THE HIGH-ER SCHOOL

Yes, that's me, middle, front row, "first chair"--plus 
cover of our 1965 high shcool annual

A monthly post on a hymn of the faith.

By now, the yearly hoopla of high school graduation has cooled down. Annuals have been signed with promises like “Friends forever” or “Remember me when you're rich and famous.” Hard to realize that my graduation year, 1965, was so long ago, almost the Dinosaur Age. I mean, girls wore skirts or dresses that modestly reached their knees, not today's torn and tattered jeans. We had nylons with regular shoes, not flip-flops or high-top white tennies. Blouses covered upper quarters modestly--no crop-tops and low-rise pants that showed off belly buttons. Oh yes (sigh), many had the “ratted” pouf hairdos. Girls “renewing” their “dos” at lunchtime meant that hair spray fogged the girl's restrooms. Personal cell phones? Nope. If your parents were enough “well off,” you might have your own bedroom phone (for girls, the “hot one” was the “princess style”) so you wouldn't have to stretch out the curly cord of the family's wall phone to a more private spot, like the coat closet.

Yes, back then we had cliques (or should we call them “interest-based affinity groups”?).  I guess I belonged in the “kids-who-study-and-don't-make-waves” category. My great goal and achievement was becoming orchestra concert-mistress (first chair violin—yes, that's me in photo). Except for B's in physical education (14 years later I would marry an elementary p.e. teacher—go figure) I earned all A's.

But, despite going to church with my family and completing the two years of Saturday classes to be “confirmed” in my family's traditional church, I had a lot to learn about walking with Christ. Thus, when I learned the background about a well-known hymn, I was moved by the story of its devout author: a teenager!

The hymn is known by is first words: “My Jesus, I Love Thee.” The first line continues, “I know thou art mine. For thee, all the follies of sin I resign.” Officially dated 1864, it's credited to a young person named William Ralph Featherston, who attended a Methodist church in his hometown of Montreal, Canada. Some historians say he was 12 years old when he wrote the lyrics, others say he was 16. Others suggest the first few lines have some similarities to camp-meeting songs of the early 1800s. It might have stayed a young person's poem if he hadn't sent a copy of it to his aunt in Los Angeles. She was so moved that she sought to have it published.

But a poem isn't a hymn until there's music, and that came through someone named Adoniram Gordon. His first name may ring a bell as the same as missionary Adoniram Judson (1788-1850), who served in Burma for nearly forty years. Adoniram Gordon was known for founding Gordon College and Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary. (By the way, Adoniram is a Hebrew name that means “my Lord is exalted.”)

Featherston never lived to see the widespread use of his poem-turned-hymn. He died at age 27, reportedly leaving behind a wife and young son. It would be his only published piece. He would be amazed to learn of how it still inspires worshipers, and perhaps humbled that the background story of a faith-filled teenager would continue to be told more than a century and a half later.

Sing along with this You-Tube video:

MyJesus I Love Thee - Classic Hymn (Lyrics) - Bing video

Because search engines offer sequential performances of the same piece, consider continuing to listen to how these simple but reverent words still reflect a believer's aspiration to know Jesus better.

Should old acquaintance be forgot...

Yes, that's me in the upper-right corner, in 1965.

Growing older has its advantages, like senior coffee at McDonald’s and senior discounts at various stores. (For some reason, our “Senior Center Thrift Store” doesn’t have senior discounts. Hmm.) This year I reached another “senior event” about which I had mixed feelings: my fiftieth high school reunion. In 1965 I was among 460 teenagers graduating from Puyallup High School on the west side of Washington state.

 I gave my high school years my best effort, graduating in the top twelve academically. The class “brain,” no surprise, got a doctorate from Yale. (Two B’s in physical education kept me from a 4.0.  I married a physical education teacher. Go figure.) A decade after high school, the many friends who penned in my annual that they’d remember me forever had shrunk to two who sent Christmas greetings for a few years. In those decades before social media, if you didn’t write, call, or get together, friendships tended to fizzle, especially if you moved away from the core community of graduates.   

When the invitation came, I debated over spending $100 a couple for the event at a local casino (presuming drinks and dancing were part of the plan). The strongest drinks in our house are Pepsi or morning-blend coffee. I’ve only done “happy dancing” when I got a book contract in the mail.  My “gambling” is taking a risk on pull-date yogurt from the local discount grocery.  Plus, the reunion was scheduled for our wedding anniversary, and a three-hour drive away. I decided to stay home.

The organizers were doing a “reunion annual” and invited class members to submit a “bio” telling what they had done since high school. Not surprisingly, the student body president became a doctor and the football star spent his life in construction. Many wrote of buying big boats and RVs for retirement. Some had seen the world in military service. One taught in Japan for 26 years. Another spent more than forty years in public relations and lobbying across the nation in Washington, D.C.

 A classmate I didn’t remember earned a doctorate in gerontology and conducted 2,000 workshops in places like Thailand, China, Northern Marianas, Guam and Canada. Oh yes, she also volunteered in Mongolia, trekked with gorillas in Rwanda, and horse-camped in Turkey. Another classmate, to her doctor’s amazement, survived brain cancer.  But the last page held names of 67 members who’d passed away—15% of the class. Some guys may have lost their lives in the Vietnam War. Even 50 years later, without going to our original annual, I could recall their faces

Our daily treks through the wood-floored halls of an old school had united us. But our life choices had separated us.  So had our spiritual choices. I considered going to the reunion for the opportunity to tell what Christ had done for me. But the celebration venue didn’t really lend itself to that. Instead, in my “reunion annual bio” I mentioned that a certain Bible verse had been my life guide.

I know of people who used alumni connections to the glory of God. One from my husband’s high school class went away to West Point and a distinguished military career. But upon retiring to his hometown, he contacted fellow alumni and invited them to participate in a monthly E-mailed prayer request list.

The “golden class reunion” did take me one place, to Psalm 90, attributed to Moses. Two verses especially seemed appropriate for perspective on milestones:

Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom (v. 12)
May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us; establish the work of our hands for us—yes, establish the work of our hands. (v. 17)

No social event can compete with what’s ahead for those who have trusted Christ. The heavenly “graduation” will surpass it all!