Puzzle Pieces 2

Last time, I shared how I was told that God created the world. I was six years old at the time. I think I may have mentioned this here before, but my first best friend was a boy named Robbie Klaassen. He came from a Mennonite family. In fact, my mother babysat Robbie when his mother went to her bible studies. When I tried to become a Mormon (that’s coming up in a later post) my mother was irate, because what she remembered of Mormonism came from the information Mrs. Klaassen supplied, things she learned in a bible study about defending Christianity against those who preach another gospel.

I remember going to Sunday School with Robbie on a couple of occasions. After I found out that there was a God, I wanted to go know more about Him, so my mother allowed me to go to Sunday School a few times with the Klaassens. I learned that not only was there a God, but He had houses here on earth where people went to talk about Him. God had me placed on that street, put me into the path of this family so I could go to Sunday School with them. Here I am, 34 years later, remembering it.

Fast forward a few years to Winnipeg, Manitoba. When I was in third grade, my parents bought their first house. It meant we had to change schools. The new school was not a good school. It was an alternative school that was testing out the concept of the “open classroom” approach, which meant there were no walls. We could hear every teacher who raised her voice, and every argument between students across floor. There were not enough desks, not enough help for students who struggled, and not enough discipline to suit my parents. I spent a lot of my time re-filing index cards in the library because I was having trouble with math, and the teacher couldn’t help me. My mother was fed up by the end of that year, so made special arrangements to return us to the school we had attended before.

My teacher was a nun. It was a public school, but she taught there as part of her vocation. Her name was Sister Joan. She could read stories out loud like nobody’s business. I adored her. Every morning, we said “The Lord’s Prayer.” There was a song version of it, sung by a group of other sisters, and I loved to sing it. I had no idea what it meant, but it sounded so beautiful. Sister Joan told me that God loved me. No one had ever told me that. I know that Sister Joan and I are now quite far apart in what we believe. I know this because I keep in touch with her, we chat via e-mail, and I have been to see her in the last couple of years. However, this was the first person who ever used that phrase with me, “God loves you.” I was in the class at that time, for that reason. Do I believe that had I not been in that exact class that I would have eventually heard that God loves me? Yes, I do. This is simply the situation where I found myself in 1974.

Next time, a piece of the puzzle I could hold in my hands.