Janette Oke (23 page)

When Lorne was in junior high school, he had the chance to go with relatives on their annual camping trip to the mountains. Uncle Jack's family of seven and their guests would transport their horses to a corral near Mountainaire Lodge. There the horses would be unloaded, all the gear placed on packhorses, and the adventure would begin. After a day's ride, the campsite was reached and tents pitched.

Lorne was hooked immediately, and the following summers found him regularly making the trek with Uncle Jack or the church Wilderness Camp, which offered the same camping experience. There are assorted stories of these camping trips, such as bears wandering through their site, being chased off by whomever was found to be the bravest.

Lavon chose to become more actively involved in the band, attending occasional band camps. Perhaps Edward's wish of one musician and one sports enthusiast would come true—though each boy had talent in both areas.

The Missionary Church in Didsbury encouraged participation in the services by the children and youth in much the same way that Janette's Champion church had when she was a youth. Singing, reciting Scripture, playing instruments, and taking part in programs or youth services were a part of growing up. The congregation prepared for a good chuckle whenever something special from the youth was announced, for it was almost without exception that something unexpected would occur. And it was often not so much
what
was said or done, but
how
.

Lavon was to give part of the devotional at a youth service. The theme was love, and he began like this, “One day Adam and Eve were walking in the Garden, and Eve looked shyly at Adam, batted her long eyelashes, and said, ‘Adam, do you love me?' And Adam replied,” Lavon continued with a careless shrug of boyish shoulders, “'Who else?'”

There were strict rules at the Oke house about evening curfews—when darkness fell, all were to be home. It was sometimes difficult to comply, however, when teenage friends were still out running around the town streets. If there were a special event or reason to be out, such as a sports game or a church youth function, the rule was waived, but otherwise the kids were expected to be in.

One night a bunch of the twins' friends were planning some event, and the boys asked Edward for permission to join them. But he wasn't convinced that the plans sounded valid enough to allow the twins an exception. Janette was working in the kitchen when Lavon came tramping through, muttering under his breath.

“What's wrong?” she asked him.

“Oh, Dad!” he complained. Then he followed the comment with, “If Jesus comes back after midnight, I'll bet Dad won't even let us go!”

Janette's chuckle helped to ease the frown from his face, and he was able to grin at his own joke.

The entire family was involved with the college where Edward was president. The children had practically grown up on the college campus and knew the students for many years in a row. They felt as if the college campus, which was just past Grandmother's house and across the street, was as much their territory as their own backyard. From time to time Janette would teach a course on historical books or work in some way with the college girls.

Another fall arrived, and this time June's daughter Karen attended Mountain View and quickly found her way into her aunt's heart. Karen had matured into an absolutely beautiful, as well as talented and warmhearted, young woman. She married a fellow student, and together they prepared for a ministry in Northern Canada.

Later when the tragic news came of Karen's unexpected death, the family was stunned and gathered in Hoadley to comfort one another. Apparently, Karen had become ill on a car trip. It was during a stop along the roadside that the fumes already accumulating in the vehicle caused Karen to be asphyxiated.

June and John were heartbroken. The loss of their daughter was so hard to accept. Karen and her husband were so young and intent on beginning their missions work, and Karen was expecting their first child. It was all so difficult to believe. After the funeral and their return to Chicago, John wrote a song dedicated to his daughter. It said, “Oh, the love of Jesus, it won't stop,” and proclaimed the ultimate words of comfort, “I have life forever … it won't stop.” How treasured were the promises of God when life delivered its cruel blows.

Janette had worked at the Royal Bank for only a few years when she decided to take some time off and see how things
really
were at home. She needed to sense the “pulse” of the family firsthand, and was not sure if her working outside the home was a negative for her kids or not.

But she was relieved to find they were just fine. They didn't seem to have suffered from not having her there when they came home from school and were old enough now to take responsibilities and have a bit of independence. After a couple of years being at home, she went back to her work at the bank.

Then a businessman from church asked if she would accept a position in his office at the Reimer Concrete Company. Another lady at the bank agreed with Janette that it would be nice for both of them to work part time. So she and Barb worked out an arrangement with Mr. Reimer so they could alternate weeks at the new office job. Their position involved answering phones, dispatching the trucks, and keeping the books. The arrangement worked well and provided a nice variety.

In 1976, Grandpa Oke passed away unexpectedly. He had been having little spells that the doctors found difficult to diagnose. They seemed to be miniature strokes and would come and go, usually lasting for only minutes at a time. He had been on heart medication, but the family had no reason to think his condition was life-threatening. Then he was admitted to the local hospital to regulate his medication. It was not the first time he had been hospitalized, but he disliked those little visits.

The day of his father's death, Edward was to preach at the Didsbury church during the Sunday morning service. After the service he was to pick Grandpa up from the hospital. But around nine o'clock, there was a call from the hospital saying Grandpa was gone. He had awakened early to visit the bathroom, then returned to his bed, and soon passed away in his sleep.

It was a terrible shock to the family. They had thought he would be coming home—but suddenly he was gone. Everyone missed him, and Janette cried many tears of loss. She was firmly convinced that never had a woman been blessed with a better father-in-law.

Grandpa Oke had been a very special person in Janette's life. With Edward busy at the college over lunch hours and Grandmother teaching, he would often pick her up from work at noon and take her out for lunch. Janette and her father-in-law would have just enough time to drive to a favorite restaurant in a nearby town, eat, and get back to work again.

They didn't always agree about things, but their discussions were always amiable. Janette felt free to express her opinions, knowing that he respected her right to give them and would accept, agree, or reject them without condemnation. They could debate a view in perfect harmony, and it was wonderful to be able to sort out and express her views openly, knowing she would not be misunderstood.

The kids loved Grandpa, too. He was the one who occasionally took them out for Sunday dinner, bought them their first bicycles, sent them to the local ice-cream stand with money, passed on his used cars to the family, and kept a close eye on their daily lives—especially when Edward and Janette weren't around to do it. He was loving and generous, and his death left a big hole in their lives.

Grandmother Oke was now alone, and Edward and his family were glad she was just next door.

Chapter Thirty-two

Writing

Even as a child Janette had enjoyed putting words together, but she had always promised herself that she would not attempt to write for publication until she received special training. Occasionally she chaffed against her self-imposed restriction. She wanted to get to writing, but certainly the training had not happened, and it was beginning to look as though it never would. There had just never been the time or the money for it.

Janette had taken a couple of writer's aptitude tests, one for a secular writing course and the other for Christian Writer's Institute. Though they graded quite differently, her grade was almost identical on both tests, and she had been encouraged to try their courses. However, she had not been able to follow through on either one. The secular firm had sent a representative to see her. He had appeared at the Royal Bank one day while she was working. After interviewing her, his conclusion seemed to be that she did not read enough to be a writer. She had answered their questionnaire with, “I don't have nearly as much time for reading as I would like,” and the man had taken that as an excuse. For her own interest's sake, Janette decided to track her reading for a number of years afterward. She found that she usually read more than one hundred books a year—but she easily wished it could have been three hundred.

While she was still working at Reimer Concrete, now full time, a comment from one of the men started her thinking. Not that she liked the statement—in fact, though she had heard it before, she still found herself frowning.

“You're free, white, and over twenty-one” was the phrase. What caught her attention was the “over twenty-one” part. She was getting quite a ways over twenty-one—at the time, she was fully twice twenty-one.

Janette began to think more and more about finally getting on with her dream. Her mind went to the short stories she had stuffed away here and there, and she considered gathering them up under the title “Twice Twenty-One” and sending them to a publisher. She felt that by the time a person had reached her age, she surely must have learned
something
about life.

But she knew she would need more material to go with what she had, so she started working on additional stories. Gradually ideas began to formulate, but the story that was taking shape in her mind was beginning to expand on its own. Soon she realized that it could not be contained in a short story, and she began to pray in earnest. She knew she would need a lot of help—and as always, she knew that God was the best one to turn to.

In the beginning, her idea was simply to provide a clean, entertaining piece of fiction to fill a void in the market. She loved to read fiction, but there was so little Christian fiction available, and what she found on the secular shelves was not what she wanted or enjoyed, particularly if she was looking for a short work that could be read in a few hours.

Sometimes she picked up romances because they were billed as “clean,” but the newer books were beginning to get pretty tainted in her way of thinking. She could not conscientiously read them since she did not like the messages they sent out, yet she knew that countless girls and women were doing so. She thought the Christian community should at least provide an alternative. Then it would be the reader's choice as to whether they would accept them or not.

Janette also hoped that in writing fiction, she would be given the opportunity to share her faith. For that reason, she considered trying to connect with a secular publisher.

But all of that was in the future. First she had to
write
her book. She spent many nights lying in bed, working through the plot, living with the characters, thinking of the theme—and praying.

“God, I'm going to write this book,” she informed the Lord at last. “And if it works, and if I discover that I have talent, I'll give it all to you.”

It sounded so good at the time she said it, but God got her attention immediately. She knew He was not happy with her little arrangement, and she could sense Him speaking to her heart.

The message went something like this: “Just a minute. Haven't we got things a bit backward? I'm not interested in your book after you're
done
with it. I'm not even particularly interested in your talent. If you are really serious about writing as a ministry, then I want it all right now before you start.”

At first Janette tried to argue. It was very important to her to see if she had talent. For some reason she felt that her true person was somehow interwoven with her desire to write. Though she had accepted the Lord as her Savior when she was ten, had dedicated her life completely to Him as a teen, had endeavored to walk with Him as an adult, and had thought she had committed every area of her life to Him, she found that she was still hanging on to what she dreamed would be a talent for writing.

She did some more praying, and when she finished she could honestly say, “Okay, God. We'll do it
Your
way. I will write to the best of my ability, seeking to bring glory to Your name, and whether something exciting happens—or absolutely nothing at all—that's entirely up to You.”

She knew deep down within her heart that when one gives something, really gives it to the Lord, it's a “hands-off” commitment. It could not be a case of her saying, “I give it to You so You'll be free to bless it, Lord.” No, it would require her to totally give it, leaving the results with God. It wasn't an easy thing to “let go,” but afterward she was thankful so many times that God brought her to that all-important decision.

She was free. She was free to write without worrying about the outcome. She was free from the pressure of getting sales. She was free from the temptation of pride. She could admit that through the years Satan came along periodically and whispered in her ear, “You've done a pretty good job.”

But she could quickly respond, “You know, and I know, that is not the truth. I've given myself, my imagination, and my stories to God. Get out of here, Tempter.” When God gets the credit He deserves, it doesn't take very long for everything to fall into proper perspective again.

In the summer of 1977, as she sat at her dining room table trying to get down in long hand the first draft of her book, Janette knew nothing except that she wanted to get on paper the story that was on her heart. What was to happen after that was a total unknown to her. It was in God's hands.

She wrote in little snatches. The story had been in her mind and heart for a long time, leaving little work to do except to put it on the empty pages before her. So she wrote—before she left for work in the morning, a few minutes at noon, after the house grew quiet in the evenings. Whenever she could grab a few moments she wrote, filling up unused pages of old school scribblers.

At the time there were four teenagers in the house. It was much easier than having little tots who constantly needed her attention, and her four were old enough to think that it was “quite a kick” to see Mom doggedly writing a book at the humble kitchen table.

Then vacation days arrived. Though Janette felt it was the wrong time for her to go, she climbed in the car with the rest of the family and drove around Alberta, touring several places of interest. While they drove, she wrote with her pad on her knees. There in the front seat of the family car, with Edward at the wheel and sitting beside whoever was unfortunate enough to be stuck in the middle of the front seat for his turn, her book began to take shape.

Just short of three weeks later, Janette was amazed to find that she had finished her entire first draft in long hand. Even
she
was painfully aware, though, that it was far from ready for a publisher.

She went over it a few times, making no major changes but trying to polish it up a bit. She found that the most difficult part was keeping the unusual dialect of her characters consistent throughout the book.

The next step was to get the manuscript into typed form. Janette was a slow typist and it took her hours. On a few occasions one or another of the boys typed a few pages for her. Even Edward, an excellent typist, took a few turns.

At first she didn't share her plan with many people. She had talked to her mother about it. Amy herself had always had an interest in writing and passed along the news of the project to one of Janette's former teachers. Mrs. Lindberg kindly offered to go over the manuscript if Janette would send it to her. The offer was appreciated, and the seasoned teacher did catch some grammatical errors that Janette had missed.

Jean stopped in for a visit one day while Janette was working. She gave her sister the story to read and then sat across the dining room table, busy at the typewriter. Hoping she was being sly, Janette sneaked glances now and then, trying to catch Jean's reaction. To her delight, she could see definite emotional responses as her sister went through the story. She was
feeling
something. A little spark of hope was kindled for Janette. The story was “speaking.”

When Jean finished, she stated simply, “That's my kind of book,” but Janette was encouraged by her comment.

At last Janette had what she considered to be a manuscript. Now she had the awesome task of finding out what to do with it. The very first thing she did was a blunder. She bundled up the pages and sent them to Bantam Books, thinking it might be the type of story they would be interested in. She had read some of their published fictional works, and she did not see hers as being very different.

But the manuscript was returned quickly with a nice photocopied note: “We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.” She didn't suppose they would be soliciting hers, so she tucked it aside.

The manuscript lay on the shelf for about six months, not because she was discouraged, but because she was busy and not sure of the next step. Looking back on that time years later, she was convinced that those six months were the best thing that could have happened. When she went back to the manuscript, it was as a reader—not the writer—and it gave her a totally fresh view of the story.

Although there was little she did in the way of further changes, she could see it much more clearly for what it was. Then she did what she now knew she should have done in the first place. Research.

Edward found a few books in the college library about how to get a work published and brought them home to her. She discovered some interesting facts about finding a publisher. First of all, one not only had to get his or her work to the
right publisher
, but it had to be there at the
right time
. Publishers work with schedules, and the number of books they can handle in a year depends on the size of the publishing house. New manuscripts are slotted according to wants and needs. And, of course, much also depended on the editor.

Editors, too, have likes and biases, preferences and prejudices. One book said that whether an author's work was accepted or rejected could depend on what the editor had for lunch. After some years in the business, Janette has concluded that editors are far more professional than that. However, that comment did make a distinct impression on her.

Other books said that editors usually have two piles of manuscripts on their desks: one from known writers and the other from unknowns. Since the former stack was considered first, it would be lucky if they ever got to the second one.

Janette knew in which pile hers would be stacked. She was definitely an unknown. All she had ever written was the pile of little stories and verse still tucked in drawers and a few published pieces in the denominational publication.

The books did give her very good advice, though. “Never send out a cold manuscript; send a query letter.” The query is a little “sales job” telling the publisher what has been written, why, and who might be interested in reading it. It should also give an outline of the plot and approximate word count.

Janette sent off about half a dozen queries and then sat back to wait for the predicted six to eight weeks for an answer. It was much longer.

Finally a letter arrived from Zondervan. They said they would like to see sample chapters, so Janette picked out three and sent them off, carefully including a self-addressed, stamped envelope. She did not want to be branded as an amateur before the editor had read even the cover letter.

After another long wait, the chapters were returned. Along with them came a short letter stating that her work did not fit the “present publishing schedule.” She assumed this was a nice way of saying they were not interested.

The next reply came from Bethany Fellowship, Inc. Now, Janette had not previously heard of Bethany, but when she had been praying about what to do with the manuscript, she had drawn a verse from her promise box. The Scripture verse was familiar, and on the flip side was a four-line verse. In the middle of a line was the word “Fellowship.” That was not a particularly strange word for a religious poem, but though it was in the middle of a line, it had been capitalized, and that had drawn her attention.

Strange, she thought, and began perusing the library shelves to see if she could find any publishing house by the name of Fellowship Press or some such thing. Bethany Fellowship, Inc., was as close as she had come, so that was the rather unusual reason she had included them in her little list of publishers to query.

The reply postcard simply stated that they were interested in seeing the manuscript, and it was signed by Carol Johnson, Editor. This made Janette's heart beat a little faster. She had written her story for girls and young women. So she felt that if there was anyone who would understand what she was trying to say, it would be another woman, and Mrs. Johnson had asked to see “the entire manuscript.” Quickly, Janette bundled it up and sent it off.

The weeks slipped by. Every day she visited the post office. She couldn't keep herself from succumbing to that temptation! Day followed day—and no answer. Little did she know that Carol Johnson was fighting for her manuscript, urging other members of the editorial committee to “give it a chance.”