I was working in a maternity home when Jason and I got married.  I absolutely loved it there, it was great to minister in such a unique way to such a unique group of people.  Jason loved it too; but, as he was a man, the opportunities for ministry there were somewhat limited.  However, the desire to be in some form of ministry took root in his heart and lead to our moving to a children's home in rural Virginia.  We began working in a girl's cottage, since that was what I was most familiar with; but the Lord quickly arranged for us to move into a boy's cottage. . . and it was great!

Now, Jason only worked in the cottage for a few months before being offered a job in administration at the home.  I stayed on, sharing the resident assistant role with my dear friend Misty until I became pregnant and couldn't physically handle the long hours any more (it was my first pregnancy, I was a wimp!).

I have so many funny memories from working with those boys.  Jason began with the boys about a month before I did, and I remember him calling for me to come down to the basement of the boy's cottage one Saturday afternoon to see what he and the guys had been doing.  There were just two boys at the time, and they had gone hunting around campus that morning.  They found a shed full of old, half-dilapedated bikes.  They somehow got them all to the basement and set up a little bike shop.  They took off and discarded the rusty and broken parts and pieced together what they had left.  They got dirty and sweaty and, at the end of it all, had about four or five interesting bikes to show for their hard work.  These bikes made me crack up, and they didn't mind my laughing.  They also didn't mind riding these bikes around campus for months to come, showing off their handy work.

I remember taking the boys to see the movie A Knight's Tale.  Of course we all loved the movie, and when we got home they took their funny bikes and pretended to joust in the backyard. 

One boy, I remember, helped me track down and capture a stray kitten at church one Wednesday night.  The cat looked and acted so much like this particular boy that I seriously thought about naming the cat after him.  But, since we already had two cats named after teas, I went with Gingko.

It is funny to me just how different boys are from girls.  I remember the day that this fact really hit me.  I was working with my good friend Misty this particular day.  We were all sitting at the breakfast table.  I'm not exactly sure how the "skirmish" began, I just know that two of the boys began irritating each other some how.  Quicker than I or Misty could think, threats were shouted, ignored, and followed through on.  The two boys were flinging chairs aside and punching eachother in no time.  Horrified, as we girls can get around such violence, Misty and I rushed the presumed perpetrator to his room and quickly retreated to the staff lounge (just next to the dining area) to figure out what on earth we were going to do.  While we were avidly perusing staff manuals and worriedly discussing the horrible beginning to this day we heard two calm, civil voices out at the table.  "Sorry, man."  "No problem."  And with that it was over.  As if it had never even happened!  Misty and I were astonished.  All we could do was laugh at how wierd this was to us.  We were sure we were going to be breaking up fights all day; but, no, boys don't linger as we women do.

This home was in the mountains of rural Virginia.  Many of our boys had never been outside the county lines -- had never seen tall buildings or beaches.  I remember the look on one boy's face the first time he saw the vast expanse of the ocean, and the cries of amazement at his first glimpse of a skyscraper.

I remember reading Tom Sawyer out loud to one boy with a learning diasability.  Those were probably the best hours of that job.  Reading for work.

I remember a new couple of brothers asking me to please make banana bread for them their first night at the cottage.  Of course I willingly obliged.  I also enjoyed playing checkers with the younger brother every night that first couple weeks before he went to bed.

I remember taking them to the 'skate park" just about every weekend and hearing "Watch this, Miss Erika" over and over and over.  I never tired of oohing and ahhing for them, and they soaked it up every time as if they were parched for words of praise and affirmation.

I remember running a covert operation with a group of them in an attempt to go out for the day without attracting the attention of a misbehaved boy.  I let the natural leader of the group know the plan -- I was going to drive the van around back and he was going to lead the others quietly out the side door and run to the van with them.  The misbehaved boy was not to know as he would have surely run out too and hopped, literally,  on top of the van -- in fact, I think he had hopped on the top of the van already that day.  Our plan worked.  Poor Misty had to stay behind.

I remember coming up with a system for our youngest boy in an attempt to encourage more consistent positive behavior.  I also remember the day he got perfect scores on this system.  We had a big party for him with a cake and everything.  All the boys got into cheering him on.

In fact, they always got into cheering eachother on.  There was one evening when a particularly 'chubby' boy decided to "go into training."  I remember the boys out front, running laps around the circle with him, chanting little military "one, two, three, four's" wih him and telling him he could do it.

I remember taking the whole load of them to pick up our cottage's high school wrestler from a meet.  When he got in the car he told us he had won his meet, so we headed straight for the ice cream shop; and then, when we got home, mid-winter, we had him hop out in his little wrestling garb and run a victory lap around the circle as we drove behind honking the horn and screaming out the windows of the 15 passenger van.

And, on a more somber note, I remember 9/11.  I was on my way back from taking our youngest to school when I heard the news on the radio.  I remember all the emotions I felt that week.  I also remember how serious and concerned those boys were.  How they wanted to do something, talk, show their support.  I remember taking them to pray around the flag on the circle.  We lit candles and were slowly joined by other cottages.  I remember their proud, man-like talk of war and defending their country.  I remember some of them talking about knowing how to handle a rifle and being ready to defend us if things got really bad.  So young, yet so brave.

Well, enough reminiscing.  I have hundreds of memories I could share, but I would only bore you.  So I'll sit here and savor them myself.