On David Stonehouse, and other readers

I have known David Stonehouse since we were both just wee lads. His mother used to babysit me when I’d get out of kindergarten at noon and have to wait to catch the bus for the ride home at the end of the regular school day. There was a school van that would drive us kindergarteners home or to our sitters, and I frequently yearned to be dropped off at my house–we drove right by it before I’d be returned to the Stonehouse’s on Wiley Street, but I would have been at home alone for several hours, which would’ve been a crime (or at least frowned upon).

So, I’d go to see Mrs. Stonehouse, where she’d give me lunch, playtime, and a nap. I’d see Mr. Stonehouse, too, sometimes. I liked both of them. He was our pastor, and he had a deep, resonant voice, a warm smile, and a kind heart. But Mrs. Stonehouse was the one I truly adored. She was no-nonsense about my getting my nap, but she was also a very loving, cheerful woman.

Her son David is, I believe, a year younger than I am, while his brother Tim is a year older than I. That meant that Tim was in school all day and I didn’t see him, but David, whom his mother referred to as “Davey” at the time, was at home when I was there, and their youngest sister, Susie, was in diapers (most of the time…lol). They had older siblings that weren’t in my “social circle,” as it were, but are all dear people in their own rights.

In David, then, I had a playmate while I waited for the bus. Then, when it was time to catch the bus, his mother would help me get my stuff together, bundle up when the weather called for that, and then walk me the two blocks to the bus stop. All of my life, I’ve remembered with gratitude my time with the Stonehouses at their home in Bangor that year, but I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned it to any of them. So, dear readers, knowing that David Stonehouse is a Faithful reader of this meager blog, Thank you to you and your dear Mother. May God bless you all for the love shown to me!

But wait. There’s more.

In 1980, my young life experienced many changes. It still makes me shudder with discomfort to consider how much happened. It wasn’t all “bad,” but a lot of it was painful.

First, Pastor Stonehouse took a call to serve as a Regional Home Missionary to plant new churches in the Philadelphia, PA, area for our denomination. It was a great opportunity and fit for his gifts and skills, but a painful loss for our church to see him and his family leave.

Second, a new school opened and my mother became a teacher there. I had just finished my worst year in school ever with a horrible teacher at a different school, so when my parents gave me the option to attend the new one, I immediately said yes. Still, it meant leaving friends I’d had since kindergarten and the next four years were no picnic. The new school faced constant struggles to survive, my mother battled breast cancer, and as much as I liked the school, my education suffered gaps in math and science.

Third, my eldest sister got married.

For a sensitive, introverted (yes, I was introverted) ten-year old it was a lot of emotion to deal with. As the 80s progressed, the emotional load did, too. In the course of time, as I graduated high school and enrolled in college, I found that the Stonehouses’ new home was a perfect “landing spot” on my drive between home and the campus for summer and Christmas breaks. Once again, Mrs. Stonehouse provided care and comfort for me as she had so many years before.

I had lost my mother a few years before, so we shared sorrows, but also memories and laughter and prayer. When her husband passed away suddenly, she still opened her home to me as I traveled through. Her Christian kindness never ceased.

It has been very many years since I was last in Philly or visited Mrs. Stonehouse, and I am sure that she, like all of us, is not perfect. But because of the passive and active obedience of Jesus Christ, her Savior and mine, the Lord views her as perfect, and I see her as a woman of grace, mercy, love, kindness, and true Christian charity.

David Stonehouse, a Happy Valentine’s Day to your Mother, sir.