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May Tangen Christmas Letters, 1961-1974

Tangen Christmas Letter, 1967 - Back

peal for help I'd seen months before, only to receive a letter from them saying that the need was for doctors and nurses, not immediately for teachers, and that they had sent my letter to the Board of Missions of the Methodist Church suggesting that I ask for assignment here in the States. When this was done and I had contacted several dear people to write recommendations for me to the Board of Missions, I wrote, out of sheer joy, to friends whom I felt were in tune with God's ways to ask them to rejoice with me, I remembered that I had told Alberta Lindsey of Rust College several years ago that when I retired I was going to come to Rust and work in their library. (The College is unaccredited, predominantly Negro).
     You see how it all unfolded? The prayer, the answer, the remembered appeal from MCOR, the Missions, the letter to Alberta, her answer that there was urgent need for a librarian at Rust, my application, Missions' congratulatory agreement to transfer my recommendations to Rust, and finally, the subsequent appointment.

Strange that so many factors enter into the "aborning" process:
   My absorbing plans for affluent retirement, buying an apartment, or going to Norway to live, or opening a Tangen "retirement colony", all seemed to be eye-wash. 
   My furniture needed replacement, stove, refrigerator, chairs, bed, curtains. 
   I am too much of a coward to refuse to pay that part of my income tax that pays for napalm, bombers, and the salaries of the brass that wants to flatten Hanoi for a military victory, but I grin with glee that my new salary will be so small that the government will get very little, and that the help of a librarian with an M.A. in upgrading a Negro college will be  contribution to the war on poverty that by-passes the government and goes directly to the need.
   The wonderful way in which the Education-Psychology Library, where I've been employed for nearly twenty years, is working in such capable hands as those of Anne Evans and Emily Wadden that I don't feel sorry for leaving them in a lurch as I would have a few years ago.
   In fact, I would add that the chance of seeing Anne Evans' (and Bob Balliot's) administrative competence in bringing the library from a drab mess to a place in which it is a joy to be employed may be a great benefit to me in unaccredited Rust. 
   My absorption with writing fiction is over, remaining now as sweet exciting therapy and a hope that in a few years the story of Molly, "No Wonder", can be taken up and completed. Because the writing spree is over I could be free to be myself, to grow, to give myself. 
   
   Strange, too, the books and talks that have nurtured the infant life of new venture: It was not for me that Reverend Moore in December bought in Indiana a copy of Tom Mullens' "The Ghetto of Indifference", or that our Commission on Missions in January chose to assign J. Edward Carothers' "The Keepers of the Poor", or that Tom Mullens led me to read "The Desegregated Heart" which shows me what the white Southerner feels, or that Betty Moore at Women's Society read the verse from 1 John 3, "My children, love must not be a matter of words or talk; it must be genuine, and show itself in action", or that Dr. Yamamoto spoke to the same organization about the best missions being that of living and loving among unfortunate people, but all said to me, "May, go and give" when I had already decided to do so and could sit back and say to myself, "See, I knew it all the time."

BUT OF COURSE IT ISN'T MY ACTION AT ALL, BUT GOD'S, FOR IN HIS GRACE HE IS USING ME TO DO HIS WILL. AND IF I DO ANYTHING THAT IS HELPFUL IN HIS KINGDOM IT IS THROUGH THE STRENGTH, THE WILL THAT IS HIS SPIRIT IN ACTION.

May

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peal for help I'd seen months before, only to receive a letter from them saying that the need was for doctors and nurses, not immediately for teachers, and that they had sent my letter to the Board of Missions of the Methodist Church suggesting that I ask for assignment here in the States. When this was done and I had contacted several dear people to write recommendations for me to the Board of Missions, I wrote, out of sheer joy, to friends whom I felt were in tune with God's ways to ask them to rejoice with me, I remembered that I had told Alberta Lindsey of Rust College several years ago that when I retired I was going to come to Rust and work in their library. (The College is unaccredited, predominantly Negro). You see how it all unfolded? The prayer, the answer, the remembered appeal from MCOR, the Missions, the letter to Alberta, her answer that there was urgent need for a librarian at Rust, my application, Missions' congratulatory agreement to transfer my recommendations to Rust, and finally, the subsequent appointment. Strange that so many factors enter into the "aborning" process: My absorbing plans for affluent retirement, buying an apartment, or going to Norway to live, or opening a Tangen "retirement colony", all seemed to be eye-wash. My furniture needed replacement, stove, refrigerator, chairs, bed, curtains. I am too much of a coward to refuse to pay that part of my income tax that pays for napalm, bombers, and the salaries of the brass that wants to flatten Hanoi for a military victory, but I grin with glee that my new salary will be so small that the government will get very little, and that the help of a librarian with an M.A. in upgrading a Negro college will be contribution to the war on poverty that by-passes the government and goes directly to the need. The wonderful way in which the Education-Psychology Library, where I've been employed for nearly twenty years, is working in such capable hands as those of Anne Evans and Emily Wadden that I don't feel sorry for leaving them in a lurch as I would have a few years ago. In fact, I would add that the chance of seeing Anne Evans' (and Bob Balliot's) administrative competence in bringing the library from a drab mess to a place in which it is a joy to be employed may be a great benefit to me in unaccredited Rust. My absorption with writing fiction is over, remaining now as sweet exciting therapy and a hope that in a few years the story of Molly, "No Wonder", can be taken up and completed. Because the writing spree is over I could be free to be myself, to grow, to give myself. Strange, too, the books and talks that have nurtured the infant life of new venture: It was not for me that Reverend Moore in December bought in Indiana a copy of Tom Mullens' "The Ghetto of Indifference", or that our Commission on Missions in January chose to assign J. Edward Carothers' "The Keepers of the Poor", or that Tom Mullens led me to read "The Desegregated Heart" which shows me what the white Southerner feels, or that Betty Moore at Women's Society read the verse from 1 John 3, "My children, love must not be a matter of words or talk; it must be genuine, and show itself in action", or that Dr. Yamamoto spoke to the same organization about the best missions being that of living and loving among unfortunate people, but all said to me, "May, go and give" when I had already decided to do so and could sit back and say to myself, "See, I knew it all the time." BUT OF COURSE IT ISN'T MY ACTION AT ALL, BUT GOD'S, FOR IN HIS GRACE HE IS USING ME TO DO HIS WILL. AND IF I DO ANYTHING THAT IS HELPFUL IN HIS KINGDOM IT IS THROUGH THE STRENGTH, THE WILL THAT IS HIS SPIRIT IN ACTION. May