My Christian training began in a miniscule rural church in the Westward Ho area. Prior to the construction of that facility, the small congregation gathered in the nearby schoolhouse, on the Westward Ho Road, a mile or two south of the hamlet. The church of my memories was farther south and west on the next road, directly across from the Walter Lockrem farmstead. Our house was another mile west, on Grandpa Reist's farm. I only recollect attending that church as a child although the folks had moved frequently. Dad worked as a farmhand or labourer in construction wherever he could find employment. They often landed back in the Carstairs area and attended the West Zion Mennonite church if they were in close proximity. In my earliest memories we were in permanent residency in the old farmhouse. Grandpa and grandma were in Ontario and Larry says that the house was often empty. Shortly after we moved there, dad and uncle Abe added an extension, enlarging and remodelling the kitchen. They built an area for our long dining table, a bathroom and a downstairs bedroom for mom and dad. Because we were a family with six kids, we learned to share: our physical space, toys, books and clothes. We also were given an opportunity to share in mom and dad's faith in God. Mom and grandma were my Sunday school teachers and dad the song leader.
Prior to the digital explosion, the teaching aids were more practical. Our tiny classroom was the church library, an overly optimistic title for the single bookshelf with its slim selection of Christian novels and extra Bibles, although no one would consider coming to church without one. I remember the flannelgraph lessons: the fuzzy cloth covering the boards and the figures dressed in Bible garb that grandma moved about "the landscape" she had created as she told the stories. The Good Shepherd, Paul on the road to Damascus, Jesus feeding the 5,000; each became alive to me. The sparse library was supplemented by a large map depicting Bible times. Damascus was at the top and Jerusalem farther down. Grandma pointed out the various landmarks as she taught.
My first Bible also had maps and I retraced the travels of the apostles as Grandma had described them. These lessons were implanted deep in my young heart and mind. That small country setting was also a gathering place. Many weddings were held there, as well as reunions and special services. Vacation Bible school was a regular highlight of our summer holidays. We hosted teachers from other churches for the week as our congregation was so small. The church near Tofield was much larger and they often sent assistance our way. We also received help from our denomination in the States. Charlene Brown, Buetta Wise, Ramona Wertz and Miriam Myers are some of the names that come to mind. My mom was a faithful letter writer and kept in touch for years with a few of them. Miriam came back to visit years later with her husband when she was herself ready for retirement. Our denomination put out a simple newsletter with a section that offered names of people wanting a pen pal, unheard of today.
I selected a few and wrote for several years. One turned out to be a much younger sister of one of our Bible school teachers. We were both excited to realize how much we actually had in common. Another came through the area with her sisters on a tour of Western Canada.
We shared our thoughts and beliefs and visions for the future. We continued to write until after my marriage and the arrival of my first child. Sadly, as we moved often as well, I lost touch with her. That must be where my love of writing came from. In elementary school we were instructed in the art of letter composition, the correct heading, greetings and punctuation. I know that I also wrote to at least one of my teachers after she returned to the States. We also had English classes with writing assignments. We were encouraged to write from the heart, not strictly by rote. One Grade 9 teacher introduced us to the keeping of a journal, a useful means of expressing our thoughts, working out problems and experimenting with poetry away from critical eyes. I still keep a journal, to float ideas, track events in my day-to-day life or to record prayers. A habit begun early is worth continuing.
