Just an Ordinary Girl

I am an ordinary girl from rural Iowa. I was born in 1964 and grew up on a big farm with my parents, four brothers, and four sisters. I am the eighth of nine children. Although we did not have many material possessions, I did not feel underprivileged. As we either raised or grew everything we needed ourselves, we were self-sufficient.

I loved growing up amid an abundance of nature and the freedom that the wide-open space provided. Having a large amount of land and many animals meant there was plenty of physical work to do, and all of us were expected to do our fair share. Summer days were especially filled with a variety of chores. We spent many hours walking up and down the mile-long soybean fields pulling and hoeing weeds, baling hay, picking up rocks, and gathering mustard. My father was ahead of his time in terms of conservation and did not believe in using chemicals on the land. This was a great thing, but it meant that there were many more weeds to pull than average. We learned to care for animals from an early age. We raised many cattle and pigs. In addition, two cows provided fresh milk, several chickens furnished eggs daily, and we enjoyed horses, rabbits, dogs, and cats as pets. During the winter months the boys continued with the outdoor chores with the livestock, and we girls mainly helped in the house.

Our large farmhouse was more than one hundred years old and was built by German settlers. We had a beautiful huge yard that was perfectly manicured. It resembled a park with many old trees and a wide variety of bushes and flowers. Both of my parents enjoyed gardening, and as there were many mouths to feed, our vegetable garden was substantial.

Every Saturday my mom baked fresh bread for the week and delicious cinnamon rolls for Sunday morning. While I worked regularly alongside her, I felt as though I was continuously learning, whether it was in the house or outside in the yard or garden. She taught me from an early age all of her domestic skills and at the same time expressed her thoughts and opinions about life, her faith, and the world almost constantly. From the time I can remember, she instilled confidence in me by expecting that I could successfully complete whatever task she asked of me. When it came to housework, homework, county fair entries, and science fair projects, she was quite competitive and often encouraged us with a great deal of praise for a job well done.

The closest town to our farm was Stacyville, which was five miles away. Stacyville had a population of 476 people. Almost everything in the community was centered around the church parish, and everyone, including many extended family members and all of our neighbors in the countryside, attended the same church. I treasure having been raised in such a wonderful community. Of anywhere I have traveled and lived in the world, the pure and genuine goodness, friendliness, and generous nature of the people in this community still impresses me to this day. I will always have many fond memories of my relatives and neighbors from my hometown.

Music was always a big part of our lives. Some of my best memories with my family and extended family on my mom's side involve singing together. My parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, and many cousins have been blessed with beautiful voices and are naturally talented musicians. A typical scene at a family reunion would be my uncle along with at least one of my cousins playing guitar, another on the piano, and about thirty of us gathered around and singing.

Both of my parents loved to read. Education was important, and studying was encouraged. Therefore, books were very important. The bottom shelves of our bookshelf were filled with Christian books, including the Bible. There was also a well-used set of encyclopedias, books about distant countries, and geography books. The top shelves were filled with some of the leading motivational and inspirational books by various authors. I remember on hot summer days looking forward to going to the local library and bringing home a stack of borrowed books, although I was not as studious as some of my older siblings. I chose some books for reading, but I chose many for the pictures, as I liked to draw and sketch a lot, especially animals and nature scenes. My dad's mother was a wonderful artist. As part of her legacy, she left her children many beautiful paintings of all sizes. Most of us have inherited her creativity and love for art.

Because my parents had a great interest in foreign countries and cultures, we often had foreign exchange students living with us and guests from overseas at our Thanksgiving or Christmas celebrations. Sometimes these guests from distant countries were invited by my older brothers and sisters while they were attending college. My mom was a fantastic cook, baker, and host and had the ability to make everyone feel welcome. "The more the merrier," it seemed. Later as our family grew, the holiday tables were also filled with in-laws, boyfriends, girlfriends, nieces, and nephews. I am still impressed that my mom could consistently host so many people and do this happily.

I believe the best gift my parents ever gave me was their strong faith. They both had a great love for God, Jesus, and the blessed Mother, Mary. I was raised in a traditional Roman Catholic family where we prayed together before every meal, went to church every Sunday, often prayed the rosary together, and attended Catholic grade school. My mother spoke often and openly about invoking saints and angels for particular prayer needs, and the walls of our home displayed pictures of Jesus, Mary, and the classic guardian angel prints. My dad had a strong devotion to the blessed Mother Mary and was particularly interested in Lourdes, Fatima, and Medjugorje, the most well-known places of Marian apparitions.

The lives of the saints were often discussed in our Catholic upbringing, and many of their lives involved great mysticism, healing, and miracles. As a Catholic, my understanding is that we do not worship saints and angels as we do God and Jesus. However, when we ask for their assistance, as they are in heaven and closer to God, our prayer requests are amplified and multiplied and therefore become more powerful.

My parents felt that their faith was often tested. On July 12, 1971, our entire farm, except for the house, was demolished when a tornado struck. It was called The Saint Ansgar Tornado. Fifteen farms were severely damaged, and more than five thousand acres of grain were destroyed. I can still remember that day very well. It was extremely hot and humid. In the late afternoon there was a downpour of rain that turned into baseball-sized hail. Then there was a brief period of eerie stillness and silence. My younger brother and I were playing cards in the living room where there were large picture windows on all sides. Suddenly we saw what looked like a massive wall of black dirt coming from the southwest toward us. All of the corn and small trees were pulled up by their roots and flew horizontal in unison straight across the air and into the wall of dirt. It sounded and felt like a powerful train was coming. My dad came into the house and told us all to get in the basement and take cover. This was not unusual, as there were a few tornado warnings and twisters hovering in the air every summer. However, this time the twister was on the ground and headed for our farm, and my brother Bob was missing, so my mom was panicking and screaming his name. As we waited for the tornado to pass, the outside cellar doors were slamming up and down. These two very heavy doors were especially built to withstand storms. There was an additional door down the steps on the inside. My mom started to run toward the door, hoping it was my brother, but my dad intercepted her and held her down. If she had opened it, she might have been pulled out into the eye of the storm.

My brother Bob, who was seventeen at the time, was working out in the field. When he saw the tornado coming toward the farm, he ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction. He said he thought he might have set some world record for running that day. Relieved, he watched as it missed our house. He held onto a fence post with all of his strength, his feet flailing in the air.

When the storm passed, we emerged from the basement to find complete devastation, except for the house. Most of our barns, silos, and sheds were destroyed, and many animals were lost. There were live electrical wires strewn around and several annoying news reporters.

Naturally my mom was completely distraught for some time. However, my parents immediately saw the tremendous blessing that all of us were still alive and no one was injured. They were also extremely grateful that our house was still standing. There were only a few cracks in the walls and some broken windows.

We witnessed an incredible outpouring of love from our neighbors and relatives. Many people from the community and neighborhood came to show their support. The men helped to remove the debris, and the women brought their very best offering of homemade food. Throughout those hot summer days they also brought gallons of lemonade to help cool the farmers who were helping. This tradition of supporting each other in this small farming community is one reason why I treasure it!

I have been aware from a fairly young age that I see people differently than some others do. I believe I look at people from a soul level, and I often have an understanding of what is in their hearts. Already when I was in the fourth grade, people seemed to recognize this and would often tell me their deepest secrets almost everywhere I went. They would usually say they didn't even know why they felt compelled to confess these things to me, as they had not ever told anyone else. Most of the time I didn't mind. It became slightly more puzzling as I became older, and now those telling me their secrets were my husband's boss, the administrator for the hospital where I was working, or other authority figures.

It is only in recent years that I understand that I was a sensitive child from the earliest time I can remember. I do not mean that I was overly emotional, but I was sensitive to positive and negative energy. I often had dreams of aunts and uncles shortly before or after they passed away. I remember feeling spirits at nighttime and often praying to St. Michael for protection from the time I was in the second grade and could read. It was at the beginning of the third grade that I remember occasionally hearing messages about God, especially in church or religion class, if I got lost in thought. They still stand out very clearly in my mind, and I remember that they were loud, clear, and consistent messages that left a strong impression.

While I was in college, the church and youth center at Saint Thomas Aquinas at Iowa State University became my second home. The priests there often encouraged me to become a nun. I heard a loving voice in my head saying, "No, in this life you want to have a family. You have already done that often enough." I wondered, What? This life? I sang as a worship leader there usually twice a week. Before rehearsal I would often sit in the church for hours and just talk to God. I felt tremendous peace there. I wondered why the church wasn't filled with people at all times. That was the first time I questioned, "Doesn't everyone feel what I feel?" I believed until only a few years ago that everyone could feel what I felt, hear what I heard, and see what I saw.