Raymond moved down to Florida shortly after our engagement in June 2005 in order to establish a job, and hopefully find a place for us to live together once we were married. I remained up in New York, planning our wedding and packing up my belongings. It was a whirlwind two months, but he returned in late August so that we could be wed and then I returned with him to Florida.
In that time, he had begun a new job doing new construction plumbing, he had found us an apartment only a couple of doors down from his sister, and also started attending a small Alliance church. We were two nineteen-year-old newlyweds, slightly out of our depth, but trusting in God’s provision each step of the way. Early on, one of the biggest impacts on our marriage was from the small church Raymond had chosen.
We didn’t own a car. I didn’t have my driver’s license anyway (still don’t…). So, we bicycled our way to church the first Sunday I was able to join Raymond. I remember the humid island air permeating my blouse, sticking it to my skin, large sweat beads dripping down from underneath my helmet, plastering my bangs to my forehead, causing me to wonder what state I was going to arrive to morning service in. Palm branches swayed above us. Tiny lizards darted across the sidewalk as we pedaled along, a sight I was quite unaccustomed to.
Several churches lined the main road that cut through the island we now called home. As we passed them one by one I read the signs, hoping the one my husband was leading me to would soon appear. My aching legs were reminding me of just how out-of-shape I was. I had to laugh when I saw an overpass coming up, and beyond that the road didn’t continue in its straightforward manner. Just before this, though, there was a church. This, of course, was the one I followed after Raymond toward, as he veered off the sidewalk and into the parking lot.
My doctor had diagnosed me with “Runner’s Knee” while I was in college, and at first it made it very difficult to adjust to the bike rides to and from church. I had no strength in my knees, and they would give out beneath me, rendering me unable to stand for the first couple of hymns. Since we had to walk or use our bicycles, which we acquired with gift cards from our wedding, to go anywhere for several months, my knees did eventually begin to cooperate. Still, I worried about first impressions, showing up soaked with sweat and my knees buckling.
However, we were welcomed with open arms. The small congregation was predominantly much older, with the two of us easily the youngest couple in attendance. Immediately, we were taken in as one of their own. If an event was beyond our bicycle-riding radius, someone would offer us a ride so that we didn’t miss out. It helped us settle into our new life, knowing we had a place we belonged and people who were bolstering our faith.
One of the couples, old enough to have been my grandparents, lovingly took us under their wings early on. I wish I could remember their names, but alas time has buried them in my mind’s mess of stored information. Their kindness is still keenly recalled, though. The woman took me out for lunch to Olive Garden, which was very much a treat to a young woman on a tight budget who was only just learning how to cook anything that didn’t come in a can. Our little apartment was sparsely furnished, so she took me to a thrift store and had me pick out some items. It wasn’t just knick knacks to make it feel more like home, or simply a table lamp. She purchased us larger items like a television and a coffee table. It felt like truly too much, but the generosity was greatly appreciated. It was just a small little television, with only a fifteen dollar price tag, I believe; but it worked and it was ours.
The pastor and his wife sent us cards if we missed a service for any reason, and gave me a job to help earn a little more for my family. Once a month I came in and did a thorough cleaning of the church, vacuuming the sanctuary, scrubbing toilets, wiping windows and occasionally squealing because there was a dead, petrified lizard in the path of the vacuum I was maneuvering. I think the pastor must have thought me a little ridiculous, this silly girl frozen in fear because of a dead reptile, but he did dispose of the creature for me.
A family with young children invited us to their home for lunch and some board games. I remember thinking it amazing that she made her own applesauce and served it warm with the meal. Another couple invited the two of us over for dinner and when we pulled up our jaws dropped at the size of the building in front of us. Surely it was for multiple families, I thought, but then there was a little dog leaping up at the front door. I saw it through the glass, and from behind them came the woman we went to church with. Raymond and I were in awe of their home, but also of their generosity. They gave us a book to read about how to manage your finances in a godly manner, and we accepted this gift with gratitude.
A couple of years later, we moved out of our apartment and off of the island to the mainland. We found a church closer to our new house, but I will forever cherish the congregation of people in that tiny Alliance church who helped keep two bewildered newlyweds on the right path, who supported us with prayer and Publix gift cards, and who demonstrated a Christ-like love that still resonates with me today.
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