LAST YEAR AT SEMINARY
As I begin this account of my final year at Seminary, I find I have omitted mentioning a very important member of our household--a lovely small multicolored female cat, acquired as a kitten during my first year. We all loved that little creature.
Often while studying late at night I had a little relief from the monotony of study watching the antics of our little cat, who loved to play with me. She would bring objects to me to toss or hide so she could run and catch them. She delighted in trying to get a little wad of paper out of the toe of my slipper. She loved to jump up into the empty bathtub while I was shaving in the morning. She would crouch down, then sneak up to the edge, and try to reach out to tug at my pajama leg. One morning, unknown to her, I had already run my bath. She took her usual flying leap into the tub without looking! She was one wet and bedraggled little cat, terribly insulted. I lifted her out and dried her off with a towel. Our lovely little cat died in the spring of my final year, apparently from poisoning, causing real grief to all our family.
My third, or senior year, in seminary was much like the first--extremely busy with studies until late at night, and working long hours at the library to make financial ends meet. On rare occasions we went for a picnic; once we went to Malibu beach. I realized later how hard it was for Jane and the children, for I really neglected them. I deeply regret that! New neighbors, a Seminary student and his family, moved into the little house behind us on the lot, and we became good friends with them. My courses were more difficult than ever, but I managed to keep my grade average well up on the scale.
During the winter, I began contacting different mission organizations, seeking a place where we could serve when I had graduated. I went to several prayer meetings with people associated with the Latin America Mission, West Indies Mission, and one or two others. None of them showed any interest in a man of my age with three young children! It just seemed there were no possibilities, though I wished later that I had tried harder. In my heart I wanted to become a missionary, rather than serve as a pastor in the states. Some of the faculty at the Seminary urged me to become a pastor.
At almost the last minute I began contacting churches looking for a pastor. A Mennonite church in Pennsylvania wrote, after reviewing my application, that I was not mature enough for them. Openings were scarce!
Graduation came all too soon. I successfully passed the required three days of oral examination by a battery of seminary professors, and received my Bachelor of Divinity degree. (In the early 1960's, the seminary offered to issue a new diploma for $25, granting me a Master's degree. I couldn’t spare the $25, I didn't feel it was worth the $25 fee anyway, and so didn't ask for the change.) My Dad came to Pasadena to be present for the graduation, and we enjoyed a good visit with him. It was the first time he had been in California, and he seemed to find everything interesting. We went up to Mt. Wilson, and all around the area.
One day while he was there we went to see the huge Museum of Power and Industry, in Los Angeles. I was taking care of Martha, while Jane and the other two children went off somewhere else. Suddenly I missed Martha! She was no where in sight! Then she called to me--from overhead! She had shinnied up a brass pole about five inches in diameter, perhaps twenty feet high, clear to the ceiling! She came down much faster than she had gone up, but I caught her without trouble. She was a great climber!
The graduation ceremony was very formal, and somehow sad. It meant for us in the large class the end of a period of very hard work, and was a relief, in that sense. But it also meant that we graduates were now about to go out into the world to serve the Lord. Several, like me, didn't know where that was going to be. Solemnly we marched up and across the platform, to receive our diplomas (phonies!--the real ones came to us later by mail), and shake hands for the last time with Dr. Charles Fuller, Dr. Carnell, Seminary President, and one or two other prominent Christian men. All went well for the first thirty or forty of us. Then one graduate, who had a very serious vision problem, somehow missed the stairs leaving the platform. Instead, he turned down into the orchestra pit. There he wandered around for several moments, with giggling, snickering, some open laughter from the audience and the faculty on the platform only further confusing him. Finally someone left the platform, and led the poor chap up and out, and back to where he belonged. I felt sorry for him, as he was visibly severely shaken and embarrassed by the whole episode.
A day or two later, Dad returned to Montana, and we saw our friends and co-workers Wilfred and Carolyn Naujoks and their two children off for the east coast. They travelled in their little Volkswagen "bug," having sold their van. They ate their last meal in Pasadena at our house, and left late in the evening. The little car was loaded to the hilt, with the children wedged in the back seat with luggage. We prayed together that they would have a safe trip. We learned some weeks later that they ran out of gas out in the middle of the Mohave desert that night. Wilfred had forgotten to fill the reserve gas tank! He had to leave Carolyn and the children alone for several hours, while he walked and hitch-hiked to find gasoline! That was the last time we saw them! They returned to Germany, where Wilfred was later involved in the smuggling of Bibles into Poland and Russia. We lost touch with them, finally--a wonderful couple.
Soon after graduation, a church in Walnut Creek, California, sent a delegation to interview me, but that also came to nothing. Finally, a fine Christian woman from a little community church in Missouri wrote to the seminary, asking if there was an evangelical man available. The seminary placement office referred the letter to me. I called and talked to the lady by phone. I decided I should take a chance on a trip there, to candidate, as the church offered to pay the expenses for the bus ticket.
That was one long bus ride! I really enjoyed it, taking advantage of the brief stops in New Mexico and elsewhere to look around a bit. I didn't eat much enroute, and slept poorly. Finally I arrived at the little town of Houstonia, about seventy-five miles east of Kansas City. An elderly couple from the church met me, and took me to their home for the night.
Next day I rode to the church with them, and found that the church leaders expected me to plan and lead the whole service! They had no plans whatever! A lady was available to play the piano. So I hastily conferred with her, selected some hymns to more or less fit my sermon, and went ahead. There was a fair crowd in the old church, and the seating arrangement and acoustics were good. I guess I did all right, as the church board met after the service and immediately voted to ask me to come as their pastor.
Although I had serious misgivings, and the salary they offered was minimal, (only $300 per month, pay our own moving expenses, no car allowance, and live in the parsonage (a house built before the Civil War), I decided that I should accept their offer. I had no other place to go, and our savings were almost gone! Later I learned that twelve different pastors had served that church in the past thirteen years--or was it thirteen in the last twelve years? The turn-over rate was rather high!
Taken back to the bus depot that same evening, I began the long ride back to Pasadena. At last I had a call to a church! My seminary days were over; I was ready to work, though I was disappointed at not being able to become a missionary. My experiences in that little church as a green pastor just out of school I will tell briefly in the next chapter!