Childhood and Early Adolescence
My parents lived in Horton Bay, Michigan, about a mile from where their own parents had grown up. My grandfather, John Koteskey, owned the property behind the church, but the house and barn were at the end of a half mile long driveway; so my father grew up there on the hill. My mother’s parents, Ben and Maggie (Spura) Belknap owned the General Store which was less than a quarter of a mile down the road from the church; so they knew each other from childhood.
When I was born my parents lived about half a mile from the places where they grew up. Using Google Earth, one can draw an equilateral triangle with the points at the house where Dad grew up, the store where Mom grew up, and the house where they lived, with each of the three sides about half a mile long.
A brand from the burning
Although I do not remember it, another event happened when I was about six months of age. My parents left me sleeping in the kitchen/dining room while they went across the road to rake leaves in my uncle’s yard. While gone, they left something on the burner or in the oven to cook while they raked. When they returned and opened the door, the house was filled with smoke from whatever was on the stove. When they carried me outside, I was foaming at the mouth. Although someone there said I didn’t have a chance, I survived.
I was told this story repeatedly as a child, and I remember they often finished by saying that I was “snatched as a brand from the burning.” I did not know what that meant other than thinking that God must have kept me from dying because there was something he wanted me to do. Little did I know that John Wesley had referred to himself using these terms.
In fact, in 2003 Hattersley titled Wesley’s biography The Life of John Wesley: A Brand from the Burning. When Wesley was six years of age their house burned down, and he was plucked out of the flames. He never forgot that. The Oxford Dictionary of Phrase and Fable defines “brand from the burning” as meaning a rescued person or a convert, and it points out that the phrase comes from Zechariah 3:2 and Amos 4:11.
Santa Claus
I vividly remember an event during my early childhood years. The Koteskey family often gathered for a family Christmas time during which Santa Claus came to deliver presents to everyone. One year we gathered at my Uncle Harold’s cabin, and we heard a noise on the roof. Everyone was concerned that Santa would get burned if he tried to come down the chimney. I ran outside and convinced Santa to come down a ladder standing by the house. Everyone thanked me for saving Christmas for the family. I was very proud of myself!
The next Christmas we met in another family member’s house across the road, and Santa arrived as usual and came in through the door. As he was handing out presents, I noticed that under his coat he wore a shirt exactly like the one my Uncle Don was wearing. I looked around to find Uncle Don, and he was not there. Then I noticed that Santa’s voice was a lot like Uncle Don’s, and I suddenly realized that Santa was not real. I had really believed in Santa, and my whole family had lied to me about it. I didn’t say anything at the time, but I was quite disillusioned. This event would come up years later.
Elementary school
I remember beginning my education at the Horton Bay elementary school, the school where my grandparents and my parents began their education. The school was next to the church with only the playground and the half-mile driveway to Grandpa John’s house on the hill between. In the short distance to the school I passed the parsonage where the pastor lived and the general store where my mother had grown up. It was a one room school with kindergarten through grade 6 and one teacher. I remember learning to read from “Dick and Jane” readers, still widely available as used books. I loved to read, and those reading grades were very good. That was not the case with any other subject with the grades in English usually the lowest with no comments.
Junior High School
My junior high years were quite traumatic for me because my father was laid off at the beginning of my sixth grade. We moved south to Pontiac, Michigan, for most of the school year before moving back north. We lived in three different places in Pontiac, and I attended three different schools. In seventh grade we moved to Florida for most of the academic year, and I withdrew from many things socially. Students were required to keep track of books they read other than those assigned in classes. I read 50 such books!
I always liked to read, but I never liked to write. We had moved back to northern Michigan for my eighth grade. During that year my abilities were clear. Math was my best subject, and writing was my worst. Every grading period the “arithmetic” grades were the highest grades on the card, all A’s. The lowest grades on the card were in “English,” all B’s.
Missions
I remember very little about missions during my early years. Of course, I played with my Belknap cousins who were about my age when they came back to the USA from Burundi. They seemed very much like other playmates at home, although my cousin, Georgie, did tell us how good the ants tasted in Burundi. One time when they arrived home the whole extended family gathered at our grandparents’ home for the first meal together. Grandpa Ben asked Uncle George to thank the Lord for the food. As we bowed our heads, a prolonged “Oooooooo Loooord” came from Uncle George. We all prepared for a long prayer when a rapid “Thank you for this food, Amen” came out. Peals of laughter filled the room.
Uncle George and Aunt Peggy had the first movies of missionary work I remember seeing in the 1950s. I remember seeing Georgie picking up and eating the ants. I also remember watching movies of Uncle George who had killed a lion that had been attacking nationals who lived in villages there and seeing the nationals being so grateful for his protecting them.
Finally, a red electric clock hung on my childhood home, and it was always mentioned that Uncle George and Aunt Peggy had given that to my parents before they left for Burundi in 1941.
At 13 years of age, I realized my need of a Savior. During a spring series of revival services at which a Reverend Mullet spoke. This was not the first time that I felt under conviction with my heart pounding knowing that I should respond. Many times I had gripped the seat in front of me and refused to go forward as the invitation was given while the congregation sang “Just as I Am.” However, this time I responded to the invitation to come to the altar to receive Jesus as my savior. That was the beginning of my personal relationship with Christ. I remember being rather disappointed that I did not feel radically different the next morning because I had heard others tell about how different things were after their salvation.
Something occurred the next time an invitation was given and the congregation sang “Just as I Am.” As before, my heart started pounding. How could that be? If I had been born again, why would the old response still be there? Did that mean I was not saved? That happened several more times, and finally my heart did not pound any more at those times. I did not realize until years later that the pounding heart was just a conditioned response!