Plymouth Magazine-Summer24-DIGITAL - Flipbook - Page 8
Love Never Faileth
By Pam Kenyon
Devotions, June 2013 Church Council. It’s
my first Church Council as the Sr. Deacon.
Each year for devotions, the person whose
turn it was to share was asked a question
or questions to answer, and in this year it
was: “How did you think about God when
you were 10-years old? How did it change
over time? And what do you think God is
calling you to do today?” The questions led
me to write this piece, which easily took me
back to being a 10-year old feeling lost and
untethered. I look back with great fondness
on my time as a Deacon. I made the most
treasured friends, and it remains one of
the most sacred experiences in my time at
Plymouth.
In 1966, I was 10-years old, and a third
grader at Cattell Elementary School on
Des Moines’ east side. We lived with my
mom’s parents after moving from Dallas
to Chicago back to Dallas, and finally to
Las Vegas as my dad tried to find a way
to stay in the business of flying airplanes.
He suffered serious injuries from a
plane crash in 1955 as the co-pilot of a
commercial flight, and after three years
of hospitals and healing and another four
years of unsuccessful job searches, we
ended up back in Des Moines, needing
the help of my grandparents to give us
a place to live while dad kept looking.
Three-of-five kids and mom and dad in a
two-bedroom house with grandma and
grandpa sleeping on roll-aways in the
living room.
I didn’t have a faith background as much
as I had a great story that I loved to hear
told, and later loved to recite on my own.
I was born in Dallas, at Florence
Nightingale Hospital and baptized at
Lover’s Lane Methodist Church by my
dad’s best friend, the Reverend Tom
Shipp. Dad helped build the church, as
the story goes. On weekends he strapped
on his tool belt and climbed ladders
and swung hammers, helping to build a
church in Dallas.
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But when we got to Des Moines in 1962,
we never went to church. And when
you don’t go, you don’t really question
why. You don’t know any different. At
school, my friends were talking about
Sunday School, choir, and youth groups.
I felt something was deeply missing.
But I couldn’t name it. Friendship?
Singing? Being included? With cousins
I attended the Baptist church (no thank
you). With elementary friends I attended
First Christian by Drake. With another
girlfriend in junior high I attended St.
John’s Lutheran (again, no thank you).
It wasn’t until I was 16 and a sophomore
at Roosevelt that a girlfriend invited me
to come with her to choir practice. They
were seeking new members and everyone
was encouraged to bring a friend. So I
came with her one Wednesday night and
became a Matin at Plymouth Church.
This past year, I’ve been concerned that
I wasn’t baptized. There are no photos;
I don’t have a certificate. What if they
just told me I was, but really wasn’t?
(And I have Devotions in June!!!) I
became a member in 1982, and joined
by reaffirmation of faith. But I didn’t
come from another church; I wasn’t
transferring a membership. I was
never confirmed. So, was I baptized? I
contacted LLUMC (Lovers Lane United
Methodist Church in Dallas) and asked
them to please find my records. I had
just witnessed Jared Walter’s most Holy
Baptism on April 21; the holy blob of
Plymouth at work stretching out our
arms to prove how we belong to one
another because we belong to God.
And last week, I got the answer. I was
baptized at Lover’s Lane—also on April
21 (of 1955).
Married here in 1982; both of our
children were baptized here; Samantha
by Rev. Alden Hebard; Nicholas by
Sr. Minister, Jim Gilliom. My father’s
memorial service was held in the
Sanctuary with Angie Hulen officiating;
my mother’s funeral in our very own
Greenwood/Burling, officiated by Sr.
Minister David Ruhe. Mom and Dad’s
cremains are in the Memorial Garden,
interned on August 15, 2009—their
wedding anniversary. This is all I know;
it’s all I ever want to know. Where have I
seen God lately? When I say goodbye to
a third year Deacon on May 26 and hello
to a new first year Deacon on June 1.
My faith has changed from the void of
not knowing to knowing. What was
missing? That the love of God is all there
is and all that guides us. That Jesus lived
and died so that we may be wrapped in
that love for eternity. That love never
faileth. Today I believe my parents were
so very sad to leave their beloved Lover’s
Lane, and so worn out from dealing
with the aftermath of the crash, they just
didn’t have it in them to look for another
church again. If I were ripped away from
Plymouth, I believe I might feel the
very same, and so I thank them. I found
Plymouth because of where their lives
led them, and I believe I am finally right
where I’m supposed to be.
The being baptized part, to me, as
an unchurched kid was extremely
important. I didn’t have a church or a
faith, but I had been baptized. And that
was enough for the time being.
About the Author
Pam Kenyon came to Plymouth in 1972 as a Matin, and joined
as a member in 1982 when she and Greg married beneath Love
Never Faileth. Her favorite pew is pulpit side—either one of the
two that aligns with the Stoddard Lane stained-glass windows:
The Cross and the Crown, or, The Sailboat.
