The following, found in the liner notes of The Mystic Harp, one of the CD's I got for my birthday, spoke to me:

(by J. Donald Walters, dedicated to Derek Bell)

I was ten years old, and the chill of early spring ate through my coat. But the promise of the blooms to come warmed me. I was with Dad on a trip to the new church that was being built. He took his plumbing trunk, a red trunk with a covered back that was thoroughly packed with all sorts of plumbing equipment and supplies. As plumbing work is dirty, the truck was dirty. But since I was wearing old clothes, I didn't mind. I was excited to be on this trip. Dad was doing the plumbing in the new building, and this was the first I would see it.

On the way to the church, we stopped at a convenience store. I don't remember what Dad got, probably it was a cup of coffee. I got some translucent rubber snakes, and bugs. Their realism fascinated me. Soon we arrived at the large expanse of land. A grove of trees was in the distance. This was the first building in the area. Not all the walls were in. I remember an airy structure of concrete flooring, with pipes crisscrossing through parts of it, thin indications of where walls would be.

In what was to be the front of the auditorium, a concrete ladder of intricate sections went from floor to ceiling. Later, the holes would be filled with jewel colored glass. I felt such a sense of joyous awe. This was a thrilling project. I was proud that my Dad was part of this God-honoring work.. The concept of God was as a Good Shepherd, a strong Healer who would lovingly attend the weak. A Hero whose great Love, that so potent creative Magic, brought the worlds into being. The creative force was made out of love for his creations and I was so warmly impressed with that love. It would be later that I would hear screaming, chilling, frightful, guilt-producing words from someone claiming to be an emissary of God. How heartbroken I was then. But for now, this bright joy shined within me.

It is this that I want to think of when I think of the religious awe. What fearmongers and ultimately destroyers do with it must be addressed and will be addressed. But this glowing vision deep within my child's heart will not be destroyed by those who wish to use religion as a weapon. I do not understand their mentality. It is an evil thing. That this vicious acid fell on the three of us is apparent from our writings. Some have had the misfortune to be a greater target. Surely its corrosiveness has fallen on everyone. Yet I feel the healing touch of Greater Truth. Because of that, I find strength to defend against the dark foe.

November 21, 1997

Make love to each other,
Be free with each other,
Be prisoners of love 'til you lie in the sod,
Be friends to each other,
Forgive one another,
Seek God in each other,
Be beggars to God.

from "Beggars to God" by Bob Franke, 1983

(transcribed by Joan as best able off of the recording)

As I laid in bed, thinking about the missive now on its way, a painful thought came to me. As I reread the October 3rd journal entry, my remembering the fight between Uncle Bill and Renée had brought forth these words:

But, oh, the screaming, wailing and gnashing of teeth! I had never seen anything like it. My parents had not yet begun to argue. Their arguments would be mostly ideological in nature. No, the only thing in early family life that would ever approach this in dramatic tension was The Day My Mother Threw The Bible On The Floor.

In early family life, that day was the most tense. But there was something far worse that loomed ahead. Something so cataclysmic in nature that it can't be compared to the ordinary fight which soon ends and peace returns. There is nothing that can be compared to when your folks break up. The image I have is of Dad and I tossing things hastily into the car, my mother distraught and wailing, and me frightened at the intensity of her pain, feeling somehow guilty, like it was somehow my fault. Earlier when I was ten, my Dad had broached the subject of separation to me and I had advised him against it. Divorce was supposed to be wrong for Christians. In my young mind I didn't understand just why it was "Sin". But I did understand the destruction of a relationship had to be only something that was done when no other solution could be found. When I was ten, I was hopeful that a solution could be found. At thirteen, weary of it all, and worn down, I had no words of advice. Perhaps the problems were beyond solving. But when I saw how distraught my Mother was when separation became reality and not just a vague threat, I deeply felt a painful guilty shock. I should have been able to do something.

But I wasn't able to. Mother and Dad never seemed to be 'a team'. Even though I have never seen my relatives kiss or hug each other, there has always been the unspoken sense that they are 'a team' against all troubles of the world. My parents seemed two island universes. Maybe neither was able to communicate just what they needed from each other. Maybe neither was able to listen if the right words were spoken. I don't know. Could they have stayed together? Not if they were increasingly unhappy. And so it was, when I was thirteen, their relationship ended.