From the heart of a Southern girl living in the Midwest
It was our first Christmas together, and we were starting our own traditions. Christmas would always be special in our family…
It was December 1, 1966…our birthday. We had been married since September. It was my twenty-first birthday and Bill’s twenty-third. Looking at the photo here, I’m wondering how many candles were on that cake…quite a few!
Funny how clothing and hair styles come full circle. I wish I had this ensemble I was wearing then now. Soft pink wool vest with covered buttons, an A-line skirt in the same soft pink wool and a white silk blouse. Remember, my Mama was a wonderful seamstress. The only problem is…even if I still had it, I couldn’t get in it! I weighed all of 107 pounds here.
And, yes, I know. The hairstyle is still similar…just lots of silver now highlighted in blonde.
Our first home was a small, rented yellow brick duplex on a well-kept, tree-lined street. It was located about fifteen minutes from Memphis State where we were both students. It had newly refinished wood floors, a small living room, dining room, kitchen, 1 bedroom and 1 bathroom. There were plenty of windows which let in lots of light throughout.
What it didn’t have was a lot of furniture or the decorating expertise I’ve gathered all these years later. Don’t we always wish we’d known “then” what we know “now”.
Somehow, we’d inherited a used, ugly sofa sleeper that weighed a ton, and Bill made a large square table which held our tiny black & white television set. That was it for furniture in the living room. We laughed for years about that television, for it basically operated on a shoestring…literally. The TV would turn on and operated fine for a while…then the picture would start turning dark. Bill isolated the fuse or whatever in the back of the TV and attached a shoestring to it. When the picture started to turn dark, we’d pull the shoestring and wah-lah! The picture came back on! Years later, there would be televisions in several rooms of the house, but none that brought laughter like that one did. For $35, we’d purchased a used, hardrock maple round table and four captain chairs for the dining room…all in surprisingly excellent condition. Thankfully, I’d brought my new bedroom furniture from home.
As the new year has come and gone, I’ve been thinking about, and struggling with, how to tell the rest of the story…
Telling a story is much like painting a picture…only with words.
My grandchildren create the most wonderful paintings…quite magical paintings actually. However, my grandchildren haven’t learned about shadows just yet. Their paintings are in pure colors…no dark shadows that would give their paintings realism and depth. Our lives are like this. The joyful times in our lives are the brilliant blues, reds, golds, vibrant greens and even bright silver…the highlights of our lives. Any painting without highlights is dreary and flat.
It’s the valleys – the sad times…the losses…the grief – those are the times in which we grow. Those are the times that create the depth and dimension in our lives. Granted, while we’re in those valleys, we don’t comprehend that fact. We only feel the pain or loss. Those valleys are the times that stretch us, test us, strengthen our faith and propel us into the arms of our loving Heavenly Father.So, life is made up of mountaintops and valleys. It’s that way with each of us. I thank God for the mountaintops He has given me over the years, but I also thank Him for the valleys…and for being with me each step of way through them. So, as I struggle with how to put my life into words, I’ll try to remember to be thankful for both the mountaintops and the valleys.
I discovered the following poem many years ago. It’s still true today.
(I recently discovered the treasured drawing at the top of the page in a box of old papers I was going through. The drawing is done in crayon on manila paper and is by my older son who just turned forty in August of 2008! My best guess is he was about 7 or 8 years old when he did this drawing. Actually, he did put some “shadows” beneath the ship, which was pretty clever for that age. He is now a missionary doctor in the mountains of Peru.)
It was Autumn again. A whole year had passed since I had first come to Memphis State. Things seemed different now…no longer the strangeness of being new.
Autumn of 1965 would also be when I realized that my feelings for Bill were more than just friendship…
