A quiet anchor

Verna went Home on Mother's Day.  She was 92. When Ted and I came here in May of 1984, Verna was here to meet us, along with a small group of people who wanted to build a church on property they had bought some time before. There were several former contractors in the group of retired folk. Each had their idea about how the church should be designed, how to go about making it look their way, how to pay for it, and ...you get the drift.  So, my husband put it to them this way: "...tell you what. I know a lot of people in Bakersfield, since Jo and I ministered there before going to Houston. I will look around and find a builder/superintendent that I probably know, bring him up here to be Chief, and you and I will sign on to be Indians. What do ya' think?"  ...and a handful of hard working Indians fell in line behind John, the Chief and Bear Valley Community Church was on its way.

I didn't see my husband alone for three years.  The church office was upstairs in our home.  All the meetings except for Sunday morning were here, and the church folk often found themselves in our living room with people from other places in the world.  In retrospect (...and don't we see 20/20 "in retrospect"?) those dear people deserved a pastor and wife who were totally committed to just them. ...but that wasn't Ted and me. It never had been. Call it a "worldview",  for that's the "in" word these days,  or call it anything you want. We were not going to pastor just one congregation after  working with "the church at large" in Bakersfield, Houston and around the world.  ...which reminds me of an old World War I song (...and no, I wasn't born yet): "How Ya' Gonna Keep 'em Down on the Farm after They've Seen Paree?"

The building and the church were rockin' along, but not rockin' along very smoothly. As we girls know, we smell stuff smoldering before it actually takes fire!  That's why we are the moms and dads aren't. I sensed that when the last brick went into that beautiful building, we would be on our way outta there. ...and sure enough, my instincts were right on.  Here's an irony: After all these years I am back there in a class on Sunday morning, listening to Mike Loehrer,  one of the pastors teach. He's a Dallas Seminary grad, as was Ted, and there is something about those guys...They feed you Greek and Hebrew and you don't even blanche!

...but back to Verna. She was the spiritual glue that had held this little gathering together before we showed up from Houston. She knew scripture and she lived by accompanying grace. Having worked for years for Moody Bible Institute Science Films, she also knew how to hold her own against evolutionists and anybody else that disbelieved the authenticity of the Word of God, the Deity of Christ and dozens of other pesky apostate gnats that were swarming around us as the church building was going up, brick by brick.  Since only one church is legally allowed in our closed-gate community,  people from all religions and no religions came to "hear the new parson". It was not easy to deal with it all. All of you in full time ministry understand how messey it can get in churches and missions.

Ted and Verna were friends;  they were equals in biblical knowledge and equals in commitment to believing and teaching the whole counsel of God.  I had a dickens of a time adjusting to life here after having lived in five cities and a couple of towns.  I never really liked the city ("You can take the girl out of the country but you can't take the country out of the girl.")  but when the city lights across a couple of mountain ranges were all I could see, I missed the city! ...but Verna's weekly Bible class kept me reasonably decent to get along with as the people poured into my home day and night during the three years the church was being built. After a year and a half, our precious daughter Dee and husband Brent moved up here on the mountain after Brent left the oilpatch and went to work in aerospace at Edwards Air Force Base. Our kids are mountain kids so before long, Doug showed up from Houston when his building business went belly-up as oil prices bottomed out.  The Bear Valley pot was definitely sweetened by the arrival of two of our kids. Soon there were ten of us.  Those were the finest of years.  Jeff and lovely Houstonian, Carla married and settled in Sacramento. They and their two girls  made many a trek down Highway 99 to be with the ten of us. Ted and I were out of the visible church and into ministries that took us to many countries and into countless lives.The best times of our family life were spent right here. ...for a quarter of a century. ...and then the whittling down began. It is inevitable for all families. ...like an accordion: expanding, then wheezing down.

... back to you, Verna. Verna used to cajol me into staying after Bible study years ago and playing Dixieland on her old piano.  She would tap her toes to beat the band and we would sing along and laugh.  She made me promise that I would play Dixieland for her Memorial. ...but then a few years ago, she lost her sight completely, and her loving family moved her to Bellflower to care for her.

If Jesus doesn't zap us into the clouds together, what I want at my Memorial is an old fashioned Singalong.  Maybe if it's summertime, whoever comes can bring their lawn chair and sit under our  Family Oak up on the hill where Ted's headstone reads:  "To God Be the Glory".  My headstone will finish the phrase:  "Great Things He Hath Done".  That pretty much wraps up our lives together for sixty years.  All who want to can sing:

"This world is not my home; I'm just a passin' through;
My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue.
The angels beckon me from Heaven's open door,
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore."

Love, Jo