CHAPTER 1
"God Doesn't Make Junk!
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"Mrs. Cope, you need to put George in a school for the mentally retarded." It was the darkest day of my life standing at the door of my second grade classroom, overhearing those words spoken by my teacher.
To understand my message you really need to know and understand me! Don't get me wrong, I do not consider myself special. I am simply unique, just like you.
I was the second child born into the loving home of Clarence and Irene Cope. Dad and Mom were both called into ministry at early ages, and have served our Lord's kingdom pastoring five churches over thirty-five years. They then concluded their active pastoral ministry as missionaries in Sri Lanka for twenty-two years. After sixty years of service, they continue to see their lives not just "living in retirement", but they are constantly looking for opportunities to be a blessing to others.
My parents are both self-made people. Dad dropped out of high school during World War Two to get a job, never finishing his education. Mom did complete high school. After they married they attended Southeastern Bible College in Lakeland, Florida for one year. Mom became pregnant, thus ending their educational journey. That child was my sister, Judi. Three years later the family became complete with a son, yours truly.
From the outside everything looked normal, but here's where the real story begins.
It was at school where things began to unravel. Like every normal child, I was placed in kindergarten. At the end of that year my problem had surfaced and my teacher failed me. Who repeats kindergarten? I did, because I could not read or write numbers and letters correctly.
The stories are endless. School became a world of hurt and pain. I dreaded the night, because the sun would rise and another school day would dawn. Even today, the memories of those twelve years are dark, only brightened by the light of a few divine moments. There were moments when God spoke through individuals, some of whom to this day don't realize how powerful their affirmations were in my life.
This story will give you greater insight into my life and the painful world in which I lived. I can remember September of 1958 as clearly today as when it occurred. I marched into Mrs. Clark's first grade class, excited to get started on this journey called, "Education"! We had been in class several weeks when Mrs. Clark thought we were ready for our first test. She didn't call it a test, but looking back that's exactly what it was.
Over the chalkboard were the twenty-six letters of the alphabet. You remember, don't you? She then handed every one who went to the board the 'wooden pointer.' The same pointer she had used to rehearse the alphabet with us on previous days. She would call out a letter of the alphabet. The assignment was to find and point to the letter. Sounds simple doesn't it?
I can still hear her words, "I think everyone has been to the board," she said. "George hasn't," called out one smart-mouthed 'friend.'"
Mrs. Clark's eyes glanced at me and she asked, "George, have you been to the board?" "No ma'am, I haven't," was my immediate response. Trust me, I didn't want to go but I thought if I lied, God would tell my father and I would be in big trouble when I got home!
I took the pointer with a shaking hand and slowly made my way to the board. She called out the first letter. I thought to myself, "I've got this!" I pointed to a letter, thinking it was the correct one, but to my surprise the entire class began to laugh. "Georg
