Category: Getting to Know You

A column dedicated to the folks in the pews.

Written by Dale Buchanan

This week our “from the pews person” is Gonnie Crone. Friend Gayle and I have been helping her with transportation as she battled cancer. Thankfully the new treatment is working, and the doctor just pronounced her cancer free. All of this driving back and forth between Kerman and Fresno has given me time to appreciate this witty, fascinating woman.

Gonnie was born in Utrect, Holland, the youngest in a family of seven children. Her father was a contractor and built the 3-story house they lived in. Utrect is about twenty miles from Rotterdam which was totally flattened by the Germans in WWII. Utrect was bombed extensively also. Gonnie was five years old when the Germans occupied Holland and ten years old when they were driven out. Gonnie tells harrowing stories about those five years of her life, but she cannot write them down and asked that I not write about them either. They are tender stories of a little girl. Perhaps too tender.

“Gonnie, tell me about your name. I’ve never heard the name Gonnie before.”  “Well, first I will tell you that my maiden name is Kroon and my married name is Crone and both mean “crown.” Now I will tell you about my given name because I am very proud of it. It is Hillegonda  and is an ancient Viking word that means ‘courageous heroine.'” She tried to teach this “red-neck” to correctly pronounce this name to no avail. She went on to tell me, “Upon arrival at Ellis Island I was informed that Hillegonda was too long, and my name was arbitrarily shortened to Hilda. “Hilda? But we call you Gonnie.” “Yes, Gonnie is a nickname for Hillegonda, but officially—like at the doctor’s office—I answer to Hilda. You can call me Gonnie.”

“Okay, Gonnie, I have another question. How does a girl from Utrect, Holland end up in Kerman, California?” Gonnie is a natural storyteller and this is quite a story, so I will have to shorten it a bit.

“I had just broken up with my boyfriend, an American lieutenant, and bought myself a motor scooter. Some friends invited me to a get-together and there was this young man there who had a small Fiat. I was interested in his Fiat and he was interested in my motor scooter. That’s how I met my husband. We had been seeing each other just a short time when one day he said to me, ‘I am getting a Visa to go to America. Would you like to go with me?’  That was his marriage proposal! I said “yes” on two conditions: (1) there was enough money to return to Holland if we did not like it there, and (2) my piano must go with us!” They stayed in America and the piano now sits in her front room.

Her husband was a sugar beet specialist and went to work for Spreckels in Woodland, California. “When they built a new plant in Mendota he said ‘no’ to transferring the first time, but they would not take ‘no’ for an answer the second time. We found a house in nearby Kerman and moved ther e in 1967. I was pregnant with my second child.”

Gonnie would have three children—Jennifer, Jay, and Bert. Her son Jay is a music professor and an accomplished musician. He is known to us at Big Red because when he comes from Virginia to visit his mother, he stirs our hearts with  his trombone or euphonium.

Gonnie raised her children, taught paino lessons, played the organ at the Methodist church in Kerman for 45 years, and found a church home with us at Big Red a few years ago and occupies a place in the pews when her health allows.

This “courageous heroine” has been labeled “fiesty” at the Cancer Center where she has been going for infusions. Indeed, I agree!  She is a fiesty woman and the courageous heroine in her life story.

Dale Buchanan is a member of FCCF with a passion for stories and writing. In between penning his own memoirs, he is helping us get to know our members, one pew at a time.

A column dedicated to the folks in the pews.

Written by Dale Buchanan

Your “pew” reporter has just returned from a conversation with Frank. I called him this morning and inquired about an interview for our Grapevine series, “Getting to Know You.” He graciously agreed. I asked about a convenient time. He said, “Can you come this morning?” And just like that in less than an hour I was sitting in his office at The Center Bridging Body, Mind, and Spirit. Hand shaking and small talk were quickly dispensed with and we got right down to business. I suggested my format for these informal interviews and this remarkable gentleman was ahead of me every step for the next two hours.

Frank explained that Saxton means Saxons Town and that his genealogy has been traced back five generations in England. Then the history becomes murky and the trail goes cold.

I asked Frank where he was born and raised. He responded, “I was born in Santa Paula and raised everywhere. I consider the Owens Valley as my formative home. I attended twelve different elementary schools and finally graduated from Bishop High School.”  He matriculated at UC Berkeley, Bakersfield State University, and finally at Fresno State University.

I asked about Faye. That was the magic question. I never had to ask another. “I married Faye in 1967. Music is the tie that binds us together. Married for 51 years we have been singing together for 52 wonderful years. No matter what comes or goes, regardless of the circumstances, we always have music.”

This onrush of precious memories carried Frank back in time on a sweet journey to their youth. With a serene and contented expression of love on his face, Frank shared his memories with me and by extension all of you. “Faye and I traveled to Europe for a prestigious music competition. On the last day after all the judging, our group had won. I walked my girl to her lodging place and on the back porch in that distant land, I kissed her for the first time. I have never been the same.”

This shared memory opened the floodgates. I listened spellbound as he recalled his mother and her strong sense of duty. “Mom was spiritual but not especially religious. She grounded in me a sense of ethics that has served me well all these years.”

Frank’s birth father was killed during the carnage of World War II, and his mother remarried. He explained emphatically that this man was not a step-father, he was his dad. The ensuing two children were his siblings and they were a family. “My dad was an outdoorsman and he taught me to love and respect nature. His woodsman friends advocated always leaving a clean camp. Dad said, ‘Don’t even leave your footprint’”

Seamlessly this eloquent storyteller returned to the reasons for his successful 51-year relationship with his partner and life-long companion. “As I said, music is the cement that sealed us together. The second vital ingredient is family. Raised in strong caring families it seemed only natural to build a strong family where someone always has your back. The third indispensable characteristic of this union is space.” I reluctantly interrupted, “What does that mean?” He smiled and pointed around the warm friendly office that we were sitting in. On the opposite wall were two desks. “One is hers and the other is mine. Faye is visiting a client and I am here. We have made it a rule to give each other space and to offer support rather than control.”

Again as if crafted, Frank, without my prompting, moved to his art. He collects and plays Native American flutes. When he played for me I was enchanted. The music composed and improvised from his heart is hauntingly beautiful. He showed me one of his collection of  tongue drum, and in almost reverent words he described rain sticks which are made so they sound like rain when shaken.

Frank works with Kim on the photographs that grace our Sunday bulletins, and using these photographs they are preparing notecards for the boutique sale at Big Red.

I suppose it is evident that your reporter gave up any semblance of objectivity early on and sat mesmerized through the process. I did not interview. I soaked up wisdom and delighted in Frank’s sense of nature and spirit.

Frank is an artist. His chosen palette is Earth photography. Early on when Frank talked about this I did not understand. However as I took my leave, he took me on a guided tour of all the public spaces in the Center—including the bathrooms—and I was treated to a breathtaking exhibition of earth photography. I got it!

Dale Buchanan is a member of FCCF with a passion for stories and writing. In between penning his own memoirs, he is helping us get to know our members, one pew at a time.

a column dedicated to the folks in the pews

Written by Dale Buchanan

Gayle and I caught up with Pat coming from French class for lunch at Jack’s Urban Eats. The place was jumping with a group of high school students. I apologized for the ruckus. She responded, “Dale, I was born to be a teacher. The hubbub of these teenagers is music to my ears. I taught thirty-five years from second to twelfth grades, although third grade was probably my favorite.” With my mind settled, we were off to the races and two hours of pleasant conversation. I asked general questions and allowed her to go where her thoughts took her. 

“Pat, why are you taking French lessons?” “My mother’s folks, my grandparents, came to Fresno from France. Grandpa opened a French Bakery in downtown Fresno near the present Wells Fargo Bank. He did well with the bakery, but Grandpa wanted to be a dairy rancher. He built a French style house in an L-shape in which the house and the barn were connected. Although this is common in France, it was unheard of in California and the neighbors scoffed at the idea. Grandpa so wanted to be an American that he tore down his French house and built a two story colonial style house with a white picket fence. I have always been interested in my French background and lived in France for a while as a young woman and even owned a house there for a time. So, in answer to your question, improving my French speaking seems appropriate.”

“Pat, perhaps you might speak to your childhood.” “I was born in Colton and raised in Covina—both cities in Southern California. Covina was beautiful when I was a child. Orange orchards and walnut groves dominated the landscape. I remember my dad and one of his friends speaking about the coming freeways:  ‘I just don’t get it. They say there are no stop signs. How do you get on the thing?’ ‘They tell me there is something called a ramp. You get on this ramp and merge. That makes no sense to me.’”

“Pat, I think our readers would be especially interested in reading about you as a child.” “I was painfully shy.” I have known Pat for several years and I would never use the word shy to describe her. I laughed at the thought and begged her to continue. “Okay, Dale, stop laughing and I will start over. I was bashful to the max and extremely timid. I was the second tallest girl in my school and hated that the most of all.” Try as I might, I could not wipe the smile from my face. “I wore glasses and thought for the longest time that my name was Four Eyes. On top of that I had buck teeth.” I will never look at Pat the same again and I was hopelessly lost in mirth at this image she was sharing. Pat was on a roll now and described in detail the little girl fitted with braces to fix those buck teeth.

“Okay, Pat, tell me about your passions and what you are pursuing now.” “My passion is service. My goal is to make an impact on society and the lives of others. Dale, as a child I did not want to play nurse like my girl friends. I wanted to play school and be the teacher. Right now I am involved in a mentoring program with other Big Red members at Alexander Hamilton Elementary School. My heart breaks when I sit down with children who are not learning to read. I am so proud to be a part of Big Red’s participation in the Every Neighborhood Partnership to help teach first and second graders how to read.”  

It is true that Pat will at the drop of a hat talk to you about the interface between psychology and spirituality, a seemingly esoteric movement called Pachamama, or the Enneagram along with many more ideas that require thinking outside the box.  It is also true that this teacher and idealist is blessed, perhaps obsessed, with a sense of humor that will lighten your mood and make you eager to say “yes” to volunteering when you see her coming.

Dale Buchanan is a member of FCCF with a passion for stories and writing. In between penning his own memoirs, he is helping us get to know our members, one pew at a time.

a column dedicated to the folks in the pews

Written by Dale Buchanan

Our special person from the pew this week is Norma Olsen, and she reminded me immediately that it is Olsen with an “E.” While every “pew person” is special, I must explain right from the outset that Norma is 104 years old. Norma, her husband, and their two children were members of First Congregational Church when it moved in 1948 from its location on San Pablo and Divisadero to the present location which became affectionately known as the Big Red Church.

Norma was born in Fowler in 1914. One of the places she lived as a child was Badger, California, a small community in the hills of Tulare County. There is a photo of her at age six in the woods of Badger. At age fourteen her family moved to Cambria on the Central coast. Her reply when questioned about where she grew up was, “I grew up on the beach, in the mountains, and in the valley.”

The opportunity to visit with Norma was a privilege. She lives in a lovely apartment at San Joaquin Gardens. It is in this homey space that Norma has tastefully created an enchanting collage of those things that have marked her life.

Gayle took me with her on one of her regular visits to Norma. I was seated in a comfortable overstuffed chair, Norma in her special chair, and Gayle in a kitchen chair pulled up near this regal lady. They were immediately engaged in conversation. My voice was in a range that Norma had difficulty hearing so Gayle led the discussion, and I occasionally asked a question which Gayle relayed to Norma, and so we proceeded.

Sitting as a centerpiece on a table between Norma and me, I spotted a small glass display case chocked full of tiny, but to me unidentifiable objects. “Gayle, ask her about these things in the case.”  “Why they are thimbles,” Norma replied. Tenderly, almost reverently, the case was picked up, the door opened, and a tiny thimble was removed. “This one belonged to my grandmother. Look how tiny her finger must have been.”  Grandma’s thimble went back into the case and another appeared in her hand delicately held by her thumb and forefinger. “This one came from Alaska and was made of sealskin.” It turned out that this little glass case of tiny thimbles collected from everywhere she and her husband traveled was a treasure of history and memory.

On the shelf across the room was a neat stack of books. I pointed at them and Gayle asked her to tell us about them. “Oh, those are my memoirs.”  That got my attention. “Norma, why did you start writing memoirs?” After raising my two children and retiring from many years of teaching second graders, I was tired of sitting around doing nothing. My niece Janice Stevens had just started a class teaching memoirs and I went to that and just kept writing.”  Now I was really excited because Janice Stevens teaches the memoirs class I attend. Such a small world!

Her niece Janice wrote this about Norma:
Aunt Norma is a treasure trove of family history. She has always inspired me with her wit and creativity! Her latest collection of memoirs, poems, and family pictures, Final Finale, adds to the decades of life history she has shared with us.

Around the room we went with Gayle gently prompting, me scribbling as fast as I could, and Norma sharing what niece Janice calls “decades of life history.” A cut glass dish that she bought at a Big Red rummage sale gave us a glimpse into her many years of involvement in Women’s Fellowship preparing meals and having rummage sales. This led to Norma’s recollection and joy in being a part of the Women’s Rhythm Choir which introduced sacred dance to worship. She recalls fondly their performance of the Lord’s Prayer. The Rhythm Choir survives today as the Morning Star Dancers and is an integral part of the music program at Big Red.

Norma was getting tired, I was wanting more, and Gayle said, “The towel, Dale,” which is her way of saying, “Enough already!”

Norma graciously escorted us to the door and her last comment was, “My life has not been remarkable or especially noteworthy, but it has been rewarding in a host of ways.”

“Dear Norma, would that I should experience such an ordinary 104 years!”

Dale Buchanan is a member of FCCF with a passion for stories and writing. In between penning his own memoirs, he is helping us get to know our members, one pew at a time.

a column dedicated to the folks in the pews

Written by Dale Buchanan

Pat’s family has lived for six generations in Watsonville. Her ancestors—the  Chumash and the Salinan people—have lived a thousand years along the Central Coast of California. When the Europeans first arrived, the Spanish immediately enslaved these ancient people to build their churches and farm the land that had once belonged to them. When the Americans took over, their first governor, Peter Burnett, declared a war of extermination (genocide) on these Native American people. Some of them survived by hiding in plain sight. They took Spanish surnames and thus became invisible to their American conquerors. A Native American with roots along California’s Central Coast going back at least 13,000 years should make us consider Pat a national treasure.

Pat’s grandmother was born in Watsonville in 1892 and her mother was born in Aptos in 1915.

Born and raised in Watsonville, Pat managed to evade my question about her birthdate.

Pat’s dad Anthony Espinoza died when Pat was only seven years old. Only faint memories remain. She does remember going into the woods with him where he cut firewood to sell as a source of extra income. She has a photo of herself as a small child sitting on a log watching her daddy saw and split the firewood. Her mother Agnes evoked strong and emotional memories revolving around the work ethic and independent spirit she taught her children. She lived to be 102. When she passed she left instructions to sing Frank Sinatra’s, “I Did It My Way.”

When I asked for a favorite mother memory, Pat smiled and said, “I remember as a teenager standing over the ironing board crying because I had to iron when I wanted to run around with my girl friends.”

At age 15 ½ Pat went to work for National Dollar store advancing from clerk to bookkeeper in ten years. From there she worked ten years in a bank, and then there was a coffee shop just down the street from Big Red, and today a thrift store just across the street. It is more than obvious that Mother Agnes passed on that powerful work ethic.

Married twice and twice widowed, Pat is the mother of two, the grandmother of seven and the great-grandmother of seven. And so the progeny of a people who have lived and prospered along the Pacific coast of California for thousands of years carries on for more generations.

When I sat down with Pat I had a notion to separate what she does as a member “from the pew” from her work as the staff Caretaker. As we talked it became obvious that the two have merged. She has a part-time job and a full-time labor of love. She said, “Sometimes I complete my chores, go to bed, and fall asleep. Around 2 or 3 a.m. I awake with a start. Did I lock that front gate? I assure myself, yes, and try to go back to sleep. It is then that my mother’s words  urgently come to mind that a job worth doing is worth doing right. I get up, get dressed, and go check that gate.”  

When Pat came to Big Red Church twelve years ago, they embraced her and she embraced them. She carries in her heart of hearts a fierce protective love for the Big Red Church. This reporter takes great comfort in realizing that while I am sleeping she is very likely walking the darkened corridors and across that midnight campus to make sure the gates are locked, the lights are off, and the alarm is on.

Dale Buchanan is a member of FCCF with a passion for stories and writing. In between penning his own memoirs, he is helping us get to know our members, one pew at a time.

a column dedicated to the folks in the pews

Written by Dale Buchanan

On a recent Wednesday, my friend Gayle and I had lunch with Ruth. I thought I knew this delightful Southern lady. The truth is my knowledge of this spunky, charming Christian woman was skimpy at best. When I first came to Big Red Church, Ruth was the moderator. I was impressed. I loved the confident way she handled herself with the congregation. I found the hint of her Southern heritage in her accent delectable. I was, however, most impacted by her hats and affectionately refer to her as the hat lady. These beautiful hats are sometimes handcrafted and decorated to coordinate with the outfits that this seamstress extraordinaire creates from the fabric she loves. While some women might hang out in bars, Ruth says she prefers to “hang out” in fabric stores.

Born in rural Georgia on a farm six miles from the nearest town, Ruth was the oldest of four siblings—two girls and two boys. At a very young age she noticed that at harvest time she and her sisters worked in the kitchen for no pay, while her brothers working in the fields were paid for their labor. This struck her as profoundly unfair and I suspect was the seed of her activism and progressive stance in all things social and religious.

In San Francisco where she was serving as a commissioned officer in the Navy, she met Rolf at a dance. Three months later they were married in a union that lasted 58 years. They were blessed with three children, seven grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren with one on the way. As so often happens, my interview became less interview and more conversational. She volunteered a touching account of Rolf’s last days when on the way to the hospital that last time it never crossed her mind that Rolf would not be coming home again.

I asked what lesson she gained from her time in the big City. Her reply was, “The world is a big place and we are all different. My perspective changed. I let my children live their own lives and I am not too concerned about the details of religion.”

We conversed about Fresno. Such a storehouse of memories!  Ruth lives in the Bullard/West area, and when she moved there it was rural. Her kids could walk to school. She is an activist and often writes about politics and the things that divide us like city, county islands, and the economic islands that keep us separated. And along the way she served as a board member of the Fresno Unified School District

Coming from a different faith tradition, I found Ruth a fountain of knowledge about the function and structure of the Big Red Church. This time spent conversing together one-on-one allowed Ruth to engage in a teaching moment with an eager student. My notes positively overflow with things I did not understand about the way Congregational churches do things.

With humor, sensitivity, and a large dose of love, she expressed her vision and prayer for the future of this church which is such a vital part of her life. “Dale, I am optimistic about the optimism that is evident among us from the pews to the clergy. There is a sense of excitement that radiates through every aspect of the church and its ministries. There has always been a sense of social responsibility and the church seems to be growing exponentially. My prayer is that we as a church family find a good balance between caring for those in our midst and serving others.”

If you only know Ruth with a nod and a smile on Sunday morning, you are missing the opportunity to be acquainted with this genteel Southern lady—the hat lady!

Dale Buchanan is a member of FCCF with a passion for stories and writing. In between penning his own memoirs, he is helping us get to know our members, one pew at a time.

a column dedicated to the folks in the pews

Written by Dale Buchanan

During my two and a half years attending Big Red Church, my most frequent question to myself has been, “Dale, what makes this church such a special place?”

Today I am spotlighting my 13th “from the pews” person, and it seems clear to me that what makes Big Red special is the people and what makes the people special is the diversity that in some wonderful way welds us all together as a family. We are different and that is okay.  We love, we defend, we cherish, not because of, but in spite of.  We are family.

Judy and I have since day one enjoyed an easy sense of camaraderie.  When we sat down to talk, I opened my notebook and said, “OK, Judy, talk to me.”  Imagine my surprise when she said, “Oh, Dale, I can’t do that. You will have to ask me questions.  I have always been very shy. I was bullied as a child and still have to work hard to overcome my shyness and fear.”  Here is an example of that specialness I am speaking of. I have teased Judy unmercifully for two years, and she loves me not because of but in spite of.  

“Judy, where were you born?”  “I was born right here in Fresno.  In fact I was born and raised and have lived all my life within a three mile radius of Fresno (Street) and Ashland (Avenue).”  It is amazing what you learn when you ask, “Where were you born?”

When this shy woman paused for breath, I asked, “How did you and Randy meet?”  At this point I met another Judy. A faraway look, a soft smile, and a dreamy tone of voice prefaced this next part of the interview.  “We went on our first date on May 28, 1971.” “Wait, wait,” I exclaimed, “do you expect me to believe that you remember the exact day of your first date?”  In the same dreamy voice she answered, “Yes, it was May 28, 1971, a B.B. King concert. And I knew then and there that he was the man for me. We were married on August 25, 1973.  That is just short of 45 years, and it has been a good run.”

Afraid of breaking the spell of her narrative, I asked, “What about your family?”  Her demeanor did not change. “I love my husband and I love my children and grandchildren.  Randy is my rock. Martin, our first born son, is a joy and his partner Trent is a delight.  These two have blest us with a grandson Hudson. Second son Daniel is a single parent and the loving father of our granddaughter Mellena, which is derived from the Greek word for “honey.”  My family is perfect.

“I have two last questions, Judy.  What brought you to Big Red?” “I was looking for a church where they did not tell me that everyone I loved was going to hell.  I found that church here.”

“Why do you stay?”  I have a brand new family that loves me not because of but in spite of.”

Dale Buchanan is a member of FCCF with a passion for stories and writing. In between penning his own memoirs, he is helping us get to know our members, one pew at a time.

a column dedicated to the folks in the pews

Written by Dale Buchanan

Probably most of you are wondering who is this? Well, Mollie is definitely one of us—certainly a member of our church family. The thing is, she is nine years old.

At this juncture, it might be appropriate to give some background. I thought when I started this “pew person”s venture my biggest challenge would be writing the essay. Wrong! It turns out that the most important part of the process, as well as the most rewarding, is the interview. Not that there is a shortage of you in the pews who serve faithfully. My problem is choosing from the abundance. I find myself constantly observing and considering who would allow me to interview them.

On the last Friday of June around 10 a.m., I was scouting for an interview and stopped by the Big Red fellowship hall where the Pantry volunteers were distributing free food. It was there I met Mollie. She was busy. I was impressed. I watched in amazement as this young lady focused on helping make the passing out of food a rewarding experience for all involved.

Mollie stationed herself out of the way and when things got scattered and out of order, she rearranged the tables so that when the next folks arrived they were greeted by tables appearing to have been prepared just for them.

Mollie’s mother Kim graciously allowed me to interview this sensitive youngster via telephone. I found her to be delightfully precocious while at the same time innocently child-like. This scribe had a list of questions probably more appropriate for a child of the 1950’s.

I asked what according to my template was a simple query, “Tell me about your family.” After a moment of silence, these words came softly across the line, “Well, that gets complicated. You see I have two sets of parents and five siblings.” This interviewer was staggered at that answer. Family is complicated. “Out of the mouths of babes” became at that moment the focus of my discussion with this charming child.

“Mollie, what are your favorite things to do?” “I like to help others,” which I guess explains her presence at the Pantry’s free food Friday. At this point Mom prompted with, “He wants to know what you do for fun.” “Oh, I also like art, swimming, and acting.”  I can tell you right now that helping others would not have been on my list of favorite things when I was nine!?

I asked, “What are your goals for the future?” Without hesitation she answered, “I am going to be an activist and sing happy songs.” There were more questions and more unexpected answers, but it seems to me that the phrase “activist and happy songs” captivates Mollie’s personality and gives me a perfect place to wrap up this interview.

Jesus when speaking of children said, “Of such are the kingdom of heaven.” Just perhaps those of us who are adults should concentrate on being more like them. They are not just our future; they are—in every sense of the word—our present.

Dale Buchanan is a member of FCCF with a passion for stories and writing. In between penning his own memoirs, he is helping us get to know our members, one pew at a time.

a column dedicated to the folks in the pews

Written by Dale Buchanan

This reporter’s charge was to speak for and about those who step from the pews and serve the church. There are so many of you doing exactly that. The involvement from the pews at Big Red is, in my experience, remarkable. The diversity of these pew persons never ceases to amaze me. I am blessed to have this opportunity to get to know you.

On Sunday, June 24th, my mind was on pew people to interview for future columns  when the familiar song, “Draw the Circle Wide,” began. I watched in wonder as children began to pop out of our pews. Every time these children emerge into the aisles and head as one toward the chancel steps, a delighted sense of joy and unrestrained happiness spreads like a fresh breeze through this sanctified place of worship.  

Children were coming out of the woodwork. Dads and moms were proudly walking with the tiny ones, little girls holding hands, boys barely restrained rushed in excitement to the front and a choice spot on the steps. And on the faces of the rest of us there were smiles of joy as we watched this scene unfold.

Spellbound, I stared around the room watching this every Sunday morning occurrence in the Big Red sanctuary. It dawned on this chronicler that these children truly step from the pews not just as the church’s responsibility but as partners and even examples for those like me who are sometimes more than a little jaded and cynical.  

Three little girls especially caught my attention. From somewhere behind my pew they came marching down the center aisle walking hand in hand—sisters, cousins, Sunday school buddies—I have no idea. They were radiant. One on each side, the two older girls framed the younger one in love and protection. There before my cynical old eyes, walking hand in hand was the perfect metaphor for family love.  

Jesus said, “Let the children come to me.” And I believe not as a burden, but as a blessing.

Dale Buchanan is a member of FCCF with a passion for stories and writing. In between penning his own memoirs, he is helping us get to know our members, one pew at a time.