Little Pilgrim Lesson Pictures
MARGARET (1930)
While she was starting her lesson, he walked in. She didn’t
know why; he knew this was her hour with the children. This started her head
spinning…was he smiling at her, or the children? Did he intentionally want to
interrupt her class, or was it just an accident? She wasn’t good at lying, so
imagined no one else was, either. She’d be able to figure out if he was telling
the truth, wouldn’t she?
“Margaret, would you stop in my office before you leave this
morning?”
“Why…I…yes. Yes, I can”, she stammered, feeling a blush
color her cheeks. As soon as he closed the door, she continued on with the
lesson. Or tried to. She stared at the Little Pilgrim card in her hand, then at
her students. The turbaned men in the painting on the front of the card looked
serious and a bit apprehensive. Mirroring her feelings toward Rev. Donald, they
sat quietly, waiting their turn to have their feet washed by Jesus. Margaret
tried to imagine how it must have felt to be the disciples, their feet tired
and dusty. How inadequate they must have felt, but also honored, to have Jesus
wash their feet! She couldn’t understand it. Like many of the stories she shared
with the children, she couldn’t quite grasp the meaning behind each scripture
and why it was included in the Bible. Some stories were so harsh and the
actions of God so mean-spirited! She could only share the stories with the
children, as her Sunday school teachers had once shared them with her.
Later, when all the children had left with their parents,
she made her way to Rev. Donald’s office. He was young, newly widowed, and new
to her family’s parish. His story was so heartbreaking, but Margaret couldn’t
bring herself to feel anything but excitement and hope when he smiled at her,
when he shared just a bit of himself with her. She knew her parents felt the
same hope, that he would notice Margaret as more than just a sweet Sunday school
teacher. That he would take that first step and perhaps ask her to coffee, or
ask her to sit next to him on the upcoming church hayride.
“Margaret, I’ve noticed that you have such a way with the
children, with sharing the scripture.” He ran one hand through his thick blond hair.
“I’m thinking of starting an adult bible study, on Sunday evenings. In the
parsonage, not here at church. Would you consider helping me with the lessons?”
This was unexpected. Margaret considered herself a willing
helper, nothing more. But Rev. Donald looked nervous as well. Did he think
she’d say no?
“Well, of course…I don’t know if I can offer anything more
than your understanding of the scriptures, Rev. Donald…” Margaret smoothed her
skirt and smiled. “But I’ll be there for support. Or help. Whatever you need…”
She glanced at the photo in a silver frame behind his desk. Rev. Donald’s wife
had been beautiful. Beautiful and flawed. Margaret didn’t know the whole story,
and suspected many in the congregation didn’t, either. What was understood was
this: Rev. Donald and his first wife, Anna, had some sort of falling out, she
left to return home to her parents, she died. Rev. Donald often used his pain
as an excuse to avoid discussion on the matter, and Margaret thought: who am I
to question it? She’d never lost a loved one in so violent a manner. At the
cusp of her life, in fact. Margaret felt nothing but compassion for Rev.
Donald. A great loss, then his fortitude to continue on as a pastor every
Sunday, not to mention all the home visits during the week. Well, she really
couldn’t imagine…and had no business questioning it.
But no matter…Margaret felt that things were changing now.
Her life was just beginning.
*****************************************************
From then on, the beautiful little cards were left in a
drawer at the church. Another girl took over as the third grade Sunday school
teacher, as Margaret was now helping Rev. Donald with his class. As time went
on, Margaret and Rev. Donald became more important to one another.
Margaret and Donald became an “item” as it were, in their
little town. It all started at church, where many church members thought to
themselves: ah, of course, here it comes…
When Harry was born two years later, the family was
complete.
*****************************************************
JANET (1985)
Janet found the cards in an old cabinet, just off the main
sanctuary. What a find, she thought immediately, not thinking that they may
actually belong to someone. She’d been looking for some colored paper for her
class, and, after finding the cards, was so distracted that one of the students
had to come and find her.
“Miss Porter?” Jeremy tentatively pushed his way into the
room, a glorified closet that held a hoarder’s treasure. Sighing, Janet decided
she’d use them for today’s lesson. I can
improvise, she thought. Now that her first choice had fallen through, (crafting
fall leaves to present to their mothers) Janet decided there wasn’t much time
to come up with anything else. Besides, the kids might find these cards just as
fascinating as she did. Half an hour could go by quickly.
Back in the classroom, she pulled out a card to read the
notes and scripture on the back. She picked the top card on the pack, a photo
of the prodigal son and his father. She knew this story well, this would be
easy.
She started by asking the children if they knew what was
happening in the picture on the front of the card. On the back, along with the
scripture, was a synopsis, along with questions. Easy, easy. She could do this.
The card’s artwork reminded her of a palm-lined oasis. Palm
Springs, maybe. Was that realistic? She didn’t know. She just knew this story,
because it was one her mother told her, kind of as a caution. “Who wants every
child to come to him?” read the ridiculously simplistic question on the back.
Of course, thought Janet, the cards were from 1904! The only thing valuable was
the artwork, and the scripture verses on each card back. The commentary and
questions themselves seemed outdated.
Janet’s mother had just lost her husband six months before.
Not Janet’s dad; he had died when she was just ten. Janet’s father had been a
pastor’s son, an only child of a pastor and his second wife. How she had loved
her father! He was the parent in her life who had the patience for bedtime
stories, walks on the weekends. Ahead of his time in that way, he was like contemporary
fathers in equality of parental duties. Or, in his case, inequality, as he was
her caretaker most of the time, as well as her brother when he was born three
years after Janet.
Her father’s ghost looms large in Janet’s life. This ghost
of a father died in a car accident just after Christmas. Not before Christmas,
her mother was fond of saying: that would have been tragic. As if that made
anything easier, Janet thought. Her mother had a fondness for idiotic sayings. Since
her father, Harry, died when she was so young, Janet never had a chance to find
out anything about his childhood. Her mother often alluded to the fact that his
parents weren’t happy together. Or, that his mother wasn’t happy. His father,
well…his father was a pastor who led by example. If you want to BE happy, you
need to ACT happy.
Now, Janet decided to put the cards in her purse. She’d use
them again next week. Certainly, no one else in the Sunday school wing was
interested in using them. As she looked for a ribbon or rubber band to
consolidate the pack of cards, her finger brushed by a small piece of paper
sticking out at the bottom. Thinking it a bit of rubbish, she pulled it out to
toss, and then offered a second glance. There was handwriting on it. Could she
make out the words? It looked ancient. The paper was thin, in worse shape than
the pack of cards.
Holding the paper up to the light, she could just make out,
“Oh, please help. I can’t do this any longer.” It looked like a postscript on a longer piece
of paper, a letter, perhaps. Even though the paper was clearly old, and the
person in need of help long gone, Janet felt the hair on the back of her neck
stand up. It’s like a ghost speaking to me, she thought. And then dismissed
that thought. She was just tired, that’s all. Tired and in need of time with her
mother. Instead of tossing the small piece of paper, however, Janet decided to
keep it in the middle of the card pack.
That night, when she and her mother were relaxing in front
of the television, Janet brought up the plea on the piece of paper.
“Well, I suppose it could’ve been Margaret,” answered Mona,
her voice a sigh, a sad look in her eyes. “I think she felt trapped with your
grandfather.” The note of finality in Mona’s voice surprised Janet.
“Did Grandma teach Sunday school? I thought she was a
preacher’s wife…”
“They often teach Sunday school, Janet. Just because Rev.
Lang’s wife doesn’t volunteer at church doesn’t mean it isn’t normal,” her
mother seemed indignant. “I would say that most preachers’ wives teach.”
Janet shook her head. “It’s too much of a coincidence to
assume Grandma wrote this note, though, right? These cards are dated
1904…plenty of teachers probably used them.” However, she had her doubts.
Somehow, something told her they were Margaret’s cards as well, and that she
DID write that note. Again, a ghost from the past.
*****************************************************
ANNA (1926)
Looking through the little cards once again, Anna saw a
pattern. A pattern that God was showing to her, she was certain. Imprisonment
is what her life was now, and if she fled, God would be with her. Each card
showing the apostle Paul’s imprisonment, each card showing that God is with His faithful
people, led Anna to believe that she needed to leave Donald. God would show her
the way.
God DID show Anna the way…on a solitary trip home to visit
her parents, Anna found that she just couldn’t leave her parents' home. She wrote Donald a
letter, telling him her thoughts. She referred several times to the Little
Pilgrim cards, as if by inciting scripture, he would understand better.
It went better than she thought it would. She just needed a
lot of patience…which she had in ample supply, along with time. The only thing
she was doing at the moment was helping her parents in their little fabric and
home goods store. When the third letter from Donald came (he didn’t even try to
drag her home), she knew he was resigned…and that he had a new plan.
She knew what Donald was telling his parishioners…he told
them that she had died while on a trip back home. Death was preferable to
desertion, at least when sharing his life with his congregation. Anna offered
her blessing. What did it matter to her, anyway? She didn’t care if she never
found anyone to marry again. Now Anna was with her parents again. And going by
her middle name, Marie. Her only regret is not being able to talk to the one
friend she made while she and Donald were in Silver Spring. Maybe once many
years had passed, Marie could reach out to her. Rev. Donald would have moved on
by then, anyway. This thought was a comfort to her, even though she had new
friends to make. New friends who couldn’t, at the moment, know that she’d left
a husband behind. A husband who told everyone that she was dead. Recalling the
Little Pilgrim Lessons, she thinks of all the signs from God. Leave him, God
seemed to say, at every turn. She had done it! Left the one who had held her in
captivity.
