Cascading brunette hair falling over her shoulder, Christine
would smile so infectiously that an entire room became happy. Waspish waist and
with long legs under pleated skirts, she would walk with a confident stride.
She had me. I mean I was a goner. I wish my children could see her like that
and hear her sing with that young voice still finding its strength yet already
hitting soaring notes. I wish they could know her with that fresh faith in God
that emboldened her to be willing to follow God anywhere.
I wonder what my children might have thought of her, of us.
And if they could see me as I was, lean, strong body, a sprinter’s legs like
lightening on the two hundred-metre track.
And even before I knew Christine,
that is, when my hair was full, a curly wisp falling on my forehead and the
sides held in place by Brylcream. What might they feel if they could know my
passion for art and see my artistic abilities then, and experience my depth of
courage in telling God I would set that aside to serve him as a pastor.
