First Grade Fall From Innocence

This is a continuation of my testimony, and if you’d like, you can read the first part HERE.  I left off with our move to a suburb of the Twin Cities when I was 7-years-old.  We left a neighborhood full of kids my own age, mostly girls, and moved into a neighborhood full of kids my own age and slightly older—mostly boys.  At first I thought that was right up my ally!  Boys were WAY more fun than girls anyway, and being the outgoing boss that I was, I made the rounds almost immediately to meet all the kids.

That was a mistake.  I discovered quickly that the boys in this neighborhood were NOT interested in a family of GIRLS.  They let me know right from the beginning that I was not welcome, and had, in fact, taken the place of two boys who had lived in our home prior to our moving in.  The few girls I met were naughty little things and introduced me to some naughty little activities that my mother nipped in the bud.  (I told my mom just about everything.  I wasn’t the type to keep secrets.)

The boys were not just disappointed to have us move in, they were downright mean.  It became a scary thing just to go bike riding on that street.  You never knew when a bunch of them would be hanging out in someone’s front yard, see you coming, and decide to chase you with a jack knife just to scare you.

Once they caught me, dragged me into one of their homes, and held me down while one of them threatened to do things to me that I did not understand at the time.  I was terrified.  Then, just as suddenly, they let me go, and while I ran through the house to the front door, they laughed uproariously at my fear and shame.  God was protecting me, though I did not realize to what extent at the time.

I started second grade at the local grade school, and while I adored my teacher, I had a hard time finding nice girls to hang out with.  They all seemed so hardened and cruel.  Looking back, it is hard for me to believe there was so much hatefulness at such a young age.  Isn’t second grade supposed to be an age of innocence?  My naivete was further compromised when the boy across the street told me all about the birds and the bees while we were sitting in art class.  I was shocked.

I went home that day, certain he was lying.  I told my mother what was said, and sadly, she had to tell me the truth while trying to restore what little innocence I had left in my mind.  My heart was devastated, and now, rather than finding boys to be wonderful playmates full of fun and adventure, I began to wonder if they weren’t cruel, suspicious, dirty, wicked little rats just waiting to hurt me.

I became suspicious of men too.  On the outside I maintained an air of not knowing anything.  But on the inside I secretly worried about what men were thinking about.

Third Grade Evangelist

Life marched on as I left a piece of childhood behind a few years too early.  For some reason, God put a passion in my heart to tell my peers about Christ and His Saving Grace.  Of course, that isn’t quite how I verbalized it in third grade.  It likely came out more like this:

Me: “Hey…did you know that you are a sinner and going to hell?”

Peer: “Um.  No.  I don’t think I’m going to hell.”

Me: “Yes, you are.  Everyone is.  Everyone, that is, except the ones who invite Jesus into their hearts.  He died on the cross to forgive your sin.  If you invite Him into your heart, your heart won’t be full of sin anymore.  He’ll forgive it all.  Then when you die you get to go to heaven.  Otherwise, it’s hell for you.”

Peer: “Hmmmm…so I just have to invite Jesus into my heart?”

Me: “That’s right.  And this afternoon, I’m planning to pray with whoever wants to meet me outside of the school.  You can ask Jesus then.  Just meet me outside Door C right after school.”

A few hours later, the carpool lady was cursing in her car at me as she waited for me to get done praying with a group of hell-bound kids.  Didn’t bother me one bit.  I was certain those kids were heaven-bound by the time we were done praying, and I was on my way.

That carpool lady lived in the house right behind us with her two little girls.  Her oldest daughter, one year older than me, hated my guts.  I guess I can see why.  She tried to drown me once in her wading pool, and I’ve been freaked out by water ever since.  Tragically, she was killed in a car accident with her dad when she was only 21.  I never knew if she found Christ before her death.

(By the way, I’m not advocating my style of evangelism.  I’m just telling you what I did when I was a kid.  Hopefully we are communicating a deeper understanding of salvation to our own children than, “just invite Jesus in your heart and WHAM BAM ALAKAZAM—you’re saved.”

Fourth Grade Jesus Freak

It was when I began the fourth grade that things went from bad to worse.  Now I had a reputation for being a “Four-Eyed-Jesus Freak”, “Goodie Goodie Two Shoes” who wore the wrong kind of tennis shoes and jeans.

And my best friend was a Jehovah’s Witness from the Trailer Park.

Yes.  I had it all going for me in the fourth grade.

How I prayed for Lori.  She couldn’t participate in any of the holidays the rest of us celebrated.  She couldn’t stand and say the Pledge of Allegiance with the rest of the class in school.  She was poor and lived in the slums of suburbia.  She stuck out like a sore thumb.  I suppose that is why we became best friends.

We were incessantly mocked, ridiculed, verbally abused, slandered, and sometimes physically assaulted.  This took place in a nice, 1970’s suburban public school with wonderful teachers.  Two sweet (OK…I was bossy) little girls.  And we weren’t the only ones.

I’m thankful for the hell I went through in public school.  God used it to point me in a new direction.  To prepare me to think outside the box.  To get me ready for more of life’s challenges. 

Because more challenges were coming my way.