For this reason, since the day we heard about you, we have not stopped praying for you.
—Colossians 1:9
After Suzie’s death, we did our best to comfort Charlie. But in the busy ebb and flow of life, we quickly put this sad incident behind us. By now our second son, Josh, was also starting school. Charlie’s home education had progressed so well we decided to homeschool his brothers too. The experience proved fun and productive, but also sometimes frustrating. I gleaned advice from my sister, Jean, and the Powerses, but also researched for myself how to go about this new phenomenon in our society.
I remember well the very first homeschool fair in our area, where vendors of homeschooling curriculum and products showed their wares. Held at a small church in East Petersburg, it showcased at most ten vendors. Within two years, the fair had moved to the sizeable auditorium of nearby Lancaster Bible College and soon outgrew that space as well. Our small group was no longer alone in this new venture.
For fifth and sixth grade, we enrolled Charlie in a nearby Christian school, Living Word Academy. With two solid years of homeschooling behind him, Charlie did well there. But the cost of private education was more than we could afford, especially with four sons. So Charlie joined our other three at home.
This proved a wonderful chapter in our lives. All four of our boys loved homeschooling. Once they were older, we told them that if at any point they preferred to transfer to the public or private high school, we would honor their choice. Charlie chose not to, graduating from high school in the homeschooling program. His brothers in turn each attended a year or more at a local Christian high school or public school.
For Charlie, academics would never come easily. But now that he could work at his own speed without the distraction of a noisy class of other children, he had no difficulty keeping up with math, English, and other studies. Personally, I loved the one-on-one contact with my sons as I tutored them. Charlie’s favorite class was math, an area in which I’d needed tutoring myself in high school, and I can remember madly studying his algebra lessons the night before so that I could teach them to him.
Nor did Charlie or his brothers suffer socially. Homeschoolers had become a growing demographic in Lancaster County. By this time our friends Chuck and Cathy Powers, who had so graciously helped us start our homeschooling journey, had moved to France to head up a Christian ministry there. But our four sons, my sister’s eight kids, my brother’s four, and a number of other homeschooling families formed the basis for the area’s first homeschool co-op. One day a week, we got together to share writing, art, and other interactive learning projects. As a group we took field trips to Philadelphia, New York, and Washington, D.C. We visited historical sites like Independence Hall and Ellis Island. The kids toured art museums, explored zoos, and visited with representatives at the state capitol in Harrisburg.
The boys enjoyed all types of sports too, playing baseball, soccer, football, and basketball as well as skateboarding and biking. Our homeschool co-op started an annual track and field day where approximately sixty homeschoolers would get together to compete. Charlie and our other sons also enjoyed learning practical skills and earning badges in the Boy Scouts.
By the time Charlie was twelve, he also held his first job—a paper route—diligently heading out every morning in all kinds of weather without complaint. Always industrious, he sought extra jobs like mowing lawns and shoveling snow in order to earn money for a new bike he wanted.
It was about this time we faced a second pet loss. Our dog Cinnamon, who had been part of the family from Charlie’s earliest memories, had to be put down. Charlie went with me to the vet. I still remember his bitter tears as we said good-bye. Dogs would always play a special part in Charlie’s life. But Charlie evidenced just as tender a heart for human beings in need. He took part in helping a shut-in, and when anyone on his paper route needed help around the house or yard, Charlie was always willing to volunteer. Another traumatic event in Charlie’s life was when a neighbor and newspaper customer committed suicide. Charlie stopped by his home just as his wife had found him. We talked about it, but I am not sure what kind of lasting effect this incident may have had on him.
As our boys grew, it became apparent to Chuck and me that each of our sons was very different in personality. Charlie was our introvert, though he was never a recluse. He was always willing to join in family activities. Though never the talkative one, he had a delightful dry sense of humor, and when he did come out with a comment, it held such sharp observation that we would immediately turn to listen. Then he would give his sweet, impish smile, and we would all laugh.
Charlie continued to prefer hands-on learning to books, always wanting to figure things out for himself, and became a skilled carpenter as he worked alongside his grandfather. Though he joined Boy Scouts, baseball, and soccer, he didn’t excel in sports as much as his brothers did. But he loved anything outdoors. He took the hunter’s safety course at age twelve and became as avid a hunter as his father.
Our second son, Joshua, was the most academic, always willing to help his brothers with their studies. He was far more extroverted than his older brother, and tender and sensitive with others. He too loved to hunt but was also very athletic.
Our third son, Zach, was the most easygoing, an avid basketball player. He found our quiet, rural world more constricting than the others and from an early age expressed a desire to explore and travel. We were not surprised when he became our only son to travel out of state all the way to Florida to attend film school after high school, then taking a job in Manhattan instead of Lancaster County and traveling overseas to Sweden and other countries.
Our youngest son, Jon, was more of an introvert like Charlie. But he was also fearless and daring in sports. He acquired a dirt bike, practicing ultimate stunts with it that would give gray hair to any mother.
For my part, I loved watching each one of them grow up and mature into adults. These were years filled with rich memories. Though Chuck was not home daily with the boys as I was, he was always there for his family, a devoted husband and dad. We enjoyed spending time together as a family. We went to church together. We took family vacations, including many camping trips with the boys to the beach and wooded areas.
A favorite family trip was to a hunting camp in Potter County. These trips made economical vacations since Chuck was a member of the camp. We would drive up there in summer, but in winter as well to take advantage of the snow. Our boys loved hiking and fishing in the summer, building snow forts and sledding in the winter. They would explore the camp’s junk heap, searching for “collectibles.” One family story often retold in later years was of the time the boys unearthed an old tire. They rolled it down the mountain slope from the junk heap, an unwise decision since it escaped from them, rolling right across a busy road. Fortunately, it didn’t strike any cars, and they never tried anything like that again.
Near the hunting camp were the ruins of Austin Dam, which had burst in 1911, the resulting flood wiping out a town of three thousand, the worst catastrophe in Potter County history. Our boys loved exploring the ruins, climbing a crumbling tower, and clambering through the remains of a large mill that once provided employment for the doomed community. The area remains a favored vacation spot for our sons and their families.
We also spent much time together as an extended family. My parents had provided their children with a loving home, and now they were reaping their reward. All of us loved getting together, and Sunday afternoons at Pop Pop and Baba’s house were filled with laughter and comradery. Especially during the summer school break, my sons and my sister’s and brother’s children would flow back and forth from one home to another, the evenings punctuated by phone calls asking to stay over at Aunt Jean’s or Uncle Joe’s house.
We frequently vacationed together as an extended family. Since we all homeschooled, our children’s activities frequently brought us together with co-op activities and field trips. I remember one year when the children had been studying about the Pilgrims and we all came to Thanksgiving dinner in costume.
We also spent time with family on Chuck’s side, though less frequently. Chuck’s mother died of breast cancer when Charlie was only three years old, and his father ten years later when our youngest son, Jonathan, was only three, so our sons did not grow up knowing their paternal grandparents well. But in our early years of marriage we’d had a great relationship with them. His mother was a seamstress and sewed my first maternity clothes. His father had a beautiful voice and sang in a barbershop quartet in his earlier years.
Because Charlie was older than his brothers when his paternal grandparents passed away, he had the closest relationship of any of them with Chuck’s side of the family. Charlie’s favorite memory of visiting Pappy and Grammie Roberts while Chuck’s mother was still alive was being served his own bottle of Coke. This was a special treat since we didn’t have soda except on special occasions. Charlie had one cousin about the same age on this side of the family—Howie. I can envision them now at age three sitting on Grammie’s couch and playing together. In later years there weren’t as many opportunities to get together, but when they did, they always enjoyed each other’s company.
One minor issue that did arouse my concern was that there were no cousins Charlie’s age on my side of the family. He was two years older than the next grandchild, his cousin Travis, followed by his brother Josh and cousin Ben, who were the same age. Both my sister and sister-in-law had sons the same year Zach was born. And so on through more than a dozen cousins so that at family get-togethers each of our younger sons had plenty of cousins to play with.
Though Charlie had no cousins his age close enough to play with, he was not a complete loner. He had two neighborhood buddies named Ryan and Craig. Craig was an especially close friend, and he had the same initials as Charlie—CR. So the two boys decided that when they grew up they were going to be truck drivers and start a company together called CR Trucking. That never happened, but the two remained good friends even after we moved.
Charlie was actually responsible for our last move as a family in 1989. During all these years, the suburban house and yard and driveway we’d once considered so spacious had grown more and more crowded, especially once it teemed with school activities as well as family. We’d added on a small annex, but even so we were bursting at the seams until I was forced to issue orders that the boys could add no more collections larger than a baseball card to the clutter.
Meanwhile Charlie retained happy memories of the quiet and space he’d enjoyed during his homeschool days at Pop Pop and Baba’s. He still seized every opportunity to visit there, especially in good weather when he could hike and fish and explore the woods and creeks that surrounded their property. Charlie was sixteen years old when he came across an advertisement in a TV Guide for a model, or “stick,” home that could be pre-purchased and erected on any property. The list price was $59,900.
Excitedly, Charlie brought us the TV Guide. “Look at this house! We could build it right next to Pop Pop and Baba where they have that trailer house.”
The trailer house was a unit my parents had moved onto the four acres they’d purchased from the Amish neighbors right next door. Rented out, it was part of their retirement income. Looking at the picture, I sighed. “Oh, Charlie, this would be wonderful. But the price they advertise is never the reality. There are always other hidden costs, including buying the land to build it on, that would put it well above what we could afford.”
Disappointed, Charlie put the advertisement away. But the next time we visited my parents, I walked outdoors with my mother to where I could see the trailer house sitting next door. The view of the woods and fields spreading out all around, the ridge with its pine forest rising behind it, was certainly a perfect setting for a family of four energetic boys.
Not seriously, but with some wistfulness, I said to my mother, “Mom, can you believe Charlie thinks we should sell our house in Lancaster and build one on that lot?”
To my surprise, my mother responded, “And why not?”
Within a short time, my parents had sold us a three-quarter acre lot for an excellent price. Putting our Lancaster house up for sale, we moved in with my parents and began building. What a delight it was to witness Charlie’s excitement that we were actually carrying out his suggestion. I recall his energetic involvement in every aspect of the project. From where we stayed with my parents, he was constantly heading over to the construction site to check with the builders and report on the progress. In contrast, his youngest brother, Jon, at this time just six years old, earned the nickname “dirt-ball Jon” for his own energetic interaction with the mounds of dirt!
Our Lancaster house sold quickly, and soon we were able to move into our new home. As the oldest, and the person who’d inspired our beautiful new home, Charlie was permitted first pick of the bedrooms. He chose a front bedroom with three windows that offered a panoramic view of the woods and fields he loved. We settled in just in time for hunting season. Charlie shot his first buck in the woods just below our yard, a thrill for any sixteen-year-old.
We now lived surrounded by Amish farms and for the first time had regular contact with the Amish community, above all, our immediate neighbors. Down the road and around the corner was Jake Stoltzfoos, who’d originally sold my parents their property back in 1973. Next to our own lot were the fields of Jake’s son Chris. Directly in front of our house lived Jake’s other son, Henry, who ran a woodworking business.
While we did not at that time socialize much, we enjoyed neighborly conversations. A special treat was purchasing strawberries, asparagus, and other fresh fruits and vegetables in season from their produce wagon. I do remember when my boys were older and learning to target shoot that we received a visit from Chris, asking that the boys not practice with clay pigeons over his field, since the cows could get sick munching on the broken clay discs. The boys immediately honored his request, and during all those years, we maintained a friendly relationship with our Amish neighbors.
Another joy for Charlie in particular was a new addition to the family. We were still living with my parents when Chuck brought a puppy home. The stray had wandered into the police precinct, and the officers had dubbed her Shadow because she insisted on following the chief of police all around the office. Charlie immediately fell in love with her. Since my parents had just absorbed six more people into their home, I thought it was too much to ask them to take in a dog as well during four months of construction. But Baba’s response to her firstborn grandson was typical: “Every boy needs a dog!”
So we—or rather, Charlie—adopted Shadow. After Charlie graduated from high school, he bought another puppy for himself, a Rottweiler mix he named Suzie after the Siberian husky that had died. The two dogs became his closest companions and accompanied him into his married life.
Our move to Strasburg brought one other significant change to our family life. Throughout the years since Charlie’s birth, we’d been actively involved in Saint Leo’s Catholic Church in Lancaster. Once we’d moved, our original plan was to continue driving up to Lancaster for services. But the parish leadership informed us we needed to transfer our membership to our new parish. We attended services a few times in the Quarryville parish but didn’t find the deep fellowship we’d developed in Lancaster.
Then my parents invited us to visit a fairly new church they were now attending near Strasburg: High View Church of God. We immediately felt welcomed and found the church a great fit for our family. It was here too that we met our dear friends Mike and Delores Hayford, who would later become my co-workers at Sight & Sound Theatre. There was an active youth program, and our boys got involved as well in a Bible quizzing team that competed locally and regionally. Chuck had by this time recommitted his life to God through our couples’ Bible study, and we both were experiencing spiritual growth through the solid teaching of God’s Word we encountered at High View.
The only one of our sons who felt somewhat left out was Charlie. By the time we were well involved at High View, he was graduating from high school, so he never formed a real connection with the church youth. It didn’t seem to be a big issue. We’d always studied God’s Word as part of our daily homeschooling routine and attended Sunday school together. I can’t say there was never any resistance to this from Charlie or the other boys, because at some point, we established a strict family rule that while you live in our home, you go to church.
To me, this season of life was one of blue skies and calm, sweet breezes. I loved my new home. My sons were growing up strong and intelligent and hardworking. They evidenced love for God and for other people. Still, they were not perfect. The world awaiting them outside the protective walls of our home was not always a kind or safe place. Soon they would be of an age to make choices I could not oversee, to leave home for places where I could not protect them.
I remember sharing my concerns with our pastor at High View: “How do I know just what and how to pray for them?”
He gave me a Scripture passage to look up: Colossians 1:9–13. “Pray this passage for each of your sons,” he said. “Every time you come across the pronouns ‘you’ or ‘us,’ replace them with the name of one of your sons.”
Going home, I opened my Bible to the passage and began reading: “For this reason, since the day we heard about you, we have not stopped praying for you . . .”
Stopping, I went back and started the passage again, this time following the pastor’s instructions: “For this reason, since the day we heard about Charlie, we have not stopped praying for Charlie. We continually ask God to fill Charlie with the knowledge of his will through all the wisdom and understanding that the Spirit gives, so that Charlie may live a life worthy of the Lord and please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that Charlie may have great endurance and patience, and giving joyful thanks to the Father, who has qualified Charlie to share in the inheritance of his holy people in the kingdom of light. For he has rescued Charlie from the dominion of darkness and brought Charlie into the kingdom of the Son he loves.”
When I’d finished praying the passage, I started again, this time in turn filling in the names of my other sons—Josh, Zach, and Jon. This became my regular prayer for each of my sons all through their teen years and into their adult lives. With such a powerful and fervent prayer being raised daily on their behalf to the Creator of all, how could my sons not come to love God as deeply and unquestioningly as I had?