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The Journey of This Pilgrim - Part 1

I have often liked the word "sojourn" as a reflective way of describing my journey through life, here on earth, as a child of God...now 69 years old.  Over the course of a few times, I want to write some reflections on my journey as a Pilgrim...if not for anyone else, my hope is that it will help my Grandchildren know a bit about at least one member of their family's past.

My journey began in Sept. of 1949.  I was born a twin with my brother Ed.  We were #'s 5 & 6...there was one more to go.  I was raised in Fox Lake, Wisconsin...a small city of about 1200+ souls at that time.  My parents attended a Wisconsin Synod Lutheran church and therefore by birth and their choice I was raised Lutheran.  I didn't mind it and didn't know there was a difference.  My best friend for years was Catholic.  Larry would tell me about being an altar boy and the mere description of assisting the Priest, standing by to hand him this or that, etc...made me envious.  Still, truth be told, the Catholic church was "kiddy-Corner" (that means diagonal, and across the street intersection).  I never saw the Catholics at worship.  When we started their early church cars were in the parking lot, and when we came out their lot was empty...only to be filled for the later service after we had left.

Fox Lake was a "German" settlement.  Of course there were other ethnic groups - mainly Irish and Polish - but the German part meant you were predominantly Lutheran or Catholic.  It was if the Protestant Reformation division of Germany moved with emigration.  I didn't think much of the differences, but I do remember as a young boy that "good Lutherans don't marry Catholics", and I can only presume that it was true the other way around too.

Growing up in Fox Lake - as I look back on it now - was magical.  My formative early years were the '50's.  WWII was over, and when I came to the age of "knowing what was going on around me", even the Korean war was called.  I had Four Uncles who fought in WWII, and 1 Uncle who fought in the Korean war.  None of them ever wanted to talk about it.  It was 1955 when I turned six and began elementary school.  I had the same teacher for both Grades 1 & 2 - Mrs. Peters.  My class was made up of kids I attended church with, and the Catholic kids too.  We ate fish on Fridays because Catholics could not eat meat on Fridays.  Other than that oddity, life was fairly carefree.  My brother and I played together all of the time - either alone, or with other boys from our side of town.  We played baseball in the summer, kick the can and annie annie over towards dusk.  We played...that was our main job.  As twins we found ways to live on the edge most of the time.  At school we played marbles, kick ball, football and baseball.  In the winter we sled down the hill east of the school, and shoveled off the snow on the river between the lake and the dam and played hockey.  My brother and I were known as "the twins" - enough said.

It was idyllic...I remember my sister playing in the band, and how Fox Lake would block off main street in the summer and band concerts were held in the middle of the main street.  We weren't really interested that much in the music, but Mr. Jenswold supervised the band to make it sound decent. 
We had a drug store with a soda fountain that the Brook's owned.  The small grocery story near it looks a lot like the Amish store I shop at from time to time, only with electricity, so meat was also sold.  There were jars of pickles and jars of candy near the front.  The selections were not plentiful, but enough to keep food on the table. 

I got a paper route around age 9 and delivered papers to about half of the city.  My friend Larry delivered papers at the same time to the other half.  We had the Milwaukee Journal route.  My brother Ed delivered the morning papers - the Milwaukee Sentinel.  By being a paper boy I got to know a number of the families in the city.  My first discovery was that talking to my customers gave me a greater insight into who they were and where they fit into this small town.  We were not all Lutheran or Catholic, nor German.  There were Presbyterians, Congregationalists...and most strange of all, there was a family of Pentecostalists!  While I now know several Pentecostals, then I didn't know anything about them.     They gave me tracts telling me about Jesus, the end times, the need of salvation, etc... none of which made any sense at the time, and when I brought some home I was warned to stay away from them.  I wasn't sure why I wasn't supposed to talk to them, but it was clear they represented a clear and present danger to my soul - according to some.

I was a Lutheran and that meant a Sunday by Sunday liturgy and order that changed little.  My brother and I were usually forbidden to sit next to each other - you can imagine why.  I didn't care for much of what was going on.  I stood when told to stand, I sat when it was time to sit.  I sang the hymns that were posted by number on the wall and watched communion carried on up front - I was not allowed to take of the elements because I had not yet gone through Confirmation.  That story and more follows next time.

What I end this with is the first time I sensed God's presence.  I was about 8 years old, watching the Pastor attend to those taking Communion.  From nowhere, my thoughts were interrupted... "someday you will be doing this" was what I heard.  I don't remember thinking, "this is God".  I do remember thinking "what?"...  I was eight, still 12 years away from a commitment to Christ as my Savior...but clearly as Paul says to the Philippians... "God is at work in you both to will and to do of his great pleasure".

Thanks for reading, peace.






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