Excuse this blob post length, because it’s been a long while since I’ve posted.
Most of my material and spiritual gifts have come from God by way of my husband, Bill. The first gift I recall was a unique one when we dated. We lived in New Orleans, Louisiana, and we met at church. I was a senior in high school, and he was a senior in college. Bill gave me a manicure set for taking better care of my fingernails––including emery boards and polish. I thought it was a nice gift, and not too personal. At the time, Bill didn’t have a car, so he rode the public bus and had to walk a few blocks to my home, and then we would walk to a nearby theater to watch a movie. Some Saturdays Bill would come to our home, and Dad would prepare lunch on the grill. Bill’s visits were also his gift to me, and he interacted well with my parents, who loved him.
Within that year, Dad was transferred back to Mobile, Alabama, and that ended my dating Bill. However, we kept in touch with letters, which I still have in a small blue shoebox. Those letters, also gifts, started what I could call our courtship. The most serious letter arrived after Bill came for my graduation and prom. He attended the graduation, surprised by the vast number of graduates, a ceremony too long for him. We went to the dance, and yet he talked about how it was inappropriate for Christians. Back at my home, Mother had prepared breakfast for us. Afterward, Bill and I sat on the couch and talked. The next day, he headed back to New Orleans.
That special letter from Bill included a full proposal about what a woman would have to be if she married him, as he prepared to be a pastor. He described how a pastor’s wife would have to be seen by the people in the church, as well as getting used to being a new wife. The points were numbered, and the whole proposal seemed daunting to me, perhaps a bit scary.
The real gift came with Bill’s next visit to our home. He gave me an engagement ring. I was so stunned that I went to a window to examine it for authenticity. It even had an engraved message on the inside. My first reaction was to show it to Mother, and we drove to the shop where she worked. Needless to say, she was excited, because she loved Bill. We decided to wait until after supper that evening before telling Dad.
Throughout the whole meal, Dad did not notice the engagement ring on my finger. Bill asked Dad to meet him in the living room where he asked for my hand in marriage. Dad gave only one objection: I had a work scholarship for Birmingham Southern College, and Dad thought I would need to keep that gift, making me a better pastor’s wife. Bill’s response: “I want to marry Ann, not her college degree.” Dad then gave his consent.
We planned the wedding for a Saturday in August, and that did not give time to order “engraved” invitations. Mother felt it would appear as a rushed wedding and cause gossip. She ordered “printed” invitations, alright with us. My wedding dress also became a gift, designed and sewn by one of my aunts. It was an embroidered damask dress, waltz length. Of course, my parents had my picture placed in the local newspaper, and we chose who would officiate and sing at the wedding to be held in the chapel of our church in Mobile. Bill’s Uncle Bud, a Methodist pastor would be the main one to preside, and my pastor joined him. A lady from our church sang. My sister chose not to be my maid of honor, so I didn’t ask a substitute. Only Bill and I stood at the altar of the chapel in front of two pastors.
My parents held the reception in our home, and that provided the only good photo of the newly married couple, eating the cake. The photographer at the wedding chose to use her camera that took slides, no still shots.
Bill’s red car was in our garage, but someone decorated it before we left. Bill drove us around the corner and took off the “Just Married” sign before we headed for North Biloxi, Mississippi, where Bill had been given an appointment as a student pastor.
The parsonage, behind the church, became our honeymoon cottage. No disagreement from me. We spent our first night there, and the next day, being Sunday, Bill preached. As we walked to the church, a man out front said, “You picked a wife your size.” True: I was 5 feet 2 inches and Bill was 5 feet 6 inches. I was introduced as Mrs. Bill Coker, but the youth called me Sister Ann. That night we had quarterly conference with the district superintendent presiding and preaching. Some introduction for this new pastor’s wife!
Another gift came from the local high school. The principal phoned Bill and asked if he would teach math. Not feeling qualified for that position, Bill offered to teach English if they had that need. Yes, and for those two years of Bill’s pastorate at North Biloxi Methodist Church, he also taught English at D’Iberville High School.
The biggest gift from that assignment lasted over the many following years, for most of those students kept in touch with us, including invitations to attend their reunions. We heard about trips to other countries from those who had not ventured out of Mississippi, and one girl graduated with a PhD in English literature and taught college. She dedicated her dissertation to her high-school English teacher. Through the years we received reports about sickness and deaths. The students respected their English teacher, and they accomplished tasks beyond their ambition to work at a gas station.
During those two years at North Biloxi, we received the tiny gift of our first child––a five-pound-three-ounce baby boy, named after his dad. He was healthy despite his low birth weight. The church youth loved to hold him and watch him grow. Our church’s piano player, a student at the high school, loved Billy so much that she married a man named Bill, and they named their first son Billy.
My role changed somewhat when I became a mother as well as a pastor’s wife. I grew closer to other parents at church and appreciated their roles as they gave helpful advice, not always when I asked. As Billy grew, I would take him outside the sanctuary when he became fretful. Often, a youth would want to accompany me to offer help. At least one lady offered an opinion why Billy fretted. I thought his behavior was natural for his age.
I viewed our church people as God’s gifts to me as a young mother and wife. I recall one evening after a fundraising meal at church, I returned to the parsonage. After a short while, a couple arrived with our son, for I had forgotten to bring him home with me. This was in the early days when restrictions were more lax, for I carried Billy to church in a wicker basket, content with that arrangement. Also, seatbelts and a baby’s car seat had not become laws. No accidents occurred. Another gift.
Bill’s appointment changed after two years and we moved to Lucedale, Mississippi, a location more in the country. We even had a garden, some chickens, and a pony behind the parsonage. Within two years, we added a second son, John, God’s second gift to increase our family. He was not born in Mississippi but in Alabama. Bill had decided he should attend seminary in Kentucky, and school started about the time of John’s expected arrival. That meant I move to live with my parents in Mobile and secure another doctor. John’s due date passed, and I walked slowly around our neighborhood, asking God why it was taking so long.
The answer was God’s next gift, for Bill’s original church appointment was near Cincinnati, Ohio, more than an hour away from Asbury Theological Seminary in Wilmore, Kentucky. The parsonage, not situated in a safe location, caused Bill to ask for another appointment, which he received, in Winchester. It meant about a 30-minute drive to school, but the parsonage was more convenient and safer. All this happened before John’s arrival, so the wait turned out to be God’s gift.
One weekend Bill came to visit, and I said it was time to go to the hospital. Mother was not convinced, thinking I only wanted the birth to happen while Bill was visiting. We made a quick trip to the doctor’s office where he said, “Get that girl to the hospital and I’ll meet her there.” John was born a few hours later, and the next day, Bill returned to seminary, now the father of two sons. I stayed in Mobile with my parents for a month and then we moved to Winchester where we setup our home, having to buy furniture which that conference didn’t supply for parsonages. Those gifts we had to buy for ourselves. This began my life as a mother and wife of a seminary student-pastor. I learned to love every minute with new gifts and also some giving opportunities.
