Author: Kymberly

Written by Dale Buchanan

The diversity of the congregants of Big Red Church never fails to amaze me. Stepping from the pews this week is Rosalie Brown. This woman is a perfect example of the wonderful and amazing variety of Christians who worship and fellowship at Big Red. 

Rosalie was born in Jamaica City, a middle-class neighborhood in the New York City borough of Queens. For me, this fact alone is enough to establish the veracity of my claim to our diversity. I was born and raised in Fresno, the offspring of depression era Okies. As far as I know, I had never met anyone born in Queens. I most certainly had never heard of Jamaica City, and here I was sitting across the table from a woman with stories to tell. 

Gayle and I met Rosalie in the church parlor one afternoon last week, and we talked. Scheduling this busy woman had been difficult and Rosalie was pressed for time with another meeting right after our interview. I was so excited that I could hardly sit still as we engaged in the mandatory preliminary chit-chat. I got my chance when the ladies spoke of the Transitions group which was Rosalie’s next stop. The Transitions group is another of those groups that meet at Big Red that I had no idea existed. I asked, “what is a Transitions group?”   That question opened the door and we were off to the races. 

“Transitions is a small group of folks who fall into a broad category each of us trying to make sense of our lives. We deal with aging and provide emotional and mental support.”

My next question was, “How long did you live in Jamaica City?”  This led to a discussion of her childhood.

“We lived there just three or four years. Dad was a skilled mechanic and worked in the instrument shop of American Airlines. He organized the workers in a union. Management recognizing his business acumen, moved him into management which resulted in in a series of long-distance moves. This was good for dad’s career, but now so good for little kids.

Our first stop was Tulsa, Oklahoma. The school I attended when we first moved there was old and worn with no electricity—only natural light. We lived in Tulsa from kindergarten to fourth grade. My favorite memories of those years are learning the Golden rule, playing in the dirt, and loving the kids next door. It was there I learned a powerful lesson. Two girls get along fine, but add a third and someone gets picked on. In my case, it was me who got stuffed in a toy box with the lid slammed shut. They eventually let me out, but I was scared to death. Oh, and I remember I had a boyfriend in Tulsa at that tender age who gave me rides home from school on his bicycle. 

Next it was on to Dallas, Texas, for the fifth and sixth grades. I remember vividly the Russian Sputnik and its voyage into outer space. Then it was back to New York for junior and senior high school.

Mom was a creative artist. She worked on Fifth Avenue creating high-end jewelry. What I remember most is that she was a trusted employee who walked without fear from her place of employment to Saks Fifth Avenue with large sums of money. Another precious memory of mother is her taking us outside after a fresh snow and placing us on cookie sheets for sleds so we could slide gleefully down the driveway. 

After graduation from high school, I enrolled in Stonybrook State University as a chemistry major. I discovered almost immediately that this was not for me!  Dad took me to the University of Arizona in Tucson where I felt at home in the Architecture department. It was there that I met a fellow student named Wayne. We courted mostly at school. He was a year ahead of me and critiqued my presentations. Our common interest in architecture led us to marriage and children. We have been blessed with three sons and a daughter. The responsibilities of motherhood cut my studies short.”

Gayle asked, “Did you ever get your degree?”  “Yes, I did. When we moved to Fresno, I enrolled at Fresno State and received my B.A. in Landscape Design. With that degree in hand, I worked for three different landscape architects and then ran my own business. Much later I went back to school and obtained a teaching credential.”  I taught third grade for four and a half years, and now l substitute but only in high schools. 

To relax I read, practice yoga, and do weight lifting. I especially enjoy spending time with friends. I am a docent at the zoo and love to teach visiting classes about the Arctic and the Rain Forest.”

Rosalie, “I have noticed that you sing in the choir. Has music been a part of your life?”  “I sang in choirs in high school and college and have been in the choir here at Big Red for twenty-five years. And, we always had music in our home growing up. My father played classical music and mother loved dancing to waltzes. In fact, my mother and father met at a New Year’s Eve dance. 

Music has a long history in my family. My grandfather was a church organist. Grandma was teaching me to play the piano while my brother was getting professional lessons. When my parents decided to sell the piano, I was heartbroken. I put a note in that old upright piano begging the new owners to take care of my piano. Even now that makes me tearful.”

By Dale Buchanan

On the last Friday of every month, members of the Big Red Church Pantry gather for what is called Free Food Friday. From a closet in a hallway off the Fellowship Hall this project has flourished into a thriving ministry whose mission is to feed the hungry.

Your “From the Pews” scribe has always been particularly interested in the workings of this group of dedicated Christians. I have watched in amazement the passion with which they single-mindedly concentrate on doing what they do. This passion to feed the hungry makes for excitement in their Pantry meetings as they discuss how to proceed and best serve the needs of the hungry in the community.

On the last Friday of August, Gayle and I strolled into the Fellowship Hall. It was just after 8:30 a.m. and there was a line of folks already forming outside the door. A suppressed air of excitement was palpable as we entered. Gayle joined a host of other worker bees who were buzzing about anxious to get started filling bags with food. They were there to work and I was there to watch. 😊

 

This is where the apparent chaos begins on some signal undetectable to me. These workers spring into action. Paper bags with handles appeared as if by magic. Talking and laughing, this extraordinary group began to move along the supply tables loading the individual bags. Try as I might, I could see no organized direction. I watched Gaye move along and fill her bag. Then she put it on a cart which also appeared seemingly from nowhere. She then returned to the beginning and started filling another bag as did the other baggers. Round and round they went like an assembly line. 

To add to what appeared to this observer a state of total and complete chaos with no apparent directions, some of the men peeled off and took the bags on the carts to a row of long tables which I learned later was the staging area for the actual food giveaway that was to begin at 10 a.m.

While all of the above was transpiring on the bag-filling side of the supply tables, another chaotic scene was being enacted on the opposite side of those tables. Boxes of a large variety of groceries had been stacked on the stage in preparation for this day. In a narrow corridor created by the stage and the supply table, these foodstuffs were taken down by volunteers, opened, and placed in order on the table so the baggers could keep moving along filling their bags to be moved on to the staging area. There was a constant call for more food as the baggers moved along the table—more tuna, more loaves of bread, we need rice here, we are running out of canned tomatoes!  

It turns out that this was a big day. There were two shopping bags of food for each client plus fresh fruit and vegetables for the clients to add to their bags. I believe the Pantry fed 90 families on that chaotic Friday. That means they gave away 180 bags of groceries to the hungry who came through those doors into Fellowship Hall. In addition to that, 88 bags of groceries were taken to 44 families whose children are enrolled in the Headstart school on the Big Red Church campus. That makes a total of 268 bags of food given away on that busy August day. 

Okay, here is the result of my watching the workers. Of the group I observed, I saw no one NOT working—with the exception of this watcher. There did not seem to be a distinction between labor and management. I am sure that much organization and preparation took place, but in its chaotic way, groceries were unboxed, put in order on the supply tables, packed in bags, and delivered to the staging areas all with no apparent order or management direction.

When 10 o’clock rolled around, the doors were opened and in came the hungry. Magically, there were volunteers waiting to greet the folks as they filed in. The paperwork was dispensed with and the order of the apparent chaos revealed itself to my unbelieving eyes. There were helpers at the staging area giving directions and assistance. Some folks stopped by a table with pamphlets and information that might be helpful to them. At another table—for the first time—was a collection of children’s books to attract the children who tagged along with their parents. It was a joy to watch the faces of those innocent children light up when they understood that they could choose a book to take home as their very own.

The rush was over by 11 a. m., but stragglers continued to come until the doors closed as noon. I ate a pastry and drank coffee provided by someone for the workers—which meant everyone.

Later I was reminded of the creation story. It seems that chaos was on the face of the earth until God rolled up his sleeves and got involved in turning the chaos into order. This sometimes-cynical old man watched chaos turned to order. He watched in awe as disciples of Jesus passionately obeyed his command to “Feed my sheep.”

Breaking news! Just in: We have just learned the September Free Food Friday giveaway set new record—more clients, more volunteers, and fresh meat in the form of whole turkeys and chicken packages. This is the breakdown:  144 heads of households received 288 bags of food. This translates to 531 fed at the cost of $1,079—about $2 per person.

Written by Dale Buchanan

“Mary had a little lamb and everywhere that Mary went the lamb was sure to go.”

“When I was three years old and living in a small house behind my maternal grandparent’s home, I had a little lamb. Grandpa raised young animals to market size. It so happened that a pregnant ewe gave birth to twins. Multiple births are not common among sheep and often the mother rejects one of the lambs. My lamb was one of those rejected ones and kicked aside by the mother. My mom was an animal lover and adopted the wee little lamb and bottle fed it until it was strong enough to fend for itself. Along the way, that lamb became my pet and followed me everywhere I went. I think she actually thought she was a dog. 

One morning I heard a scratching at the kitchen door which was half open. I called out, ‘Come in, doggie.”  I immediately heard the click-clack of the lamb’s cloven hooves across the kitchen floor. I made a beeline to the kitchen and heard mother’s frantic calls. Needless to say, Mary’s little lamb was not house broken and left pellets everywhere with my mother in hot pursuit. Eventually that errant lamb was captured and tied under the shade of an orange tree. Exhausted from her adventure the naughty little lamb fell fast asleep with me asleep beside her.

The above story is precious to me because, like the little lamb, I am a chosen child. This is to say, I was adopted. I was born in L.A. When I was six weeks old mom and dad drove from Dinuba to L.A. where they chose me to be their child. We were a family. Their family was my family. I belonged.

I have always been shy. With no siblings I had no playmates. Even now I only feel comfortable with well-known acquaintances and friends. I suppose my shyness also has something to do with my constant moving as a child. We lived in Dinuba four years—first in the country by my maternal grandparents and then with my paternal grandparents in a two-story house in town just across the street from a park. I could go by myself across the street to the playground or to the old brick library in the park where I happily read picture books. I liked living in town but I liked the country best with animals for playmates.

Mother was a homebody and a wonderful cook. When her health failed, I was grown up with medical training and I took care of her. The truth is, I was a daddy’s girl. 😊 One of my favorite memories revolves around dad’s job as a real estate agent. The company he worked for was constructing a subdivision and one of his jobs was to go out on Saturdays and Sundays and put up signs advertising the lots available for sale. It was a great bonding time for father and daughter. I was twelve years old and Dad taught me to drive a stick-shift. I tooled around the vacant lots in the pickup truck when Dad was busy with customers. Truly good old days!

From four to fourteen years of age, the three of us were constantly on the move. I count among our stops:  Dinuba, Boise, Fresno, and Bakersfield—some more than once. While I was in the fourth, fifth, and sixth grades we stayed in Bakersfield and my parents tried to choose a brother for me but that never materialized. Then it was on the road again.

We made our final return to Fresno when I was fourteen. Seventh and eight grades I was at Scandinavian Junior High and ninth grade found me at Hamilton Junior High. I graduated from Fresno High School in the class of 1965.

I liked high school. I made a best friend who is still my best friend. I fell in love and six months out of high school found us married. This relationship did not work out so well. We were way to young. I had to grow up fast. I found myself with two small children and one big one. My husband never grew up and we called it quits. Another marriage was equally disastrous resulting in another divorce and another child to raise alone.

Thirty years ago, I sold my house in southeast Fresno and bought another one in the Fruit and McKinley area where I am still happily at home. In 1987 I became a licensed Certified Nursing Assistant. My profession spans from nursing homes to one-on-one home care which I still do. My family has expanded in recent years to include grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

On a typical Tuesday night, you might find me feeding my beloved cat, reading a not-so-thick science fiction novel, coloring in an adult coloring book, and listening to country and western music. For seven years I took country dance lessons dressed up in cowboy boots, a fluffy-sleeved blouse, and a skirt I made myself. I like to sew.

I have a long history at the Big Red Church. My grandparents and parents were members. Cousins Penny Peterson and Lester Leas are active members. I worked for years in the church nursery, drove the church van to pick up members for Sunday services, and helped in the church office. 

Today my hopes and dreams are to stay healthy and spend time with my grandchildren. I love babies. I love to go fishing and camping, and I love to sit in the corner and observe. 

I am known as the crazy old cat woman, and I love that!”

By Dale Buchanan

It is Wednesday afternoon when I ring Gayle’s doorbell. She invites me in and we chitchat. I asked “Why did you choose me to interview?”  “We were facing a deadline and just picked your name out of the directory.” Gayle chided Dale, and I laughed. This set the tone for our pleasant hour of discovery.

Born in Rochester, New York, it was home until I graduated high school. In the spring, summer, and fall, it is glorious, but sandwiched between fall and spring is winter—four or five months of gray, snowbound months—but then there was skiing!

I grew up in a “Father Knows Best” family with two parents and two siblings. Born in the baby boomer era, I recall kindergarten with snacks and naps on the floor. We lived in a nice house in a residential neighborhood that sprang up overnight creating suburbs from ancient woodlands. People were having children and there were kids everywhere. I had my own cohort of boys. The streets were our playground which we surrendered grudgingly to the occasional car. Less than a mile from our house was a virgin forest. Imagine our shock when huge earth movers started knocking down those trees and constructing an interstate.

My mother allowed me the freedom to grow and explore. She baked cookies and provided a loving atmosphere, but I remember best the freedom to walk with my buds to the forest to climb trees. I could go to the soda shop or the bowling alley on my own. 

Not a touchy, feely man, dad never said I love you   However he built us swings and made me a pitching target for Little League. Though not demonstrable, he nevertheless demonstrated his love clearly.

We were three children. I came first and was named Larry. Laurie arrived as number two and finally my brother Lee was born. Mom and dad ran out of names beginning with “L” and stopped having children.

I was a B+ student and a member of the swim team. At 5:30 every morning I walked a mile in the dark to get the newspapers and then deliver them. I guess I was an average kid. When I was seven or eight, I went to the YMCA every Saturday morning where we did crafts, played games, and swam. Here I developed my character and enjoyed the camaraderie of other kids from all over the city. In my teen years I was a member of the YMCA Leaders Club and worked with the younger kids.

In high school I decided that I would be a marine biologist and upon graduation enrolled in Sunny Brooks State University. I quickly discovered that marine biology was a graduate program and required rigorous undergraduate classes and that beat me up academically. Because I had met my future wife, I decided to stay at Sunny Brook and changed my major to Earth Sciences. I took a class in animal behavior and found the professor’s research with homing pigeons fascinating. For two summers instead of flipping burgers I went with this professor to Boston where there were pigeon lofts and got paid to assist in his research. 

I graduated with a B.S. in Geology and asked myself, “What am I going to do with this?”   Because my interest was piqued in pigeons, I applied to a Master’s program in zoology at the University of Wisconsin. When I graduated with my master’s degree in zoology, again I was faced with a decision, what now?

This question led me to Louisiana State University where three and a half years later I walked out with a PhD in zoology. Confronted again with the “what now” question, the answer was go to work. After twenty years teaching at a small catholic college in Erie, Pennsylvania, I was not getting rich, but I did have tenure. Now in my middle forties both professionally and personally my life was not cheery. A divorce was looming on the horizon. For some insane reason, I determined to make a break. I wanted to make a difference with my life. There was a medical school in Erie. It was back to school. I had underestimated the work load and had to relearn how to study. I managed to change from teacher to student and in due time graduated. Then I began to apply for residency. I was accepted in a hospital in Cleveland, Ohio, working toward becoming and Emergency Room doctor.

While in my residency in Ohio, I met a woman on E-Harmony who lived in Turlock, California. One thing led to another and I found and was accepted into a family practice residency program in Salinas. This seemed a perfect fit. We took turns meeting between Turlock and Salinas, but as fate would have it within a month she dumped me.

Strange and seemingly convoluted paths lead us to happiness. Through one of my fellow students in Salinas I met and married Patti, the love of my life. I travelled from Rochester, New York, to Salinas, California to find the profession that allows me to make a difference. I practiced family medicine at the Indian Health Services in Prather for five years and now go for short stints to clinics in need of a doctor. 

I am a biologist at heart and delight in serving as a docent at the Fresno Chaffee Zoo. Dale teased me that I sounded like a dyed in the wool tree hugger. Being a devoted environmentalist and recalling my roots in the pristine woods of my youth, I proudly lay claim to “Tree Hugger.”

And I proudly claim to being Doctor Doctor Larry Miller, PhD, MD.

By Dale Buchanan

Stepping from the pews this week is our friend Kirk. On many Sunday afternoons during fellowship hour, Kirk stops by our table and visits. He is always smiley and friendly. We have good conversations and it’s time to go before you know it.

A few weeks ago, Gayle and I had tickets to the Fresno Opera’s production of “Carmen.” Imagine my surprise when I recognized Kirk as a member of the cast. He sang, he danced, and he provided moments of humor and in general served as a link from scene to scene. I had no idea his talent involved him in the opera.

I had been soliciting Kirk to interview for a “Getting to Know You” piece for some time with no luck. He was gracious but busy. I determined to turn Gayle loose on him and in no time at all he agreed to meet with us and here is his story:

Hello, fellow pew members, my name is Kirk and I am honored to have this opportunity to step from the pews and share my story with you. Born in Fresno, my surname is Cruz. I am three quarter Hispanic and one quarter East Indian. The Hispanic part refers to folks who are descendants of people native to Spain, Mexico, or Latin America and speak Spanish. This part of my ethnicity is fairly straight forward. The East Indian slice of my DNA is much more complicated. The term East Indian is used as a name for the people who live in India and South Asia. What I am sure of is that my grandfather was born in India!

Dale asked me to share my earliest memory. Well, I have a good memory and after careful consideration I concluded that the first thing I remember is my rage when the doctor spanked me 😊

Our family home in Fresno was near Hughes and Dakota and I attended Wilson Elementary School. I remember my childhood as a very happy time. No one friend stands out. Instead I cherish precious recollections of my personal Spanky and Our Gang. We roared up and down the streets of our neighborhood on bicycles. We were fearless and in charge. We were innocent and life was good.

As I think back on those glorious times, I guess my mom is my most powerful memory. I cannot think of her without seeing her in the kitchen. She was always cooking and those delightful aromas animating from mother’s kitchen will live in my mind forever with special memories of Thanksgiving feasts prepared by this loving woman.

We moved to rural Clovis in time for me to enroll at Clark for junior high which was exciting, but we had four horses at home and that was a great experience. Dad loved riding and taught me to enjoy riding even though it was not my passion like it was his. The horses, however, provided a bond and link that will always resonate between father and son.

I met Jason at Wesley Methodist Church and he is my best friend. He has a marvelous sense of humor and has introduced me to the power of laughter which in turn gives birth to a sense of family security in our home. He sees things from a different perspective than I do and approaches problems and difficulties with a creative spin. He brings to the table a sense of peace and harmony that seems to make all the differences and problems solvable.

I have faith that my dreams are going to come true. I trust in the evidence of things not seen. I have no doubt that:

• I will spend much of my life working with children.
• I will be an established artist.
• I will be a vocal recording artist.
• And I believe that I will one day have more friends than ever.

All of these goals and dreams are within reach because I have an anchor in a family owned business, Mi Rancho, which was established in 1948 when two Korean War veterans bought a flour machine and began to bake tortillas. My brother runs the business and I am semi-retired. I do the tasks assigned to me dealing with finances and seeking solutions to bottlenecks that occur. This arrangement allows me time to pursue my dreams.

Today finds me a performance arts instructor at ten or twelve Madera elementary schools. I also work as an art instructor for kids at the Clovis Senior Activities Center. At Vernissage Modern Art Gallery across from the Big Red Church, I am a workshop instructor and work with children.

In my spare time I exhibit my art created with sharpie pens on poster board in frames. I speak to art councils and guilds about color theory which is not about art but the science of light.
Today I am still a big kid. I continue to learn and have fun.

Things I love: I love God, myself, Jason, and people in general. I love my chosen field of work, church, my pets, my company Mi Rancho, friends, and I love freedom.

Love is the one thing that will always be. And it is the solution to all of mankind.

By Dale Buchanan

Recently Gayle and I rang Bette’s doorbell. She ushered us into the living room, seated us, and served cold drinks. She was in fine spirits and was a gracious hostess. We had agreed not to stay too long, but we were there over two hours and there was never a dull moment. I found this 90-year-old woman to be exceedingly charming and a fascinating conversationalist. Her life experiences exceed and go beyond the average memoir. Her adventures guarantee a wealth of stories and personal encounters. We are blessed to have this matron occupying our pews. Her wealth of knowledge and experience stands us in good stead.

Bette was born in Texas, the oldest of five children. She was raised in extreme poverty. There were no bicycles, roller skates, little red wagons, or neighbor kids to play with. What she did have was a library from which she lugged home an armful of books every week. She spent every spare moment in a secluded spot reading.

When pressed about her parents, Bette’s love was apparent. Her dad taught her that if she was hired to earn a day’s wages, she owed a day’s work. In quiet words she explained how her mama came into the field and helped her chop cotton to buy school clothes. 

The family moved to California and settled in Corcoran when Bette was about eight. In her mind, California and Texas were the same. They lived on an isolated farm and she had to ride a bus to and from school every day. When her dad got a job as the groundskeeper at the high school, they moved into town. At this juncture things got better. She did not find a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but her bubbly personality and optimistic attitude helped her cope with continuing poverty that was never more than a few steps away.

High school found her the solo drummer in the band, the kettle drummer in the orchestra, a member of the Pep Club, and the alto part in a trio that performed all over the Central Valley. In her junior and senior years, Bette worked after school in a doctor’s office earning 25 cents an hour and eventually a raise to 30 cents an hour. 

She was seventeen years old when she graduated from high school. Bette went to work for the railroad and was transferred to Stockton. When she came back to Fresno living at the YWCA she managed to spend one year at Fresno Junior College where she was crowned football queen. Her sense of humor was obvious when she suspected that she might have won that crown because her boyfriend was student body president. Because she could not support herself, she had to go back to work, but she was always determined to continue her education. Along the way came marriage to Larry, two children, clerical jobs, and a nightly dream of college and having to drop out.

This woman’s grit came into play when she went back to college fifteen years later. She went to Fresno State and got a B. A. in education and began teaching first grade at Rowell Elementary School. After three years she had also earned a Master’s degree and was hired as a resource teacher. Next came a degree and a job in Administration. Reading specialist and other degrees came in her love of learning.

After twenty-one years, Bette and Larry’s marriage ended in divorce. Their breakup signaled the conclusion of an epic part of Bette’s journey through academia. This interesting woman then met and married the man she lovingly refers to simply as Joe. Joe had worked as a school superintendent and through his contacts they embarked on the most exciting chapters of a truly remarkable career. The U.S. International University, San Diego, contracted with Joe and Bette to teach in England one summer. From that idyllic summer for almost twenty years Bette describes the charmingly simple adventures that she and Joe shared as they travelled the world teaching teachers how to teach.

The first great adventure was to one of the tiny Marshall Islands about 28 miles long and 2-3 miles wide. This tiny speck in the Pacific Ocean was just 4 feet above sea level and the coral reef protected the island from flooding at high tide. Fresh water was at a premium and was available only for three hours twice a week. The people were lovely. 

Looking back at all the trips, this first one seemed to impress Bette the most. They came home from this adventure to another adventure. Bette was selected as a contestant on The Wheel of Fortune. She won and she and her daughter flew off on a ten-day free vacation to Paris. 

Next on the agenda was Western Samoa. It was here in this backwoods world with cultural challenges that Bette realized how much she loved to solve problems and truly loved the art of teaching. While here they bought a Samoan poly-pass and for $800 were able to take 8-day trips to Australia, New Zealand, and Tonga. 

The last trip Joe and Bette took was to the island of Palau somewhere between Guam and the Philippines. Joe was diagnosed with a tumor and ordered home. Bette’s Joe passed in 1993 after twenty-one years of sharing the joy of helping, teaching, and loving everyone.

The last chapter of Bette’s amazing career was yet to be written. She returned to Fresno and worked for National University for the next fifteen years supervising student teachers, finally retiring at age 80.

P.S. The last person Bette supervised was our own Judy Oftedal.

 

By Dale Buchanan

Good afternoon, fellow members of Big Red Church. My name is Jan, and Dale and Gayle have recruited me to tell my story for this week’s “From the Pews” column. We are having lunch at Bobbie Salazar’s. It is hot outside but cool in here. The ambiance is pleasant and the atmosphere is perfect for quiet conversation. 

As we eat our lunch, we chat and that unobtrusively establishes an environment conducive to encouraging me to tell my story. The waitress comes to clear the table, and before I know it Dale is asking me questions, Gayle is taking notes, and I am telling the story of my German Mennonite ancestors. 

All four of my grandparents immigrated from Siberia where they were farmers. Dad’s family left early int the 1920’s before things got too bad. Mom’s family, however, had to escape in the 30’s when Stalin gained power. My grandfather was the village elder and ordered by the ruling class to turn their food over to the Communists. Their choice was to starve or to flee. Mom was one-year-old and her sister three when they, with the rest of the family, escaped across a frozen river into Harbin, China—a city to this day famous for its ice sculptures. There were Mennonites in Harbin, and they were safe there with them for a year until Reedley Mennonites sponsored them to come to the United States.

I was born in Reedley and grew up on a quarter acre lot next to mom’s folks who farmed twenty acres between Reedley and Dinuba. My paternal grandparents were also farmers and lived jut two miles down the road. Isolated in the county with a sister six years younger and a pest as far as I was concerned, playmates were few and far between. Across the ditch were cousins, and we played outdoors all day long. The ditch was a great source of entertainment. We played in it when there was water and when it was dry. We rode bicycles on the deserted country roads and walked the corner store for candy.

My mother was a typical 1950’s housewife. I remember helping her gather eggs, wash clothes with a wringer washing machine and hang them outdoors on the clothesline. Dad and mom left the Mennonite church for the Baptist church when they married figuring it was less strict. Growing up, I could hardly see how one could be more conservative than the other. No-no’s seemed to dominate—no smoking, no drinking, and no dancing were at the top of the list. 

Dad was wounded in Italy during World War II and was handicapped the rest of his life. He was a softy. If mother said, “Wait until your father gets home,” I knew I was home safe. I loved it when we borrowed grandpa’s tractor and I got to ride with him from grandpa’s farm to our place where he plowed the weeds on our quarter acre.

Dad passed away when I was twelve-years-old, and mom remarried just before I graduated from high school. My step-father was in the Air Force and strict. I was eighteen and rebellious. Mom and step-father had a hard time controlling me. I was a war protester, I had long hair, I went barefoot, wore long skirts and was in short a hippy. I was sent to Fresno State and began the nursing program. I did not do well my first year. I married my high school sweetheart who was not a hippy but a serious student at the University of Hawaii on his way to becoming an architect. He wanted me to settle down, be a housewife, and have children. I, on the other hand, went to Hawaii to be a hippy and have fun. In less than a year we were separated and I moved back home.

When school started that fall, I was back to Fresno State and that nursing program. I supported myself with odd jobs until I graduated with my nursing degree. I went to work at Fresno County Hospital and stayed there for twenty years—one year in orthopedic/neurology and nineteen years in the E.R. –a level one trauma and burn center. After this exciting twenty years of hard nursing, I went back to school and became a family nurse practitioner for the next twenty years 

Come this October I will be retired five years—a huge change from full-time challenging work. Retirement was not quite what I envisioned. I need to keep busy. An avid cyclist, I ride with a club three days a week. I volunteer two afternoons a week for three to four hours at Community Neo-Natal ICU as a cuddler of high-risk babies—from premature to drug addicted. Then there are OSHA classes at Fresno State like the Bridge class I am taking now, travel with my sister such as the trip to Egypt we are planning for this October, and group bicycle tours to the four corners.

When I left home at eighteen for college, I left the church. Five years ago, I came to the fall Bachtober concert at Big Red and enjoyed it. I picked up a brochure about the church and read about its being open and affirming which coincided with what the emergency room had taught me about acceptance. And the church is close and convenient. 

I have struggled with relationships. I wanted to settle down and have a family, but that didn’t happen. My joys, on the other hand, run the gamut from nursing to cycling, from greyhound dogs to cuddling. My dream is to stay active as long as I possibly can, and my worry is who will be there for me when I can no longer be independent. 

  

By Dale Buchanan

Lisa is the mother of nine-year-old twin daughters soon starting the fourth grade. She married for the first time this past April to Doug Nowlin. As a teacher, he told Lisa he knew and loved the girls before he loved her. When asked to explain her faith, Lisa replied “My faith is God-centered.”  And when asked about her biggeststruggle, she answered, “Being self-reliant instead of God dependent.” 

Lisa, who has changed you the most? “Doug, who magically and accidentally appeared in my life to help me with the things I could not do alone, and my two girls who are constantly transforming my existence.

The above is a glimpse into the life and loves of this week’s pew person. Read along with me as Lisa unpacks the warp and woof of her life. 

“I was born and raised in South Central L.A.—the worst ghetto in California! My father was a Marine when the armed services were integrated. He was not happy about it and when asked why, he answered, “Would you want to be in a fox hole with a white guy from Alabama with a gun?”  This is a man who loved to joke. My mother had him removed from the delivery room the day I was born because he insisted on telling jokes while she was in labor. Dad was black but could pass as a white. During the Watts riots, he was caught in a violent area and a white police officer stopped him and sent him on his way shouting, “What’s a white man doing in this neighborhood?”  My favorite story about Dad and race was the Christmas he played Santa in a neighborhood church and all the children said, “This is the real Santa because he is white.” He worked for many years as a station officer in the LAPD.

Mother was a beautiful woman. She looked like Lena Horne, but because she was black, she was not allowed to work as a model. However, because she had light skin, she could be an elevator operator at the Broadway Department Store. And that’s where a certain light skinned Marine with bluish green eyes saw a freckle-faced girl and fell for her!

My folks were special! Mom had the opportunity to buy a fourteen-unit apartment house. Dad said no, but conceded when she cried. This ghetto couple took second jobs cleaning offices at night to pay for that investment and for twenty years they put their pay checks in savings and lived frugally off the rental income. Dad was later fond of saying, “I’m a millionaire today because of Mother’s tears.”

I have two older sisters and I was a change of life baby. Mother was thirty-eight and thought she was having gas pains until the doctor disabused her of that notion. I weighed nine pounds ten ounces and my birth certificate is stamped “NEGRO.”  I tease my girls because this is not on their birth certificates. 😊

Although he was not a college graduate, my dad saw to it that his three daughters and his wife were afforded college educations. All four of us became teachers. 

Growing up in South Central L.A. was not a fun experience for me. I was teased and taunted. I looked bi-racial when that was not accepted in my black neighborhood. I did not make sense in that environment. One boy threw empty cans at me shouting, “While my folks were picking cotton, yours were sitting on the porch.”  

I was bussed to integrated schools where bullying and harassment were the rule of the day. In 8th and 9th grades I was sent to a private prep school two hours away in a good part of L. A. There were three or four black children and a hundred white children. It was the worst experience of my life. I had no friends except for Chastity Bono who let me sit by her at lunch. The school had an annual ski trip and a boy told me that I could not go because my lips would explode at high altitude. I felt like an alien from outer space. I was shunned by whites because of my blackness and rejected by my own people because I was not black enough.

Jumping ahead, I finished high school at Dorsey High on the west side—known as the better side of the ghetto. From there I was off to UCLA and a major in political science. I had been sheltered and could not keep a job until I interviewed and was hired by Compton Unified School District. This led to twenty years teaching even though I had not wanted to be a teacher. At one point I went to nursing school and worked briefly as a nurse, but now I am back to teaching in a Charter school and love it.

At age thirty-eight I faced a mid-life crisis. The clock was ticking and I wanted children. At forty I delivered a still-born child and at forty-three in-vitro fertilization and a sperm donor brought Faith and Grace into my life. In conversation with a friend not long ago, Grace said, “My Mom kind of made us up.”  The friend responded, “You were made by science.” Out of the mouths of babes!

If I were to summarize the joy that fills our life as a family, it would be Sundays around the table. This table commands a central place in our lives and is a metaphor of all that we hold precious. I cook, Doug does the dishes, and these hours are reserved for family and friends. Doug and the girls play cards and board games. I watch and take joy in the laughter and love around the table. Friends and extended family add to the camaraderie of table fellowship and it truly binds our heart in love.