Libby Baker Sweiger

Weaver of Everyday Tales

24 Oct 2011
4 Comments

Young Love

Dear First Boyfriend Mike at High School Reunion This Summer

“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.”
― Dr. Seuss

Young love is so exciting. You kind of tingle all over. It is hard to sleep, at least it was for me. Sleeping has never been my best thing anyway. I was in 6th grade and the cutest boy on the block, well frankly, the whole school had declared his undying love. We kinda liked each other the end of 5th grade too, but there was another boy, Gordy, I also liked. Finally, in 6th grade Mike had enough. The rumor I heard — and you know how dramatic grade schoolers can be — was that he was on the window ledge of the 3rd floor and threatening to jump if I didn’t pick him. Well I told the message bearer of course, Mike was IT for me! I liked him better anyway. There was certainly no reason for anyone to scrape a knee or break a leg over!

I was hooked. He was so sweet. Kind of quiet. I always liked the quiet ones. Probably a safety net provided by God to keep me from having too many boyfriends! Most quiet boys were a bit intimidated by me. Not Mike. He had tons of self-confidence. He was older than I was too. I was a June birthday and small for my age. What I did have that he really liked was long brown hair almost to my waist, very straight.

This continued into 7th grade. It was nice going into Junior High with a really sweet, cute boyfriend. We went to some parties together. Boy/girl parties. At first opportunity, Mike kissed me at one of those parties. Very sweetly. Short. Nice. He was good to me. Only thing was, he loved my hair. He told me if I ever cut it he would break up with me. I didn’t believe him. He couldn’t mean it. It was just his way of complimenting my hair.

Naturally, I told my next door “best” girlfriend Barbie what he said. I didn’t notice the correlation back then. I never wanted to think ill of my friends. But, from the moment I disclosed that tidbit of news to Barbie, my without a boyfriend “best” friend, she started in on me to cut my hair.

The funny thing about girls and women in general is that they seem to care more about what fashion dictates and their girl friends think than what the men who care about them say about their appearance. And while long straight hair was in style in my High School years, I was bucking the trend then. The celebrity model who was big then was Twiggy with hardly any hair on her head at all.

Well you guessed it. My mom and Barbie and I took my beautiful long hair to the department store stylist and got a little trim: to my shoulders. Mike was horrified. And did what any guy with his character would do, was true to his word and dropped me.

I couldn’t believe it. I was stunned. What happened I thought to my self, and said to my girlfriend Barbie. She said boys are fickle, you can’t trust them. It didn’t seem right. I had always been able to trust Mike. I thought, much later, gee maybe he really meant it about the long hair.

He was a sweet boy. I missed him for a long time. You’re too young to articulate things at that age and we never discussed our falling out. I saw him last summer. He came back from California for our 40th High School Reunion. He hadn’t been back since the 10th. We had a great time talking and hanging out a bit on Friday night. We talked about the tree fort he had in his back yard and the fun times we had as kids. Nothing about kissing or hair. He was is the midst of a happy 26 year marriage, me a happy 32 year one! He was still a great guy. I had turned out okay. You can see by our smiles we had shared something pretty special once and we really didn’t need to talk about it. It just was.

Posted in friendship, Love and tagged , ,
23 Oct 2011
4 Comments

Saturdays at Dad’s

LtoR: Scott, Suzy, Pop, Dad, Sara, Me and Bill

“A writer is a person who cares what words mean, what they say, how they say it. Writers know words are their way towards truth and freedom, and so they use them with care, with thought, with fear, with delight. By using words well they strengthen their souls. Story-tellers and poets spend their lives learning that skill and art of using words well. And their words make the souls of their readers stronger, brighter, deeper.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin

Every Saturday, many Sundays after Church, every Christmas Eve and Father’s day were my dad’s and nobody questioned it! My dad had many qualities that made him a great dad, he loved his children, he loved to be outside and play with us and was the best story-teller. I could listen to my dad’s stories by the hour. I still can!

He loved us so much, my mother told me later, that the night they realized that a separation was going to happen he cried about not living with us kids. It breaks my heart to think of it. My poor parents, both loved us so much. My dad in tears, I could hardly bear it when she told me.

But on to the fun stuff. We lived in Minnesota. My dad was from Mitchell, South Dakota. Two cold places. He never let that stop him from being outside, or from taking us on hikes as he called walking up and down whatever hill or mini-mountain we could find.

On a Dad Hike! Me Bill and Scott!


He played football for the University and taught all for of us to go out for passes. Suzy first, she was the fastest, then me, then Bill and then Scott. He had us running, catching the football, throwing a nice spiral back to him so he could fire one off to the next kid in line. It was a blast. We went as fast as we could. Suzy set a pretty fast pace. She’s the beautiful blond girl in the pigtails in the picture. The baby is my sister Sara. She’d watch at first. Eventually she joined us for basketball. I don’t remember her playing football.

Sara was a delight as was her mom. Pop is my dad’s dad, also known to tell a good story. My dad loved words and chose his well. I loved to hear my dad talk about anything, but most especially his childhood. His childhood friends had amazing names, like “Liver Lips” Johnson! My dad could really made us laugh as you might well imagine! He told the stories of how he and his brother fought that are the stuff of family legend. He has golf stories that would make you laugh ’til you cried. You’re probably wondering why I’m not telling you any, well my dad is an author, currently working on his memoirs! I don’t want to steal any of his thunder!

I will say this, my dad taught me to love words and books and writing and speaking. When I was in high school he had a regular column in the Minneapolis Athletic Club magazine the Gopher for local business. It was funny, witty and I read it every month. His book, “The Guide Shoots First” about his hunting adventures is selling well on Amazon.com

There was one thing I envied my brothers. Well two, I guess. 1) every year they went hunting with dad and 2) they went down to the Athletic Club every Saturday morning with dad to workout, play basketball, etc. Dad would pick us up after. It was a men’s club back then with just certain hours that they allowed women’s swimming, which we did! But I wasn’t to envious. One big drawback, they couldn’t be a daughter of dad’s which is a precious thing!

All sports at my dad’s house were strictly co-ed. Other places, it was another era. There weren’t many sports for women back then, and my gym teachers were amazed at my basketball prowess when they began to “teach” us the game. Too bad they didn’t teach football too! Dad would have loved that story!

Posted in Children, Dad, Family, friendship, Hope, Love and tagged , , , , , , ,
22 Oct 2011
14 Comments

Hem of His Garment

The Hem of His Garment

18 While he was saying this, a synagogue leader came and knelt before him and said, “My daughter has just died. But come and put your hand on her, and she will live.” 19 Jesus got up and went with him, and so did his disciples.
20 Just then a woman who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years came up behind him and touched the hem of his garment. 21 She said to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be healed.”
22 Jesus turned and saw her. “Take heart, daughter,” he said, “your faith has healed you.” And the woman was healed at that moment.
23 When Jesus entered the synagogue leader’s house and saw the noisy crowd and people playing pipes, 24 he said, “Go away. The girl is not dead but asleep.” But they laughed at him. 25 After the crowd had been put outside, he went in and took the girl by the hand, and she got up.
26 News of this spread through all that region.

I was sitting in Church on beautiful sunny spring Sunday and our minister, started preaching from Matthew. My ears really perked up because he was talking about a man whose daughter had died and he believed if Jesus came and touched her she would live again. Pretty extraordinary stuff and definitely a part of the bible I hadn’t read lately.

This man’s faith caught my attention. I was really struggling. I was in my Junior Year of High School, not my best year. I had developed a frightening case of acne that had scared more than one date away. I was not close to my dad and didn’t know how to fix it. I think I was scaring my mom a little bit. I know she was praying for me a lot.

Then my ears perked up again, suddenly a woman appeared on the scene. She was really sick. She believe if she touched the hem of Jesus garment she would be healed. Now I was really listening! Then the still small voice within me started to speak. Now this is an expression from the bible Christians use instead of sounding crazy and saying God started talking to me. But in fact, deep in my heart, God started talking to me. I kept hearing the words, “If I only touch His cloak, I will be healed.” I knew who He meant, Jesus wasn’t there in the flesh, he meant our beloved minister. He wanted me to touch his robe and be healed.

I was fighting this one hard. No way do we have altar calls in the Congregational Church and certainly not in the suburbs! Yet, I couldn’t shake the unmistakable, over-powering tug on my heart and soul. Healed from what? I was thinking all the while: acne, broken heart about my dad, rebellion, lousy attitude. You name it, I needed healing mind, soul and body badly. But really, walk up the aisle of the church and touch the minister’s robe?

I was getting really warm inside. Every time the dear minister said “If I only touch His cloak I will be healed” and “Your faith has healed you” — which seemed to be a refrain in his sermon — it was like someone putting a light charge of electricity through me.

Finally I got up. I walked up the very long aisle to the front of the church and touched our minister’s robe just as he was reading the words, “Take heart daughter, your faith has healed you.” And then he smiled at me and looked and the congregation. He said, our little one here has come seeking healing…he looked at me and I nodded. That was all I could do. Then he turned to the congregation and said something like…if any more of you would like prayer please come up and join us here. And people came forward! And he prayed for all of us. Many hearts were touched. It was the very first alter call ever in that church, but certainly not the last.

Did I get healed? In every way. It was the beginning of a work of restoration of faith in my Lord. I know my desire to be closer to Him and to my Dad was in the works. What about my skin? That wasn’t instant, but there was a healing that took place. The dermatologist had spoken with me about treatments to fix scarring and pitting down the line. Due to the healing started that day, none of that was ever necessary. It was like I was given brand new skin!

I do have an interested post script to this story. Years later, I was working in the marketing department of a Life Insurance company in downtown Minneapolis. I was on a company weekend at their home office in Wisconsin and was up late one night talking to one of the women executives. She and I had really hit it off and she knew I was a person of faith. She said she was once a Congregationalist, but she got really turned off to church one Sunday. I asked her what happened. She said a young girl got up at the end of the sermon and walked up and touched the minister’s robe. It turned her off completely.

I was able to tell her that that young person was me and I gave the story to her from my perspective a bit. It was so amazing. That wonderful woman opened her heart back up to God that night. She thought that if He would go to all the trouble of finding that girl and put her back in her path all these years later, He must care about her a lot. And of course, I agreed!

Posted in Christianity, God, Hope, Love
21 Oct 2011
8 Comments

The ‘Fro

My Senior Picture

“In the time of your life, live—so that in that wondrous time you shall not add to the misery and sorrow of the world, but shall smile to the infinite delight and mystery of it.”
”
― William Saroyan

When I was young, I loved the works of William Saroyan. He was an Armenian immigrant who wrote of the things I love: stories of families, rich characters, loyal and loving friends, close-knit communities, love and laughter! I guess I love them still.

I think an explanation of my hair do is in order. When I was a Junior, my hair was kind of medium short and as always very straight. My mom and I thought a perm was in order. So we gave me a Super Curl Lilt Permanent Wave. I thought that was what the situation called for when I picked it out. My hair was very straight, not a bend it sight. It was also very fine. And I had a LOT of hair back then. For those of you who know permanent rinses and hair types, you are probably guessing the outcome. Not us, mom and I were never more surprised: Instant Afro! Well, we LOVED it. We thought it looked great. We didn’t know that it would instantly change my social status from straight to freak (or hippie). We didn’t know the type of backlash is would experience in my conservative High School.

I washed it, let it air dry. Put on big earrings and a pair of jeans and a top, my usual school fair since they abolished the dress code and off I went. Of course, my mom, President of my fan club thought I looked beautiful. MY girlfriends concurred. They said it made my eyes look HUGE and my cheekbones stand out. I do wish I had a picture of it! My Senior Picture was taken at the end of the summer and I agreed to go to my grandmother’s hairdresser for a hair straightening. But let me tell you a bit more about the ‘Fro first.

It got some violent attention. One of the older boys at lunch threw and apple at me at lunch and tore the earring off my face. Then a food fight commenced. I didn’t participate. It scared me. I ran out of there and went looking for a counselor. He told me that I shouldn’t be too surprised. I said what did he mean. He said, “Well, you’re not exactly keeping a low profile.” I was never so angry. I ran out of his office.

Then one of my “best” girlfriends said she heard a rumor going around the school that I was pregnant and the baby would be black, so I had done this so the baby would identify with me. Oh my goodness! High School is so silly. Where do they come up with this stuff? Then I remembered what the counselor said about my not so low profile.

The greatest things started happening. The biggest freak we called them (hippies) at our school, Michael came to Christ. He wanted to have a bible study…I volunteered our house after check with my Mom + God who said of course. Suddenly we had a houseful of hippies coming to know more about Jesus every week and I know they identified with me more thanks to my Super Lilt! That kept up through my senior year because we got a great guy from a new church to lead it. He was older and very grounded in the faith and word.

Before my senior year, as I said I agreed to get my hair straightened. Summer weekends at the pool with my grandparents and my ‘Fro were about all the family could take…so I was happy to do it. The only bummer was, he did a beautiful job straightening my hair and it was quite long under all that curl. I asked him just to trim it and he scalped me. Way too short. So in my Senior Year Picture I have flipped my hair back trying to give it some volume because it was short and sticking to my head.

Mike thinks it looks like some old ladies hair-do, not a child of the 70’s. I agree, it does rather stand out among all the long hair. But I don’t really mind being a stand out!

I had a lot of fun my senior year with a nice boyfriend as I’ve said. I let my hair be short and straight. I only flipped it for the picture. I tried to lived as we were learning in our bible studies and as William Saroyan said:

“In the time of your life, live—so that in that wondrous time you shall not add to the misery and sorrow of the world, but shall smile to the infinite delight and mystery of it.”
”
― William Saroyan

And as Mother Teresa says: “Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier. Be the living expression of God’s kindness: kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile.”
― Mother Teresa

Posted in Uncategorized
20 Oct 2011
6 Comments

“Minister” On A Motorcycle

“Never travel faster than your guardian angel can fly.”
― Mother Teresa

When I was in High School. I was a lot to handle. I was rebelling against everything. It was the late sixties and the world was in turmoil. My Junior Year my mom was spending a great deal of her spare time in women’s bible studies and I know all the women were praying for me. I was like a young wild horse with the bit in my teeth, going fast as I could in the woods, paying no attention to the low hanging branches. I loved God. I prayed, but I wasn’t following Him like I had been, I was going too fast to follow anyone. Except my tight group of girlfriends and they were a bit too wild.

I was not promiscuous however. I didn’t believe in it. I didn’t care that it was the time for free love. I was raised to be a virgin when I married and I was holding to it. I didn’t care what the boys in my class thought about the idea one bit. But I was troubled. I wasn’t close to my dad for the first time in my life. I’m not sure why. We were having trouble communicating, I supposed like many fathers and teenage daughters of that day.

One beautiful spring day a young man drove his motorcycle into our suburb. He was going door-to-door raising money for a “mission” trip he was taking to save the souls of the Native Americans in Arizona. No matter how ludicrous that sounds today, this was at the height of the Jesus Movement and people were buying what he was selling…I’m not trying to demean people of pure intent in their desire to spread the gospel, but I had reason to believe later that this guy was not on the up and up. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

I was an idealist. And wanted to change the world. If Native Americans would be better off as this man said, I was for it. And I would help if I could. Many of the people in my suburb felt the same way and contributed to this cause, including Colonial Church, the one I had found coming home from Junior High.

How did I meet this “minister” on a motorcycle. Well, amazingly my mother’s bible study introduced us. They thought he would be a good influence on me. Now I hesitate to write about this because I think good Christian people are often made to look foolish today and I don’t want to contribute to it. These were well meaning people trying to help me, who grasped at the nearest straw. Also, this man was a supreme manipulator.

So, I started traveling with him after school on his motorcycle. I didn’t ask God if I should, I just did. I assumed I was in His will without asking. My mom was okay with it because so many people she respected were. This went on throughout the summer. As you might imagine happened, this young man said he fell for me. He wanted to marry me and take me with me to Arizona to help him in his ministry. I was very taken with the whole situation, drawn in and captivated. I was all for the idea. Fortunately for me, I was too young to get married without parental consent. Whew!

I went out of town with my girlfriend for the weekend and had a fun time. I slowed down enough for my guardian angel to catch up with me like Mother Teresa says. I came to my senses and realized this guy was a nut, trying to marry me! He probably just wanted me! BFI “Blinding flash of insight” as my best friend Lynn would say! So I came back into town to break up with him.

I told him so and he talked me into coming to his house because he had something to tell me…I said I would and he picked me up and brought me to his place in town. He lived with his parents still. I never thought I would not be safe. We were talking in his garage and he said that while I was gone God told him that we should have a ceremony of our own. That we would be married in the eyes of God. And I could live with him. I knew something was terribly wrong and told him I had to go home. I asked him, adamantly to take me there.

Instead he raped me. I was heartbroken. Stunned and confused. No one had ever talked about date rape back then so it took me a while to figure out that I had, in fact, been raped. I lived in guilt and shame for quite some time. I couldn’t tell anyone. I didn’t know what to say. I just lived with it. I couldn’t believe I would not be a virgin when I married. I couldn’t believe something I was protecting and fighting to keep was gone and so soon.

I cried out to God. I couldn’t hear His response. Finally I ran away. I ran to a Young Life camp I had gone to with my church where a friend was working for the summer. I thought they were someone I could tell. They weren’t. They were horrified and ashamed for me. But my father found me there. My dearest friend. He took me back to his house and I stayed there with his dear wife and my little sister Sara.

He and my step mom paid me the supreme compliment of asking me to live with them. I did for two weeks and then I knew it was time to go home. I never told another soul until I was older, and it was a friend who loved and brought healing to my heart. My dad was my rescuer, but I was my mom’s so home I went. God healed my heart. And in time healed and restored all that had been taken from me. Was I a virgin when I married? Yes, absolutely! God makes all things new!

Posted in Betrayal, Forgiveness, God, Hope
20 Oct 2011
4 Comments

Mom Plus God

The Five of Us

“Your children are the greatest gift God will give to you, and their souls the heaviest responsibility He will place in your hands. Take time with them, teach them to have faith in God. Be a person in whom they can have faith. When you are old, nothing else you’ve done will have mattered as much.”
― Lisa Wingate

My mom tells the story that when dad and she decided to get divorced and she was alone in the house with us that she laid down on the floor and stretched out her arms and legs and gave up. She told God she couldn’t do this thing: raise the four of us without dad in the house and without his daily presence and love. She told God she needed Him to give her the strength as soon as possible, PLEASE! She just laid there until he answered her. From that day forward she always said God was her husband. She was NOT a nun, she was real flesh and blood. She got frustrated with the four of us who could be very unruly without dad to yell out our given names! But, she had a lot of love and determination and incredible energy. I’m not surprised looking back to think that it was not really mom raising us at home, but mom plus God.

Now I want to stress again that my dad took care of us, too! He was there for us emotionally and financially and on weekends and holidays. But on the weekdays and every night it was mom + God who raised us. She needed help from others too and got it when she would. She was very beautiful and dated some. I love this picture of us taken at Minnehaha Creek by my all-time favorite of her boyfriends, a doctor and a really great guy. She didn’t have very many of them, but they were all sweet to us. Some wanted to marry her. She never took them up on it, and finally stopped dating. She maintained she was married to God. That might sound a bit goofy to some, but my mom was not goofy, she was full of love. I think, however that she never really got over my dad. She is 81 now, with Alzheimers, and her face still lights up like a Christmas tree when she hears his name!

And my grandparents, were always around. I had two sets. I was very fortunate in that department. My moms parents we saw the most, because they lived near by. They were an important part of our lives. And my cousins too, of course. Yet, sometimes we were lonely. My mom started this ritual of putting is all to bed individually and lying down with us and talking to us for a good long time. My mom took a couple of hours to put four kids to bed. I mentioned she had energy. She was very happy raising us. She would get up the next day to begin the adventure again!

She depended on me for help with my brothers. My sister Suzy helped more around the house. We all helped mom when we could. I was her rescuer. One early summer day I rode home on my bike and saw her holding the window air conditioner out the window! I ran upstairs to see what the deal was and found she had it stuck outside the window, not in the brackets and could get it in or out! She was holding onto the thing for dear life. She wasn’t about to drop an air conditioner! I got on my bike and pedaled to the nearest gas station (about a mile) and the guy who knew us came and helped mom out! Wow! What a day. I get tense just thinking about it! Okay now I’m laughing. Life with mom was never dull!

Mom raised us on the praise method. She had been raised that way by her dad with a bit more of a critical style by her mom and saw no value in it. Even today, my husband Mike calls her the president of my fan club! She is the first person I call when something great has happened. Well it’s a coin toss! The second person I call is my Dad! They are two great people who built a wonderful happy family, together and apart. One of their secrets: they loved their children. A second? They never had a bad word to say about each other! I had the two best parents in the world, plus God!

Posted in Children, Family, Forgiveness, God, Hope, Love
19 Oct 2011
18 Comments

Daddy’s Girl

I adore my dad. I love him fiercely like a bear cub and gently like a baby dear. He taught me to sing “America the Beautiful” while we were driving up the Rocky Mountains on the way to Colorado Springs, Colorado.

Driving through the Rockies (Courtesy of Photobucket)

He took me across the street to the park every Saturday when I was only 3 to explore and hike and experience nature. He taught me to love the outdoors, the beauty of God’s creation and probably caused my heart to hunger for more of God. He taught me Astronomy when I was only five and made me feel smart and wonderful always. I loved to hear his stories. My dad is a great story-teller and a natural author. He is 81 and working on his third book. I am so proud of him. He has accomplished so much in his life, not the least of which raising three girls and two boys of which I am the oldest.

I know I said in an earlier post that I felt a shift in his behavior toward me after the divorce to a more grandfatherly pose as a disciplinarian. It’s true he wasn’t as strict, but we cherished all of our time together and he was always, always there for me. I knew I could count on him in any kind of crisis and experience bore that out. But I don’t want to talk about crisis now, I want to talk about my dad and his stories and our great times together.

He could and does tell the very best stories. And he has a wonderful laugh. I love to hear it and I love to make him laugh. He’s told me he thinks I’m brave and that is music to my ears because he is. He was born in the Great Depression. His parents separated when he and his younger brother were very young. I’m sure it was very hard, but the way he tells it they had a great deal of fun and fought as brothers will. They would get into the movies for the cost of a gunny sack each he used to say. And one day, he and his brother found where they stored the gunny sacks and went to the movies quite easily from then on! On they reminded me of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. I loved to hear about their adventures.

My dad was always a very hard worker like his mom. He worked on the railroad when he was only 14 pounding spikes which he said may have stunted his growth. Hard to say when he’s 6 feet tall! 🙂 He worked his way through college after being in the Army at the end of World War II on the GI bill. And went to work for an insurance company. He worked his way up to heading a large local Insurance brokerage house and had traveled on business internationally before he retired. All on the strength of hard work, good salesmanship, and smarts. I’m very proud of my dad and all he’s accomplished in life, while being here for us kids.

Now I call myself a Daddy’s Girl, not because I don’t love my mom to pieces, because I do. And it’s not because I’m spoiled either. It’s just when I looked up for help in the times of my life I really needed it…I always saw my dad’s face. Always.

I relate to my dad. I understand him. I want to make him proud and I want to make him happy more than anything I guess. I want to somehow pay him back if I can in some small way for always being there for me.

I’m crying now thinking of all the times he’s been there for me. I ran away after a bad experience when I was 16. He was the one who found me. I didn’t go into the hospital willingly when they first found the bi-polar, because I didn’t want to be separated from my son…so I had to face a commitment hearing. My dad went with me to that. His calm demeanor and praise afterward kept the experience from scaring and scarring me. Also I passed and became a voluntary admittance which is much preferred, believe me. When my boy died he held me up. He held me at my daughter’s funeral. He gave me away with such joy when Mike and I married. He paid for my college, when I finally made it at 28! He was there for my awards dinner with my mom when I scored high grades.

Here’s a birthday card I had made for him last year. I will never be able to show him how much I appreciate all he has done. But like me, he loves celebrations, and birthdays! His is 4 days after Christmas!

Sis Sara, me, Niece Kimmy, Sis Suzy

Happy Celebrating Every Day, Dad…with all my love, Lib

Posted in Children, Dad, Family, Love and tagged , , ,
18 Oct 2011
8 Comments

When God Found Me

I was always really curious about God. I remember driving my Sunday school teachers down at Hennepin Avenue Church crazy with questions. How can we talk to God? How does He talk to us? How do we know He will answer our prayers. How can we get into Heaven?

It bothered me a lot that they didn’t have answers for most of my questions. I had asked my grandmother Meme, a Methodist — and all I got was — try your best and be a good girl and hope you get in. The vagueness of the reply troubled me greatly. Also I didn’t think I was a particularly good little girl. I teased my little brothers, sometimes my sister and didn’t help my mom enough! When I got older, 7th grade I remember getting mad and saying bad things in my head at the minister’s sermons because he sounded so vague and irritatingly non-committal about everything. When I thought about my questions and my thoughts later, I was sure a girl who was mean to a minister — even in her head — was not headed for anyplace too good at all! This continued on until I turned 13 and was in the 8th grade in Jr. High.

Now let me preface this by saying that I believe I had a big old hole in my heart. I believe I was missing God and I also know I was missing my dad. Now my parents had separated four years earlier and divorced when I was 10. I saw my dad every weekend and intellectually I comprehended the thing and was even behind it. I did not believe my parents belonged together. My dad was also much happier with my step mom, who I really liked and who really liked me and all the kids. My sister Sara, their only child hadn’t come along yet. But despite all this, I was a daddy’s girl. One who had followed my dad around every minute of my life until the day he left and I just plain missed him fiercely. After he moved out he treated us more and more like a grandfather than a dad I thought. He wanted all our time together to be special I imagine, so he spoiled us a bit and didn’t discipline us much…well we were probably on our best behavior too…at least that was my child’s impression. So I missed my dad. The one who used to YELL, Elizabeth Diane Baker if I was in trouble! The firm hand of guidance, and the safety I felt in that.

I didn’t know what to do with my new-found freedom, so a big part of me was looking for God. Probably the best idea I could have had. That all brings me back to the year I was 13 and in the 8th grade. I was walking home from school one day. I probably missed the bus because it was a two mile walk and I didn’t usually make my way on foot. I was passing by a church and noticed some pretty cool looking kids hanging out, playing in the side yard. I went over and talked to them, liked their banter and decided I’d go there the next Sunday when they asked. As the oldest child in the family I had certain privileges, as well as the safety of our neighborhood and those long ago times. When I told my mom I was walking to a new church on Sunday she let me go! My family drove down to Hennepin Avenue and I walked on a sunny spring day to Colonial Church of Edina and sat myself down in one of the pews.

Well, what did you know but my quest had ended? God had found me! On that sunny side street among friendly, playing children He had set the stage for me to walk right into a place that didn’t intellectualize tired old dogma, but told the story of the New Testament and the love of God in His son Jesus. I was home!

So that’s why I say God found me. Sure I was looking. But I think He set a pretty attractive trap and caught Himself a Libby and changed the course of her whole life! What do you think? Oh, by the way, my mom and my sister and brothers followed me to that church. It was great driving with the family again. We all felt we were home.

Posted in Children, Christianity, Dad, Family, Forgiveness, God, Hope, Love and tagged , , , , ,
18 Oct 2011
4 Comments

First Love

“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”
― Dr. Seuss

When I was a senior in high school, all of 17 years old, I was very much in love for the first time in my life. His name was Dimitri and he had been born in France. It was the 70’s and our type of love was not widely accepted. Dimitri was black. That was not my attraction to him. He was handsome, but also older, an artist and the kindest young man I had ever met. We met through my best girlfriend who was dating his friend, so on a double blind date. Blind dates have always been good to me! (See post “Made for Each Other”) He went to the University in our town and I lived in a conservative suburb. The police, he told me, often followed him into my neighborhood when he got off the freeway. He endured humiliation to date me and I only had to endure love. I adored his parents. His mother loved the ink and watercolors I used to do back then and framed them and hung them in her house. I considered it high praise, considering her son was the artist.

I was going to a very non-traditional, non-denominational new church back then and I was pretty into it. I loved my God and felt the church was filled with true Jesus People as they were called in those days. As you will see these two worlds were destined to collide.

Dimitri and I had a lot of fun together. Our favorite places were an Italian restaurant near his house, and hanging out at each other’s parent’s houses. I didn’t see him a lot. He was busy with his studies and the National Guard, it was Vietnam War time. The country was troubled and there were protests at the U, some of which he took me to. He respected my belief in Jesus and soon we were thinking alike on that subject. I was so in love, he could do no wrong and really, rarely did, except to get quiet on me sometimes. But he was a guy!

My whole family loved him. Almost all. I had been raised to believe that God loved all the children of the world, as the song goes, regardless of color. The only one who was having a problem was my dear grandfather who was raised in Missouri. He couldn’t be estranged from me though, so one day when Dimitri and I were at my house he drove over and talked with us. It was honest, painful, heart-wrenching and difficult for all of us to face his feelings, but we had the conversation. My grandfather saw the man Dimitri was and we were fine from that day on. Grandpa drove home and Dimitri and I went to the Italian place to talk about our relationship. We discussed if it was worth taking resistance for, decided it was, ate spaghetti and recovered like young hearts can do.

We rode this wonderful wave of young love for my entire Senior year. I had never been in a relationship like this before. I never wanted it to end. Then came the springtime. I went off for a retreat with my church. It was uplifting, captivating and as it turns out, maybe a little brainwashing time. Towards the end of the retreat the pastor who I thought was the next thing to God (WARNING!!!) asked to meet with me. He prayed with me and told me that God wanted him to be my spiritual father because my parents were divorced and I needed guidance. I bought it. I almost cry now to think of the next part. Then he said that God didn’t want Dimitri and I together, because my ministry was very important to God and that the race issue would get in the way. (OUCH!) I feel so bad now that I believed this. Never a prejudiced bone in my body and I fell for this because I wanted to be used of God more than anything. He took my greatest heart’s cry and used it! I was manipulated out of my first love.

One disagreement Dimitri and I had always had was that he didn’t believe men and women could be friends. He thought love got in the way, feelings would always intrude. So it didn’t surprise me completely when I told him we couldn’t date anymore that he refused my offer of friendship. What really killed me was what he said, “I love you too much Libby to stand being just your friend.” And there went my first love.

“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”
― Dr. Seuss

Posted in Forgiveness, Love and tagged
16 Oct 2011
6 Comments

Girlfriend Power!

“A hug is worth a thousand words. A friend is worth more.”
True friendship is like sound health; the value of it is seldom known until it be lost.”
― Charles Caleb Colton

I have three best girlfriends, well one is hanging by a thread, but is still dear to me in my heart. The first one, Lynn, I have written about many times. We have been friends since we were thirteen. I would have known her sooner because she lived in my neighborhood, but she went to the Catholic school through 7th grade. I met her when she started at my Junior High in 8th grade. She is beautiful and funny and so great to talk to — I have loved her like a sister for many, many years! I just had coffee with her Friday. Lynn and I will always be the very best of friends.

The second is Laura. She went to my church when I was it my late teens but I didn’t know her well. She dated my brother Bill for a short while. I thought she was beautiful and sweet. Later when I was in the hospital with the life-shattering first bout of Bi-Polar disorder that knocked me down when my son was 9 months old, she visited me. I remember her coming after Davey had died.

Yes, my little Davey died while I was in the hospital. It broke me and nearly finished me to lose him and not get to say good-bye. I went to his reviewal and funeral, that was all. I was accompanied by a loving, strong psychiatric nurse to help me. My family was wonderful, I remember my dad and my brothers the most for some reason. Possibly, they were holding me up. They’re all big guys. My dad is 6 feet and my little brothers are 6’4 (Scott) and 6’2″ (Bill). Somehow I got through. I don’t remember much of it, so I must have been pretty medicated, but I do remember my dad and my brothers. I remember the minister and some of the soothing things he said. He was my favorite pastor is still my dear friend and Facebook buddy, Arthur. We go for coffee together. What a dear man he’s always been to me. All this is probably why I remained in the hospital another month trying to kick back the depression that had followed the severe mania. It took many years for my heart to heal.

I know Laura wanted to help me. She and my mom were good friends, so she knew I was in a depression. She stopped by one day with a ball of yarn and some knitting needles saying she was there to teach me to knit. I wasn’t much interested in learning to knit, but I was very interested in getting to know Laura better. We became fast and forever friends. Laura and I share the same birthday and are only a year apart in age, me being the oldest.

Jessie is my third best friend. We got to know each other at age 18 and were fast friends. We met through our moms who were in a bible study together. Jessie is fun and funny, beautiful, full of faith and yet slightly irreverent, loves her family and is a great gal. Somehow though we have managed to grow apart.

For over 30 years Lynn, Laura, Jessie and I celebrated our birthdays together, every year, around mine and Laura’s day. Lynn and Jessie were born in July, Laura and I in June. It was a fun summer luncheon at a restaurant of our choice each year. Hours of conversation packed with love and friendship, laughter, hysterical birthday cards, party favors and general merriment ruled the day. And from the very first lunch, even though they are my best friends and had never met each other before! Here are some pictures:

Laura Lynn and I in June of 2010

Jessie and Lynn

But Jessie didn’t make it to all of them. She started missing more. Last year we talked about not inviting her. I was hurting our feelings a bit. But now I don’t know. Jessie is a great friend to me. My first Valentine’s day without my ex and my son, she and her husband Don stopped over with a Valentine for me that evening in the middle of their date. I was pretty moved. It made the night wonderful, not unbearable in fact. I’m calling Jessie tomorrow to see how she is. Her grandchildren keep her pretty busy. None of the rest of us have that dimension in our lives. I want to see how she is and tell her I love her. It’s pretty hard to top the powerful bond of girlfriends who have been with you going through what I went through. It’s just not right to ever let them go!

Posted in Forgiveness, friendship, God, Love

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