Faithbook: Our Story, Our Song

I was born in Connecticut, but Maine is where my story truly begins. My father was in the Army. While he was away serving, my mother found herself far from her family and the support she needed. She made a brave decision. She brought us back home to Hodgdon, to a place called the Jackson Settlement. That move shaped my whole life. Not long after, when Dad returned from the service, he bought a house up the road and fixed it up himself. That became our family home. I lived there all through my school years, until I married Gerald. When I think of my childhood, the first word that comes to mind is outside. We were outside kids. Our mother had to fight to get us inside at night. Bedtime was never easy. Times were different then. We didn’t roam miles away, but we were everywhere—yards, woods, corners of the neighborhood. We were free, and we were safe. Faith came into my life early, too. An aunt—Darlene Blackie’s mother-in-law—started us in Sunday school. She was a very strict Baptist. We ...

I was born in Presque Isle, Maine, and I have lived my whole life in the same house in Blaine. I am only nineteen years old, but in some ways, my life feels much older than that. Roots do that to a person. When you grow up in one place, with the same roads, the same seasons, and the same people, you begin to notice how time shapes you. My childhood was simple and steady. My parents did their best to give my siblings and me good lives. They wanted us to try things, to explore, to grow. I tried drawing, karate, sports and explored other things. We stayed busy. One of my clearest memories is snowmobiling with my father. Winter after winter, he took me out on the trails. There was the sound of the engine, the cold air on my face, and the sense of moving forward together. Looking back, that mattered more than I realized at the time. Faith was part of my life early on, though not always in a consistent way. My parents and grandparents attended a Pentecostal church. My grandmother, however, ...

When I look back on my life, my earliest memories are very simple ones. I remember my mother and father, and my two brothers. I was the oldest. We were not a rich family, but we had what we needed, and we had each other. The first place I remember living was an old farmhouse way out in the country. My father worked for his brother. They farmed with horses back then. We had no running water, no bathroom inside the house, just an outhouse. We got our water from a brook. At the time, it didn’t seem strange. It was just life. I remember riding on the wagon with my father, sitting up high while the horses pulled us along. They planted a few acres of potatoes, nothing like the big fields you see today. Life was hard work, but it was also a happy time. Later, my father began working for different people, and we moved into Mars Hill. Before that, we had lived in Robinson, a very small town. Mars Hill felt big to me. We moved into a house with lights and running water, and that felt like a grea...

When I look back on my life, the very first memory that rises to the surface is church—walking beside my grandfather, hand in hand. He was my beloved grandfather. He meant the world to me. My grandfather had a hard beginning. He was an orphaned boy from England, sent to this country when he was only six years old. He never saw his mother again. Life did not give him much, but he became a strong and faithful man. He had one child—my father—and I was his oldest grandchild. I thought very highly of him. I still do. One of my fondest memories is going to church with him when I was very small. That memory has never left me. He died when I was eleven years old, in Monticello. His death was my first deep loss, and even now, many years later, I can still feel it. I was born in Houlton, but I grew up in Monticello. Church was never optional in our home. My mother made sure of that. Every Sunday, without question, she took us to church and Sunday school. My father came on special occasions—Chris...