#1. Meeting My Two Great Loves

I was standing with my boyfriend at what I dubbed, in later years, the smoker’s corner – the area at the edge of the road in front of our local high school, designated for students who smoked.  We all – the smokers – congregated there before and between classes, when we had a few extra minutes to smoke a cigarette. 

It was a cold winter morning, and I was leaning into my boyfriend’s body, using him to block the icy wind, when I saw her drive up in her boxy little Audi, with Mr. Adams in the front passenger seat and his son, Dan, in the back.  Dan leapt out the minute the car came to a stop, practically loping away from the car and toward the front doors of the high school.  His dad, my typing teacher, got out after Dan, and I remember thinking, “Poor Mr. Adams.  He has to be married to such an old lady”, as Mrs. Adams, the driver of the little foreign car was as white-haired as any 90-year-old grandmother.  I learned, in later years, that she was actually about 5 years younger than her husband, who still had dark hair.

I remember Dan and his unique walk – his feet rolling up onto the balls as he walked, giving the appearance of a deer about to spring into a run – his crazy auburn-colored, long, fuzzy hair that wouldn’t lay down, but stood out in all directions on his head like an afro, the bright reddish-brown freckles that seemed to cover every speck of exposed skin, the longest, skinniest legs I’d ever seen, and his army-green puff coat.

But we were from different worlds. 

I was a bit of a rebel – not a loud, in-your-face type rebel, but a quietly going-to-do-my-own-thing rebel.  It got me into trouble sometimes. 

He was a teacher’s kid.  An athlete (I presumed).  A straight-A student (I also presumed).  Liked by all (again, I presumed).

I didn’t give him a second thought that day.  I saw him get out of his parent’s car and go into the school building. 

I remember it, now, like it was yesterday; like a moving painting hanging on my wall that I glance at every time I walk by.

That time in my life was a very troubled time.  My parents were having serious marriage problems.  Our home was never really your a-typical happy American family.  There was a lot of love, of course.  But there was also a lot of fighting between my parents, from my parents toward their 5 children, and of course, between all of the siblings.

During my teens, though, things escalated between my parents and there was a lot of serious and sometimes violent fighting, threatening, separating and talk of divorce.

As a result, I was much happier to be with my not-so-good boyfriend, who led me into all kinds of sinful and even harmful behavior – drugs, alcohol, sex, lying and cheating, skipping school, and all manner of “bad behavior”.

During this time in our family’s life, my mom sought out a local pastor to help her find peace again, and began attending his tiny church.  We called it “the church above the flower shop” because that is where it was located – in the upstairs area of an old brick building on the corner of Main and Elm in what is (once again) our little town, up above the local flower shop.  This pastor had just started a non-denominational church – one of the first of its kind, especially for our small-town area in Kansas – and my mom began attending, oftentimes dragging me, kicking and screaming, along with her.

Turns out, Mrs. Adams, the white-haired wife of my typing teacher, was my mom’s new best friend.  She and her son, Dan, attended Blessed Hope – this new little church – as well. 

I found this church interesting and slowly gravitated toward not hating it as badly as I had at first, but I was still not convinced about the whole “Christian” thing. I was brought up to believe in Jesus, but I had turned my back on Him and wanted nothing to do with Him anymore, or so I thought.  There was, however, a very cute boy whose mom also attended this church, and I dated him for a short amount of time.  He, too, was a bad boy and pushed me into more bad behavior. 

But, unbeknownst to me, I was being wooed by the Holy Spirit.  The Lord Himself was drawing my heart toward Himself and my heart was softening.  I was also becoming weary of the bad boy scene, felt empty, and lacked any vision for a future for myself.  I needed something.  I needed some One.  But I still didn’t know what or whom.

I did know, though, that I liked cars!  And that cute son of Mr. and Mrs. Adams had a very cool ’66 Mustang Coup and I wanted a ride in it!

About 3 weeks before the start of my senior year of high school, I was sitting on the front porch steps of the old 2-story farm house my family lived in, and I heard the sound of a very cool, albeit noisy car coming down our road – Main Street in the tiny town of Edgerton, Kansas.  I heard it slow down as it approached our home and I saw that cute son of Mrs. Adams, in his very cool ’66 Mustang, looking at me as he coasted by. 

I was, at that time in my life (just turned 17 years old) rather shy and cautious when it came to interacting with anyone I didn’t know well.  But that hot August day, with another school year, and the peer pressure to do things I didn’t want to do, rapidly approaching, I threw caution to the wind, jumped up off the concrete steps of the porch and jogged out to the street.  By this time Dan had slowed to a stop as I came around the back of that awesome car and up to his window, which was already open, and he was gazing at me through his slightly crooked eye glasses, with a genuinely caring look, though I was too jaded and hardened to boys to notice that at the time.

I said a quick hello, then asked him if he would take me for a ride in his car. 

He didn’t even flinch at my outrageous boldness, but told me to go tell my mom where I was going and he would then take me for a ride.

I was sold at that moment, though, again, I didn’t realize it. 

Every boy I’d dated or been with had always prompted me to sneak around behind my parents’ backs or blatantly lie to them, to get me where they wanted me so they could take advantage of me in one way or another. 

This boy seemed to genuinely care about me and my well-being, and as foreign to me as it was at the time, he seemed to care about having the respect of my parents.

I don’t remember a thing about that car ride that day, probably because I was mortified by my own behavior – chasing down a boy and asking him to give me a ride in his car!  It must have gone well, though, because soon after, we went out on our first date. 

I had never been out on a date with a “good” boy, so I don’t think I really knew what to expect.  I wore a favorite shirt, which wasn’t actually mine, but one borrowed from my little sister’s friend, that was bright yellow, rather form-fitting and said, “Take me, I’m yours” across the front of it.

He came to the house in tan wide-wale corduroys and a tan Henley t-shirt.  I can’t remember if he had his signature Converse shoes on, but I’m guessing he did, because he always did! 

He had decided that we needed to go play miniature golf.  But I’d never done anything like that, and my fear of failing in front of someone I barely knew forced me to insist we do something a little less scary, like the movies.  And I had been dying to see the new Beatles movie, Sargent Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.  Now I’m dating myself, aren’t I?  It was released in 1978, about a month before our first date.  I think we must’ve gone to Taco Via, a favorite of Dan’s, before we went to the movie, and that was also a first for me.  My family simply didn’t eat out much, so I hardly even knew how to order for myself.  My kind-hearted date did the ordering for me, setting my anxious heart at ease for the evening. 

We went out a couple of times before the start of the school year, talking about various things in our lives, trying to overcome the awkwardness of getting to know each other.  The two things we had in common was the high school we both attended, though Dan had been out of school for a couple of years, and the church we both attended along with our moms.  Dan was a Christian, I could tell, and was all-in.  I was still observing and considering the path I’d take, though I knew I didn’t want to continue down the one I’d been on, and with the start of school and knowing I’d be around the same bad influences from the past, I was ready for something to change, though I didn’t know what or how. 

I still remember very clearly a conversation we had one afternoon as he was driving me home.  He asked me if I’d ever been baptized.  I looked over at him and said, “Maybe.  I don’t know.  I’ll ask my mom”, thinking he was talking about some kind of water baptism when I was a baby.  I knew Dan’s mom was previously a Catholic and that he had been raised Catholic, so I thought that question was coming from something in his Catholic background.  But he was talking about being baptized in the Holy Spirit – something I knew nothing about, and caused me to wonder about his sanity.  But that conversation planted a seed in my heart and mind. 

Just before the start of the school year, our pastor preached a sermon during a Wednesday night service about some rather ungodly things – witchcraft, Ouija boards, rebellion, manipulation, and other such things.  I wish I could sound a little more Christian and say I remember him saying something about Jesus, but I can’t!  I can only remember hearing him talk about the things I was involved with at the time.  The things I thought it was fun to dabble in, but knew in my heart was nothing of the kind. 

My heart was convicted.  Deeply convicted. 

When Pastor Harvey gave an altar call at the end of the service, I knew I had to go forward.  I knew I needed to be forgiven for the godless things I’d been involved in, and I knew I wanted Jesus in my heart.  I needed Him in my heart, desperately. 

I was told, after the meeting, that there was a tangible presence of the Lord with us that evening, and that most of the congregation stayed late to pray with me and our pastor as I poured out my heart to the Lord, asking Him for forgiveness for my sins, as I wept before Him.  After many minutes of intense confessing, repenting, and praying the prayer our pastor led me to pray, I got up from my knees feeling like I’d shed a weight I didn’t realize was too heavy for me to carry.  I’d never felt so clean, light and free before in my entire life.  I was truly forgiven, loved and filled with the Holy Spirit of God, and I loved Him intensely for saving me from the wretched existence I’d been living before that night.