Session 2 - Personal Story, Betty Jean

The year 1930 was the all-time peak of popularity for parents to name their daughters Betty, the name representing 3.3% of all babies born that year. The 1931 census report shows there were about 2 million babies born in 1931 of which 80,616 were stillbirths and another 130,134 dying before turning one year old. Of the female infants surviving, nearly 7% of the girls were named Betty. Today, fewer than .02% of parents use this lovely old fashioned name. Meaning "oath"and derived from a Spanish word, the name certainly was appropriate for our Betty Jean.

Our Betty Jean was born in 1929 in Coffeyville, Kansas, just 18 days after Black Tuesday, that infamous day the stock market crashed on Wall Street. She didn't choose to make her entrance into a world already positioned for hardship and long-suffering, but it was certainly part of God's plan for her.

I met Betty when my daughter was three. She was the Sunday School teacher at church for the pre-kindergarden kids. There was never a more talented woman at the flannel graph story board. In those days, a good story teller would have children rapt with attention as Jesus flew into the clouds on his ascent from the grave, or as Naman dipped seven times into the dirty river water to be cleansed of leprosy. She was worth every cent we could have paid her. But of course Sunday School teachers weren't (and still aren't) paid with anything more than sticky-finger hugs and parents' smiles upon seeing a star given for quoting the four-word memory verse.

Betty became my prayer partner as my marriage was crumbling from the stress of living with an alcoholic. We stood several times in the parking lot and chatted through tears after the church services were finished. She encouraged me to continue to be an obedient Christian, to not sin through this awful time, and she told me of her own struggle dealing with the affects alcoholism in her marriage.

The story that follows is hers. She shared it with us at the Good Things Women's Ministry day and read from seven pages of handwritten notes. She clearly labored over what she'd written since a number of sections were either crossed out or underlined, tiny inserts were written in between the lines, and whole sentences squeezed in the margins.

I thought perhaps I would just recap her life's testimony about patience and long-suffering in this blog. But feel that her story, as written, is more complete and reflects her style and the era in which she grew up. I'll type it as she wrote it, only editing a few things in order to maintain her privacy or to give clarity on events. I'll also break it into sections, giving you the reader, the same space for reflection and the same pause for time should you need to grab a tissue or two as we who were listening did in the room.

I transcribe this story with her permission.