a two-foot grassy space between the dock and asphalt boat launch. I hit the grass, fell sideways, and rammed my thigh into the edge of the decking. My thigh turned black, my life was spared, barely! I did not get wet, but to this day I have a lump in my thigh at the point of impact. I remember Mother saying, “I never feel good about missing church like this.” Obviously for me, Sunday on Devil’s Lake was a bad idea, but also a harbinger—a message of warning to keep a relationship with the Lord my top priority. I’m not sure if I realized how serious God actually was about me.

Our youth groups used to travel from Oregon to California for Mennonite Youth conferences, which meant all night travel in a school bus, a lot of kids, a lot of action, and complete exhaustion. My senior year the conference offered a music and poster contest. I entered both and took first place trophies. I sang before all the surrounding Mennonite Brethren congregations with passion and conviction. At the end of that conference the president of Fresno Pacific University came over and congratulated me on my music and art work. Then he said he was looking forward to having my Dad work at the college. I was shocked! I knew I was attending the college that fall but I did not know the school had just hired my dad as their Director of Development. I wept, knowing I’d be leaving our “Pink Farm,” and. . . my childhood forever.

Over all and in all, my Creator-Sustainer had kept His hand upon me—guiding, providing, correcting, wooing, forgiving, cleansing, and loving me. My commitment to Him could not be a one-time event, but a daily relational renewal to survive all that was to come.

Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy, to offer you bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God–this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is–his good, pleasing and perfect will. Romans 12:1-2

Our new two-story Cape Cod house was painted a soft pink, as was the small hip-roof barn on six wonderful acres that my dad purchased a few months after we moved to Dallas. I still sometimes dream of that home. I’ll never forget the day I came home from school and my mother told me to look in the pasture. I caught my breath and ran to the corral. There by the pink barn I broke down into heaving sobs! All my life I had longed for a horse, drew horses, and fantasized about riding. There in the pasture was a beautiful bay mare. . . for me! My parents, too frugal to actually buy one, were offered one to lease. As far as I was concerned, “Angel” was all mine! I spent many hours riding my Tennessee Walker on our acreage, through the woods, around local strawberry fields, in a parade, and on many adventures. God truly granted me the desire of my heart!

One very gusty October day I braced against the wind as I got off the school bus. Mother had gone shopping in Salem so I was free and eager to go horseback riding. Galloping bareback in the wind felt absolutely glorious! However, my freedom flight suddenly turned scary as things began flying through the air. I brought Angel into the barn and ran for the house. Suddenly Daddy saw the front of our doorless garage begin to lift off the foundation. He anchored it the best he could, then we knelt down and earnestly prayed for Mother, my little sister, and Aunt Ruth to get home safely.

That was the Columbus Day Storm of 1962, which struck the Pacific Northwest coast. As a contender for the title of most powerful extratropical cyclone recorded in the U.S. in the 20th century, the system linked 46 fatalities from heavy rains and mudslides (Wikipedia). Miraculously, Mother arrived home safely and described trees and power lines all over the road. As the power poles lifted up in the wind, she quickly drove under them before they came down again. Too obviously, life can be fragile! Nevertheless it goes on…

Besides my horse, my art class was a dream come true! The vice-principle asked for some of my drawings after our school art show, and I told him to take what he wanted. My art teacher figured he’d taken advantage of me. Naive or not, I felt very honored. Mother gave me the small sewing nook between our upstairs bedrooms for an art studio where I began oil painting.

God also gave me friends. Karen was a Catholic with long, wavy, brown hair whom I met the first day of school on the stairs down to PE. Kathy and I had fun in art class. Sandy became my dear neighbor friend. I remember talking and laughing with DeeDee and Patty in History class, which was way more fun than listening to the lecture. In Algebra, writing stories kept me awake better than doing equations. I really liked Science. In Home Economics I actually learned to sew (sort of). In English class the teacher commented to an answer I gave with, “You’re a typical teenager.” Ahhh—a balm to my teenage soul. How badly I wanted to be “typical”! I even tried to lose my Canadian accent for the same reason.

Induction into the ninth grade girls ensemble as the only eighth grader firmly established me into the church group. I also felt excited to take piano lessons. However, my first recital was horrible! All my Canadian cousins were accomplished pianists as children. As a beginner at a recital with younger children playing more complicated pieces felt so humiliating. My hands shook so badly that I made an unholy vow never to do a recital again. Although I kept taking piano and then voice lessons, I really preferred creating my own songs, and horseback riding over practicing.

At the end of the school year I was asked to sing a solo at the school talent show. Aunt June helped me learn the song, Tammy (I hear the cottonwoods whispering above, Tammy, Tammy, Tammy’s in love. . .) I was so nervous, I forgot the words to the second verse and repeated the first verse (Déjà vu). However, the kids kept clapping until the vice-principle asked for an encore. This naive, frightened, Canadian farm girl didn’t even know what an encore was. Not having grown up with television, I didn’t know what a comedian was either, which encouraged the boys to tease me unrelentingly.

Summer arrived and kids earned money in the fields for school clothes. Mom took us to pick cherries. After that season ended, Richard and I caught a school bus at 6:00 each morning to join other kids in strawberry fields where we socialized beneath the hot sun with berry fights. After that, the pole bean crops kept us until school began. It was hard labor to fill ten gallon buckets with green beans, empty them into gunny sacks, and haul them to the end of long rows to weigh. A good looking row boss gave me a nosebleed one day when he helped fill my sack. His head came up when mine went down. Embarrassment of dirty bitten nails also motivated me to stop biting them. I learned the value of money in those fields and began to evaluate everything I bought by how hard I worked for it.

I fell in love with Oregon and felt more than grateful for all the “milk and honey” God so graciously gave to me in this “Promised Land”! However, a storm raged within me and I needed to anchor to a firm foundation. God did not just want to bless me with relationships, dreams-come-true, and a land “flowing with milk and honey.” He wanted ME—ALL of me. . . .

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. . . .