A Trip to the Milk-Bar
By Janet Nyhouse (Marketing and Events Manager)
Finally, my turn had come!
After watching my older sisters delight for (seemingly) years in the freedoms that their family positioning had allowed them, the day had arrived for me to experience independence. My parents had decided that I was old enough to walk to the ‘Milk-Bar’ all by myself.
The Milk-Bar was on the same block as our home; right on the opposite side of the rectangle of ¼ acre properties. I had walked the path with my sisters many times before this particular day. We seemed to forever be discovering reasons to make the trip, disguised as supporting our Mum by reminding her of any desperately required pantry-item of which she may be running low…knowing we could then spend any change on mixed lollies. (5c went a long way in the 1970s). The journey involved a neat concrete footpath, with two 90 degree corners, turning right, then right again, before reaching the bright fluorescent glow of the Worrell Street Milk-Bar.
I had never stood so tall.
I remember the thrill in my heart as I proudly stepped off the front porch, toddled along the drive-way, and smartly began my parade down the road. The silver coins required for my mission safely secured in my red leather ‘mousey’ purse, tucked into the pocket of my home-knitted brown jumper.
I marched down Ashwood Drive with full confidence, picturing my parents standing at the letterbox of our home watching me with hearts full of pride. (Had there ever been a daughter more brave or competent for the task?)
As I neared the first corner of my journey I felt the quickening of my heart, imagining myself making the turn and no longer being in my parent’s line of vision. I would be fully alone. Independent. Out of sight. Free. Vulnerable. Exposed. Did I mention alone? Fear crept into my step and I gave a little shudder as I passed that first corner, maintaining my determination to not show any visible doubt by looking back.
That second stretch of foot-path had me terrified! The houses I passed seemed darker, the trees reached creaking limbs out to grab at me, clouds hung lower and the wind went still. Shadows appeared on every front lawn, a cat meowed.
Shaking with fear, knowing I had to turn a corner once again – taking me farther from home than my little legs had ever taken me on my own, I gave in. I glanced back. Keeping my head still, I let my eyes roll as far as they could to the right. And there he was – my Dad had followed me! Standing proudly back at the first corner, he was watching, remaining a discrete distance away, simply keeping an eye on my steps.
My pace quickened, attempting to hide the smile that had appeared on my face. Convinced of the knowledge of my Dad’s presence, the independence that had so driven me was immediately replaced with a sense of security, safety, and love. I skipped joyfully on that final stretch to the Milk-Bar. The sun shone brightly, birds tweeted, the breeze was gentle!
The funny thing was, I had known that he would follow. When he said that I could walk by myself, he never said that he wouldn’t be there too! I’m so very grateful for the love my Dad showed me that day.
The journey of life presents us with many pathway opportunities and choices. Some we approach with enthusiasm, others with apprehension or even fear.
The joy of facing these with the certainty of the Father’s presence invites us to walk in confidence; sure of His unending and unconditional love.
“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged,
for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” – Joshua 1:9 NIV
(Ps. You’ll be glad to know that there was just enough change that day to bring home two chocolate ‘mates’ and two ‘spearmint leaves’, which I gobbled up without my sisters knowing!)