The Bravest One

I have to smile --- I read the comments about my story and some people seem to be aghast that I should have had certain thoughts and feelings. I must remind you again, the story does not end there nor is one blog post all encompassing of my life long feelings.


I want you to know, I had a wonderful childhood! I had many, many happy memories. The thoughts and feelings that I wrote in my last post were true to “heart and soul feelings” that I did have, not so much as a little child but more from about 13 on up. My teen years were tumultuous but not in an outward fashion. I did not rebel against my parents even a little bit. I loved them and knew without a shadow of doubt that they loved me. They were logical and fair and I had no reason to rebel and it never crossed my mind even once.

My parents also taught me to love Jesus with all my heart. I remember consciously loving God from the time I was 7 years old and never did I turn back.                                                           
The tumult in my heart during my teen years and even beyond was my feeling of being inadequate. It started when I was 13 when I began to be torn between knowing I should start acting older now, but not being ready to give up my dolls so to speak. I wanted to be recognized as older but I looked like a twin to my brother, three years younger then me. Nobody took me seriously.

I remember once my cousins and my sister and I were all dressing up for church. We were at my cousins house. We pulled out some nylons and decided that those would look very beautiful with our dresses. But I was stopped short. I wasn’t allowed to wear them like the others because they looked way too grown up for my size. I was pretty much the same age, just didn’t look like it.

I did start growing when I was 13. I was very tiny up to that point. I could have passed for nine years old. I wish I had pictures to show you.

Those feelings I talked about, however real they were to me, did not mean that I had no joy in life. I had a great many good experiences that I am about to share with you in this post.

So, here goes:

The Bravest One!

When we lived in Ontario, I was brave! I was proud of that too. You see, when all the kids would get together and play, I was always the bravest one!

I recall 4 of us children standing on the peek of the roof of the root house down at the farm. We were contemplating the metal roof and how slippery it might be to get back down. They all suggested that since I was the bravest one, I should go first. I was only too happy to oblige, after all, who would want to turn down a title like that.

I also remember sledding of the roof of our garage when the snow drifts were high. I remember climbing up the broken ladder onto the wood shed roof and convincing my brother to follow. It broke under him and he was in a serious cast on his leg for the next two months. I remember climbing the ladders in the big hay barns, from the main floor to the lofts, to beyond, until I would perch myself in the rafters at the top near the roof. Then I would scoot or even inch my way across them on foot to get to the other ladder on the other side of the barn.

I loved building forts under the bales of hay as well, hours upon hours of fun, rearranging the bales into tunnels and rooms. Some spaces were very claustrophobic and being stuck under that big stack of hay sometimes did cross my mind but never dwelt upon.

I loved all the animals my mother allowed us to have as kids. Dogs and horses were my favorite. I loved my horse. Her name was Domaine and she was quite a gentle character. I have lots of stories to tell about her. She was so personable and intelligent that I was quite taken with her. She claimed us and became a loyal friend when we moved to BC with her in the back of our U-Haul with the furniture. She came to the house and whinnied for treats which we always obliged. She fought with the dog for his bed made of hay. She adopted an injured cow as her charge and kept the coyotes at bay for over a month. She stood in the middle of the long driveway to be bumped on the rump by the car all the way to the house every time my father came back from town. She and the dog were always the first with their heads in the trunk of the car to see what goodies may have come back from town (that’s when she wasn’t fenced). I rode her with a western saddle or bareback. Sometimes I would ride her with snow pants on because they were slippery and then I would run her up little hills to see how long I could stay on without sliding off. She was so much fun! When I was 15 years old we had to sell her because we were moving. I cried for days!

I’m going to save the stories of my dogs for another post. Only, I’m going to tell you that my dogs meant so much to me. They were true loyal friends and Todd especially had my heart! I was quite wrapped up in that little dog. He was the best ever!

Aside from animals, we had yearly vacation Bible schools in Ontario. They were a highlight of every year! Another highlight of every year was going to camp. My grandmother had a cottage on an Island and it was available for all family member to use. My cousins often came to stay with us for sometime in the summer and we would go to camp and swim the days away!

I always appreciated my mother for not stopping us from going out beyond her reach in the cold waves. She watched us but she didn’t stop us from going just beyond the point of danger if something should happen. She never stopped me from climbing to the highest branches of the tallest trees and she never stopped me from crawling under a whole barn load of hay. She understood that we needed to have fun and adventure and to push the limits a little bit in that way. I am forever grateful for that!

I have fond memories of picking strawberries, pollinating, tomatoes, weeding gardens, picking potatoes and fields of corn. Then there was hours upon hours, days upon days of canning fruit. The games we played to pass the time, “Who could be the quietest”, “Talking without any 3 letter words”, “Who can make the other person laugh first” and so on.

When we moved to BC, I remember fondly a friend who decided to help my brother, sister and I catch up with our school work. She also gave us swimming lessons and got us into a regular exercise routine. I loved it! I was good at it! Twice a week we would go to her house for school. I remember doing a test and getting only 99% for a grade. I complained bitterly over that one lost point. She was a bit exasperated. I also remembered, when I was 14 years old, that she was teaching us once in the pool a certain move or technique. I wasn’t getting it, and I said, “I am so stupid!” then I plunged my head under the water to keep trying and to avoid a reaction. She dragged my head back out by the hair and said very sternly, “Don’t ever say that again, ever!” lol Good for her. I had a lot of respect for her too!

Later we moved to a boarding school where my father was a Bible teacher and my parents both were heads of a home full of students. I must say, I excelled! I was in my glory in class. I was competitive and enjoyed learning. I did my best to stay at the top of all the classes I took. I didn’t always succeed but I did not too bad. I loved my work, I was learning to cook. I did it for another household. It was fun and they told me I did well at it. Apparently they liked me and I liked them.

I liked campouts and hiking and outdoor adventure and it always seemed that at this school, there was always plenty of that.

I loved, loved, loved choir. I so enjoyed singing. I was not confident about my abilities at first but they grew and when a choral group was started, I was chosen to be one of them. I was sooo happy!

Then we moved to Africa.

I was not apposed to going to Africa. I had prayed all my life that God would let me be a missionary someday. I wanted to feed the hungry, clothe the naked and help the poor in any way I could! I also liked adventure. I wasn’t exactly ready to go yet though. There was two dilemmas. 1. I was loving school! And 2. I couldn’t bear the thought of saying goodbye to my beloved dog, Todd. That was a heartbreaking experience.

Zambia proved to be all that I had hoped for. I quite enjoyed all the adventure. There was never a dull moment and I loved the people.

Next we moved to Lesotho. I was very disappointed to move away from Zambia. I did not really enjoy Lesotho. I went to school there. I was the only white person in the school. I did my best and had some touching experiences in the hospital. School was hard though. Not scholastically but socially. When I put my hair up, it seemed that the other girls all chit-chatted and laughed. When I sat, they laughed, when I stood they laughed. When I answered questions I was afraid. We had one teacher who would loudly laugh when you got the answer wrong or did the wrong thing and point you out to all the other students in class. It was humiliating. There was another teacher who angrily shouted at the students when they didn’t get the answer right and she kept a pointer for teaching which she sometimes lashed out with. I never got hit. I’m sure I would have walked out right then and there if I did, but I stood up in fear and trembling one day when she asked, “Why will nobody answer the questions that I ask?” Everybody sat in silence until I stood up and told her that her behavior made people afraid. She seemed to calm down a bit after that. I also found it frustrating that the some of the teachers didn’t believe in giving 100% grade even if you got all the answers right. I found that very discouraging.

I loved working in the hospital as a nurse, but besides feeling pretty insecure there and unsure of myself, I did not enjoy school. I got it in my head to go back to the school I had left in Canada. I was 18 and I was ready and happy to go back to a place where I had felt on top of the world for the most part.

That’s another story!

This was me and my sister and brother at around 7 years old. This is before any surgeries.