Season of Hope: Her Story, His Story, Their Story

By Berverly Key Ball

God has promised to never leave us or forsake us (Heb. 13:5), yet for the newly widowed, feeling all alone is a new challenge. In multivoice viewpoint, read Jim and Beverlys stories individually and collectively, as they share with the reader the history and the events of their unlikely meeting.

A Season of Hope: Her Story, His Story, Their Story is a journey into their lives, different and unique, as they discover their season of hope again at ages sixty-two and fifty-five. Bathed in their amazement of Gods working in their lives, you will find yourself identifying your own season of hope!

The Balls use their seventy-one years of collective marriage experience to urge the reader to become aware of the ordinary and extraordinary circumstances in their own personal stories. The book is a combined effort of two people who loved the Lord and each other. Jim went to be with the Lord on November 26, 2004, and Beverly wrote the book using both their writings, collected and filed but never before published in book form. Watch the Lord set into motion events that will leave you cheering with them and forever replacing the word lucky with blessed!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jul 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781466986527

Berverly Key Ball

James (Jim) and Beverly Ball found themselves individually in a state of “aloneness,” a word they have coined. Both had lost their spouses after long marriages, forty-one and thirty years respectively, and each had wondered what the Lord had in store for their remaining years. Their unique story is a powerful testimony of God’s love and guidance. As their relationship grew, they shared their story of hope by way of their ministry to other widows and widowers, “never alone.” Their expanded story is now in book form, Season of Hope: Her Story, His Story, Their Story. James spent forty years in all phases of computer technology, configuration management, and programming and authored Quick Start User’s Guide for the Bible, being published posthumously with their book Season of Hope: Her Story, His Story, Their Story. Beverly Key Ball, BA, MEd, EdS, a former Teacher of the Year and in the first class of Georgia’s InTech Certification Program, has published articles and curriculum material for Standard Publishing Company and Clayton County Schools, Georgia. Jim and Beverly shared a love of computers, woodworking, music, photography, jewelry making, and travel. They are parents to a combined total of nine daughters, thirteen grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. Jim entered his final season of hope on November 26, 2004. Beverly now lives in Lake Spivey, Georgia.

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© Copyright 2013,2014 BEVERLY KEY BALL.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

isbn: 978-1-4669-8651-0 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-8653-4 (hc)

isbn: 978-1-4669-8652-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013911437

Trafford rev. 03/26/2014

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North America & international

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Contents

Thank You!

Foreword

Preface

Chapter 1       Her Story

Chapter 2       His Story

Chapter 3       Her Story

Chapter 4       His Story

Chapter 5       Her Story

Chapter 6       His Story

Chapter 7       Her Story

Chapter 8       His Story

Chapter 9       Her Story

Chapter 10       Our Story

Chapter 11       Our Story

Chapter 12       Our Story

Chapter 13       Our Story

Chapter 14       Our Story

Chapter 15       Our Story

Chapter 16       Our Story

Chapter 17       Our Story

Chapter 18       Theirstory

Chapter 19       The Rest Of The Story

Epilogue       The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia

THANK YOU!

To our combined family of nine daughters, for your love and encouragement, even if you sensed your parents had lost all good sense, believed in us and gave us your blessings at our wedding in spite of your fears.

To our church family at First Christian Church—Jonesboro, who, though fearful to admit it, had the same fears that one or both of us had lost our minds, but who graciously admitted that ours was a marriage more consistent with a five-year honeymoon and that we both had indeed been blessed!

To Carole Wall and Donna Tapp, friends who listened, prayed, and encouraged us through our season of hope, the good and the distressing times… your friendship is so appreciated.

To the caregivers and staff of the Palms at Lake Spivey who actually believed I was seriously writing a real book and kept up with my progress and whether I was pulling an all-nighter or not, let me sleep the next day(!) To the Palms for hosting the book launching so the residents can have an active part!

To Jim, who didn’t get to write all that he wanted to write but still encouraged the completion of our book through his letters, journals, and our e-mails that never stopped! Writing our story was exhilarating, as if he was here again sharing his words and thoughts, but a bittersweet time of sadness, missing what we had together. I look forward to publishing Jim’s book, The Quick Start Users Guide to the Bible, this summer, also another highlight and my gift to him.

Much love to you all today and always,

Beverly

To

James Edgar Ball,

my encourager and prayer warrior,

who never gave up the dream of our book and

keeping the dream alive even in death

to tell our story;

to my very own FROG prince, whom I could trust to fully rely on God

in all situations!

Thank you for being my anchor,

my second time around, for restoring joy in my life, for

being my teacher, and for bringing prayer back into my classroom.

Thank you, most of all, for loving this teacher

so very much!

FOREWORD

Beverly Ball and I met at Atlanta Christian College in 1964. I was a freshman, and she was a junior. After graduating, getting married, having children, and moving, our paths crossed thirty years later.

Beverly and I had both become teachers in Clayton County, Georgia, and Beverly had decided she was going back to school to get her master’s degree. During spring break, she called and asked if I would like to take a ride to West Georgia College (State University of West Georgia). Having no plans, I told her yes. She had an appointment with her advisor and was going to sign up for the master’s program. I was just going along for the ride! However, her advisor didn’t show up, but the head of the College of Education told us she would handle everything and began talking with both of us about the master’s program. Then she and Beverly stood up to go into her office to sign the admission papers. As they were entering her office, she turned and looked straight at me and said, You need to do this too. That statement changed Beverly’s and my life forever.

During the next three years of carpooling to the college and sharing the same classes, Beverly and I got to know each other even better. During that time, Beverly faced many trials, including the death of her husband, Bobby, and being diagnosed with lupus for starters. When things got tough, we both kept saying, We can do this. At times, we would laugh and say, "We can do this, but we don’t want to." We both finished the master’s degree in August 1996 and completed our Ed.S. degree in the spring of 1998.

Now we are in our sixties, and Beverly has written a book about her season of hope and how God has enabled her in spite of multiple health issues, the loss of two husbands, and living in an assisted living residence to live and enjoy a productive life.

This book will inspire you and help you realize God isn’t through with you yet, and with his blessings, You can do this too!

Donna Maze Tapp, BA, M.Ed, Ed.S.

EIP Teacher, Henry County Schools, Georgia

National Board Certified

Cherish the memory of yesterday…

Make the most of today…

Trust God for tomorrow…

1999 was one of those years…

PREFACE

R ehearsal was starting. The room faded into black, but it was a welcome darkness, giving space to my stressed emotions. Spring had arrived in our Central Georgia town of Jonesboro, yet the cool air after dark reminded one to keep a jacket handy. I was just glad to be back with my fellow choir members after almost three weeks in the hospital. I was so ready to get on with my life, and singing in the choir for Easter would be the best tonic I could have.

M usic has always been an emotional release for me, especially praises sung to God. I am also a patriotic soul and can’t hear a Sousa March played by the Marine Band without turning on the tears! But this night was different. The music was especially touching. It was a familiar hymn, but it was to be sung in total darkness with the added sound effects of an impending earthquake beginning to rumble, softly, drawing closer to the scene of Jesus on the cross. The choir, in hushed reverence, sang:

I stand amazed in the presence of Jesus the Nazarene,

And wonder how he could love me, a sinner, condemned, unclean.

How marvelous! How wonderful! And my song shall ever be!

How marvelous! How wonderful! Is my Savior’s love for me!

I could definitely feel the presence of God, his arms wrapped around me, loving me and protecting me. So much had happened in my life lately, good and not so good, that my instincts wanted to send God an e-mail begging off sick for the day! But that could never really happen. God and I have an agreement: God has the plan. I just follow his directions!

R emembering the events of March 6, 2006, I knew God had been by my side that entire day. It would be months later before I would realize the impact of those events! However, what I knew, without a doubt, was that God wasn’t through with me yet! He had not brought me this far to abandon me now!

The rest of the story will fall into place as you read, but the events of that day proved to me why this book had to be written. It was left to me as a powerful legacy of love, a story that needed to be shared, but a joint plan that was not to be finished by us together. The story unfolds in three voices: her story, his story, and our story.

I am Beverly, the she in the story: patriotic to the bone, fifth-grade American history/language arts teacher, Southern born and bred, and a widow.

Jim is the he in the story: a computer programmer, configuration manager, counselor, prayer warrior, writer/public speaker, who never lived a day in the South, and a widower.

W hen we met in February 1999, our story began.

G et to know us. Join us in our journey even when the journey has bumps and potholes in the road. Others, at first, used to remark how lucky we were. We know differently. We are the first to quickly say that luck has nothing to do with how God works! Luck is a word we removed from our vocabulary. Instead, let us tell you the story of how we have seen God’s close attention to the tiny details of the lives of his children! Our prayer is that you will come to realize that, when God is at the controls, the journey is never left to chance.

Especially if you are alone because a spouse or a parent or a child is no longer here with you, our message is one of desire for your

Season of Hope to begin!

A journey like this can only be classified as…

Blessed!

It is the sweet, simple things in life

which are the real ones after all.

—Laura Ingalls Wilder

CHAPTER 1

Her Story

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(Beverly)

1944… a time of change . . . women filling the gap in traditional men’s jobs . . . a newspaper for 3¢ . . . USO clubs . . . quick weddings . . . back to the war . . . meatless days . . . rationing . . . recycling tires for the rubber . . . big bands, jitterbug, and swing music . . . housing growth and baby booms!

T hings were changing, all right! My tiny gray-headed grandmother joined the Women’s Army Corps, and it wasn’t just a lark to get out of the house! She signed up at the end of 1943, in the midst of World War II, two months before turning fifty, which was the cut off age for new WACs. To have a trade that would make her useful in wartime, she learned the art of magic and became Granny, the Magician, entertaining the troops around the globe. She earned the rank of SFC and the friendship of the top brass at the Pentagon before she retired with 100 percent medical disability. She served her country for sixteen years and loved every minute of it. Meeting my grandmother was very untraditional and hard to do since I was born on April 30, 1944, just after she left to see the world!

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Grandmother to me—Harry to my girls!

SFC Genevieve F. Harris

Granny, the Magician

WWII—Germany, Korea, Japan

My parents, Roy and Viola Miller, met while students at North Georgia College in Dahlonega, Georgia. Daddy, a musician of sorts, lived in the band barracks as a student. He played the baritone horn, a silver beauty with an upright bell, purchased second hand in 1932 while attending Russell High School in East Point, Georgia. A shortage of tuba players in the college band resulted in a change of instruments for Dad, and the baritone was packed away, enduring several long-distance moves and the heat of dusty Southern attics until Daddy pulled it out of hiding twenty-five years later. That is when it became my horn, then my brother’s, and finally my three daughters’ instrument. Fifty years of service to six players spanning three generations—band and the baritone were memories that connected us all.

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Mama was a home economics major and lived in the women’s dormitory across the parade grounds from the band barracks. She knew her calling. She was a fine seamstress and loved to tackle almost any type of handcraft and could cook almost anything—except biscuits! Not even Bisquick could help. Her specialty was Wesson oil biscuits, a thin cracker-type bread that needed no butter! The oil actually gave them a unique flavor!

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I don’t know how long it took Daddy to notice Ms. Harris, but he always did benefit from a challenge! The band cadets were having a picnic, and there was a scramble for dates.

Miller, do you have a date yet? called out a fellow band member. I think Viola Harris is still available, and I’m on my way to ask her to be my date. And off he went toward the dorm.

Not to be outdone, and primarily because Viola was a great catch, Roy used his head, and started running for the women’s dorm—only he took all the shortcuts and beat his friend there. By the time his friend reached the women’s dorm, Roy was standing there, grinning his winner’s smile—and the way my folks told the story, that is why my name isn’t Beverly Thibodaux. Second place isn’t good enough—in horseshoes or foot races!

However, the loser was the best man at their wedding on June 14, 1941. In fact, every June 14, as regular as clockwork, every town in America flies the flag proudly honoring their wedding anniversary! At least, that is what my brother and I were always told! Of course, being Flag Day didn’t hurt! Dad never had an excuse for forgetting their anniversary (and as of 2013, they have celebrated seventy-two anniversaries!)

They set up housekeeping in an upstairs garage apartment, next door to my grandpa’s house, but didn’t stay in those quarters very long. Daddy wanted to be a preacher. ACC (Atlanta Christian College) was about a mile away, and when space was available in Stone Cottage, they moved on campus.

Just because this reads like big campus housing, think again! The original campus was near the present-day East Point. The old existing farmhouse served many purposes for campus life: offices, classrooms, kitchen and dining room, as well as dormitory space. Being on a small farm, the students raised most of their own food and milked cows for cooking and their milk to drink.

Stone Cottage was a cinder block building on campus, square in shape, with four rooms in the lower level and four rooms above. It had been built by student labor, which probably explains why the interior walls had not been joined! Eight married couples called this home, complete with lack of privacy—just one big happy family. Many graduates, like my parents, encouraged their children to attend ACC, and the college grew as a result. I was the first third-generation student but was far from being the last.

The college has grown and has moved to West Point, Georgia. It is now Point University with campus buildings in both West Point and Valley, Alabama, as well as the original East Point campus used for Continuing Education students.

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A fter graduating, Mama and Daddy, being two of the eight students in the second graduating class, accepted a call to minister to the church in Riverview, Alabama. In 1980, the area of mill communities—formerly known separately as Langdale, Fairfax, Shawmutt, and Riverview—consolidated to become Valley, Alabama. I don’t have my own memories of when we lived there, but I recall summer vacation times when my grandpa was their minister. I do have memories of visiting my grandparents when they lived in the same parsonage my parents had lived in when I was a baby.

You may not be familiar with the term parsonage, but it refers to the house owned by the church but furnished to the preacher and his family as their home. In some cases, the parsonage was partially or completely furnished by the church. Those furnishings were sometimes gifts to the church, consisting of someone else’s extra furnishings that were not needed or not wanted by the giver. Unfortunately, one of the fringe questionable benefits of this system was the feeling of ownership by the church members where the parsonage was used for meetings and even the powder room between services.

My mom never complained about the intrusion of this system, but she was ecstatic when she and Dad finally bought their own home.

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T he most vivid and highly unusual memory I have of Riverview, Alabama, especially in light of today’s culture, is the time my daddy put me on the train in North Carolina with a basket of sandwiches and my little packed suitcase and a note of instructions attached to my dress. I was on my way to Alabama to see my grandpa and grandma—all by myself! What an exciting trip!

When we pulled into the station in Atlanta, I had been sitting for a very long time. The conductor called out a thirty-minute layover. As a six-year-old, I was ready for this very grown-up experience, at least I thought so! I looked around me and figured that something as big as that train would be easy to spot. I wouldn’t go far. I just wanted to see what it all looked like. seeing was my name, and exploring was my game!

Well, when everything is new and exciting, common sense sometimes is left at the door! Mine was left with my sandwich tin in the passenger car