LOVE SHOULDN'T HURT

Who doesn’t remember their first crush?  Perhaps it was reciprocated, and perhaps it wasn’t, but the feeling of love for that person remained.  It’s a longing that is more powerful then common sense, and is often valued over logic.

I was a sophomore at Centennial High School in Gresham, Oregon when I fell in love for the first time.  The year was 1967; the Vietnam War was in full swing.  The musical “Hair” was playing off Broadway.  The Summer of Love was held in San Francisco.  Scott was a member of the freshman class, but the year’s difference didn’t bother me.  His deep brown eyes, raven black hair, and olive skin attracted me instantly.  I guessed correctly that he was of greek heritage.  Oh, how handsome he was!  

I was stunned the first time he called me at home.  Me!  I thought of myself as plain, shy, and very naive.  As we talked we discovered things in common like an interest in speech team.  In fact, that’s how we first met.  It was at a speech team meeting to prepare for the next competition at a local college campus.  He seemed confident and articulate.  Debate was his favorite speech event, and he excelled at it.  In other words, he was a real “talker”.  He described the girls who were throwing themselves at him, and I had no doubt he spoke the truth.  Being from a conservative home with a grandfather who was a minister he admitted to me his struggles to maintain his moral standards with these kind of temptations.  Their aggressiveness actually turned him off, but of course he would never admit this to his buddies at school.  How flattering that Scott felt he could be so honest with me.    

A few more phone conversations transpired before he invited me to the house he and his brother, Mark, shared.  His living arrangements were unusual.  Scott’s parents purchased a lot in Portland with two homes on it.  His folks and little sister lived in the main house, and he and his brother lived in the small four room house next door!  His parents felt the boys would grow up faster, and learn to be independent sooner if they lived separately.  I came from a home with a father who controlled my every move, and did not encourage any autonomy.  Scott’s living arrangements were as polar opposite from mine as possible.

One drizzly night Scott walked me half way home under his umbrella.  Our homes were about two miles apart.  We stopped on a corner, and he softly kissed me on the lips.  My first kiss!  Under an umbrella!  In the rain!  How romantic!  I fairly skipped the rest of the way home.

Our first speech tournament Scott sat next to me on the bus for the hour ride.  He slid his arm around my shoulder as we talked.  I thought I would melt as he whispered in my ear, and occasionally stole a kiss.  The most handsome guy on our speech team paying attention to little old me never ceased to amaze me.  Scott’s attention built my self image, and made me feel worthy.  But I still had a difficult time believing this was happening to me.

My best friend, Kit, on the other hand was popular with the boys.  She was petite, cute, and always wore the most in-style store-bought clothes.  My mother sewed most of my outfits.  Kit’s mother paid for her hair to be cut and styled at a salon, while my hair was long and straight and kept very basic.  We couldn’t have looked more different.  No wonder she was always the center of attention.   Scott often asked about Kit, and what she was up to.

Scott and I didn’t cross paths in school much because of our being a year apart.  And he never took me on dates as such because he didn’t have a job.  Most of the time he invited me to his bachelor pad where we “made out”.  We talked less and less, and kissed and petted more and more.  I didn’t particularly get anything out of the make-out sessions, but that’s what he wanted to do so I went along.  My feelings of physical and emotional attraction to Scott grew.

At home I listened to the music he liked, read the books he enjoyed, and waited by the phone for his next call.  I was at his beck and call, and would drop everything to go to him when he called.  Our relationship gave my life meaning, and I couldn’t imagine my days without him.  My parents had only a vague awareness of this relationship, and wouldn’t have been happy about it if they knew the details.  For one thing, Scott's parents lived in a higher economic class which made my dad suspicious of them.  Also my parents were in their 40's and Scott's were at least ten years younger, and a lot more "hip".  

My best friend, Kit, and I joined the Drama club our freshman year.  Scott followed suit when he entered Centennial High School as a freshman.  We attended all the theater department parties.  By the end of Scott’s first year of high school those parties turned into such wild gatherings that we were banned from having them at school.  So the parties were taken off campus, and held in students’ homes.  They were completely unsupervised activities.  By “wild” I mean smoking, alcohol and drugs were present.  This was the 60’s, and the rules were challenged by many.  I didn’t drink or do drugs because these substances took away the ability to be in control of your behavior.  Watching friends throw up, or endanger themselves physically, or become suicidal concerned me.  I saw myself as the sober person who could drive drunk people home, or talk kids down from doing something crazy after taking LSD.  I also continued to attend the parties because I wanted to be part of the crowd; one of the group.  And I enjoyed dancing with Scott.  We had Rolling Stones, Beattles, Jimi Hendrix, and the Doors to dance all night to!  

During the second year of going to drama parties together Scott wanted to make-out in front of everyone.  It seemed like he was trying to prove his manhood.  I always felt conflicted about this behavior.  It made me feel dirty, and like an object.  But if that’s what Scott wanted then that is what we did.  I never argued with him, or expressed my vague feelings of being “used”.  My feelings didn't matter.  My job was to serve the man.

As difficult as it is to understand, I trusted Scott.  He loved me.  Even though he never took me out on dates I knew it was because he had no money.  Gifts were rare but on one of my birthday's he gave me the brand new Crosby, Stills and Nash" album!  By now I was walking to his home and back by myself.  I also assumed we were seeing each other exclusively even though Scott was a bit of a flirt.  Our relationship went on like this through my Junior year.  I was grateful for any attention he paid me because I knew many girls who would kill to be in my place.  He took me to my Junior Prom, and it was a heavenly evening!  He borrowed his dad’s Mustang convertible for the event!  What a lucky girl I was. 

My senior year things between Scott and I went pretty much the same; the walks to and from his house, the make-out sessions, the parties.  However I noticed I was being treated differently by classmates.  I sensed people were talking about me behind my back.  My speech teacher even asked me one day what I was doing with Scott.  What was he talking about?  I loved him!   We’d been romantically involved for two years!  Why shouldn’t I be with him?  I was a very confused girl, but I was about to become a drowning girl.

One spring afternoon after school I overheard a girl bragging to her friends about going out with Scott.  She described their date, and him getting to second base.  Somehow I knew it was true.  Although painful, it was not nearly so painful as when I discovered the following week he planned to take my best friend, Kit, to our senior prom.  My emotional pain went to a whole different level when I heard this from a mutual friend.  How could my best friend do this to me?  It was easier to be mad at her then at Scott.  I’ve blocked out how I found out the next piece of information, but it brought me to my knees.  Two years before Scott had developed a crush on my best friend Kit which was not reciprocated.  In order to be closer to her he began a relationship with me.  His plan was to hang out with me until he showed up on Kit’s radar.

I broke into a thousand pieces emotionally.  But I hadn’t heard the worst yet.  The year after I graduated I learned Scott had been telling everyone and anyone who would listen about his made-up sexual exploits with me; taking my virginity, sharing me with a friend, and many other unimaginable things.  People were indeed talking about me behind my back during my senior year.  And now I understood the meaning behind my speech teacher’s question, “Why are you with Scott?”  Scott used me to gain a reputation as being a sexually adventurous guy who had been around the block many times.  He used me to convince his friends he was a stud, and I had unknowingly let him.  With all the making-out we did in public it’s no wonder observers believed we must be doing a lot more in private.  I played along with Scott’s game without realizing it.  He manipulated me, and used my adoration for his benefit.  

I’d been looking to a person to meet my needs, and it proved to be a big mistake.  I compromised my standards, and my self-respect for a counterfeit intimate experience because I was needy.  My parents constantly crossed personal boundaries, and taught me not to respect my boundaries so when a boyfriend used me it seemed normal.  My feet were knocked out from under me, and I found myself on my knees.  Literally.   

During high school I “played” church on Sundays, but during the week I did exactly what I wanted.  I had no real relationship with God, and gave Him no say in my life.  My decisions were based on my emotional needs and desires, not on what was best for me according to God’s plan.  I was sitting on the fence with God; half on and half off.  This led to doubts about my faith.  Did God really exist?  At nineteen years old I fell on my knees by my bed and prayed, “God, I don’t know if you are real anymore.  If there is no such thing as God I’m not going to “play” anymore.  So show me if you are real.”  I went to bed that night feeling lost, and sad, and a bit defiant.

At this time I was attending college at Mt. Hood Community in Troutdale, Oregon while living at home.  Each morning I climbed onto a public bus to get to campus.  This morning started out like all the others, but with one big difference.  The passengers in the seats in front, and behind me were talking about Jesus.  I noticed this, but didn’t think much more about it.  In my first class a couple of students seated next to me were discussing Jesus!  In the cafeteria lunch line folks in front of me, and behind me were conversing about Jesus!  The afternoon consisted of more of the same; over-hearing random conversations about Jesus everywhere I went!  It was the most bizarre thing that had ever happened to me.  After a whole week of this  God had my attention.  It was clear God was telling me that not only did He exist, but He heard my prayer, and was answering it in a very obvious way.  God wanted me to know that His Son Jesus was real too, and the only way to relationship with God was through His Son!  The end of that day I fell on my knees again, but this time in absolute belief in God and His Son, Jesus.

God spoke to me, “ Are you going to give your life to me, or are you going to keep going your own way?”  Now I had to make the biggest decision of my life.  

I knew it was time to get off the fence with God.  My Creator cared about me, and knew what was best for me.  John 3:16 was true:  “For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him will have everlasting life.”  I prayed,  “God, I’m yours.  And I believe Jesus is Your Son, and that He took the punishment for all the wrong choices I’ve made.  Take my life.”

That’s when God began the work of healing my emotional wounds.  The empty places in my heart, and spirit were filled by God.  His love was palpable.  I was being transformed from the inside out by the Creator of the universe.  The Bible became alive to me for the first time.  I grew into relationship with a loving God through prayer, and Bible study, and Christian fellowship.  I became a different person, a stronger person.  I began treating myself with grace and forgiveness, because that’s how Jesus treated me!  God valued me, and that made me value myself.

But satan wasn’t giving me up without a fight.  One warm spring night as I crawled into bed the temperature in the room instantly dropped to freezing.  A “presence” entered the room; an evil presence.  Overcome with terror I witnessed a palpable darkness fill the room; it was satan himself.  He didn’t bother disguising himself as an “angel of light” as he is sometimes referred to in the Bible.  He came wrapped in a darkness fringed with the chill of fear.  I pulled the covers up to my mouth, and froze in panic.  What did he want?  I no sooner asked this question then satan whispered coldly in my ear, “How do you know God is real?”  That’s all he said.  His sole desire was to bring doubt, and insecurity into my new found faith; to come between me and God.  

I was in no hurry to answer.  Too much was at stake in this moment.  Satan was putting

my faith to the test.  Slowly, carefully I chose my words, “Satan, I can’t see you but I can feel...your...presence, and hear...your...voice.  So I know you are real.  In the same way, I can’t see God, but I can feel...His...presence, and hear...His...voice.  So I also know God is real.  If you are this real so is God!  In the name of Jesus, and the blood He shed on the cross, get out of this room!”  The moment I said the name of Jesus the darkness disappeared, and the cold vanished.  

I sprang out of bed, switched the light on, and read my Bible for the next hour.  That was the last time satan would directly contact me.  He was defeated because I acknowledged my dependence on Jesus, who defeated satan when he rose from the grave!  Without Jesus I could not have been victorious against satan’s attack.  

This marked a new stage of spiritual growth in my life; a time of confidence and peace in Christ!  A few months later God blessed me with a completely different kind of spiritual experience to counter the one satan gave me.  (Read the rest of the story in my blog entitled "Demons and Angels" in July, '13)              

HAVE YOU EVER FELT USELESS?

My sister, Jeannie Bartel, wrote this recently.  I asked her permission to put it on my blog, and she said yes.  I hope it speaks to you as much as it did to me.  

God taught me an incredible lesson yesterday.  There have been many times in my life when I questioned my value to God.  I questioned whether He would ever be able to use me, because I felt like such a failure and disappointment.  Life had taken such drastic negative turns, and I simply couldn’t imagine that God would use me given my messed up life.

I pick my 92 year old mom up every Sunday for lunch, and yesterday God used her to teach me a valuable lesson.  She told me she had gone to the thrift store, and bought a bunch of stuffed animals.  I must admit, my first thoughts were, “Oh no!  She’s losing it!”  When I questioned her about the purchase, she told me there are a number of employees at the retirement facility where she lives that have young children.  Occasionally they will bring their children in, and she wanted to be prepared to give them a gift.

 She also plays “candy bingo” every week.  My mom is a diabetic, and can’t eat candy so she puts her winnings in a box next to her chair, and whenever one of the employees comes into her apartment to do anything for her, she gives them a candy bar.  Just a little something to show her appreciation. 

Then, there is the lady who moved in a few months ago who doesn’t speak, and has a very difficult time eating.  My mom observed her at lunch one day, and noticed she could hardly get the food in her mouth. She went over to her, sat down, and asked if she could help.  Mother proceeded to feed this lady her lunch.  Since then, whenever she sees her in the lobby or dining room she always goes over, and talks to her.  Even though she can’t respond in any way, my mom just figures she must be lonely, and needs a friend. 

This last week, she was telling a resident about a book she had read that my sister sent her.  It was a book about angels, and how God uses them in our lives.  The lady she was talking to said, “Oh that sounds like a book I would love to read, but my eyes are so bad I can’t read anymore.”  My mom asked her if she would like her to come by every evening after dinner, and read a few chapters from the book.  She accepted the offer with much appreciation! 

I looked at my mom and said, “God has given you such an incredible ministry at Emeritus! You are really touching lives mother!”  She shared with me that when she lost daddy a few years ago, and then hit her 90’s not long after he passed, she just didn’t feel as if she could contribute to society any longer.  She felt useless!  Then God began to open up opportunities to do these things for the residents and employees at Emeritus.  But she never looked at it as a ministry until yesterday!

I went home and thought about my own life and how useless I have felt over the years.  Especially the 4 to 5 years following my divorce.  Even today, I sometimes question if God can use me!  Then I am reminded of Joseph, abused and even sold by his own brothers.  Abraham and Sarah were too old, but together a child was conceived.  Moses ran from Egypt because he had killed a man.  David was a boy who became a king.  He had an affair, lied, killed an innocent man, then had to face his sin.  Jonah ran from God, but could not find a place to hide.  Job went bankrupt and lost everything.  The Samaritan woman was divorced many times.  Peter ,the Rock, denied Jesus three times.  The disciples fell asleep when they were asked to pray.  Zacchaeus was too small and despised as a tax collector.  Martha worried about everything.  Thomas was full of doubt, and Paul persecuted the Christians!  Yet God loved them, healed them, and used them all!

It doesn’t matter who we are, or what we have done in our past.  With Jesus Christ our Savior, the impossible can be done.  It has nothing to do with how good or bad we are, or that our life may be a mess!  It’s the fact that we can be changed by the blood of Jesus Christ. So the next time you (or I) question our usefulness to God, the next time we entertain the thought, “God can’t use me, I’m damaged, I’m not talented, I’m a new Christian and don’t know enough about the Bible, I’m not outgoing, I’m too young or too old, think back on all the people God used in the Bible to touch, heal, love, and share the good news of a loving God!  If He could use a prostitute, a divorcee, a tax collector, and a murderer, He can certainly use you and me!

“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do good things He planned for us long ago.”  Ephesians 2:10

Below is a photo of our mother (Neva Krueger), my sister, Jeannie, and I celebrating our mother's birthday in July, 2012.

MAKE 'EM LAUGH!

During my first marriage poverty was our constant companion.  My husband worked minimum wage jobs which he changed frequently, but still insisted I be a stay-at-home mom to our children the first six years.  But as soon as our youngest of three was out of diapers I took part-time jobs; cleaning houses, making pizzas for Safeway, clerking at a health food coop.  Whatever I could find that I could do when my husband was home suited me.  It was usually just a few hours here and there a week, but these small jobs enabled me to buy stuff for the kids and myself that we otherwise wouldn’t be able to afford.  In all  honesty I have to confess I desperately looked forward to time away from the house and young children several times a week.  I think I would have gone crazy without those chances to get away.

Winters were particularly hard on me.  Feelings of depression during the long, dark, and cold winter months in Eastern Oregon drug me down into despair.  When I heard our little community was getting a roller skating rink in the summer I was thrilled.  When the Skatin‘ Gator finally opened I went whenever I had a few dollars to spare.  Gradually I developed my “skating legs”, and could actually stay upright most of the time.  The following winter when the blues came back full force I headed to my doctor.  I was desperate for relief.  Dr. Wesley Allen wasn’t the kind of physician to reach for the prescription pad first thing.  He wasn’t a “pill pusher” as I call those doctors who are quick to recommend anti-depressants.  In stead he asked me what I enjoyed doing.  After a minute I answered, “Roller skating.  I love roller skating.”  Without hesitation he reached for his prescription pad, and wrote, “Roller skating once or more a week for depression.”  Dr. Allen handed it to me with all seriousness.  “Try this.” he said.

I put the piece of paper in my purse, and looked at it again when I got home.  But how can I afford to go as often as I need to for this depression?  I headed to bed that night with that question weighing heavily on my mind.  The following morning I had an answer.  Employees skate free!  Approaching the owner/manager one evening I asked him about working for him.  His immediate response was, “I don’t hire women.  Young, good looking guys bring in customers.  Women, especially your age, don’t.  Sorry.”  This was in 1981, and employers could say things like this without getting into trouble.

His response only discouraged me briefly.  There had to be a way to become indispensable to this business.  What could I bring to this roller skating rink that they didn’t have?  What skills did I have that those good looking young men didn’t?  I thought about my talents as a mime artist.  In high school I studied mime; the art of communicating and entertaining without the use of words.  Since graduating I developed my skills in this area of entertaining.  Occasionally I performed as a mime for my church, and community.  Clowning!  If I could mime I could clown!  I would develop a persona, a face, and design a costume.  This would be a roller skating clown called Toe Stops, and I’d offer my services for parties.  A month later I was ready to make my grand entrance at the Skatin‘ Gator.

The costume consisted of bright blue satin knee length bloomers with rainbow suspenders.  A lemon yellow, long sleeved t-shirt with a big rainbow on the front went perfectly.  My face was painted with a muzzle-faced design in bright colors of make-up topped with a bright red nose.  I wore my hair in pig tails with a white bonnet, and wore colorful knee-high socks with skates, of course.  I choose a quiet afternoon to make my entrance.  John Geesbreght was standing by the concession stand when I rolled up to him.  “Hi!  I’m Toe Stops, your roller skating party clown!”  

The owner reacted with surprise, then a big grin crossed his face.  “Do I know you?” he asked.  I could see the wheels spinning as he tried to figure out who I was.  

“How about hiring me as your party clown?  A little birdie told me you needed one.”

Without a second thought he said, “Yes, I’ll hire you as my clown!  Now tell me who you are.”

I finally answered his question, and John just laughed.  

“By golly, you got me to hire you!  Congratulations!”

My first party was the following Saturday.  I never had so much fun going to work.  That was in April of 1981.  During the years at the rink I worked for two owners as a clown, floor guard, DJ, concessions, skating instructor, and even assistant manager when they were between owners.  Most of my hours were in the evenings and weekends when I could take my kids.  I became an accomplished skater, and got into the best shape of my life.  Some great friendships were made, and my depression during the winters completely disappeared.

In 1985 the curvature of my spine, due to scoliosis, advanced to the point that it required surgery to stabilize my back.  It would mean an end to my roller skating days.  I went on to develop a non-skating clown called "Spare Ribs", and continued clowning for another fifteen years!  But I often remember with fondness wonderful old Dr. Wesley Allen, and that thoughtful approach to a young mother’s depression.

HOW GOD BROUGHT A MAN AND A WOMAN TOGETHER

The last thing I ever expected life to throw at me was divorce.  I took our wedding vows dead serious; till death us do part.  Period.  Neither my parents nor my husband’s parents ever talked about such things much less did them.  It wasn’t even an option for them.  I remember asking my dad once at the age of 14 why he stayed married to mother.  They’d just had another one of their big fights three days before, and hadn’t spoken to each other since.  At that time I had no memories of them being affectionate, or even kind to one another.  Mother would get fed up about something, and go on a tirade.  Vicious words spilled out creating volumes of heated accusations.  My dad wouldn’t say a word.  He’d go silent, leaving the one-sided conversation figuratively, and eventually literally by exiting the room.  My dad thought a moment about this sincere question from his teenage firstborn.  “I stay because of you girls.  If I left your mother the court would give her custody.  My whole life is you three girls.”  

This incident occurred in the 60‘s when, in the great majority of divorce cases, the mother got custody of the kids.  My dad wasn’t exaggerating when he told me us girls were his life.  He was the most devoted of fathers.  Everything he did was for us.  All his leisure time was dedicated to us.  He dropped everything if we requested a ride somewhere.  He was always available to assist with homework, or school assignments.  Weekends were spent doing whatever we wanted; shopping, roller skating, movies, picnics, swimming and eating out.  He always accompanied us.  Our friends loved my dad because he regularly included them in these fun activities.  Vacations were planned around what us girls wanted to do, and my mother was not consulted.  But my parents, products of the Great Depression and WWII, stayed together in spite of their lack of relationship, because that’s just what you did for the sake of the children.

But that wasn’t a good enough reason for me to stay in a miserable marriage.  I desired relationship with my husband of fifteen years, and affection, and communication.  These things gradually disappeared over the childbearing years in spite of my efforts.  Of course the story of what happened and why is much more complicated then that, but for now that's all I want to say.  So at the age of 37 I found myself separated, with our 9, 11 and 13 year old children.  On welfare, with no car, and no job skills I found myself back in school at our local state college.  In 1988 the government had a program to assist “displaced” homemakers who only had a few years left to acquire a college degree.  I qualified to continue receiving welfare and food stamps while finishing up my college education!  A part time job on campus enabled me to buy books and school supplies.  I excelled in my studies, earning a 4 point each term.  This qualified me for another wonderful program.  The college rewarded low income adults who kept a 3.5 GPA or higher with a tuition waver.

Life was full with parenting, studying, and working.  But I still found time to join the speech club, and participate in theater productions.  In spite of all this busyness and fulfilling activities I felt hollow.  I treasured the idea of sharing my whole life with a forever partner.  I’d always imagined myself married.  Life had to be absolutely miserable for several years before I walked out the door on the marriage of my youth.  After a year and a half of separation I was so distraught with single life that I told the father of my children I would not file for divorce.  I wanted to just separate with the hope we could perhaps make another attempt at reconciling.  With tears I asked his forgiveness for the pain I caused him, and pleaded with him to give our marriage another chance.  His response was a firm, “No”.  He said he didn’t trust me, didn’t need me, and was enjoying his life without me.  There was clearly no discussing the option.  He would file for divorce since I wouldn’t.  This was in August of 1989.

Firmly closing this door filled me with such sorrow.  I don’t want anyone to misunderstand me.  I didn’t miss the cruelty, or the rejection, or the emotional pain inflicted on me.   But I would miss never being married again.  I said to myself, “No man is going to have anything to do with a divorced woman on welfare with three teenagers.”  There was a second reason I gave up my dream of sharing life’s joys and sorrows with a partner.  The deacons of my Baptist church made it clear I would be going against God’s will to date or pursue a relationship with another man because the divorce wasn’t a result of adultery.  They explained to me that I would have to remain single the remainder of my life.  This church doctrine left me feeling unworthy and damaged; unfit to be another man’s wife.  A door slammed forever shut.  Part of my womanhood was being smothered and chocked into submission.  I went unwillingly down that road.

In the book of Micah (chapter 4, verse 12) in the Bible it states, “But they do not know the thoughts of the Lord; they do not understand His plan.”  How true this proved to be in my life!  The month after my husband shut the door on our reconciling I met the man who would become my “forever partner”.  

Here I was approaching the fall term of my Junior year, and my advisor noticed my lack of science credits.  I hated science and avoided these classes because I was afraid a poor grade would ruin the perfect grade point average I’d achieved.  But the advisor reminded me I could not get my degree without fifteen credits of science.  So on his advice I took Geology 201 with Dr. Jay Van Tassell.

The first day of class blew away all my preconceived ideas of what a nightmare science might be for me.  The instructor was humorous, self-effacing, and piqued my curiosity about rocks.  I’d always imagined scientists to be serious and droll, but Dr. Van Tassell was anything but.  He kept this class of 40 students on their toes, inviting interaction and questions.  One minute he’d be in front of the blackboard lecturing, and next minute he’d be standing on a desk in one quick leap!  He never stood still, and used grand gestures to reinforce his point.  We headed outside for part of the class to practice using a  piece of surveying equipment.  Dr. Van Tassell brought his camera with him, and took a photo of me using the instrument.  That would be a foreshadowing!  

But the one physical characteristic which stood out to me that afternoon was this man’s deeply etched smile lines in his deeply tanned face.  This was someone who appeared to be a happy person; a positive person.  He obviously spent a lot of time outdoors also.    The next thing I looked for was a wedding ring.  Just a watch.  Somehow I knew this man wasn’t married, but why wasn’t he married!?!  I decided during that first class to get to know this person better.

Fall term began on Thursday, and on the following Saturday I was hired as a clown for the downtown “Crazy Days” at One Smart Cookie, a little eatery I worked at occasionally.  Arriving in full costume and make-up to stand in front of the store, who should be setting up a table with a rock display right next to me but Dr. Van Tassell!  I couldn’t pass up such a great opportunity to surprise him.  “How are you doing, Dr. Van Tassell?”  He got this shocked expression on his face that a clown would know his name and asked, “Do I know you?  And please call me Jay.”  I explained that I was in his 201 Geology class at the college, and that I would introduce myself to him on Monday.  Once again he pulled out his camera to take my photograph!

The following Monday I presented Dr. Van Tassell with his very own rubber clown nose, and introduced myself.  He reminded me once again to call him Jay, and laughed at the bright crimson nose.  I noticed for the first time how thin he was so I decided to bring him some cookies and milk from One Smart Cookie sometime in the near future.  He seldom left his office during the noon-hour just before our 1PM class so I began popping in on him to visit during that time.  

During our noon-hour visits I learned much about Jay.  He was single, from New York, and dedicated to teaching.  This was only his second year at Eastern.  He was my age, 37 years old.  And he loved the cookies and milk I brought him on a regular basis!  He didn’t like taking time out to eat lunch when he was working, so he really appreciated the snacks I brought.  

Two weeks into fall term our class traveled in vans on our first geology field trip to Boulder Park Landslide, and up the neck of a volcanic cone by the name of Sawtooth Crater.  I observed him go up and down the steep trail three different times to keep track of those of us who straggled.  Four years before I had a twelve inch titanium rod placed internally along my spine, and my back was fused due to scoliosis.  Needless to say, as a “non-traditional” (meaning older then average) student, and hampered by my back I was the last person to make it up the mountain.  In the school van on our way home I thought to myself, “Jay would only be attracted to someone who could keep up with him physically.  He’d probably be drawn to an in-shape female athletic type.”  

It became my goal to get to know the teaching assistant for this class because Jay seemed to like her a lot.  Her name was Connie, she was a 37 year old divorcee on welfare with three kids my age; my exact circumstances!  What were the odds of that?  She invited me and my youngest son to come along to a folk dance out at Hot Lake which she and Jay were headed to one evening with her youngest daughter.  I was thrilled to be invited.  I asked Connie if she was as interested in Jay as he seemed to be with her, and she assured me, “No.  He isn’t my type.  But if you are interested in him go for it.”  I simply blushed.

The night of the folk dance arrived, and Connie canceled at the last minute.  Jay was obviously upset, but asked me if I and my son would like to go with him anyway.  I said yes, and we had a fun evening in spite of Jay’s disappointment at being “stood up” by Connie.  It didn’t take him long to realize his interest in Connie wasn’t reciprocated.  If the object of his admiration hadn’t been in a situation so similar to mine I would have never thought I had a chance with this fascinating man.  I’m very thankful for Connie, and our eerily similar circumstances!

As our noon-hour visits continued I began to figure out why this delightful guy was not married.  To put it simply, he was shy.  Watching him in the classroom you would never know this.  His excellent teaching skills, and confident leadership style kept this side of his personality very well hidden.  But outside of the classroom he was awkward, and uncomfortable taking the lead.  With our month-long Christmas break about to begin I decided to make the first move, and ask Jay out on a date.  But I didn’t want to get him into trouble with the administration so I approached my advisor. “What are the rules about student/teacher dating?” was my question.  He asked about our ages.  When I explained we were the same age he simply said with a grin, “Have fun!”

I was performing in a student-directed stage comedy the last day of fall term finals.  This would be a perfect show to invite Jay to attend, followed by the cast and crew party at the director’s house just a few blocks from campus.  Jay seemed not a bit surprised when I asked him to join me.  At the party the two of us conversed in a corner, and forgot anyone else was at the house, focusing totally on each other for two hours.  As the evening came to an end Jay and I agreed to meet the next day, and the next, and the next.  Christmas tree cutting, cooking dinners with my kids, long drives in the woods, and lots and lots of talking filled our days.  I sensed no discomfort on his part concerning me having three children, or being on welfare.  He was very relaxed around my kids, and treated them like college students; with respect and courtesy. 

Jay also respected my physical boundaries, and need for being in control of our physical relationship.  As an incest survivor I had a lot of reservations about intimacy.  My husband was the only man I’d ever slept with.  One afternoon while watching a movie at my house Jay leaned in for a kiss.  This sent me into a panic.  Explaining I needed to be in control, even so far as holding hands, Jay agreed to respect my request.  This impressed me beyond words.  I didn’t want anything to stand in the way of our getting to know each other in the deepest sense of the word.  I’d seen couples engaging in physical intimacy too soon get in the way of developing real intimacy.        

We did not miss a single day enjoying each other’s company throughout December until Christmas week.  Jay explained he always spent the week of Christmas with his family in New York.  The night before he left to fly back east Jay brought over a large gift-wrapped box with my name on it.  My nine year old son joined us that evening, and he couldn’t wait to see what was in the box.  I sat on the floor in front of our Christmas tree, and ripped the paper off the box.  My son shouted, “Mom, it’s a microwave!”  I assured my son it was not a microwave; the gift was just packed in an empty microwave box.  But as I opened it there was indeed a brand new microwave inside.  A microwave!  I'd spent 15 years of marriage in poverty.  I’d never owned a new appliance of any kind.  Yet here sat a brand new microwave with my name on it.  I began to cry, and my son hugged me.  “Why are you crying, mom?”  How do I explain not feeling worthy of such a wonderfully thoughtful gift?  How do I explain being overwhelmed by such generosity?  “I’m crying because I’m happy.” came my simple answer.

That was just one of many times I witnessed Jay’s generosity towards others.  Jay did not covet material things.  He dressed like a pauper in t-shirts, and worn out work pants, and old long sleeve wool shirts with worn collars.  He drove a 1979 Volvo station wagon.  He was house sitting that year in a small one bedroom solar-heated cabin.  The only things inside that were his were some David Muench framed prints, a couple of spider plants, his sound system, and harmonicas.  Jay stored his personal geology and camping equipment, and rock collection in the geology department at school.  A simple life-style suited him.  It certainly matched the way he dressed!  Hard to imagine him growing up in Westchester County, New York on a private lake just an hour from Manhatten.  Jay assured me Eastern Oregon felt like home to him, and he would choose it over Westchester County any day.

Jay flew east to spend the holiday with his family.  Seven days later he arrived back home in an Eastern Oregon blizzard.  Calling his home phone over and over (this was before cell phones) he finally picked up at 2 AM after a treacherous drive over the mountains from the nearest airport, an hour’s drive away.  Those seven days felt more like seven weeks to me.  Missing him terribly I asked,  “Do you want to come over and tell me about your trip?”  He drove straight to my house.  After a few hours we both confessed our deep feelings for each other, and Jay asked if he could kiss me.  It was a lovely, gentle kiss!  I put on a cassette tape of romantic folk music, and we danced and danced around the small kitchen floor of my rental home.  Reluctantly, he finally drove home to get some sleep.

The weekend before winter term began in January Jay and I headed to Lehman Hot Springs for a delightful soak in the outdoor springs while snow fell all around us.  Magical!  That evening after a meal of mexican food Jay sat me down in his office to view slides of his family back in New York.  When he got to photos of his sister’s wedding he commented, “If I was getting married I would want it outdoors in the mountains.  By a glacial lake would be perfect.”  A look of surprise came over Jay’s face, and his hand went up to his mouth.  “I think I’m asking you to marry me!”  These words, spoken in slight astonishment, turned his face crimson.  This man was a confirmed bachelor; his whole life dedicated to the avocation of teaching.  The summer months were spent taking care of his mother and her home, and traveling.  At 37 years old he’d never dated until I came along.  So to find himself talking marriage took him by surprise as much as it did me!  I just grinned as I answered, “I think I’m saying Yes!”

We discussed the wisdom of a long engagement to give my children a chance to adjust to the idea.  And his mother would need time to adjust to sharing her son with another woman.  But there was another reason we decided to wait a year and a half.  Jay wanted to enjoy the experience of dating before getting married.  This was all new to him; his first kiss, first dance, first date movie, first Ferris wheel ride!  He wanted to enjoy all these firsts.  I could't argue with that!  So after one month of officially dating we set the date of our wedding for June 29th of 1991, a year and a half away.  

The first day of winter term I sat across from my advisor.  Trying hard to mask my giddiness I  asked with all the seriousness I could muster, “What are the rules about a student marrying their professor?”  He looked up from the paperwork on his desk, and responded, “Wow, April.  You work fast!  Have fun!”

By the time I graduated I had eight different geology courses to my credit.  And I kept my perfect GPA.  But I assure you I worked harder for my A's than any other student because Jay didn't want any hint of impropriety!  Jay says the day he took my photo during class is the first and only time he has ever taken a student's photo on the very first day of class.  He keeps that photo on the desk in his office at school!

On a cold, rainy day on June 29th we were married outdoors at Anthony Lakes; a beautiful glacial lake at 7,000 feet elevation.  With snow on the ground and umbrellas over our heads a pastor and his wife united us in marriage.  Jay did not want me to put an announcement in the paper because he values his privacy.  However, he forgot the student he'd invited to video tape our ceremony also worked at the local newspaper.  Returning from our honeymoon to the coast we discovered our wedding photo on the front half page of the newspaper!  I thought it was a great surprise.    

Jay and I celebrated our 23rd wedding anniversary in June of 2014.  We’ve had our ups and downs, but I’ve never regretted accepting Jay’s “surprise” proposal that January in 1990.  My children grew to love him, and they each consider him a good friend.  Jay never lost his servant’s heart.  He has literally cared for me in sickness and in health!  Twice I have come close to dying, and Jay cared for me until I was well.  I found a new church family when the Baptist church informed me of their disapproval of my dating.  They also disapproved because Jay was not of my faith.  He comes from a Quaker background.  But we found a church body that loves and accepts both Jay and I unconditionally!  I have no doubt my heavenly Father brought us together.  

God orchestrated so many factors for Jay and I to find each other.  What if Jay hadn’t taken this teaching job in the wilds of Eastern Oregon the year before?  What if I decided not to go back to college?  What if my advisor hadn’t suggested I take geology for my science credits?  What if I continued to believe no man would ever want to marry a divorcee on welfare with three children?  What if I surrendered to the doctrine of my church that a divorced person remain single the remainder of their lives?  What if?

 “For I know the plans I have for you, ‘Declares the Lord’.  Plans to prosper you and not to harm you; plans to give you hope and a future.  Then you will call upon Me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.  You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart.”  Jeremiah 29: 11-13