The Christmas I Learned about My Heavenly Father

Here is an excerpt from the new book I 'm writing, Following in Footsteps of Faith--a true event that happened one Christmas that still impacts my life. I hope you enjoy it. Merry Christmas!

In the early 1950s in Juneau, Alaska, when I was 5 or 6 years old, most families did their gift shopping by mail in the Territory. The arrival of the Sears and Roebuck Christmas catalog signaled the beginning of the holiday season. We kids spent hours poring over the Christmas catalog, studying page after page of toys and dolls, looking for the exact gift we wanted.

As I turned a page, my eyes fell upon the most beautiful doll I’d ever seen—a bride doll dressed in lace and tulle, with a veil over long, blond curls that could be combed and styled.

I ran to show my mother. “This is what I want for Christmas!”

With sadness tingeing her voice, she said, “Oh, honey, you’ll have to pray and ask Jesus for that doll. We don’t have enough money to buy presents this year.”

By faith, my parents operated the Bethel Beach Children’s Home in a big house on the beach just outside of town. They received little income for caring for the children—as many as thirteen children, nine of them under five and two babies in cribs—orphaned, neglected, or abandoned. Others had only one parent and no one to care for them while the parent worked.

Bethel Beach Children’s Home in Juneau, Alaska, c. 1950

I am the girl in the back row second from left

My dad worked full time to support our family and the home. My mother cared for all the children as well as doing the cooking, the laundry, and the cleaning. We children did our assigned chores, but Mother was usually without other adult help. Both parents provided us with a lot of love and Christian training.

That year, every night until December 24, when I knelt to say my bedtime prayers, I asked Jesus to give me that beautiful bride doll for Christmas. My request wasn’t very significant to anyone but me. You might even say it was selfish. It certainly would not change the course of history if I didn’t receive that doll.

Christmas morning, when we children, wide-eyed with expectation, tripped down the stairs and peeked into the large living room, we discovered gaily wrapped presents under the tree for each of us. The tags all read, “From Jesus.” When I unwrapped my gift, the beautiful doll I’d prayed for lay inside.

Years later, my mother told me the rest of the story. That Christmas Eve, Behrends, the only department store in Juneau at that time, had invited my parents to come down to the store to pick out gifts for all the children—free of charge. Among the unsold toys, she found the bride doll for me.

That Christmas, this young girl learned that the God who created the Universe cares about every detail of her life, including what she wanted for Christmas. And to this day, that sense of my Heavenly Father’s love has never left me.

Other books by AnnaLeeConti available at www.AnnaLeeConti.com/books.html

The Christmas I Learned to Pray

It was December 1950 or 1951 in Juneau, Alaska, and I was 5 or 6 years old. Most families did all their shopping by catalog in territorial Alaska. We kids spent hours pouring over the Sears and Roebuck Christmas catalog, studying page after page of toys and dolls, looking for what we wanted for Christmas. 

As I turned a page, my eyes fell upon the most beautiful doll I'd ever seen--a bride doll dressed in lace and tulle, a veil over long, blond curls that could be combed and styled.

Courtesy Google.com

I ran to show my mother. "This is what I want for Christmas!"

With sadness tingeing her voice, she said, "Oh, honey, you'll have to pray and ask Jesus for that doll. We don't have enough money to buy presents this year."

My parents operated the Bethel Beach children's Home home by faith. As many as thirteen children, nine of them under five and two babies in cribs--orphans, neglected or abandoned children, and others with only one parent and no one else to care for them when the parent worked--lived in a big house on the beach just outside of town. Some parents were able to pay a little; those children placed by the Bureau of Indian Affairs or welfare were subsidized. 

Bethel Beach Children's Home in Juneau, Alaska, c. 1950
I am the girl in the back row next to my dad

My dad worked full time to support our family and the home while my mother cared for all the children, did the cooking, the laundry, and the cleaning, usually without other adult help. Both of them provided us with a lot of love and Christian training.

That year, every night until December 24, when I knelt to say my bedtime prayers, I asked Jesus to give me that beautiful bride doll for Christmas. My request wasn't very significant to anyone but me. You might even say it was selfish. It certainly would not change the course of history if I didn't receive that doll. 

Courtesy Google.com

But that Christmas morning when, wide-eyed with expectation, we children tripped down the stairs and peeked into the large living room, we discovered gaily wrapped presents under the tree for each child. The tags all said, "From Jesus." When I unwrapped my gift, the beautiful doll I'd prayed for lay inside.

Years later, my mother told me the rest of the story. That Christmas Eve, Behrends, the only department store in Juneau, had called my parents to come down to the store and pick out gifts for all the children in their children's home. Among the unsold toys she found a bride doll for me.

That Christmas, this young girl learned that the God who created the Universe cares about every detail of her life, including what she wanted for Christmas. And to this day, that sense of my Heavenly Father's love has never left me.

Fire!

Ah-oo! Ah-oo!

The town fire alarm wailed into that cold winter night in the early fifties in Juneau, Alaska's capital city. I've never heard another fire alarm like it. That chilling sound always struck terror to my heart as a child even as I snuggled all warm under my covers.

Everyone was safely in bed, but Mother couldn't sleep. The fire alarm confirmed the reality of her worst nightmare: Fire--the scourge of Alaska when stoves overheated on frigid winter nights.

Night after night, Mother lay awake in her bedroom downstairs imagining every possible scenario and worrying about how to get all the children out safely in case of a fire in the children's home she and my dad operated.

Daddy snored softly beside her. He worked long hours at Alaska Coastal Airlines to support the children's home. Including their own three, the two of them cared for thirteen children, nine of them under five, and two babies in cribs.

© AnnaLee Conti
Some of the children with the Cousart family (c.), Grandma Personeus (r.), and another
visitor at the Bethel Beach Children's Home. That's me, the only child in the back row.

 Slipping quickly from beneath the warm covers, Mother grabbed her chenille robe and peered between the curtains. A red-orange glow back lit the silhouette treeline to the north. Black smoke billowed into the star-studded heavens.

She heard the soft padding of small feet from the girl's dorm room directly above and hurried upstairs.

"Mommy! Look!"I called to her from the window as she entered our bedroom. "The fire horn woke me up."

She tiptoed across the room quickly to stand by my side. From this vantage point, she could see that the fire was not endangering us, but it could be engulfing another larger children's home a few miles away.

Hugging me, she said, "Let's pray for them." We bowed our heads and begin to petition God for the safety of those involved in the fire.

The next day, our suspicions were confirmed. The boys dorm at the Juneau Children's Home had burned to the ground. It was a miracle that no lives were lost. There weren't even any serious injuries.

But my mother worried even more--until she landed in the hospital, and the children's home was forced to close.

Worry can kill. My mother learned that the hard way. Worry is the opposite of trust. Isaiah penned, "I will trust and not be afraid" (12:2).  The psalmist, recognizing his human tendency to be fearful, wrote, "Whenever I am afraid, I will trust in You" (56:3).

Those are good words to live by. God has everything under control. Trust Him. God never slumbers nor sleeps (Psalm 121:4). No sense both of you staying awake!

Courtesy Google.com

No Water! Conclusion

My parents were in desperate need of help--no water, the reservoir dry, my father very sick with a high fever, and a house full of small children who could not be left alone--in a snowstorm. My mother's story in her own words continues:

In town, the Public Health nurse was enjoying her day off, relaxing with her husband in front of a bright fire in their fireplace, snug and warm in spite of the swirling snowstorm outside.

Suddenly, she felt uneasy. "Honey, I don't know what's the matter, but I feel I must go out to the Bethel Beach Children's Home."

"You don't mean right now, do you?" he asked.

"Yes! Right now!"

"But this is your day off. You give a good five days a week to running all over helping people. Isn't that enough?"

"I know," she said, getting up and heading to the closet for her coat, "but I feel I must go out to the Bethel Beach Home right away!"

"But it's snowing so hard, and it's a long way out there. You could get stuck in the snow. I can't let you go out there alone."

"Then come along with me," she said as she plunged a foot into her fur-lined snow boot.

"I hope this isn't some wild goose chase," he grumbled as they stepped out into the storm and trudged gingerly to their car.

* * * * *

I arose from my knees at my husband's bedside and again went to the phone for another futile attempt to call for help. As I hung the receiver in its two-pronged holder, I glanced out the window of the dining room door that opened onto the long enclosed front porch.

Someone stood in the outside doorway, shaking off snow before entering! Amazed, I opened the door.

"Hello!" the nurse greeted me. "For some reason, I felt I should come out to see you. Is everything all right?"

I finally found my voice. "Thank God!" I cried. "Bob is terribly sick, and I haven't been able to reach the doctor."

The nurse followed me to Bob's bedside. After a quick examination, she exclaimed, "I think he has pneumonia. We need to get him to the hospital immediately!"

"Oh, dear, but how?" I asked.

"My husband is up in our car. I'll go get him." At the door she paused. "Where's your shovel? We'll need to clear the driveway before we can get our car down here."

With the help of the nurse and her husband, Bob was finally tucked into the nurse's car and on his way to the hospital and eventual recovery.

The next day, the snow turned to rain. Our reservoir filled up, and water poured from our faucets again.

* * * * *

My parents soon learned that a neighbor had created the dam to supply water to a four-apartment complex he had built about two blocks away from us. The stream was on public land, but he refused to modify the dam.

For the next four years that my parents operated the Home, whenever the weather turned extremely cold, we had no water. I have fond memories of those Saturdays with no water when we drove to the home of generous friends, Kent and Donna Fagerstrom, for a potluck dinner so we could all take baths at their house.

Have you ever been prompted to do something that felt like a "wild goose chase"? Perhaps it was the Holy Spirit prompting you to answer someone's desperate prayer. What did you do? I'd love to read your stories.

No Water! Part 3

Sick and exhausted, my dad (Bob Cousart) had discovered that their reservoir up on the mountain above the Bethel Beach Children's Home was dry. Farther upstream, someone had built a bigger dam, completely blocking the stream. In her own words, my mother's story continues:

Bob struggled on through the waist-deep snow. At last, the highway came in sight. As he attempted to climb over the high snow berm, he slipped in the soft snow. He clawed his way back to the top and slid down the other side of the berm to the highway.

By this time, it was snowing again. He groaned to see the driveway rapidly filling with snow again. Slipping and sliding down toward the big house, he finally staggered up the stairs and through the back door into the kitchen.

I looked up from the counter where I had begun to prepare the evening meal. Seeing his sagging shoulders and the despair of defeat on his countenance, I helped him out of his snowy outer garments and asked gently, "Did you find the trouble, honey?"

"Yes." A groaned escaped his lips. "Someone has dammed up the whole stream. There was nothing I could do about it." Then he added sheepishly, "Unless I had some dynamite!" A chill shook his frame.

"Oh, honey!" I exclaimed. "If only I could run a tub of hot water for you!"

"I'm too tired, anyway. All I want to do is go to bed."

I tucked an electric heating pad and a hot water bottle in bed with him. Immediately, he dropped off to sleep.

About an hour later, I went into the bedroom and discovered he had thrown off all his covers. He was thrashing around on the bed, moaning and groaning. The room was cold, so I quickly covered him up, but he threw the blankets off again.

When I touched his forehead, he felt extremely hot. I managed to insert a thermometer into his mouth for a few seconds. It read 103 degrees! What could I do?

I went to the wall phone and took the bell-shaped receiver off the hook. Thankful that no one was on the party line, I called our pastor to ask for prayer. No answer.

Next, I called the doctor's office and then his home. No answer.

When I returned to the bedroom, my husband's condition seemed to be worse. He had tossed off his covers again, and his forehead felt hotter. Again, I tried to take his temperature. In less than 30 seconds, it registered 103.6.

I stood over him, crying and praying. The children, wide-eyed and scared, gathered around the bed. Trying not to frighten them further, I told them all to pray while I went to the phone again. Still no answer.

I looked out the window. The front porch light shone into the darkness outside. Fat, wet snowflakes plummeted to the ground. The driveway was now completely filled in. No way could I drive the car out even if I could manage to get Bob into it. Our nearest neighbor, a frail, 86-year-old lady, lived alone in a tiny house almost a block away.

Back in the bedroom, I knelt by the bed, and the children did too. "Oh, Jesus, help us!" I prayed. "Oh, dear Jesus, please heal my darling!"

Have you ever been in desperate need of help? Tell me about it.

To be continued!

No Water Part 2

Five days without running water in a children's home with seven preschool children! My mother could hardly wait for Saturday when my father could investigate why they had no water from the faucets. Her story continues:

The weather warmed up some, but it had snowed about three feet before Saturday. The 200-foot driveway had to be shoveled by hand. They didn't own a plow. Friday night, another foot of snow fell.

Saturday dawned clear and cold. Dressed in icy white lace, the trees and bushes twinkled like rubies as they caught the rosy rays of the rising sun late that morning. Though not feeling well, after family devotions, Bob started out.

The first thing Bob had to do before he could climb up the mountain to check the reservoir was to shovel the driveway. He was just finishing up when the snowplow passed, dumping a five-foot pile of packed snow and gravel across the entrance to the ten-foot wide driveway.

The driver laughed and waved as he drove on. Bob groaned. More shoveling!

About noon, he dragged into the house. I hated to send him to the co-op for more water, but I couldn't wait until after he checked out the reservoir. The children needed water.

After getting more water, he ate a hurried lunch and set off to climb the mountainside to the reservoir. No time to rest--the sun would set by mid afternoon.

Carrying a pick and shovel, he started up the mountain. Waist-deep snow made it almost impossible to climb, but determinedly, he struggled on. At last, he reached the reservoir, pried off the lid, and chopped through the skim of ice.

No water! The reservoir was dry!

He pushed on through the deep snow to the dam across the creek and chopped through the ice. The creek bed was dry too!

Why? In the 27 years the Bethel Beach Home had been in operation, that stream had never gone dry.

Bob forced his way on up the mountain. Another 200 feet upstream, he discovered the reason. Someone had built a sturdy dam across the entire creek bed, effectively blocking every drop of water from flowing down into our reservoir.

We had been getting only the overflow. During extremely cold weather, homeowners let their faucets run continuously so the pipes wouldn't freeze. The water level had dropped below the top of the dam. No wonder we weren't getting any water.

Knowing he could do nothing about it, Bob turned and plunged back through the snow down the mountainside. Although his feet were numb with cold and every nerve and muscle screamed at him to stop and rest, he didn't dare. Clouds were rolling in, bringing more snow. He floundered on.

How could he tell his family there would be no water for a long time?

Have you ever faced an impossible situation? What did you do?

To be continued!

No Water!

The year was 1951. The place was Juneau, Alaska. I was five years old. My  parents, Bob and AnnaMae (Personeus) Cousart, had been operating the Bethel Beach Children's Home for two years. Here is my mother's account of what happened that bitterly cold January day:

"Mommy, there's no water!" AnnaLee said as she exited the bathroom.

"Oh, no!" I gasped. I whirled from the stove to the kitchen sink and turned on the faucet. Two tiny drops slowly fell into the sink, then nothing.

Frantically, I raced down the stairs to the basement laundry room and turned on the faucet in the big, square sink there. A tiny trickle, then nothing.

"Oh, dear Lord! What am I going to do now!" I groaned and sagged against the laundry tub.

Behind me, sorted into piles, lay the laundry that needed to be washed in the wringer washing machine that morning. Beside me, diapers soaked in a bucket. There were no disposable diapers nor laundromats in those days, and I had seven preschool-aged children to do laundry for, including three under two years of age. Upstairs, the breakfast dishes waited to be washed.

I hated to disturb my husband at his job at Alaska Coastal Airlines, but this was an emergency. "Honey, our water pipes must be frozen. Would you please bring us some water on your lunch hour?"

Our water supply came from a mountain stream diverted by a partial dam into our private six-foot square reservoir about 300 feet up the mountain across Glacier Highway from the Bethel Beach Children's Home. A buried pipe carried the water from the reservoir to the house.

My husband arrived home about half past noon. He unloaded two 10-gallon milk cans full of water. "I called someone to thaw out the pipes, but with this extreme cold spell, they are all booked up until tonight," he told me. "One of the fellows at work suggested that I stop by the dairy co-op to get water."

"Well, at least I can make more milk," I said. "At breakfast, the children finished up the pitcher of powered milk I mixed up last night."

After Bob went back to work, I put all the children down for naps. Then, I washed up the dishes. Next, I hand-washed the diapers and other essential items and hung them up to dry on the rack over the floor furnace grate. I saved all the used water to flush the toilet as needed.

That evening after dinner, the men finally arrived to thaw the pipes. Dragging in two heavy-duty electric cables attached to a generator on their pickup, they clamped the ends to the pipes on either side of the section that might be frozen. Then, they sent a strong electric current through the pipes. Hopefully, the heat would warm the pipes and melt the ice.

They waited for the ice to melt and the water to start flowing into the faucets, but nothing happened.

"Let's try up by the highway," one of the men suggested.

They moved the equipment up to the end of the 200-foot driveway and dug through the snow and frozen ground with a pick and shovel to expose the pipe. When the cables were attached, they again ran the generator. While they waited, the men came back to the house for hot coffee.

My husband imagined the dollar signs rolling. How would he pay the bill?

I encouraged the kids to pray. Surely God would answer our prayers.

Still no water--even after they again moved the equipment across the highway to another section of pipe.

Way after midnight, they finally decided the trouble must be at the reservoir. It was too dark and the climb too treacherous to attempt before daylight. Bob had to work all week, and it was dark when he arrived home in the evenings, so we had to make-do for five days without running water with a house full of young children before he could investigate.

Have you ever had an experience when God doesn't answer your prayers right away?

To be continued!