CHRIST
IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter…
©
Bettie Wilson Story was a woman of the Word. She served
the Word with her words. That is remarkable, in its own way, because in person,
she spoke words so slowly.
She was the daughter and brother of Alabama preachers,
both of whom died too young. She was married to an Alabama preacher, too,
although GL spent almost his entire career, and their 61 years of faithful
marriage, as a New Testament scholar and Religion professor at Illinois
Wesleyan University. [1]
Despite all those years on the Illinois flat lands,
Bettie never lost her soft Alabama drawl or her gentle Alabama smile. I can still hear her
telling the story of the wise men at Jesus’ manger. Alabamians thought they had
ashes on their feet because “They came from a far.”
She wrote the words faster than she spoke them, though,
as attested by her books and her many, many news stories and columns as a
journalist for United Methodist publications. She served for many years as
director of communications for the Central Illinois Conference. In that writing
she was concise and thoughtful and insightful.
She didn’t just inform; she communicated. She knew that
the purpose of church journalism was more than just stating the facts. In her
writing she tried to build community through dialogue.
She was not an insular writer, interested only in
her own words. She wanted to make it possible for everyone to read and to
write. She spent years on the library board. For two decades she directed the
IWU Writer’s Conference, and made it possible for hopeful writers like me to
meet accomplished writers like Madeline L’Engle.
Those of us who had the privilege of knowing her could
hear her slow and gentle and smiling voice as we read her books and articles.
Bettie had it right. The Word is not in a hurry. The Word
knows no time limits. It is the Word that is the Alpha and Omega, the beginning
and the end. The Word does not rush. It takes whatever time is necessary so
that it can be heard clearly, in any dialect.
Bettie heard the Word clearly, and spoke it slowly, and
wrote it hopefully, In the process, she enhanced our community, and loved us
all.
John Robert McFarland
1] One of the many convergences of our lives is Opelika,
AL, where Bettie’s father pastored when she met GL, from nearby Beauregard,
pronounced Boregard. Our granddaughter was born in Opelika, when daughter Katie
taught at Auburn U, and GL’s sister was one of her nurses in the hospital.
[my
old charter email address works, too]
The “place
of winter” mentioned in the title line is Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper
Peninsula, where life is defined by winter even in the summer! [This phrase is
explained in the post for March 20, 2014.]
I
have also started an author blog, about writing, in preparation for the
publication, by Black Opal Books, of my novel, VETS, in late 2015. http://johnrobertmcfarland-author.blogspot.com/
I
tweet as yooper1721.
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