They Loved Us

Our parents called them "the Bible Club girls," evencrying?""Because he's lost," said the little girl solemnly.
though Hazel Simonton and Jean Clark had strands of"He doesn't know where he lives.""Do you know
grey sprinkled through their dark hair by the late 1940s.where he lives?""Nope.""Does anybody in here know
That's how people referred to women, especiallywhere he lives?""Nope." (The little boy began to sob
single women, back then.Every Wednesday afterdeeply and hopelessly.)"Don't cry, sweetie. We'll find
school, the Bible Club girls came to our church in theyour home."Not the highlight of the little boy's week or
Bitterroot Valley of Montana. The pastor had built a firetheirs, but eventually, after hours of travel, the little lost
in the cast-iron furnace in the back corner of theboy was home again.Why did they do it?Not for
church, but the building was still bitter cold when wemoney. They came West from New Jersey with just
arrived at three-thirty. We perched on the first two$40 per month pledged to them. But their idea was
rows of cold wooden pews, little kids with rubbernever to get, but to give. The things they did, they did
boots, winter coats leaking dirty mittens, stocking caps,for love: the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our
and, frequently, cold sores and runny noses, whichLord. Which love they poured out on all of us, year
noses, if they were wiped at all, were wiped on theafter year.They died in the 1990s in Montana, which
dirty mittens.Miss Simonton and Miss Clark knew all ourhad become their true home. Shirley Rasmussen
names. And remembered them forever. We couldDowning describes Hazel Simonton's death:"Cathy
meet them in a store in Missoula ten, fifteen years latercalled me in Arizona and told me that Miss Simonton
to be greeted by name and flooded with love.Becausehad just passed away . . . on the hospital heart floor.
they loved us. Truly did. And we warmed to that loveAt 4:00 A.M. she spent ONE HOUR talking with Miss
the way little plants do to sunshine.After the classSimonton, as Miss Simonton wanted to tell her about
session was over, Miss Simonton and Miss Clarkme -- the Daily Vacation Bible School years and
asked, "Who needs a ride home?"A forest of handshelping at camp, all the many, many verses I had
went up. Mine usually didn't, because Mamma usuallylearned at Bible School, and the Bible drills I had
sat in the back of the church, ready to take all childrenwon."Then, after her long visit with Cathy, Cathy left
from around Willow Creek. But sometimes she couldn'tfor a bit, returned to check on her, and she had
come, and I was one of the children who piled into thedied."How like her to die thinking of one of her children
Bible Club girls' little car. I sat up front, as I got carsick,-- for we were all her girls and boys.Her family back
and six or seven children crowded into the back,East sent a nephew to represent them at the funeral.
poking and pinching each other. "Who's closest?" MissHe arrived at the church early and was seated in a
Simonton would ask."Me," a hand went up. And wefront pew in the almost empty auditorium. He had said
were led through mile after mile of icy dirt road withhe couldn't give a speech, but the pastor didn't know
ruts frozen into place, past cold, forlorn farmhousesthat and called on him. He bravely went to the front of
and barns and bare trees and chilly looking cows andthe auditorium and turned around. And gaped to find
horses with long winter coats, while the snow-coveredthe church now packed, the balcony filled, and people
Rocky Mountain peaks looked down at us in thestanding at the rear.All the little boys and girls Hazel
deepening gloom."Turn here," a little voice wouldSimonton and Jean Clark had loved all those years
command from the back seat, as the car jolted andhad grown up and had children and grandchildren, and
jumped and skidded over the roads. "Andhundreds of them were there that day to show their
here."Gradually the crowd in back dwindled. Until therelove and respect.Because Hazel Simonton and Jean
were just a little girl and a little boy. A freckle-facedClark loved us. And we loved them right back.
boy with tears streaming down his face. "Why is he