Ken and I were both the babies of our families, so neither of us were used to having younger children around. I don't think I had ever changed a diaper before having my own children. I didn't even like to babysit. I would iron all my dad's shirts for a quarter apiece rather than take a babysitting job. So why did God give us four boys to raise? Because He has a tremendous sense of humor!
We didn't start out our married lives as pastor and wife, either. We were only 17 years old when we got married. By the time we were 24 years old we had four sons, Ken, Jr., Rob,Kevin, and Randy. What one of those boys didn't think of, one of the others would. Kenny, the trailblazer, was quietly destructive. Robby saw the potential humor in everything. Kevin was so gullible and in his own little world most of the time. Randy was Dennis the Menace reincarnated. You could see the wheels turning in that little head and know he was thinking, "I wonder what would happen if-----?" He was also very accident prone. I believe we had him taken apart and put back together by age 3.
There was no way to keep things out of Randy's reach. By the age of 2 he had discovered that there were many desirable tidbits to be had in the upper kitchen cupboards, and all one had to do to get to them was to pull the drawers of the bottom cupboard out, climb them like stair steps, then stand on the counter top and open the cupboard doors to reveal all the wonders hidden behind them.
One day I found the drawers pulled out and the cupboard door open, but no Randy or Kevin to be found. I heard a stirring in the bathroom and entered to find two little boys sitting on the floor sharing a bottle of Flintstones Vitamins. At first I panicked, sure they would both be comatose in a very short time. A quick call to the doctor settled my nerves. Since there was no iron in the tablets, there was no real danger in eating the entire bottle at one setting. However, that bathroom was well used the next day by those two little boys
Kevin has always been an entrepreneure, and a pretty creative one, as well. We were pastoring our first church in Rockton, Illinois. Kevin was 6 and Randy was 4. One fine summer day my phone rang. I answered, "Hello, Nazarene parsonage, Rosie speaking." The voice on the other end of the line sounded a bit amused as the lady said, "Mrs. Stirratt, your two younger sons are going door to door in the neighborhood selling old Sunday school papers for ten cents each. I thought you might want to know." Certain she could feel the redness in my face seeping through the phone line, I thanked her kindly, hung up the phone, and went hunting for two little boys.
Kevin and Randy weren't too hard to find. They had had a pretty good day. Used Sunday school papers must have been in high demand in our neighborhood that day. They came running across the yard toward the house faces beaming and waving the leftover papers, obviously anxious to share their little business venture with me.
"Have you boys been selling old Sunday school papers to the neighbors?" I asked. "Yeah! Look at all the money we got!" they replied opening their dirty little hands to reveal the day's earnings. They had over a dollar in dimes from the sale of those old papers. As much as I hated bursting their bubbles, I had to explain that selling the leftover Sunday school papers was just not appropriate. They could give them away, but they just couldn't sell them. And, since they didn't remember exactly which neighbors had purchased papers from them so they couldn't make refunds, they would have to give the money to the Sunday school offering the next Sunday. Two very sad little boys handed over the handful of dimes and the leftover papers, and, with shoulders drooping and heads hanging down, walked slowly to the house.
I have so many memories of that little parsonage chapel. For those of you who are not familiar with the term parsonage chapel, let me explain. A parsonage chapel is a house that has been built as a church on one end and a house on the other. The purpose of these structures is to provide a church building, as well as a home for the pastor until the congregation increases to the point that a separate church can be built and the parsonage chapel can then be converted to a house for the pastor and family to live in. The problem being that there is not enough room for the congregation to ever get large enough in number to be able to afford to build a separate church building. Ours was quite small on both ends, especially for a family of six.
Our livingroom was actually smaller than 9'x12'. I know this because we had to cut a 9'x12' carpet to fit the room. We had 3 kitchen doors. One entered the house from the outside, one led to a very short hallway which led to two bedrooms and a bathroom, and the third door opened directly into the back of the sanctuary of the church. Some ingenious layperson had sometime in the past decided it would be a good thing to cut a very large window in the wall shared by the livingroom and the back wall of the sanctuary so that the livingroom could double as a nursery during church services. I had hung a nice little curtain to cover the window and give us at least a feeling of privacy.
One Sunday afternoon Randy had fallen asleep on the sofa which sat directly under the "nursery" window. It was time for the evening service to begin, and Randy was still sound asleep on the sofa. I had to be up front during the first portion of the service to lead the congregational singing, so I opened the curtains to reveal the "nursery" and instructed Kenny, about 10 or 11 years old at the time, to watch for Randy's head to pop up in that window. When he saw Randy was awake, he was to go in the house quietly and bring him into the church.
We were about half way through the second song when I saw Randy's little head pop up in that window. I gestured to Little Kenny to go get his brother. He quietly left his seat and carefully opened the door leading into the house. I continued to lead the singing. Before the last verse was sung, the door to the sanctuary opened and there stood Kenny motioning for me to come. I continued leading the singing and shaking my head no. I couldn't come. His gestures became more insistant. He really wanted me to come! My head shaking became more insistant. I really couldn't come at the moment. Finally the song ended and Kenny cried from the doorway leading from the church into our kitchen, "Mom, will you please come in here. Randy fell in the toilet!" Five men in the house and someone left the toilet seat up. Go figure!
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