"Janelle, can you get that?" My mother called from the laundry room.
"Sure!" I shouted (so she could hear me over the sound of the washing machine and dryer). Lifting up the cordless phone, I answered. "Hello?"
"Hi, Janelle, this is Sarah Upton* [*name changed]."
Sarah Upton. She and her sister Ruth* had become friends of mine over the summer when I had taught a 5-day Bible club in their home. Our local director of Child Evangelism Fellowship had set it up. The Upton* sisters were high school students, like I was in 1997. We had seemed to hit it off, at least on a basic level. We were all Christians, and shared some common interests. It was during the Bible club I taught that I discovered there were some interesting differences.
On the first day, we'd had the Bible club in the front yard. It was nice out, and it seemed like a good idea...until a dog next door began to bark at us. My guess is, the poor dog wasn't used to so many people in the yard next to his. Like any dog, he barked to let us know he had his eye on us. Nothing really unusual about that.
Apparently, Mrs. Upton saw this as something very different from me. Standing up, she walked over to the fence and yelled "I rebuke you!"
Apparently, Mrs. Upton saw this as something very different from me. Standing up, she walked over to the fence and yelled "I rebuke you!"
I was surprised by this. Was she implying the poor dog was possessed?
Her demonstration didn't change anything. The dog kept on barking. This led us to have the Bible club in the Upton's living room the next day.
Later in the week, in the course of conversation, Sarah Upton said it was a sin to disagree with one's pastor because they're "God's anointed". I didn't even know how to process this. Ruth jumped in to tell me how wonderful their pastor's sermon had been that past Sunday. I asked what it was about. Ruth smiled, "It was all about how women talk too much, and never think before they speak, but men always think it through first."
"Don't you think that's a little sexist?" I asked. Both girls had looked surprised and confused.
This had really rubbed me wrongly. Who was this pastor, if he didn't allow his congregants to disagree with him, and said such disparaging things about women? Why would any female listen to him? I liked Sarah and Ruth, but wasn't sure I could ever go to their church.
So now, a few months later, I was receiving a phone call from Sarah. We had kept in touch a little since the 5-day club, so it wasn't that unusual she'd call to chat.
"What's up, Sarah?" I asked.
"Our church youth group is having a picnic next Saturday, and we want to invite you to come with us."
Her church youth group? The church with the "anointed" pastor you weren't allowed to disagree with?
"Is your pastor going to be there?" I asked.
Sarah didn't seem to think this an odd question. "No, just the youth group. It's at the park. There'll be food, volley ball--all that fun stuff."
Hmm, this sounded like it could be fun. Sarah told me they would pick me up. What did I have to lose? "Let me ask my parents. I'll be right back."
My mom and dad were talking in the kitchen. I asked them if I could go with Sarah and Ruth to their youth group's picnic.
"As long as the Uptons have enough seat belts in their car," Mom told me seriously. Several of our friends crammed as many people in the car as possible, and my parents were very against breaking the seat belt law.
"I'll ask them about that," I promised.
Returning to the phone, I told Sarah I could go, as long as they had enough seat belts.
"Seat belts," Sarah seemed to be thinking. "Sometimes we have them. We should definitely have them by next Saturday."
This sounded very odd to me. "Wait, sometimes you have seat belts and sometimes you don't?" I asked.
"Forget it. We'll have seat belts. Don't worry."
Well, the Uptons did have seat belts. Mr. and Mrs. Upton sat up front. I sat between Sarah and Ruth in the back seat. Mr. Upton had a deep frown on his face as he drove. He said very little, but his silence was deafening. Something did not please him, and I had the suspicion it was me. When he did speak, he snipped and snapped at his wife. Everyone acted like this was perfectly normal, so I tried to as well.
Before I had left, my mom had only one request. "Please find a phone and call me when you're heading home." No problem. I had a quarter in my purse.
Mr. Upton pulled onto the freeway, his intense face getting redder by the second. I was confused. "Where are we going?"
"Our church. It's in Orange County," Sarah told me.
"That's a long way," I remarked. Like me, the Uptons lived in Riverside County.
"It's a true church," Sarah told me. "Lots of people come from Riverside County to our church."
After an hour of Mrs. Upton's hard-to-understand jokes, and Mr. Upton's brooding crankiness, I was relieved when we got off the freeway. We drove slowly up the road. We passed a street sign that said Ball Road. Mrs. Upton laughed and said, "Basketball!" I pretended to laugh, since everyone else seemed to think it was hilarious. Next we passed Chip Street. "Chocolate chips!" Mrs. Upton laughed, and again, we all joined her.
The picnic was actually fun. The youth group kids were pretty nice. I almost forgot I had an hour drive home with the Uptons. A while later, they picked us up.
"Can we stop at a pay phone?" I asked. "My parents want me to call them."
"A pay phone!" Mr. Upton grumbled under his breath, as if I had just asked them to buy me a Rolex watch. I felt nervous. I did not want to make this man mad at me.
"There's a pay phone," Mrs. Upton pointed to the side of the road.
Mr. Upton pulled over sharply, kind of scaring me. I hopped out and walked to the phone. There was a sign over it that said, LOCAL CALLS 25 CENTS. I was concerned. Since I lived in a different county (with a different area code) than we were currently in, I didn't think it would count as local. Would my quarter be enough?
Mr. Upton got out of the car and stood by me, glaring down at me. He acted like he suspected my phone call had some subversive motives far beyond calling Mom and Dad. Nervously, I pulled out my quarter and deposited it in the phone. I then dialed my home phone number. An operators's recorded voice said, "Please deposit an additional ten cents to complete this call."
"Shoot, I don't have a dime," I said aloud.
"Here," Mr. Upton put a dime in the phone slot. The phone began to ring.
"Thank you," I looked up at him before my mother answered the call. I told her we were heading home from Orange County and would be there in an hour.
"Take your time and have fun," my mom replied. We ended the call. I hung up.
"You are going to pay me back, right?" Mr. Upton frowned deeply at me. I was shocked. He wanted his dime back? I didn't have a dime. If I did, I would have used it to complete the call.
"I don't have change. Just bills--"
"I'll take it," he held out his hand. What? He wanted a dollar to pay him for giving me a dime? So instead of giving up a measly ten cents, he wanted to extort ninety cents from me? Back in 1997, ninety cents could buy more than today, and to a teenager who enjoyed riding her bike down to the store for a Pepsi or candy bar, ninety cents was a lot. But he was frowning seriously and holding out his hand impatiently at me. I didn't know what he would do to me if I didn't give it to him. Sighing, I reached into my purse and pulled out a dollar bill and forked it over. He wasted no time in taking it. "That's very nice of you to pay me back for doing you a favor," he said. "You didn't have to."
We got into the car. I thought we would get on the freeway and go home. No such luck. Mr. Upton pulled in at a drive-through fast-food joint. Was he buying us all dinner? I wouldn't ask, but I kind of hoped so. I was getting hungry, and the picnic lunch had been quite a while ago now.
"Yes," he said into the drive-through intercom, "I'd like a jumbo cheeseburger, an extra-large fries, and mega iced tea, easy ice."
"That'll be three-seventy-five, sir," the voice on the other end told him.
"Thank you." We drove up to the next window.
So Mr. Upton was buying himself food, but nothing for his wife, girls, or guest (me). How rude!
"That's three-seventy-five," the cashier told him at the window.
Mr. Upton felt in his pockets and scrounged up two dollars and some change. "Oh, no! I don't have enough," he growled. What was he going to do? I didn't want to know.
Mr. Upton felt in his pockets and scrounged up two dollars and some change. "Oh, no! I don't have enough," he growled. What was he going to do? I didn't want to know.
"I have another dollar. Here," I shoved it at him.
"Oh, thanks," he took it as if it were his due. Happily, he paid for his food. It smelled so good in the car, and it made me hungrier!
As we drove on, I wondered what kind of person went through a drive through and ordered without knowing for sure they had enough money? For that matter, what kind of person ate in front of four other hungry people?
On the drive back, Sarah and I began talking about an earthquake that had happened that summer. I said it was scary.
This got Mr. Upton's attention.
"If you're afraid of an earthquake, you have no faith! Faith and fear cannot coexist in someone. You should be happy if you die in an earthquake, because you'll go to heaven! And if you don't die, why be afraid anyway? It's probably God's will!"
I didn't even know what to say to this. "I trust God's will," I said, trying to jump on the same wavelength.
But Mr. Upton wasn't done with his crazy tirade yet. He went on for ten minutes about how people who were afraid of earthquakes were abominable.
"God has a sense of humor," Sarah jumped in. "Having you live in California and scared of earthquakes."
I didn't see humor myself. I love my home state of California (and miss it now that I live in South Dakota). Every state has some natural disaster that can be scary. I didn't say earthquakes traumatized me or ruined my life or anything. Excuse the pun, but earthquakes just shake me up for a minute. That's all.
We were finally getting close to home. We had crossed into Riverside County, and were in the city of Corona. I lived on the other side of Corona, and was delighted to be back in my own city.
"Oh no!" Mr. Upton exclaimed suddenly. "I'm almost out of gas!"
"Oh no!" Mr. Upton exclaimed suddenly. "I'm almost out of gas!"
"There's a gas station on the next corner," I told him.
"Not much good when you don't have money!" he snapped at me.
Why did they go to church so far away if they couldn't afford the gas to get home? And this hadn't even been a regular church day. It was a completely optional youth picnic. Why on earth did they go if they couldn't afford it? Kind of similar to going through the drive-through without enough money. This was madness! And now I would be stuck with them and their empty gas tank. I couldn't take it anymore!
I pulled out the last ten dollars. It was a ten dollar bill, given to me by a family I babysat for. Back then, ten dollars could practically fill the tank. "Here," I thrust it at him before I could talk myself out of it.
Mr. Upton had no qualms accepting a tenth-grader's hard-earned cash. He seemed to think I owed it to him. He took it as if he'd been waiting for me to pay him.
"I'll pay you back," Mrs. Upton told me as her husband pumped the gas. I doubted this would happen, but nodded as sweetly as I could. I was so glad to be almost home.
I got home and told my family about the crazy time I'd had. About a month later, Mrs. Upton wrote me a letter with three one-dollar bills in it. She assured me the other seven were coming when she could afford it. My mother's heart went out to them, and she wrote back to Mrs. Upton, telling her not to worry about paying. She said she had wanted to give them a little gas money for taking me out. Mom then paid me the remaining seven dollars. Good ol' Mom.
I only saw the Uptons one other time after that, at a skating party. Sarah and Ruth refused to tie the laces of their skates and kept tripping. What can we say? It takes all types. Wherever they are now, I hope God's blessings befall them.
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