My Sister Is an Only Child: The Machinations of a Small Group Facilitator

© 2011 by Michael A Patterson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 09/26/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4670-4380-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4670-4379-3 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011917617

Printed in the United States of America

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Contents

FOREWORD

TRIBUTE

And

CREDITS

Chapter 1

My Sister is an Only Child

Chapter 2

A Family Resemblance

Chapter 3

Coffee Mates

Chapter 4

Kitchen Conversion

Chapter 5

Ticket to Somewhere

Chapter 6

Great Falls

Chapter 7

A Snowball’s Chance

Chapter 8

Bones About It

Chapter 9

Safe At Any Speed

Chapter 10

A Sing-U-Lar Dare

Chapter 11

Third Chime is a Charm

Chapter 12

Missing the Train

Appendix 1

Adoption, not an Option

Appendix 2

No Cloning Around

Appendix 3

Not a Chance

Appendix 4

Everything in its Place

Appendix 5

Strung Along

Appendix 6

Make Up and Fly Right

Appendix 7

Shared Secrets

Appendix 8

Out of Control

Appendix 9

Broken Roles

Appendix 10

A Song for the Aging

Appendix 11

New Math

Appendix 12

Catching the Caboose

BACKWORD

FOREWORD

Contrary to Madison Avenue statements, there are no truly unique experiences. The events of our lives have been lived before and will be lived again by countless others on the wide panoply of human history. I have, for instance personally met literally dozens of people who either were or had sisters that were only children. What is axiomatic is that no two people have had or will have the same set of experiences nor have had or will have common experiences result to the same effect.

What follows in this altogether too arduous tome is a set of personal experiences from this author’s life that have in part defined who I am today and how these very experiences have laid a foundation for principles of interpersonal relationships that have made what is often seen as a daunting task easy. That task is the facilitation of small groups within the context of shared religious experience or, in my case, of shared Christian living.

It should be noted here that facil is the Spanish word for easy and therefore anyone fulfilling the role of facilitator should be doing the easy part in group dynamics. That said, without a principled foundation, nothing is easy and perhaps nothing is more difficult than the herding cats objective so common to this basic role in small group interplay.

By now, you may have a sense that I have an abiding love affair with words. This is a fact. Words have meaning so set your sails for an etymologic excursion that on occasion adjures a little alliteration, just to keep things interesting.

At the end of the autobiographical journey, a dozen uncommon tales from a common life, is an appendix of 12 sets of principles for equipping the facilitator to effective shepherding, a tail to the tale. Admittedly, these may occasionally stretch a point making the reader’s head hurt. Hopefully the end result will be of benefit to all as the process has to this producer.

I shall remain most truly yours,

Michael A Patterson, a common man

TRIBUTE

And

CREDITS

Appreciation is acknowledged to my little sister, Sue, the inspiration for the inscription without whom there would be no sister who is an only child of whom to write.

Also, my eternal gratitude to my twin, Laurel who has been my biggest fan from the day we were born, cheering me on in every endeavor of life.

Thanks too to my wife, Carolyn, mother of my children who puts up with me every day and without whom this tome would have never seen the surface of paper or the sight of its intended audience, you. Her indefatigable spirit and eternal patience has been inspirational and totally unwarranted. She is my yellow rose of Texas, with beauty of body, mind and spirit.

Special thanks to the friends and acquaintances of whom I have written, most notably Dale Haven Cox, Dave Parker, David Sirbaugh and Neil Wayne (Butch) Stewart who shared experiences both memorable and not so… .

My thanks also to authors I have known and their part in giving me the desire and confidence to put ink to paper: Fritz Ridenour of Santa Barbara, Ca; Rev. John Frye of Grand Rapids, Mi; Larry (deceased) and Diane Mayfield of Nashville, Tn; G Coleman Luck of Oakhurst, Ca; Dr. Ronald Youngblood, San Diego, Ca; Rev. Dale Haven Cox, blogger extreme of Redding, Ca; Rev. C. L. (Buddy) Westbrook, Fort Worth, Tx; Katherine Cushman, Santa Barbara, Ca; Tad Porter, also Santa Barbara, Ca; Alva Wheeler (deceased); and Rev. Kenneth Kemp of Santa Monica, Ca. each of whom I consider good friends, many of whom are related by adoption or marriage.

While I have had many mentors in this saga of the small group, I would be totally remiss to not mention the following: Scotty Allen of Santa Barbara, my first lay small group facilitator; Rev. Bob Sutton and his wife Jeri of Nashville, Tn. who introduced our family and fellowship to the power of small groups as the basic building block of the local church; Rev Dennis Wadley, founder and director of Bridges of Hope, International who faithfully pastored our church for 15 of the last 20 years and guided the often unwieldy path of a cell church making its way in western culture.

All these and many more have had their part in the formulation of the foundations of this pamphlet and in easing the effort, making it oh so facil’.

THE TALES

Chapter 1

My Sister is an Only Child

It was the spring of 1951 in northwest Indiana, one day after April fools, a typical blustery afternoon with temperatures hovering above freezing on what had been an uncharacteristically clear day. Dad had conducted the daily rounds with the animals, spent a good part of the day in soil preparation for spring planting on the fields north of the Frodin farm that we called home, and Mom had spent part of the late morning in town running typical Monday shopping errands and an appointment with Dr Hall, the family GP to deal with some flu-like symptoms.

Laurel, my twin sister and I were in school all day learning subtraction (I was good at that) and punctuation (Laurel’s strength) and the correct spelling of a cadre of tri-syllabic words we would seldom if ever use either conversationally or otherwise, but deemed important for their etymological value at the very least. Second grade at Thomas Elementary School was good, as aside from church on Sundays, we had little social stimulation outside of family members living in the area and Shirley and Carole Lindstrom, our next-door neighbors a quarter mile east on the gravel county road that fronted our home to the north and separated the Frodin house from all but 40 acres of the 500 acre parcel that made up the Frodin Estate that Dad served as caretaker under a sharecrop arrangement. To us, this was simply the farm.

It is essential at this point that attention be given to events that preceded this pivotal point in the twins’ lives. Born late in the year 1943, December 1st, to be precise, we (my twin sister and I) had been the product of an illicit tryst between our birth mother, a Georgia Peach in her late thirties, single and devoted to her craft as a social worker and frequent USO volunteer living in Chicago, and a young sailor stationed at Great Lakes Naval Station preparing for active deployment in the late stages of World War II. The fledgling organization offered social diversion for the sailors at their center in Waukegan, Illinois and sponsored dances three nights a week to the lonely naval recruits and OTCs. Annie, tall, athletic and attractive was a regular and loved the interaction with the young trainees as well as the diversion from that persistent drone of dealing with other people’s problems that occupied her day-to-day existence. On a given night the floor show could include such local heroes as Cub greats Eddie Herman or Dizzie Dean, Bear football greats Bronco Nagurski, Red Grange or head coach George Halas, a special treat as the Bears were the NFL Champions in ‘43. Other special guests included Walt Disney, whose brother Roy was stationed at the base, comedian Bob Hope and film and stage star Claudette Colbert, as well as local talent like Waukegan’s own answer to the Andrews Sisters, Genie, Fran and Jane Kelly.

The month was unusually warm with temperatures reaching the high 70’s and record seasonal rainfall had been recorded in the region. What turned out to be a fateful night for Annie found her locked in a romantic involvement with John, an engaging Texan more than a decade her junior, serving a brief tour at Great Lakes far from home and family which, unknown to a vulnerable Annie whose biological clock was ticking away, included a devoted young wife. A few weeks later the sailor had shipped out and Annie discovered herself to be alone and in a very delicate condition. The outcome was less predictable than Annie or anyone she may have taken into her confidence would have guessed. TWINS! Not identical, but fraternal, a boy and a girl. In a different place at a different time to a different woman, the pregnancy would have been terminated as early as possible, but Annie was determined to see the term through.

Once it was clear that she was the mother of a set of healthy, strong infants an hour of decision had arrived: would she keep the pair, give one up to the social services while holding on to the other, or surrender both, and what conditions would she stipulate if giving up one or both? Annie was resolute that these bookends would remain together but that she was unable to provide for them. She submitted them to the system stipulating that they never be separated. The system worked, but not without some hiccups and tensions along the way.

Michael and Mary, birth names, became wards of the State of Illinois and were committed to the Chicago Orphan Asylum soon after delivery. We would spend a brief sojourn at the orphanage in Hyde Park on Chicago’s South Side built in the late1850’s and nearing the end of its century-long existence, before being placed with a kind and warm family in North Liberty, Indiana. Already the parents of 6 children whose ages spanned a decade and a half, the foster parents resided on what can best be described as a gentleman’s farm with forested grounds surrounding the main house and meandering trails drifting like tentacles across the wandering estate. We would remain in this idyllic setting for our first two years of foster care, constantly attended by the older girls and a stay-at-home mom. We may have been made permanent additions had not an unexpected pregnancy intervened.

Now two and still subject to the requirement that we never be separated, a series of short-term placements in the Chicago area ultimately found us in the home of the Hultgrens, already caring for an even younger pair of foster children in a two-bedroom walk-up. The goal was adoption for Jimmy and Jorie. The twins’ arrangement was a mission of mercy and only to be very temporary. Anna and Arne were, however acquainted with a large family through their involvement in the music ministry at the Lorimer Baptist Church at 73rd and Lawrence on Chicago’s South Side. It was common knowledge in this close circle of friends that a sister living in Indiana and her husband of 5 years were wanting to adopt not one but two children, a boy and a girl, preferably siblings and that the Department of Social Services in Indiana was less than helpful. Multi-racial arrangements were not recommended and, while the potential for adopting displaced children of African American origin was promising, the then lily-white community of Chesterton with blue laws still enforced was not a good option. The wheels started turning and the train soon