Tag Archives: Relationships

God Has Been Watching Over Me~Part 5

7 Dec

A Slice of Life

Bill Lites


After we were married, DiVoran and I moved to Inglewood, CA for me to go to college. I was still using the 1955 Harley Davidson Sportster for my main means of transportation (yes, she married me even after that night at the River Bottom). One weekend my lovely new wife and I went on a “Poker Run” with the local Motorcycle Club.* On the way home, after the event, I had let DiVoran drive the motorcycle for a while. I had unconsciously been guiding the motorcycle around slow turns with my weight from the back seat. When we came upon a sharper curve she kept going straight! I reached around her to grab the handlebars, but she wouldn’t let go!! Luckily, with my hands on hers and my extra weight, I was able to get us around that turn and avoid a 200 foot flying drop to the desert floor. We stopped to get our breaths back, and DiVoran never wanted to drive that motorcycle again. There is no question in my mind that God was watching over DiVoran and me with His wings of protection that day!




We didn’t live far from the university or DiVoran’s beauty shop work place, so I rode the motorcycle to school and she drove our 1950 Mercury to work. If you have ever been to the Los Angeles, California area you know what the weather can be like. The fog rolls in every evening and by morning everything is wet, including the streets. Luckily, my route to school was on neighbor streets and not very busy, like U.S.-101 or Century Blvd. One morning on my way to school a lady pulled out of a side street right in front of me. She was looking to the right as she pulled out into traffic and by the time she looked left, in my direction, she was in the middle of my lane and she stopped! I had clamped on both front and rear brakes, but on the wet street, I slid right into the side of her car. Our meeting at that neighborhood intersection, a few seconds earlier or later, and that could have been a deadly accident for me. This had to be God’s timing, as nobody was hurt, only repairable fender damage to car and motorcycle.




Some days at lunch time (if I didn’t have a class) I would ride my motorcycle over to the beauty shop in downtown Inglewood, where Divoran was working, to have lunch with her. There was a wide sweeping curve on Crenshaw Blvd, just before I got to the beauty shop, that was easy on the motorcycle. This one day as I was rounding that curve I hit an oil slick; one second I was enjoying the ride around that curve, and the next second I was on the pavement sliding across three lanes into the curb. This was another case were God had miraculously arranged the traffic on that busy street, in both directions, to be clear while I was sliding across that street burning the skin off my leg and hip. Thanks to Him I only ended up with a case of Road-Rash instead of becoming a case of Road-Kill.





—–To Be Continued—–


*See Bill’s blog “Death Valley Run”- 6/06/2012.

How We Met~Part 3

19 Oct


Judy Wills




As it turned out, Fred was attending the same church where I was a member. So we kept seeing each other there, and were in the same youth group.


It didn’t take long for me to realize the he was probably the most shy guy I had ever met. He also had never been on a date – so I was his first! And as for the first date – the youth group was having a hay ride up to the mountains – and I had to ask HIM if he would like to go with me! I told you he was shy!! He also didn’t have a driver’s license, so anywhere we went, I was the driver.


Chapel service at the UNM BSU Center


I remember that the BSU had a Halloween haunted house, and I went there with Fred. It was a neat thing. In a darkened room, they had you put your hand in a bowl of peeled grapes as eyeballs, spaghetti noodles as brains…you get the picture. One of the adult sponsors of the BSU was good at story-telling, and she had on a black outfit with glow-in-the-dark gloves, and told some sort of tale. Everyone had on some kind of costume. There was bobbing for apples and other such games. It was really a lot of fun. You remember – the way we used to do it.



The group had retreats in the mountains outside Albuquerque (Sandia Mountains); they had retreats at Glorieta Baptist Conference Center near Santa Fe; all those things Fred and I went to together, becoming more familiar with each other.



Fred started coming to our BHiU meetings – by walking from UNM to the church where my group met – about a three mile hike – and all before he had to go to his own classes! He said he doesn’t remember ever riding the bus there – perhaps the bus schedule at that hour of the morning didn’t fit our meeting time. In any case – he walked there.


Fred started spending time at my house, getting to know my parents.


My brother, Bill, had already gone into the Navy and wasn’t there to meet him. It wasn’t until we were engaged to be married that Bill and Fred met. We had been dating for about 18 months before Fred popped the question. I said “yes – but not yet.” We were engaged for another 18 months before we married.

Fred, my parents, and I drove from Albuquerque to Los Angeles (Inglewood), California, to spend Christmas with Bill and DiVoran in 1960. They had a little house and we were really crammed into that space.


Dad told me later that Bill had pronounced Fred to be “a man’s man” as we left. Bill had always been my protector – when Daddy was out on the road as much as he was, Bill was the one to meet my dates. And intimidate them, if possible! He was bigger than most of them. But he and Fred got along, right from the start.

The last year of Fred’s UNM experience, he roomed at our house. He paid my parents what he would have paid the university for room and board. It made us very comfortable with each other – we saw each other last thing at night and first thing in the morning. So we both went into our marriage with our eyes wide open!

 We married on June 20, 1961. It’s been a great 53+ years of marriage. We are grateful to God for all these years together.



~~~~~~The End~~~~~~

Time is Going By Fast

19 May


My Take

DiVoran Lites


I’m surviving Bill’s being gone surprisingly well. I’ve only had a couple of moments of wondering what to do with myself. As you know, I enjoy solitude and I love being at home. I’m getting some blogs done and perhaps a bit of de-cluttering, though that isn’t going as I hoped, but who cares?

2Bill’s having fun too. He calls each night and gives me a report of his day’s doings and plans for the next day. It’s cooler in California than it is here, he layers his long sleeved shirt and his jacket. He’s taking notes for his blogs, so we can look forward to hearing all about his adventures.

Jacob is in Japan. He’s having a good time. He’s sending blogs and Face Book entries, though I’m not sure I’m either catching them all OR replying so that he hears back. His mother says the blogs make her laugh and cry. We may be extraordinarily well disposed toward Jacob, but we think he’s an excellent writer with a gift for humor.

Bill will be home on the 16th. By Thursday he had listened to unabridged books on his car C. D. At this rate the seven he took with him in especially purchased holders won’t last. Maybe he’ll get some music on the radio now that he’s near big cities in California and that will make his CDs last longer. He has developed a fondness for classical music. I’m not surprised, though I know he’ll always love Herb Alpert, Jackie Gleason, and Chet Atkins. He has such a good ear for music that when he started to take violin lessons as a child he could play by ear—that is until he fell out of a tree and broke his wrist. Did he really hate practicing that much?

The time is going by fast. I may “let” him go for this long again, though on the way to the airport I told him I wished he’d cut back to seven days. Neither of us has changed since we were eighteen. I always preferred a book, and he always preferred to be on the move. It’s wonderful that at this time of our lives we can pursue our passions while still having good times when we are together.






12 Apr

         From the Heart

       Louise Gibson

                         I am fighting the battle of resistance.
                         I have to be me, in spite of insistence.
                         The world is doing its best night and day
                         to alter my thinking, to follow its way.
                        Commercials tell me what I should buy,
                        Etiquette dictates the “how” and the “why”.
                        Experience has proven to be my friend.
                        My values I no longer have to defend.
                        Don’t try to make me an image of you.
                        It is so refreshing to have one’s own view.
                        No longer young, my spirit tells me.
                        In spite of man’s thinking, I have to be Me!

E is for Enough

24 Dec

My Take

DiVoran Lites

DiVoran Lites

Bill and I are incompatible. The first time I realized it was the morning after the wedding when I got in trouble for squeezing the toothpaste tube from the middle. How was I supposed to know you rolled it up tidily? Right then I decided I was not a roll-up kind of gal. We have used separate toothpaste tubes ever since. We even use different kinds of toothpaste now.

Then there is gasoline. He buys it all because he knows where its cheapest. I ask to buy when the gauge is on E, but he says, oh, you’ve got enough to get you where you’re going and back, and I always do—except there was that one time down in Texas when we were driving a new old car and E meant what it said-empty. I’m grateful we didn’t have to walk as far as we might have had to.

Carrots, now, carrots are something else altogether. In my humble opinion, you can never have too many carrots. I keep canned ones on hand but come on now, they just aren’t the same. “Carrots,” I write on the list. When we go over it he says, “We’ve got enough carrots.” Maybe for you, but not for me.

Time: Bill likes what you call close tolerance. That means you measure something like a door that opens onto the enclosed back porch, then you measure for a fan and put it up and turn it on and when you open the back door and the fan is whirling you can’t see a gap between them. So close tolerance goes for time as well. He doesn’t like to waste it by getting someplace too early, but unfortunately we’ve always been just late enough to embarrass me. Since he’s been retired, however, we’ve been working on it. We calculate what time we have to be there and then count back to when we may need to leave. It works most of the time. If it’s really crucial I don’t answer directly when he says what time do we have to be there. I say we need to leave at 8:30 or whatever I deem respectable. I sometimes say we have to leave at 8:32 and it works. I read about that somewhere. I don’t know why it works. Depending on how desperate I am we can get there just a little bit early. That’s nice for weddings and funerals, so you don’t have to disturb prayers and stuff. But the last funeral we went to was a little disorganized, we got there a good ten minutes early and I was proud. But the funeral didn’t actually start for an hour and a half after we got there. We had some nice quiet chats with some nice people, but there’s no telling how far it set my training program back.

We are compatible in the big things. Our kids tried the old switcheroo a few times: if dad says no, ask Mom, but Mom almost always had dad’s heart on the matter and agreed with him, so they soon gave up on that one. We also agree that lots of small and large things are funny and we laugh together. If we had memorized the Apostle’s Creed we’d be able to say it together with complete commitment. Jesus is Lord.

So although we are incompatible we still are pretty unified. What does that Bible verse say? “Behold how good and pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together…” As you know we aren’t brothers, but still it’s pretty fine to harmonize as husband and wife. Psalm 133:1

By Divoran

By Divoran

The Bridge and I

18 Jun

In my last post, Loving My Small Town, I chatted about small town life. The new “big” thing her in our town is walking the bridge. People do it all day and even into the night-time. Our friend DiVoran’s family did it as a Father’s Day outing and is sharing her experience today

My Take

DiVoran Lites

One of the entertainments for our family Father’s Day celebration was to walk the bridge. Now I just heard about this new small-community attraction last spring and I had not yet experienced it. What’s the big deal about walking across the new bridge, I thought. Bill and I walked across the old one once. We passed the bridge tender who was doing his homework while waiting to open and close the bridge for a good-sized or tall-masted boat. No big deal.

I did not, however, want to be left out of a community phenom and I definitely did not want to miss a family outing, so I got my sun-hat and my walking shoes and we headed for the river in two cars. Bill didn’t get to go because of his barking dogs. (That’s an old saying for sore feet.)

Even though it was June and supposedly hot weather, a steady, cool wind blew puffy white clouds in an otherwise clear blue sky. First, I walked with my daughter-in-law and we had a chance to talk for the first time in quite a while. We were the tail of a seven person two-by two queue with the seventh, our daughter’s husband, in the lead. Now arches rise high enough that any boat allowed on the river can go under, so we tackled the incline then practically danced down the other side.  On the way, back I walked with my son and W. D. was telling me something about the birds when suddenly I imagined a tribe of natives traveling to their next camp.

I saw the heavily laden travois, smelled the pemmican (does pemmican have an aroma?) and thought of papooses being transferred on their mother’s backs. I could hear the rattle and swish of a people on the move. Everyone in the tribe had a special job and unique gifting. There was the strider ahead, there was the philosopher/ negotiator\explainer who had an equal say in tribe politics and then there were the tall, strong brave and his sister the Indian princess. We had two matrons who worked harder than anyone ought to have to work to help keep everybody clean and fed, and then there was the old crone, which was of course a wanna-be– me. There on the bridge, I knew the ancient joy of belonging that comes mostly in families, no matter how large or how small, how functional or how dysfunctional. Often the people in these families aren’t related by blood, but still by right of love, cooperation, and understanding, they belong to each other.

So that’s what the bridge is all about. I thought. It’s about movement, connection, family, and an airy beauty that represents constant crossovers, with people who care, from one part of life to another.

“God places the solitary in families and gives the desolate a home in which to dwell.” Psalm 68:6


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