BY DONNA RORABECK

HE HOUSE WAS QUIET ENOUGH THAT spring morning to hear the soft crackle of the woodstove, ticks and tocks from the clock on the mantel, and an occasional creak from the floor as Mother slowly rocked in her favorite chair. With dishes done and beds made, the older three of her five girls had gone with Father to the woods to tap Wisconsin maple trees. The two younger ones had gone to their bedroom to play house. This left Mother alone to pray: first, about the syrup harvest; and second, about whether to send her girls to public school or church school.

"The public school down the road is good enough. I don't see why you have to send them to Timbuktu just to learn to read and write," Father had countered many times when Mother mentioned the subject. "Besides, I need them here to help with the farm."

Mother knew that that was all too true. There were no boys in the family and no money for hired help, it was the middle of the Depression, and the syrup season was predicted to be below normal.

Still, Mother wasn't willing to dismiss the subject until she felt right about it in her heart. Now, with her Bible in hand, after reverently kneeling by her chair and praying, she tenderly opened the pages and began to read. As if drawn to an answer from heaven, her eyes fell on the words: "All thy children shall be taught of the Lord, and great shall be the peace of thy children" (Isa. 54:13).

"They will go to church school. Thank You, Lord," Mother said aloud. We can have it right here in the parlor. A twinkle graced her eye at the thought. But where would they get desks, books, and a teacher?

Questions Answered
Mother's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Her church school decision was barely 10 minutes old, yet here was a man she had never seen before, inquiring about a church school.

"I was directed to your house about putting my three children in your church school. I heard you were having one here," the man began before introducing himself.

Mother was speechless for a few minutes, then, regaining her composure, she invited the man in. Mr. Burge, Mother learned, was a literature evangelist who wanted to move into the area, provided there was a church school. For the next two hours they talked about the parlor school and the need for desks and books. Soon the clock struck 11:00, reminding Mother that dinner had better be ready in one hour for a bunch of hungry tree tappers, and her visit with Mr. Burge would best be resolved later. Lolita, Helen, Hazel, and Bernice, excited about school in the parlor, were full of their own ideas about how to organize it. "Whatever we make over $50 on syrup you can have for your school," Father promised. Pessimistic about making even that much, he was willing to do anything for a little more mealtime peace and quiet. "But first we have to finish tapping those trees," came the sober reminder.

Gathering Momentum
The weeks passed quickly as Father, Mother, and the girls worked hard making syrup. Father soon had his $50 expense money. Still the sap kept running, which kept Father busy at the boiling pots and the telephone ringing with orders from neighbors. The more Father boiled sap, the more coins Mother collected in the church school jar.

One day, after counting $50 in the jar, 9-year-old Helen had an idea. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could make enough to pay tithe and still have $50 left?" Father started scratching his head as the girls started to pray about it.

"I wished you'd stop praying," Father finally said, throwing his hands up in the air. "I've got other chores on this farm besides making syrup, you know." Father was hard on the outside but soft on the inside, and if the girls were that willing to keep working, he'd keep the spouts in and the buckets on the trees two more weeks. Mother and the girls ended up selling enough syrup to pay a teacher's salary for a whole year. Back in 1933, when syrup sold for $2 a gallon and teachers got $20 a month plus room and board, that equaled a lot of pancake topping.

Miracles continued for the maple syrup school as news somehow reached New London Church School in a neighboring town. Maybe Mr. Burge had something to do with it, maybe not. Mother's response to the offered donation of surplus textbooks was a jubilant "Yes." Piece by piece her church school dream was coming true.

The next day the phone rang. "Our school just got new desks," said the voice on the other end of the line. "Could you use any old desks? They're free for the hauling," came the news from a town 25 miles away.

It was another answer to prayer. "I'll be there in the morning to look at them. Thank you," Mother said, as she tried to keep both feet on the floor. Two days later the desks were delivered and set up in the parlor, ready for the first school bell.

Shortly afterward Mother wrote to the conference. Could they send a teacher? For days Mother had prayed that the Lord would send the right person, and that's how Pansy Middaugh came to live with the Lunzes. The parlor by now had been transformed into a classroom with blackboard, books, desks, and the family piano, and it was large enough to accommodate its enrollment of nine pupils. For three years Miss Pansy taught there, endearing herself to her students and teaching them to love their studies and Christ, who made it all possible.

My grandmother's faith more than 50 years ago has been rewarded. Three of her girls became church school teachers, one a registered nurse, one a secretary, and all six are dedicated Christians. Ask them what helped shape their future and they will undoubtedly say a stouthearted, faithful mother, a Christian teacher, and their maple syrup school.

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Donna Rorabeck is a nurse who enjoys music and gardening. She lives in Berrien Springs, Michigan.