Feathers, Feathers, Feathers: Living Under My Father's Wings

By Joyce Broyles

As a Louisiana sharecropper's daughter, Joyce Broyles grew up feeling loved and safe, free to roam the rice farm on her brother's horse, until middle school showed her the difference between poor country folk and well-off city people. With God's help through family and friends, she overcame low self-esteem and learned to trust Him for guidance and peace.

Fifth of six siblings, Joyce enjoyed the outdoors and ballgames, but her mother insisted on teaching her to sew, cook, and keep a clean house. Because he had no education and knew the drawbacks from that, her dad insisted his children get a college education and contribute to their community. At a Christian college, Joyce met her husband, and together, they encountered many difficult circumstances during the years following as they moved from place to place. Reared under godly influence from family and friends, they were able to travel around the world and teach and encourage others to live under the wings of their Heavenly Father, trusting their lives to His care.

In her memoirs, Joyce tells her story of how she and her husband and children followed God's directions, traveling and ministering, always under His caring wings. She is amazed at how God took her, with nothing but a desire to grow, and led her where He did, using others to keep her from being lost. After the death of her husband, Joyce tells how God helped her to cope and gave her a purpose to continue to serve Him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887933382

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Feathers, Feathers, Feathers

Living Under My Father's Wings

Joyce Broyles

Copyright © 2023 Joyce Broyles

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

ISBN 979-8-88793-326-9 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88793-338-2 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Prologue

Introduction

In the Beginning

Elementary School

Middle School

Junior High

High School

College Days, First Year

Joyce Meets Douglas

Last Years of College

Work

Engaged

Wedding

Moving as Newlyweds

Doug's First Sermon

Doug's Second Assignment; Move Three

Doug's First Investment

Discharge from Air Force

Doug Graduates from College

Moves to Greeneville, Tennessee

Move to Johnson City

Moving to Enlarging our Family through Adoption

Moving to Saudi Arabia

Miscarriage

Life in North Camp

Moving Experiences in Main Camp

Travels

Class Reunion Visit Causes Another Move

Moving Back Home to Louisiana

Moving Through School, College, and Marriages

Thirteen Years of Full-Time Ministry

Twenty Years of Diverse Ministry

Moving to the City

Moving Through Retirement

God Moving Us and Holding Us

Afterword

Expressions after Doug's Death

About the Author

Prologue

"As the rain poured on the highway, our Volkswagen Beetle hydroplaned and began to slowly shift to the side. Then suddenly, the tiny car was perpendicular to the eighteen-wheeler in the right lane, just between the two sets of wheels!

"I wanted to pray. I tried to think of the verse from Psalm 91:4 that tells us ‘He will cover you with his feathers, and under His wings shall you trust.' My mind could not get around that, so I just cried out, ‘Feathers, feathers, feathers!'

I am certain that God knew what I meant. Immediately, the car righted itself, my son let it slow down, and he pulled into the right lane, where we continued our journey.

This was a story told by a woman at a ladies' day conference I attended many years ago in Denham Springs, Louisiana, around 1986, and it has stayed with me ever since. I do not know if it is a true story or not, but I keep that verse from the Psalms displayed on my desk to this day. A favorite gospel hymn of mine because of that verse is Under His Wings, because there I can safely abide. These many years later, I acknowledge that God was protecting me, time and time again, through every move, whether I realized it or not.

Introduction

When my ninth grade English teacher, Mrs. Womack, returned a theme I had written and said, You have a nice style of writing, I decided right then that someday I would write the great American novel. Yeah, right. I should have written it then when I knew everything!

Six years later, when Mr. Sullivan, my English professor at McNeese State College, insisted that my personal narrative Solitude be included in the annual literacy publication, I continued to dream about writing. The years have come and gone, with the busyness of life, helping to earn a living, and rearing children taking so much time that there was little left for writing, other than several magazine articles and a newspaper column. What I did not realize then was that all of that daily busyness, eventually, would be meat for my stories.

In truth, I began to write to better understand myself. I thought knowing my family roots might help explain why I act the way I do. It helps to see how the values and beliefs of my parents and siblings helped to shape me. Above all else, I want to be truthful and tell my children and anyone else who reads this how God directed my paths, even when I did not want to follow them. Through every move I made, Jesus never abandoned me. Some moves were His will, some were mine. His wingspread is so wide and forgiving!

I hope that the reader will discover, as I did, that all through life, as a child of God, I have never been forsaken. Under His wings, I have made decisions, some wise, some not so wise, but God was able to work them all out for His glory. The chastisement, the difficulties, the heartbreaks, along with the wonders and pleasures, all have led to a huge appreciation of God's caring ways.

I may have made a few sacrifices during my life, but they are nothing compared to what God gave up for me. Jesus, son of God, died in my place and has given me assurance for eternal life with Him. Through all the years, His hand was on me. That good news is what keeps me going. That, and the wonderful grace of Jesus.

Chapter 1

In the Beginning

The values and beliefs of my parents were taught me from birth. My preschool years were spent mimicking actions of others in my family and creating a few of my own. By high school, college, and adulthood, I was responsible for my own actions, but most of the time, those actions were based on what had been taught me and exemplified for me by my immediate family and church family.

My parents, Jesus-followers and passionate believers, came out of man-made religious bondage. After their conversions, they wanted to do only what Jesus taught. To them, that meant leaving everything behind that resembled language, games, dress, and behaviors from their past. Their mentor was Mom's cousin, Ivy Istre, and he fostered that love for Jesus in them.

I grew up in the shade of the positive trees my parents planted. Their home was marriage­centered, not child-centered. Ephesians 6:2, Honor your father and mother, was something we did without thinking, because we were taught by them to do that, and they behaved in an honorable manner. Mom and Dad's healthy marriage gave security to their children. Our home also was Scripture­centered. They did not believe in modern psychology!

Causley Smith and Zelma Hoffpauir Smith reared seven children. My dad, Alfred, was the second child, but oldest son, born in 1907. My grandfather called himself C. C. and loved to hunt. Dad could not see well enough to shoot well, so he was the designated fetcher. He told us often how he hated having to get up early in cold weather and sit on the levee, waiting for his dad to shoot ducks or geese. After he married, he did not hunt, but his youngest brother, Oran, did, and we enjoyed his tales, complete with flying arms and sound effects. Dad's other brother, Buford, died as a young man from tuberculosis. His sisters were Sophie, Emily, Corine, and Cora.

Dad had to go to work as a very young boy to help his family. He was hired out as a farmhand, making pennies a day. Because of that, he did not get to go to school at all. Although he joked about it, I am certain that he felt embarrassed about his lack of education. One of his favorite stories was that when he went to school the first day, his teacher said, Say ‘one.' So he did. Then the teacher said, Say ‘two.' In French, "C'est tout means That's all." He thought she meant school was over, so he went home! Of course, I believed it when I was little, but now I know it was his way of coping.

Grandma Smith read to him and taught him what she could at home. He had a good mind, especially in math. He could add large sums in his head before I could do it on paper. I believe he would have been an honor student if given a chance.

After Mom died, I was certified in adult education and was able to help Dad learn to read and write. As a surprise one day, I had him read to my two sisters from a page in his primer. We all cried. I asked him why didn't I do that sooner, and he said he had been too busy working in the fields to have time for that. Listening to him read to me after I taught him how is one of my fondest memories.

Demostan Istre and Ophelia Boudreaux (of the Nova Scotia Boudreaux) Istre had thirteen children. Agnes, my mom, born in 1909, was the seventh child. Her sisters were Edmae, Ophelia, Ophalia, Edolie, Aline, Mable, Therese. Brothers were Willie, Raymond, Clesme, Wilson, and Andrus.

Mom had a hand in rearing the younger ones. Her little sister, Therese, died at two years from accidental poisoning. Her brother, Clesme, severely mentally challenged, was called Dado. He died at thirty-six years. Mom was his caretaker, feeding and changing him. A younger brother, Wilson, had epilepsy. He lived alone in his old age, but even then, Mom and Dad looked after him.

One year during the '90s, cousin Susie Simon Cox planned an Istre family reunion. Her grandmother Edmae was the eldest of Demostan's children. At that time, Richard Istre, son of Ivy Istre, gave us copies of the genealogy he had done on the Istre family. He traced our roots back to Istres, France, where Jean Istre was from. Jean left there for Quebec, Canada, was a surgeon in their army, and was awarded land around Opelousas, Louisiana, for his service. His seven sons, Philogene, Demostan, Armogene, Camille, David, Lavolet, and another son went from there. Philogene was father to Ivy Istre. Philogene and Demostan married Boudreaux sisters, so their offspring were double first cousins!

Because of her duties, Mom could attend school only occasionally and finally dropped out when she was thirteen. She only reached third grade level in the one-room school, but she practiced reading until she could read well. She could do a little math, but her true gift was in the arts and crafts. She could draw, sew, quilt, crochet, embroider, and any other needlework or craft. She made her own patterns, sewed all our clothing, and even made bed linens from bleached feed sacks. She built bookcases and tables. I believe she was gifted, enjoying artistic endeavors. I wish she could have had some training in drawing. As her daughters grew, she was patient in teaching each of us how to do all these things. All three of us sewed and quilted for our families and taught our daughters how. Some are more talented than others, of course, and some were not interested until later.

Dad owned a Model T car before he married. He took his older sister, Emily, with him on his dates with Mom. She may have had to double date with him, but I'm not sure. She said one time he turned the corner too fast, and the car toppled over onto its side. They all got out, righted the car, and took off again, at the dizzy speed of 10 miles per hour!

Later, after marriage and children, Dad removed the rumble seat and put in boards, which made the car like a truck. He carried things in the back that way. Some days, the car started, and some days, it did not. On Sundays, if the car would not start, Dad hitched the horses to the wagon and took his family to worship that way. He would tie the horses under the awning of the railroad warehouse so they would be in the shade until the service was over.

After some time, Dad got another car, purchased from a relative. He called it Bluechy, perhaps because of its blue color. He moved his family to Jennings from Estherwood in that car, but the furniture came over the Mermentau Bridge in the wagon, pulled by his horses!

The first car I remember Dad driving was an old 1946 Dodge that Mom's cousin, Jack Istre, sold to him. They took pictures one day, and the women sat on the fenders and looked so prim. I am not certain how we traveled in it, but I think Dad, Jo, and Mom, holding Tooger in her lap, were in the front seat, and AJ, Ro, Buf, and I were in the back seat. I do remember one Sunday morning, on the way to worship, one of the back doors flew open. The car had those back doors that opened from the center of the car. The windows were probably down, since there was no air conditioning, so it was very noisy in the car. I leaned over the front seat and hollered at Dad that the door was open!

Mom responded with, What? Why do you care that the store is opened? It took a couple of blocks, but Dad finally understood and stopped the car so we could shut the door again!

After marrying in 1930, Mom and Dad lived in tiny rural Morse, Louisiana, where their first child, a son named Alfred Junior, came in 1931, and a year later, a daughter named Jo Anna Agnes was born. Dad was a farmhand. Sometime later, they moved to the small town of Estherwood where he became a sharecropper on Olide Myers's cotton farm. Mom worked alongside of him when he needed her. In 1934, another daughter, Roberta Jane, was born, and then in 1936, James Buford completed the family for the next six years. None of those houses had electricity nor indoor plumbing.

On August 3, 1940, a hurricane caused record flooding across much of the southern United States. Offshore, the hurricane generated rough seas and a strong storm surge, peaking at 6.4 feet on the western edge of Lake Pontchartrain. Some believe the levee broke on the huge canal, swamping south Louisiana. After the hurricane dissipated on August 10, Estherwood was inundated. For the next two weeks, my family, along with many others, stayed in the warehouse along the railroad tracks, built just above the waters.

Mother wanted canned food and other items from our house, so someone took her in his rowboat. They rode in the boat inside the house and collected the goods before returning to the warehouse. Later, watermarks on all the furniture were easily noticed, showing how high the waters had risen inside the house.

Although World War II began with Nazi Germany's attack on Poland in September 1939, the United States did not enter the war until after the Japanese bombed the American fleet in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, on December 7, 1941. My father was not in