“He went in and said to them, ‘Why all this commotion and wailing? The child is not dead but asleep.’ But they laughed at him. After he put them all out, he took the child’s father and mother and the disciples who were with him, and went in where the child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, ‘Talitha koum!’ (which means, ‘Little girl, I say to you, get up!’). Immediately the girl stood up and walked around (she was twelve years old). At this they were completely astonished.” – Mark 5:39-42 (NIV)
Growing up in Fort Worth, Texas in the mid 1950’s was, for the most part, a superb way to start out in the world. I often look back to the traumatic events that dotted my childhood but I have to say that blessings have marked my life from the very outset.
I was born on January 8, 1954 in Harris Hospital to J.L. and Blanche (Loper) Northcutt. My parents moved from Townsend Street to 2650 W. Boyce Avenue when I was four years old. I can still recall one scene from our “new” house the day we moved and it continued to be our family home until after my mother’s eventual passing in 1989.
With me in the family home were my two older sisters Susan Jane born in September 1948 and Betty Joan born in November, 1950. Both were born in Cleburne where my father had grown up and my parents were married and spent the early years of their marriage.
My mother, Nora Blanche Loper had grown up in a few locations in west Texas although she, her parents and four siblings had moved around before settling down in Glen Rose. Her father died when she was thirteen from complications from a burst appendix during the dark days of the Great Depression.
After I was born my mother delivered my two younger twin brothers who died around childbirth. One was stillborn and the other lived one day. Robert Richard and Charles Lee were buried in the family plot in the White Church Cemetery near Glen Rose, where my mother would eventually be laid to rest. The experience was deeply traumatic and she always wondered what life would have been like if they had survived. I never met anyone in my life who had more compassion for children than my mother.
A few years later my sister Jeanne Marie came along. Somewhere along the way we started to nickname her “Jeannie” even though that wasn’t her proper name. Early on I didn’t quite take to having another sister instead of a brother, but as the years went by I learned to value her love and friendship. Today I am deeply grateful to have her especially since our two elder sisters passed away far too early – but that’s another story.
From a very young age I loved television. I was an avid fan of the Three Stooges and “Slam Bang Theatre” which was shown on our local station KTVT – channel 11 every afternoon after school. A local man, Bob Camfield played the role of Icky Twerp and all my classmates would have been big fans of him and the show. I had loads of favorite cartoons which included Deputy Dawg, Bullwinkle, Felix the Cat, Top Cat, and Dudley Doright.
One evening my parents were watching TV and a drama was showing that featured a man trying to escape the bad guys on an island. He found a gourd, strips of cloth and gunpowder from which he made a homemade bomb. He was able to light the fuse, blow up the bomb, distract the bad guys and get away.
I couldn’t have been more than five or six, but one day I got angry that one of the neighborhood boys couldn’t come out to play so I decided to recreate the “bomb” idea and throw it the neighbor’s house! I found a glass jar with a lid, tore up strips of cloth and soaked them in lighter fluid! My father was an occasional smoker and in those days cigarette lighters and fluid were household commodities. I used one strip as a fuse and was going to get my father’s lighter when I was caught!
Looking back this was one of the first close calls that obviously averted disaster and you can be sure that I never, ever tried a stunt like that again!
Eventually I attended South Hills Elementary School which was just a short walk up Lubbock Avenue and a right turn up Bilglade. My Kindergarten teacher was Miss Sanders whom I didn’t appreciate very much at the time. By the autumn of 1960 I was in first-grade and my teacher was a lovely woman named Mrs. Herring.
It was during first-grade that an event occurred which would be a life-changing event for me and my family. The winter of 1960-61 I contracted strep throat. My mother told me that we had snow that winter, a rare occurrence, and she made the mistake of letting me go out to play even though not fully well. The strep throat developed into Rheumatic Fever and I ended up missing three and a half months of school that year, being confined to the bed most of the time. I had a recurrence of the Fever during second grade and missed two and a half months of that school year.
There were now numerous trips to our family pediatrician, Dr. Frank Cohen, regular doses of penicillin and the occasional Gamma globulin injection (extremely painful, if you haven’t had one!) I learned the torment of unwanted isolation but had our family cat, Cuddles to console me in my time of need.
It was during these formative years that my faith was developed at a heart level. Although we were faithful churchgoers, I can’t recall discussing many matters of faith with my parents in the early years. However, at nights during my illness before bed during mother would read stories to me from the Gospels of Jesus healing children (quoted above) and we prayed for my healing. In later years these memories would become the bedrock of my faith.
A friend who attended our church in those days, Myrle Burton, was my home-school teacher during my illness before home-schooling was even known. I remember my classmates sending me cards and gifts to wish me well in my illness. Some of the cards and puzzles that I received I kept as keepsakes well into my teen and even adult years.
Looking back on my early years I can see that God was preparing me for far more than I ever realized. I think back to my dear mother suffering through the loss of her twin sons and now struggling to keep her life and family together during the illness of her only son. I can’t imagine what she was thinking and feeling when she tried to sleep at night. My father was a hard-working electrician and she was home trying to provide for a family of six and nurse me through my illness.
Early in third-grade I had my tonsils extracted and the Rheumatic Fever never recurred, but my memories of those years and my mother’s fight to bring me through them never left.
I firmly believe that God is at work in the large and small stories of our lives to shape us for the future He desires for us to have with Him and the place He has for us in the world. As I look at the present with its current challenges, we are now in the midst of a terrible crisis with the Covid-19 pandemic. I can’t help but think that He has far more planned for each of us than we ever realize. May we cling to the One who is eternal and holds us and the future in His capable hands. We just never outgrow the foundation of our faith.
Lessons for Living 