The First Years of My Life

My parents were both from large families—Mother, from a family of seven children, and Dad, a twin, was the eighth of nine children. Dad’s family were Texas sharecroppers. By the time my grandma had the twins, she was so worn out that picking cotton seemed to be an easier task than taking care of babies. Therefore, her oldest daughter took over the tending of the little ones and Grandma went back out to the fields.

Because his family was poor, when Dad came of age, he joined the Navy. That was where he met my mom, who was in the U.S. Marine Corps. Dad and Mom both drank, with Dad eventually becoming an alcoholic. When I was born (February 1956), Dad dropped Momma off at the hospital and went to celebrate the birth of his first child at the local bar, where he got into a fight and was sent to jail. Poor Momma had to call one of his sisters to come pick us up from the hospital.

The early years of my life were tumultuous, though I have few memories of them. The problems stemmed mostly from Dad’s drinking and my parents fighting. During the first year of my life, we moved 13 times. Back then, landlords didn’t require rent to be prepaid, so Dad would move us in and then out again when the rent came due. At one place we lived (I was told), Momma had to cover my bassinet with cheesecloth to protect me from the wood rats. Today, as I think back to the early years of my life, I feel sad that a little child lived under such circumstances.

At five years of age, I remember Momma waking me up in the middle of the night and sending me down the street to get a neighbor because she was in labor with my brother. I already had a sister who was three. This was during the Vietnam War years, and Dad was not at home. He was a Navy corpsman and did three tours in Vietnam. Because he was stationed at different bases on the West Coast, we moved several times.

Another memory seared in my mind is, when I was ten, hearing my parents screaming at each other. I had found Dad’s wallet in the back seat of the car and gave it to my mom. When she opened it, she found pictures of Dad’s other family! Apparently, he had two children while serving in Vietnam. Neither of our parents ever explained to us children what was happening. We were confused and just knew that Dad moved out, and the family I knew was no more.

Soon afterwards, a man started coming around our house in the evenings. He and Mom would drink together, and later he would go home to his own family. Somehow, in my little mind and heart, I already had a sense that some things were wrong. During these years, to have time to herself, Mom would drop us kids off at a small Baptist church for Sunday school. (She had been raised by a wonderful stepmother who was a Baptist.) When I was eight, I attended Vacation Bible School and heard that Jesus loved me and died for my sins. This was good news to me. I wanted Jesus’ love and to belong to Him. Throughout my life I never lost the sense that Jesus loved me, even when I was living a wayward life.

A Young Bride, A Young Mother

When I was 14 years old, my father and his twin sister were killed by a drunk driver. My father WAS that drunk driver. Their deaths caused me to begin thinking about life and death. I knew it was important to be prepared for death—to die as a good person—yet at this point in my life, I didn’t know how. By this time, my mother’s affair with the other man had ended, and she had moved us to Cheyenne, Wyoming. We did not attend church, had no Christian friends, and I began mixing with the wrong crowd and drinking. I knew that what I was doing was wrong, but, unfortunately, my parents had set a poor standard. By then Momma was sick and could not guide me through those teenage years. During high school, I started dating a guy eight years older than I was, and before I graduated, we were married. Philip and I both worked—I, as a telephone operator, and he, for the local newspaper. Then in rapid succession, I gave birth to four babies in five years. I was 23 years old, a stay-at-home mom, and happy as a wife and mother. Later, Philip’s folks bought a small 24-hour café, and he took over the night shift. Not having Philip at home in the evenings was difficult, but I managed to read Bible stories to my babies every night, in hopes of instilling a love for Jesus in them.

My mother-in-law lived in the same city and was helpful with the children. Her lifestyle was very attractive to me. She was plain and pious and belonged to a church called The Order of Aaron, a small religious group that believes its members are descendants of Aaron (Moses’ brother). The church, headquartered in Eskdale, Utah, is a communal settlement, not affiliated with the Mormon Church. On Sabbaths, my in-laws would have church in their home. Philip and I and our children would attend these gatherings where we prayed, sang, and worshipped Jesus as the Son of God.

Life Changed Quickly

When Philip’s parents realized the café could not support the two families, his mother persuaded us to move to Eskdale, where we lived for nearly two years. I loved the structure of life there and felt safe. The community was organized in a circular fashion with the sanctuary at the center and homes surrounding. The boys loved farm life. Every evening after supper, the children would be bathed and put in pajamas, and then families would go to church to sing. For me, it was an idealistic life.

I fit in at Eskdale, but Philip did not. One day he announced that we were moving to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. During the first year and a half after our move, Philip embezzled money from his employer (an engineering firm). He was arrested, convicted, and sent to the state penitentiary. When this happened, I started proceedings for a divorce and was given custody of the children. Overwhelmed, I believed our lives were ruined. I had to get my boys out of town before they were taunted as being convict’s kids. Having no income, I packed up the boys and went back to Cheyenne where my mother, sister, and relatives lived. It was 1986, and I was 30 years old.

I went on welfare, used food stamps, and entered the Displaced Homemaker Program—a program that helps women transition out of homemaking into the workforce. The program offers educational assistance and other support services. I enrolled in a two-year program at the community college. When the program was complete, counselors were there to help me figure out what to do with my life.

I was shown a catalog featuring various jobs I might pursue. Flight attendant was one of the jobs that sounded interesting and within my skill level. The problem was that I would need to relocate and go into training for six weeks. How could I find someone to care for the boys? By this time, Philip was out of prison and living in a halfway house. Even though he was not a good provider, he loved his kids. He had only seen them once during the time he was incarcerated, so he agreed to care for the boys while I was trained by American Airlines in Dallas/Fort Worth, Texas. After my initial interview, I was hired, and in February 1989, I moved to Texas alone. Upon completion of my training, I worked for American Airlines for the next 20 years.

Life in Dallas/Fort Worth

In 1987, the year my divorce was final and I was still in Cheyenne, I met Brad. He had his own construction business, and I worked for him part time while attending school and raising the boys on my own. Brad was a single parent with two children, the same ages as two of mine. His ex-wife had moved to Washington State with his two children. Brad was very good to me and the boys: He fixed my boys’ bikes, helped with a garage sale to make money, put gas in my car, and during the summer when he had visitation with his children, he took all of us to the lake and taught the kids to water ski.

In 1989 when I got the job with American Airlines, Brad provided money to rent an apartment close to the airport. Once I started flying and had an income, I made plans to bring the boys, who were now 10, 11, 12 and 14, to Texas. When school started, Philip’s parents offered to pay for the two oldest boys to go back to Eskdale for school. Philip had earlier filed a suit against me, to get full custody—claiming I had abandoned my children by moving out of state. With full custody, he would not have to pay child support, and he never did. He was fine with me having the kids, as long as I had no legal right to take him back to court. I cried out to God: How am I going to support four children on my own? God’s solution was to send Brad, once again, to my rescue. He left Wyoming and moved in with us, although neither of us felt comfortable with the arrangement, since we were not married. The thought that my children would tell their friends that their mom was living with her boyfriend felt shameful to me. When Brad came to Texas, he had no job, and I was flying three-day trips—away from home two nights—which left him to be the parent to the kids. Stress began to build. Feeling like a failure, one day Brad broke down. He had grown up as a Catholic and knew how important church was. He understood the Gospel, but he had never had a personal relationship with the Lord. Brad knew that for us to succeed in marriage, and to be good parents, we needed to be in church. He was okay with attending a Baptist church, so we contacted the pastor of Grace Baptist Church in Arlington, Texas. The pastor led Brad to understand his need for forgiveness. He accepted Christ as his Savior and surrendered his life to the Lord. Two weeks later, we were married by the same pastor, and two weeks after that, we were both baptized as followers of Christ into the fellowship of the church. We were indeed raised to walk in newness of life. We immediately began to be discipled by mature Christians in the church. Brad met with a group of men for Bible study each week. I attended a women’s Bible study, and the boys got involved in a youth group. Each week we heard the Word of God preached, and we began to grow in our faith and understanding of how to live the Christian life. However, unforgiveness for Philip and the lies he told about me burned in my heart. It would be many years later that the Lord would give me the peace that comes with forgiveness. It did not come easily, but the Holy Spirit who is my Teacher and Comforter led me to understand my own need for redemption through making amends.

One More Time

In 1990, I received a letter from a Cheyenne court requesting that I be a character witness for Philip, as he was being tried for burning down the family café. Traveling back to Cheyenne was like revisiting bad memories of my past. Along with his father, Philip was indicted for money laundering, arson, and insurance fraud, among other crimes. Both men were incarcerated in separate federal prisons. During this vulnerable time in our sons’ lives, they struggled with knowing who they were—with both their father and grandfather in prison. Brad and I did all we could to help them, holding on to our faith that God works all things for good to those who love Him (Romans 8:28).

God’s Faithfulness Continues

In 1992, we purchased our home in Hurst, Texas. We joined First Baptist Church, where we found a community of love, belonging, support, friendship, shared faith, and Bible study. We heard the Word of God preached and learned how to apply it to our lives. Twenty years later we are still in the same church. God has been so faithful. Brad and I have had opportunities to share our life stories—that, in Christ, we forget those things which are behind and reach forward to those things which are ahead (Philippians 3:13–14). And, as Jeremiah 29:11 says, God’s plan is to always give us a future and a hope. During these years, we have had the joy of being involved in the ministries of prayer and service. And we continually forge healthy relationships with our adult children and 17 beautiful grandchildren with whom God has blessed us. It is a high calling.

The testimony of our lives can be summed up in this verse: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight” (Proverbs 3:5–6, BSB).

Cori Pickering—wife, mother, and grandmother—considers herself at heart a homemaker. Known for her buttermilk pies and beautiful quilts, she uses her talents to bless others. Married to her husband, Brad, for 35 years, Cori enjoys serving together with him in ministries through their church.