A Story To Remember

Paul had a good friend that he knew from work named Ron. They had been friends for many years and shared a lot of history together. Ron shared mumps with Paul in 1960 as he did not stay home from work when he was sick. When Paul got sick he knew to stay at home and not share it at work. But he shared the mumps with the girls and me. I was pregnant with Bill when I had the mumps. Thankfully I did not have a real bad case and my baby was fine.

The next experience we shared with Ron was when he made arrangements for us to be baptized in the ocean at Rosarito Beach. Ron and his wife had been baptized by the pastor of the Mexican church that they occasionally attended. Ron's wife was from Tijuana so they knew the people of this little Church of God in the hills south of the border. Ron was excited about the Lord, as was Paul. I was just beginning to understand the need for a personal walk with the Lord even though I had been in church and Sunday school all of my life.

I was in the Methodist church in those days. It was a whole new experience to be with people from the Church of God. We were not changing churches, we were just wanting to be baptized in the ocean. I expected to just go down there and be baptized and come home. I was missing a picnic at my church to do this. What I experienced was more memorable than a picnic. When we got to the little church in the hills of Tijuana they were prepared to baptize us in their baptistry. But this was not what Paul and Ron had planned. It was quickly arranged for us to travel to Rosarito Beach for the baptism despite the fact that this would not be as easy for the pastor.

We all got into the back of an old van or panel truck. This included a number of people from the church and Ron's family as well as Paul, our two little girls and me. There could have been several vehicles going along with us. This was 1960 and there was not any freeway or other major highway then. I am not very familiar with that area as I have only been that far south twice in my life. I can tell you that things did not look anything like pictures I see of that area now. On the way to the beach we stopped to visit an elderly couple who were about 100 years old. (Or maybe ninety) We got to know the lovely people of the church as we were squeezed together in the van. We may not have spoken the same language, but that made no difference. I remember one little boy that had survived major surgery as an infant. His family shared the story with us.

At the beach we were near the old hotel that has been there for years. There were not too many people on the beach, but the people that were there witnessed something they would not be used to seeing. I mean that most people from that region would be Catholic so would not witness beach baptisms. I had not even seen one before that date. The Pastor waded out with Paul and me into the cold water. He spoke only Spanish and we only knew English, but the Lord knew what was on our hearts.

It was late when we got home that day. We were tired, but it was a day to remember. A few days later we went back to the little church in Tijuana for them to extend the hand of fellowship to us. We were not joining their church, but they wanted to give us hugs anyway. This was in the days before we were used to hugs. That did not matter as they were so kind to us.

The next year, early in 1961, Paul and I decided to join the First Baptist Church in Coronado. I had a good Baptist grandma and went to her church when I lived with her as a child. Paul and I were attracted to the Baptist church when they had evangelists visiting there each year.

Fast forward ten years. Ron and his wife were not together anymore. He lived the bachelor life for awhile and then met Grace. Ron had a good life with Grace, but he became very sick with Hodgkins. He had this illness for sometime and he may have been in remission at one period of time. Then in 1973 the time came for him to go to be with the Lord.

Paul was asked to be a pall bearer at Ron's funeral. Paul sat with the other pall bearers and I sat alone. When it was time for people to go forward and pass by the casket the usher directed me to the front. I paid my respects and did not pay enough attention where I was to go next. I was at the head of the line and made a wrong turn. I opened a door and others followed me. Oops, I was in the janitor's closet with others tagging along behind me. How do you save face in this situation? You don't. You just grin and bear it. It would have been easier to be a pall bearer.

Then we got lost on the way to the cemetery so Paul and I never saw any of those people ever again. I don't know if that was for the best or not. They probably forgot me, but I have a story to remember.

image credits:Brenden Ashton;  ksbuehler