Raise your hand if you think fraternities and sororities are only about drinking, hazing, and partying. Yes, I see you out there, yes, I see that hand. Once I would have raised mine too, until I learned about Intervarsity Christian Fellowship from my young friend Dusty Harrison. As a child, when Dusty showed up at my sister’s house in Winston-Salem, or in the church they both called home, I thought, what a cute kid, he’ll break hearts one day.  As Dusty has grown and matured he’s become more than the cute kid in the neighborhood, he’s working on college campuses to make a difference. Dusty is a representative for Greek Intervarsity, a ministry of Intervarsity Christian Fellowship.  He took his place at Clemson University in 2007 as one of a number of campus ministries already on site, but none reaching out specifically to fraternity and sorority students who sometimes get left out. Greek Intervarsity offers a niche for these students within a large campus and offers them an opportunity to engage their faith.   For Dusty, a UNC-Chapel Hill grad, it brought 25,000 students down to a family.  At a campus orientation Dusty noticed a sign at a table that asked, “Can your Faith and Fraternity Coexist?”  Greek Intervarsity representative, David Shepley, provided an avenue for Dusty and other fraternity brothers to capture the best of both worlds, fully Greek and fully Christian. “I met a different Jesus my sophomore year at UNC,” Dusty states.

“Jesus hung out with people who were marginal in society and cared for them unconditionally. The Bible tells us to be ‘in the world, but not of it.’ Greek Intervarsity encourages students not to drop out of their fraternity or sorority but to be an encouragement to their brothers and sisters from within. Along the way, I met Christians who thought that you couldn’t be in a Greek organization if you were a Christian and their reaction was one of surprise and sometimes, disdain when they learned that I had pledged.”

For the first time ever, Clemson University is the site of a Greek Intervarsity ministry. Dusty’s task is to gather students together, within the framework of their fraternities and sororities, encourage them to live the Christian life, then scatter those students out to encourage their brothers and sisters.   For those, who for a number of reasons may not be attending a church in college, he will try to plug them in to various churches.

Dusty’s vision is to include all fraternities and sororities in this movement, including the National Pan-Hellenic Council, made up of historically black and multi cultural fraternity and sororities. “I’d like to use the gospel to bridge the racial and cultural gap that exists on campus and in the Greek system so that we can better understand each other.” Dusty leads a team of Intervarsity staff from around the country to raise awareness for this outreach.

Like most campus ministers, Dusty is responsible for raising his own base of financial support from local churches, families, and alumni to fund Greek Intervarsity at Clemson.  A portion of the funds Dusty collects are matched by the national organization.

In his first semester of ministry at Clemson, Dusty spent most of his time meeting students, faculty, local pastors, and community members in order to share the vision of Clemson Greek Intervarsity.  The year of the fire at Ocean Isle Beach, which resulted in the death of six USC students and one Clemson student—all members of Greek organizations—Dusty was available for prayer for grieving students at Clemson. As a result, a Greek Bible study has begun meeting on campus on Thursday nights to serve as a safe place for students to come and investigate Christianity and learn how to better serve their Greek brothers and sisters.

“It is tragedies like the fire at Ocean Isle and the Virginia Tech shooting that remind us just how vulnerable the college campus really is,” Dusty said.  “It is my prayer that Greek Intervarsity would be a unique Christian community at Clemson where students can come as they are to experience God. I am working toward the goal that they will leave transformed and equipped to be a part of a movement for positive change on campus and for life after college.”

Dusty became a married man in October of 2007.  His Central, SC home is graced by his lovely wife Christin, who shares his vision. Christin and Dusty are now proud parents to Reese, their precious little girl who will be two in October.  It’s a tall order for the cute little kid who came to my sister’s door as a child, but I have no doubt that his giant faith and our prayers will strengthen him for the task.

The young Harrisons have been a source of help and comfort to me since Bill’s death. These two were very special to Bill also and he guided them to a realtor that helped them find their home. I am thankful that Bill got to hold Reese as an infant.  This year I attended the Prayer Path at their Wesleyan church in Central. Similar to the Stations of the Cross in the Catholic Church, it allows an interactive look into the last week in the life of Christ. If you are looking for a church home in the Clemson-Central area, you may want to visit Alive Wesleyan Church.

If you would like to know more about Greek Intervarsity Ministries, visit their website at, http://www.greekintervarsity.org.  If you or your church would like to donate follow the links to donate or you may contact Dusty Harrison at dustyharrison@gmail.com. 

His phone at 1-336-403-8609.  Dusty is available to share his faith with churches and is a dynamic speaker.  If you are in the Winston-Salem area, Dusty would love to talk with you as well.

Reese, Dusty, Christin Harrison and me at Cook Out in Clemson. Dusty has had to adjust to this orange world, but is forever true to his 'Heels

On occasion I’ve had the opportunity to sub in our church office. After checking in, Preacher Clint made use of his umbilical cord to the world, his telephone, then off he’d drive. All Preacher Clint needed for an office was his car. Any car he drove had to be covered with prayer for each visit. Many a young pastor gained a more in depth prayer life from being a frightened passenger in the red jeep!  He was committed to visiting us in our sicknesses, griefs, and defeats. He agonized when a person turned a cold shoulder to God and was first at the throne of celebration when an angry soul softened to the call of the Savior.

A few years ago, as I sat behind the desk of the church, a young man wandered into the building. He had just been released from a three year stay in prison. Nervously, he clutched a piece of paper in his hand with the address of a friend. He saw our white steeple and came to us for directions.

Preacher Clint loaded two food boxes in the car, drove the young man to his destination, gave him a little money, and no doubt prayed with him. I only knew about the money because I asked, “Clint, should we give him some money, then get it back from the benevolence fund?” Clint replied, “I’ve already given him some, don’t worry benevolence, it’s all God’s anyway.”

Over the next few days many words will be spoken and pages written about this hero of the faith. The last afternoon I saw him was warm and sunny. Trina, his beloved wife, had him out on the front porch in his wheelchair. He took my hand as always, gripped it tightly and said, “Ann, I’m so glad to see you.  The sun is feels so good on my face, sit with me.”  Now Preacher Clint sits with Jesus, a pair truly made in heaven.

Funny Note:

When Bill and I became engaged I took him to Open Door.  As I introduced Bill to Pastor Clint, they hugged and greeted each other. I said, “well,I guess this means you’re in Bill.” Come to find out they had known each other for 10 years and had shared a real estate cubicle in Seneca when Bill first moved to the area!

Preacher Clint’s Graduation Announcement:

I did return and school got better. I learned to read under the tutelage of Mrs. Agnes Carlton. I wanted to read to everyone.  I read to the lady next door as she hung out her laundry.  I read to my parents, my sister, and the mailman on his Saturday delivery.  As he left his mail truck and walked the long flight of steps to our house, he learned of Dick and Jane’s adventures.  The world had popped open with a gift for me, an illustrious pearl called a book.

I am thankful to the memory of Mrs. Carlton who listened patiently as we read from huge sheets of lined poster board.  Her faith in me enabled me to read a script as Betty Clean Teeth in the Health Day Play. Not only was I able to read it, I learned it from memory.

She had faith in my ability to be one of the Helpers for the Week. One day that faith was tested. I was to share the duty of cleaning out the goldfish bowl and watering the plants with Frank Pelligrini. We were to take the plants and the goldfish bowl to the janitor’s room.  There were no sinks or bathrooms in the elementary classroom of the Fifties.  I carried the plant and opened the janitor’s door as Frank carried the goldfish bowl.  The door swung back, hit Frank, and dumped the contents of the glass bowl.  The wiggling goldfish flopped onto my new moccasins, looking for their watery home. All I could do was cry as I stood in my soaking dress and shoes.  Frank seized our teacher from the classroom, but not before the goldfish flipped their last flop.

A parent volunteer dressed me in an outfit that wrapped around me twice, and large shoes from the homeless children’s closet.  Our entire class paid respects to the goldfish as Mrs. Carlton, with a prayer, flushed them down the janitor’s commode.

As you think back with nostalgia on your own school days, thank a teacher whose care worn tonsils and endless patience have the faith to prepare a child for adulthood.

–From “Slightly North of Salem”

Ann Coogler

Calvin H. Wiley School still stands 'on a hill above a meadow.' I learned to read and write here.

Note: Each of my grandchildren is required to take the “Roots Tour” sometime in their young lives. I spend five days with one grandchild visiting the schools I attended, Krispy Kreme donuts, the Moravian Graveyard, and a variety of other haunts from my past.

I have graduated two grandchildren from the tour: Joy and Emily. Early June will find me enrolling Faith into the residence hall of Aunt Jean (my sister) as we go back to ‘the day.’

Noise is all around us. In the Old Testament book of Jeremiah 50:22, the noise of battle was in the land.  Where do we find quiet in our world to meditate and pray for those we hold dear? Earplugs are a start, or as Jesus did, we must draw away.  Imagine the crowd noise on Palm Sunday when his followers greeted Jesus as he rode on a docile donkey.  Later, Jesus, knowing his fate, drew away from his disciples to pray.  He knew that the crowd noise would follow him and that soon he would be stoned and beaten.

Scientists offer explanations of white noise, brown noise, and pink noise.  Preschool teachers offer explanations of learning noise and out of control noise. Sometimes we have noise within our own spirits keeping us from prayer.  Yet there are times that we can pray even with distractions around us.

At one time in my life I was a teacher.  There was nothing as intense for both teacher and student as the time of state testing. Cheering rallies were used to pump the children up for test time.  Testing tips were sent home for parents to read. Months of practice problems and situations were done in the classroom.  However, I wasn’t allowed to pray with my students.   The day of the test I prayed silently over each child’s bowed head as pencils darkened the bubbles inside white circles. No government edict could stop me from silent prayer. When their eyes met mine at the finish, I knew I had done all for them that I could do.

I now live in a sanctuary of quiet dogwoods, chirping birds, and a frog’s low croak. A doe with gorgeous eyes graced my back yard recently. A gentle rain is the only noise as I write this.  Spring break for my grandchildren isn’t so far in the past. The sounds of young voices, golf shots, and swimming feet are now a memory.  I will pray for them but I can’t see their faces.  Children and their fun noises are truly a gift from God.

Easter and the advent of spring bring a spiritual awakening. Life is definitely different for me now. Special days and celebrations take me to holidays of the past.

Memories without the other memory maker penetrate the tissues of my soul. Right now the traffic signal of my life is on yellow—a time for cautious decisions.  Can you hear Him? Listen to the quiet.

Faith Column – Ann Coogler

Daily Journal and Messenger, Seneca, SC

April 18, 2009

(With revisions-April 16,2012)

Let me be quick to say that not everyone is comfortable within the walls of a church.  The artistry of nature is a truly holy experience. There are saints within my family who didn’t attend church, but I feel certain they are watching over us as guardian angels.  We will be together at the foot of the cross.

Each of my church families has celebrated the Lenten season in a different way.  I thought it might be interesting to share my blended “spiritual soup” with you:

1. Moravian – Calvary Moravian, Winston-Salem, NC
2. Presbyterian – Easley First Presbyterian, Easley, SC
3. Wesleyan – Easley First Wesleyan, Easley, SC
4. Evangelical Lutheran – St. John’s Lutheran, Walhalla, SC
5. Missouri Synod Lutheran – Eternal Shepherd Lutheran, Seneca, SC
6. Baptist-Open Door Baptist, Walhalla, SC

I’ve also enjoyed the rich experience of having friends who are Seventh Day Adventists, Catholic, Jewish, Buddhist, and Greek.  I’ve had interesting courses in World Religions and learned from conversations with those who are part of different families of God. I was grateful to my Jehovah’s Witness friend who gave loving care to my first husband when he suffered.

I became especially close to the parents of two students who had both Baptist and Buddhism as the practice of faith in their family. When the young mother died tragically, the grandfather traveled from Iran to honor his deceased daughter-in-law in a Baptist church funeral. He bowed low to me and said, “I have heard of you, the esteemed teacher.” He took my hand, kissed it, and cried.  A week after the funeral my daughter and I enjoyed a typical Iranian meal prepared by the esteemed grandfather, his grieving son, and my two precious students; now motherless.

The commonalities of celebrating the Lenten season are many.  Each celebration of the last week in Christ’s life has been stirred into a blend that defines me.   Easter events that have been meaningful to me are:

1. Threading flowers through a cross of wire in a church yard on Easter morning.
2. Entering the church with my family of four while waving palm branches
3. Placing wet ashes on our foreheads at Ash Wednesday services to denote the mourning  surrounding the sacrifice of Christ
4. The thrill of a sunrise along the banks of Lake Keowee in the quiet perfection of dawn.
5. Choirs walking to their lofts following a youth with a purple draped cross.
6. Special Easter music
7. The blend of the old and young in a church family depicting the events of the Crucifixion ; followed by the joy of the resurrection.
8. Following my friend through the Stations of the Cross within the home of her Catholic Church family.
9. Giving up chocolate during forty days and nights of Lent—yeah  for the first time I did it!!
10. Sunrise services of the Moravian Church

Bill and I did the “church flip dance” rotating between his church in Clemson and mine in Walhalla. There wasn’t an ounce of prejudice within my late husband. In the past he traveled to Iran with his job. He experienced a friendship with his driver and bodyguard, “Sam -Sam” Bednar.

Some of our celebrations mix the fun of Peter Rabbit for small children with story books showing the love of Christ on the cross. My dad gave my sister and I Easter baskets until we were in our twenties . He traded the baskets for denominations of folding money, (that’s too punny!)

I have three Moravian friends who have become South Carolinians. Tonight I’ll attend “The Prayer Path”* at First Wesleyan Church/Alive, Central, SC. with my friend Dusty Harrison. Dusty is a product of the Winston-Salem church of my childhood. He has become a representative for Clemson Greek Intervarsity Ministry Intervarsity Christian Fellowship is devoted to helping fraternity and sorority members discover a personal relationship with God.

Whether you celebrate the Easter holiday surrounded by the artistry of nature or within a church, be blessed.  Enjoy peace, rest, your family, and be grateful. Thanksgiving and Easter go hand in hand!

“For this is My blood, which seals the covenant between God and His people. It is poured out to forgive the sins of many.” Matthew 26:28

“Go ye therefore and teach all nations baptizing them in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” Matthew 28:19

*”The Prayer Path” click on the church calendar for April 5th for more information. Too late for this year, but visit them next year!

Visit First Wesleyan Church/Alive on Facebook

Pretty Place Chapel, Camp Greenville,

near Caesar’s Head-South Carolina

Maundy Thursday (also known as Holy Thursday) is commemorated with the serving of communion to celebrate the Last Supper of Jesus and his disciples. The next day a Crucifixion Hour service is held at 2:15 pm. At the completion of the service, the church bell tolls once for each of the 33 years of Jesus’ life. A traditional Moravian Lovefeast is served Friday evening to end the day. The Easter Lovefeast differs from the Christmas Lovefeast. The physical differences are that candles aren’t used as part of the service and music is played in keeping with the Lenten season. The Easter Lovefeast can be compared to the family meal that takes place after the funeral service of a loved one. The occasion of Good Friday is set aside to memorialize our Lord who suffered and died for us.  At a funeral to memorialize the deceased, we sing favorite hymns and break bread together when the service is over. The Easter Lovefeast is a simple meal of the Lovefeast bun and a cup of sweetened, milky coffee. All denominations are welcomed to participate as the family of God.

Saturday morning the Moravians continue to memorialize the life of Christ through caring for the graves of deceased loved ones. Any Saturday morning before Easter Sunday will find families washing the graves of family members and placing flowers on them. From midnight Saturday until approximately 4:30 a.m. Sunday Moravian bands play throughout the city. The sunrise service at 6 am brings Passion Week to a close with the refreshment of the Resurrection. Ascension Day follows on Easter Monday.  As a child,  I remember the closing of all schools and businesses in Winston-Salem to commemorate Easter Monday. Sadly, this is no longer in practice.

Last Easter the numbness of Bill’s death in February left me unable to experience feeling of any kind at the newness of spring. It still makes me teary to see new flowers emerge. It didn’t matter that Bill had seen a flower bloom many times through the 79 years of his life. Each spring was more beautiful than the last to him.  Many times he would call me outside with the excitement of a child seeing a daffodil for the first time.

We also have a very unusual white rose that blooms any time of the year. Our friend, Peck, who lived here before us, planted it in memory of her husband.  When Peck moved she said, “take care of my babies”, (her flowers). We rarely did anything to the white rose and it continues to bloom.  Bill and I always thought our late spouses were giving their approval of our marriage through the awakening of the rose all year round.

As I removed the dead leaves and flower heads from my shrubs this morning I thought of how our lives are like the seasons. The dead leaves are the past that we strive to shed when the hope of Christ enters our hearts.  The tiny blooms will come into full flower if we allow Christ to awaken us.

“Sleepers Awake”* winter is past. May your Easter be filled with roses of the heart that bloom all year round.

*”Sleepers Awake” is a church cantata by Johann Sebastian Bach used by Moravian brass bands to commemorate the dawn of the Resurrection hour.

Thanks to: Jean Lewis Fordham and Bishop Lane Sapp for assistance with this writing.

2008: Working in God's Acre, Norian Fordham, Bill Coogler, my son, Mike Massey,and Jean Lewis Fordham (Overseer)-I had gone to fetch water for the overseer! lol!

On Christmas Eve, a Moravian has a trace of Methodist, with bread, candles, and music on the side.  The bread breathes of ginger, and a sweet, milky coffee accompanies the candles and music. The Lovefeast service represents sharing the warmth and nourishment of Christmas with a world cold and hungry in spirit. The tradition dates back to the time when a benevolent Lutheran named Count Nicholas Von Zinzendorf gave the persecuted Moravians a home in Germany. The church members quarreled while building their village (imagine that, Christians quarreling!) The good Count decided the way to bring harmony back to the troops was to feed them–hence the term Lovefeast. Even today there’s nothing like sweetening up a bitter saint with a church dessert.

At Calvary and other Moravian churches, men, women, and children trim hundreds of natural beeswax candles with red crepe paper in readiness for the three Christmas Eve services. The red paper denotes the blood of Jesus shed for us.

Mama wore extra make up for those nights as a server and looked like an angel sent from heaven.  I can still see her with the traditional lace-fringed hair adornment resting on the top of her head. The ladies serve the bread from white wicker baskets. As a child I remember a young adolescent voice singing in the balcony, “Morning Star, O Cheering Sight!” in an antiphonal round with the adult choir as the bread was being passed.

Men and women are called dieners, the German word for server. Black suited men brought tall cups of coffee on solid oak trays.  Their faces grew red and wet as they heaved the steaming mugs through the aisles of the church. As a child, the coffee, heavily laden with sugar and cream, hit my stomach as sour and Daddy finished mine.

The last part of the service was the most impressive to me. After the coffee mugs were collected, the men and women dieners brought the red trimmed candles out on a tray. The pastor lit one of their candles with the Christ Candle on the altar table. As the dieners passed the  candles through the congregation the lights were dimmed. As the music came to a crescendo the congregation raised their lights in unison. To lift your light denotes showing Christ’s love to a lost and dying world.

My life as a young person growing up Moravian is truly a kaleidoscope  of memories. I can’t capture all of them with just a few writings. It’s easy for us in our human flesh to become ‘denominational’, pasting labels on people according to the signs on the front of their churches. When the labels are stripped away, it’s more about our relationship with God and our relationship with those around us.

“Christ and Him crucified remain our confession of faith.” The Creed of the Moravian Church

In Memory of Beulah Dizor-a soldier of the cross

This chapel was built when I was a child. I recited my memory verses from here.

Calvary Moravian Church, Holly Ave. Winston-Salem, NC-since 1893

Walhalla, South Carolina

February 2, 1996

The words of the following eulogy are from Stephen Massey’s wife Ann. At the end of her

comments the family’s close friend Luther Gaillard shares his thoughts:

Steve Massey has fought a war with his body since March 19, 1985 when he was

diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Two years before that time we knew something

was wrong within his body. Even though his mind was clear and quick, his body did not have

the same strength. Steve loved walking in the woods, campfires and hunting deer and

bear. He was the comic of the Commercial Marketing Department in Greenville. He

was a dedicated employee who, at one point, came in first on the Duke Power system

in a competitive marketing campaign.

Steve loved his family and was his parents’ strongest advocate during their ailing

years. If you knew him well he gave you many nicknames. It was his way of saying, “I

Love You.” His compassion was great for the animal kingdom. He and Stephanie

rescued an injured baby chick and nursed “Cora” until she became part of our family

in Easley.

Steve was fiercely patriotic having missed going to Vietnam by a few weeks. He was

ranked superior in his artillery unit in the Army Reserve. He appreciated many kinds

of music. He loved B.B. King and most 60’s tunes. When we lived in Easley he gave his

heart to God and when we moved to Walhalla, he rededicated himself to Christ.

He tried many inventions of his own to win the war with his body. I can still hear him

say “when the going gets tough, the tough get going.” He made me strong enough to

stand on my own two feet without other people as crutches. Though disease

weakened his body, his thought was welded in iron.

Steve has left a legacy of a fighting spirit to Michael and Stephanie. We can all look at

his suffering and feel awestruck that he could still fight on. Steve told me many times,

“don’t grieve for me, I’ll have my resurrection body.” We will grieve for our own loss,

but joy will come in the morning of our own new life with Jesus, we will see Steve

then!

Thank God for all of you in this church. He loved you all and he loved his family

fiercely. His brother, Don, can look back on happy, funny memories. His sister, Tissie,

can recall childhood pranks that they schemed together. Stephanie can recall long

talks and playing her violin for him. Michael can recall wrestling and being “wooled”

by Dad’s beard. I can recall walking Myrtle Beach and looking for oyster and crab

shells with Steve.

Outside of the family, a variety of friends, loved ones and volunteers put countless

hours into Steve’s care. These people came from various churches and the Keowee

Key area. One friend in particular was Luther Gaillard. Luther helped Steve fill many

an empty hour with conversation and guitar pickin’. Steve kept his mind alive with

ways to pick at “Coach” Bob Bell. He loved to challenge Pastor Petry with a

vocabulary word of the week.

The following words are Luther’s way of saying good-bye:

“Steve was a man of simple needs. He didn’t need a Cadillac to get around. He didn’t

need to impress anybody. He knew who he was. He took care of his people, his

family, his friends. The zany and not-so-zany figures that were part of his professional

and private life could have filled a book. Some of them belonged in a cartoon book,

but Steve was comfortable with people, and he could handle people on any level.

If Steve has a legacy that counts, it is that he could be counted on whenever a need

for help arose, from anybody, a stranger, a friend, it didn’t matter.

We think in terms of miracles as the ones we read and study about in the Bible: Jesus

turning water into wine, the Sermon on the Mount, healing the blind, the truly

miraculous things that Jesus wrought during his ministry on earth. Steve was a

miracle. He lived far beyond the expectations of the numerous doctors who took their

turn at attempting to slow down, to dare to even try to stop the spread of Steve’s MS.

Through the deterioration of Steve’s body, his mind remained whole. It, in fact, grew

sharper, for he used it during his waking hours to help fend off the misery, the hell of

being bedridden, the loss of his limbs, the degradation of having to have someone

else scratch the itches on his body, for in the final years, he couldn’t even do that. I

can’t say that he was perfect, or that we didn’t want to pull our hair out from time to

time, but Steve was as courageous in putting his MS in place as anyone could be.

He never blamed anyone. He didn’t curse God for having developed the disease. On

the contrary, Steve said more than once that he was so stubborn that God had to get

his attention some way or the other, and that had he not contracted MS, God may

have never been able to get his attention.

We mourn his death, but we know, after the years of suffering, of fighting a losing

battle, that Steve is safe in the arms of Jesus. He is at peace. We’ll meet him one day.

I only hope that we have the courage to live the rest of our lives the way that he lived

the last few years of his. He’s gone, but his influence will have a profound effect on

the lives of the people closest to him.

God bless you. Luther Gaillard

Stephen Massey

December 9, 1940-January 31, 1996

“I lift up my eyes to the hills–from where will my help come. My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth.” Psalm 121:1-2

Our thanks to the many friends, strangers, and family members who shared their time and treasure with us.  The Steve Massey Family

During this period, with blood thinners as the only drug entering his body, Steve spoke of seeing Jesus and his long deceased grandfather. I read aloud at his bedside.  His favorite Psalm, the twenty-third, gave him comfort.  After a peaceful two-hour nap, Steve told me Jesus talked to him, “I’m not ready for you yet.  Don’t be afraid, I will take care of you.” Steve also spoke of seeing his Grandpas Masters who comforted him. This was the same grandfather mentioned in my previous post, The Message.  He recovered from the blood clots, but was too weak to be cared for at home.  He was transferred to a nursing home in the Greenville area and later to Roger C. Peace Rehab in Greenville.

Even though Steve was on Medicare due to his disability the payments ran out in one hundred days, when hospitalized.  There were also items within the one hundred days that weren’t covered.  Five months in rehabilitative care drained finances needed for our daughter’s college expenses. Stacy, our beloved caregiver, had to leave us.  Of necessity, we hired Pops, a strong, male caregiver. Steve decided the tractor he used on his beloved farm should be sold. “I wanted to keep it because it represented a hope that somehow I’d get well enough to get back on it again.”

We grieved over the decision to sell our cherished lake retreat Steve’s parents had helped us purchase.  It was the end of the recreational lifestyle we had once enjoyed as a family. At that point, if depression could have been sold from our house we could have fully funded our money problems.

Others were making sacrifices for our needs. Two church congregations proved to be financial mainstays, Calvary Moravian, Winston-Salem, NC and St. John Lutheran, Walhalla, SC. My sister established a cooperative respite care fund between her church and ours.

One afternoon the secretary of our local church called to tell me about it. “Your sister called, a respite care fund is in place at her church. We’ll announce the fund in the bulletin this Sunday as a line item on the budget here. We’ll write a check to you at the end of each month as people donate. The funds from her church will be added to ours as they arrive.”

I began to cry as she explained the procedure to me.  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “I’ve always made my own way and given to others when they had a problem. I just don’t know how to receive,” I sobbed. My pride at being independent was crushed.  The bitter pill of chronic illness tasted even more acrid. Our wonderful church secretary reminded me of an important fact, people were putting feet on their prayers for us; I was watching faith grow to full flower in the vineyard of God’s work. She reminded me that this was the essence of the term, “church family.”

Each month the donated funds were depleted to pay caregivers and each new school year I wondered how I would pay for someone to care for Steve so that I could return to work. The uncertainty of signing my teaching contract was especially great the spring of 1991.

“Lord, you know the money isn’t there to pay a caregiver!”  I prayed, “Please show me what to do.” I felt impressed with a deep sense of unconditional trust and signed my teaching contract on faith.  September came and financial burdens swelled with each passing day.

Our pastor stopped by regularly for visits. One mid-September afternoon proved to be especially memorable. “Ann, sit down, we need to talk,” he said.  “Someone’s heart has been impressed with your needs,” he explained.  He handed me a check in the amount of $10,000, just enough to cover our expenses for that school year.  The identity of this generous donor remains anonymous.

The generosity of friends was apparent in the love sent our way. They delivered food to our door.  When Steve was no longer able to eat by himself they stayed and fed him.  The feet of the faithful grew stronger. “We’re here to rake your leaves,” the Lutheran youth declared. A group of eager young faces gathered on our front porch.  They worked all day for the cups of water I took them and the desire to love our family with deeds of care.

Friends offered free publicity in my search to find volunteers to read to Steve so that I could exercise.  My fifteen year-old son needed respite from being the primary caregiver some afternoons and many nights. I had continued my education at Clemson University and was in the last year of my Masters work there. The response for help was overwhelming; I had to turn people away.  Steve became fast friends with each man and woman who answered the call and they were encouraged by their visits with him.  He provided humorous, intelligent conversation and lifted the spirits of each reader.

Soon after the reading group was formed, I met another young man who volunteered to care for Steve when I had to attend night meetings.  He was a soothing balm after a stressful day, and became the light in our daughter’s eyes when she visited from college.  I was about to lose a night volunteer and gain a son-in-law.

By the end of 1993, Steve was only able to move his head and neck. Our daughter’s wedding in 1995 was a miracle of cooperation. The local hospice organization provided help dressing Steve in his tuxedo.  Pops, our dedicated caregiver, drove him to the church. Mike, pushed his dad down the aisle of the church as Stephanie walked beside him.  When asked, “Who gives this woman in marriage?” Steve was able to answer, ‘her mother and I.”  He practiced those words for many days before the wedding. His speech had become altered to just above a whisper. We enjoyed a beautiful wedding and reception as a complete family.

Steve Massey gained his resurrection body, January 31, 1996.  He had told me repeatedly, “Don’t cry for me, I’ll have my resurrection body.” I did cry for what might have been. He wanted to be an active and healthy witness for Christ.  He did witness to others who visited him. His battle changed my appreciation for simple pleasures. During the last stages of his illness, Steve was robbed of daily contact with the out of doors. Sometimes, during his illness, I brought leaves into the house for him to feel on his face. As a result, I absorb blue skies and colored leaves instead of merely glancing at them.

Near the end of his life, Steve counted his disease as a blessing.  “While lying on my back, looking up, God filled me with His love.”  If I had never contracted MS, I would have gone on putting everything else in my life first except my faith.”

Invaded by faith or a dread disease?  Ponder the mystery, it is God’s to reveal when we see Him face to face.

Steve won first place as rep who brought the most power load to the Duke Power system. This is the awards banquet in Charlotte, NC–circa 1980.

Steve attended Clemson University for one year. He was asked to come home because his sister, eighteen months younger wanted to go to college. He started with Duke after his tenure in Basic Training at Fort Jackson. He climbed utility poles and eventually worked his way up to Commercial Marketing Rep. Even after his promotions, he was called out to spot the source of power outages in substations. He couldn’t stay home to play with us in the snow, but we knew when Ma Duke ‘came up’* to warm us that he could come home! *came up is Ma Duke’s term for a restart.

Start-up of Haywood Mall. Steve sized the load. He told me he was saying, “Go guys!” in this picture. There was a collective sigh of relief from a lot of Ma Duke’s children at that point.

We were compelled to sell the farm that had been in his mother’s family for nearly one hundred years to relocate closer to my job. Our fifteen year-old and twelve year-old had to leave everything that was familiar to them.  The first week on the job I prepared my classroom while Steve, now limping noticeably, handled the details of our move.  When school began, the house we were to live in was still occupied. Steve would have to drive the children to their new school forty minutes away.  Saturated with stress and exhaustion, bitterness welled within me.  God, how could we be in this mess? Alone in my car, cried out in an angry rant interlaced with prayer.

Late September of 1987, Steve accomplished the move to our new home. His condition plateaued for two years. In the winter of 1989, Steve contracted a virus that rendered his left arm paralyzed. His mobility also suffered leaving him off balance.  I was afraid to leave him alone while I worked. He insisted that he didn’t want outside help and could manage on his own.After he suffered a fall in our driveway and lay alone for two hours, we found an endearing nurse’s assistant from the hospital’s registry.  Stacy* kept our spirits afloat with her bubbling spirit and hand-peeled mashed potatoes.The down side of this and other caregiving arrangements was that Steve wasn’t covered with long term care insurance. When he went to work for Duke, (back in the day), Ma Duke didn’t offer long term care. If he had purchased a policy when it was offered, it still didn’t provide for ‘custodial care.’ My teaching salary became woefully inadequate to handle this.

Since Steve was a very large man, Stacy* needed help with his bathing.  Medicare did provide for our local home care agency to send two aides to the house three days a week. It was beginning to take a small army to care for our needs.  When I arrived home from an eight-hour workday, the driveway was blocked with cars. They included: the social worker, our pastor, the home health nurse, and our paid caregiver. I felt like a visitor in my own home; I had to park on the street. The necessary help invaded our privacy. We began to feel as if we were living in a glass box with a lock on the lid.  We were the “MS family” in the community, an aquarium of illness for all to see.

Living daily with MS brings a roller coaster of emotions.  Each downward spiral of the disease’s progression took us on its frantic ride.  Even at happy events we were overcome with emotion. My son and I traveled to Charlotte and Atlanta to see professional games in basketball and baseball.  We swallowed lumps in our throats as we watched fathers enjoy a night out with their sons.  My children needed their dad, I needed my husband, and instead we had been given Steve’s care as a patient. 

When events became life threatening, our family operated as a team.  “Come quick with wet washcloths, Dad’s fallen on the deck, he’s bleeding like crazy!”  My daughter’s voice shook as she called 911 for help. Our son held his dad’s head and tried to staunch the bleeding with a shirt he’d stripped from his own body. Steve directed us with his still razor sharp mind.

“I don’t want to go to the hospital, laying on those gurneys feels like knives sticking in me.”  When the emergency responders arrived, he was bandaged and allowed to stay home.

*Denotes name change

Stacy’s* Mashed Potatoes

Peel and boil eight large Irish potatoes water that have been salted (approx. 1 tsp salt, or to taste)

Mash with a potato masher, leave some lumps, (they’ll know these aren’t fake potato flakes!)

Add 3 tbsp. mayonnaise (light or heavy, choose your weapon)

Add gobs of butter (this was Stacy’s secret, but I saw her put 4 sticks in one day!)

Whole milk to the consistency desired.

1 to 2 tbsp. real sugar

Pepper to taste

Mix well

Sometimes this would make enough for leftovers, but only hold over one day. Fluff up in a pot the next day with a small amount of milk. Don’t use the microwave for this!

Note: I never could make them taste like Stacy* made them, but close.

Stay tuned for Trust Me in the Dark Part III