Rewind: “He Meets She”

Seventeen letters from her and eighteen letters from him later, and it was time for “he” and “she” to finally meet one another in person. The letters between them had been filled with bits and pieces of thoughts shared and information that helped them “get to know” one another. Each letter revealed just a little bit more about the person holding the pen.

About a month before he came home on leave, he sat down to write. The mood struck him to write another poem. The poem took her by surprise – for it was on the theme of love. To this point, none of their letters had even hinted that they might at some point date, let alone fall in love. Yet, she read with interest what he had to write and wondered if it was a measure of what was in his heart:

“Love” – what is it?
A word that’s used so frequently,
By many quite confused
They think they use it properly,
And yet “love” is oft abused.

How can I spell the meaning that,
In just a couple words,
Relates exactly what love means,
And not destroy the word?
Relates exactly what love means,


It seems the dictionary lacks,
Enough vocabulary,
To even start this giant task
Or end it properly.

Is friendship love or vice versa?
A miracle in thought?
Or is it even greater still
To think of things Christ taught?

On earth we’ll never really know,
The sparkling magnitude,
Or what it really means or does.
It seems I’m more confused.

Where does “love” come from, or “love” go?
From heart to heart perhaps?
Does anyone pretend to know?
There are no “Atlas” maps.

I think love is being loved
A little brings a lot.
And God planned and started it,
Or else we’d be without.

Was he falling in love with someone he hadn’t yet met? Was he thinking about the possibilities? Was he already thinking about taking their relationship to the next level? Was she?

Sunday, August 5, 1973 finally dawned. Today was the day… and I don’t think she heard a single word of what was being taught in Sunday School that morning. Nervously fidgeting in class, she kept thinking about what would happen next.  In less than one hour she would meet in person the guy she had been writing for the past 7 months. There would now be a face and a voice to the name scrawled at the end of the letters she had read in earnest. She was excited, nervous, eager, scared and a jumble of other feelings all at once.

To help him pick her out in the crowd, she told him she would be wearing a pink dress. It was her favorite dress, the one she had worn to the church “senior banquet.”

In their last letters to one another before he came home on leave, they made plans to meet at church between Sunday School and the morning worship service. Now, with her best friend next to her for moral support, she timidly walked down that long second floor hallway scanning the crowd looking for him. Her heart skipped a beat as her shy eyes caught a glimpse of him standing there at the far end of the hall – tall, handsomely tanned, and dressed in his Navy whites.  He was looking for her too!

Intense nervousness set in. Even though she had agreed to meet him in that hallway just outside the church library, she still felt apprehensive and awkward. What should she say? Should she shake his hand, or give him a hug? Should she say, “Hi, I’m Cindie, and you must be Wayne” or just simply say “Hi Wayne”?

Nonchalant! That’s what she decided she would be. She would just turn her head and engage herself in deep conversation with her friend (nervous, nonsensical babble, actually) and just walk slowly past him and wait for him to make the first move.

It worked.

He thought she was a bit of a scatter-brain walking past him like that, but he stopped her and soon the introduction was history.  Little did they know, as God would have it, this was the introduction to their future.

Coming soon: “The First Date”

Rewind: “God’s Providence and the Envelope”

I promised I would tell how “she” started writing him in the first place. 

You’ll remember that her church made it their mission to ensure that every serviceman and woman who went out to serve their country from this church would receive at least one piece of mail each month from someone in their church family. Several pre-addressed, stamped envelopes were distributed to the teachers in the various adult Sunday School classes. The high school class also participated in this letter-writing endeavor. 

Garfield Baptist Church in Wauwatosa, WI (now Spring Creek Church in Pewaukee)

Each month her Sunday School Superintendent (Mrs. Grace Barron, her youth pastor’s wife) would hold up two of these pre-addressed envelopes seeking volunteers to write a letter. “She” was accustomed to volunteering to write a random recipient each month, but, as was mentioned in an earlier account, had selfishly decided that she was no longer going to volunteer. 

Pastor Bob & Grace Barron

Her reason? Simple. Because they didn’t write back! 

Pretty selfish, wasn’t it? If she wasn’t selfish, at least she was a bit naive. It never dawned on her that it sometimes takes months for mail to reach someone serving in the armed forces. It also never dawned on her that some of the recipients might be in a foxhole dodging the enemies attack somewhere in Viet Nam. 

On this day in early January, while sitting in class waiting for the Sunday School pre-session to begin, she saw the familiar air-mail envelopes sticking out of Mrs. Barron’s Bible. To further strengthen her resolve, she whispered to her best friend Cindy that she was not planning to volunteer this month. 

Mrs. Barron held up the two envelopes and, with her characteristic deeply dimpled smile, asked who would like to write one of our servicemen this month. The reluctant writer avoided looking at Mrs. Barron, but could somehow still feel the teacher’s eyes imploring her to write. But, no one would volunteer. 

“She” felt bad, but still stubbornly refused to volunteer, sitting on her fingertips, so as to remind herself not to volunteer. Mrs. Barron sounded disappointed and made her request one more time, this time looking straight at her usual volunteer. The reluctant writer didn’t budge in her resolve – though something inside of her really wanted to. 

So, without a single volunteer, Mrs. Barron opened the class in prayer. The now guilt-ridden reluctant volunteer bowed her head in prayer too, a little bit ashamed of herself. 

Then a really unbelievable thing happened. As Mrs. Barron raised her voice in prayer invoking God’s blessing on the students and their class time in God’s Word, the reluctant volunteer felt the Bible that was sitting in her lap move. She looked down and underneath her hand, the cover of her Bible was being raised and one of those envelopes was being slipped into the flyleaf of her Bible. Mrs. Barron never paused or missed a beat in her prayer as she cunningly executed the drop. The disinclined letter writer looked up at the praying pastor’s wife and made eye-contact. Mrs. Barron’s eyes were saying, “Please?” The hesitant writer nodded in reluctant affirmation…she would do it. Still praying, Mrs. Barron’s eyes smiled a “thank you.”

After the “Amen,” the involuntary volunteer looked at the name written on the envelope. She had no clue who this Wayne L. Winquist was…but Cindie Boyles would soon find out.

Next up: “He Meets She”

Rewind: “Her Crazy Little Letters”

He looked forward to receiving her weekly letters so much and one day sat down to put his thoughts about their letter-writing friendship to pen and paper.

Your first note came five months ago
And although it was quite brief
It had a lot of meaning
Like the Spring’s first light green leaf.
It wasn’t very polished
And you seemed a trifle shy
But I must say that didn’t matter
You were a new friend saying “hi.”

After one year on this island
(A paradise to some)
I had lost a lot of interest
And my world was too hum-drum
Still your “crazy” little letter
Though I cannot explain
Gave me words I never had before
And made my days less tame.

Your cheerful, lovely person
Has traveled all these miles
In little paper envelopes
And brought me many smiles.
Your thoughtfulness and kindness
And spiritual uplift
Removed a lot of darkness
And slowed an aimless drift.

Each letter that I open
Contains some new surprise
– when the paper changes color
– when your thoughts across them fly
Though my poem to you is heartfelt
It never can proclaim
The friendship I extend to you
Even though it should be plain…

She loved the poem and read it over and over again. The last line in the poem puzzled her though. It seemed an awkward way to end. What did he really mean? Was there more to their friendship than she knew? Was this the beginning of something more?

He was right – as awkward as the last line felt, the relationship that was just beginning would turn out to be anything but plain.

Rewind: He Wrote Back!

My first letter to Wayne

Crazy as this sounds, long before the world wide web was invented, people sometimes actually met through the U.S. Mail. I promised I’d tell you more about Wayne’s and my introduction to one another through letter-writing. Here’s the second installment in “Rewind,” my series of short stories originally posted 10 years ago on Facebook.

It would be five months before the two letter writers would have the opportunity to meet in person. In those long months they would learn quite a bit about one another in their rambling letters. Even in the early 1970’s, letter writing was a bit of a lost art; it was (and still is) so much easier to let Hallmark do the talking and just sign your name. For them, the letters would serve as a solid foundation for the unique friendship that was in the making.

She, in her very first letter shared that she was in high school (but didn’t tell him how old she was), that she loved the Lord and enjoyed sharing the gospel with her friends, and that she was taking voice lessons from their music pastor on Saturday mornings.

He was amused by something in her first letter. She naively asked how he liked San Francisco (his envelope was addressed “FPO San Francisco”). He set her straight by gently informing her that the mail for all naval personnel in the Pacific area went through a fleet post office (FPO) in San Francisco. Then he proceeded to tell her how he liked being in Oahu and a little bit about how he spent his time while stationed on that Hawaiian island.

She loved writing letters to him and eagerly anticipated receiving his letters in the mail. Now, almost 40 years later, when she re-reads her own letters she laughs (and is embarrassed) at her obvious attempts to impress someone she didn’t know and the not-so-subtle way she stretched the truth about quite a number of things. In her letters she was on the church volleyball team (she did play volleyball almost every Monday night at youth group, but it was hardly a team…if it were a team, they certainly would not have picked her to be on it!). She was honest about her Algebra grade though…it wasn’t worth mentioning!

He shared quite a bit of introductory information about himself in his first reply letter too. He told her he was 21, had blonde hair and green eyes, wore a mustache, was 6’0″, drove a ’71 Gremlin, and that he attended Lanakila Baptist Church in Oahu.

She made it very clear in her first letter that she didn’t think much of her own physical appearance and was reluctant to send a picture because she thought she was ugly.

He thoughtfully countered by replying,

“You don’t do yourself justice by calling yourself “ugly” even if you meant it in a humorous way. First of all, anyone who writes me I consider beautiful. Number 2 is that beauty is in the “eye of the beholder” and 3 is that, whether or not a person is “beautiful” on the outside, he or she may still be ‘beautiful’ where it counts on the inside. How’s that for a 3-point sermon?”

She read that page so many times that the page itself is smudged with dirt, a muddy footprint on the page, a reminder of the time she dropped the letter while reading it for the hundredth time on the crowded city bus ride home from school.

He listed his hobbies as being numerous: stamp and coin collecting, swimming, fishing, body surfing, snorkeling, matchbook collecting, music, books, poetry, math, ping pong, pool, Milwaukee Bucks, etc.

She read the list over and over again desperately looking for something they had in common. Nothing! Unless…of course, she could mention that she had gone fishing on two or three occasions with her dad and she did like it. Exaggerating the truth once again, she wrote, “I always loved going fishing with my dad when I was a little girl. I’d love to try it again. I had fun until it came to cleaning them.”

Little did she know that she would have to eat those exaggerated words (and the fish) once she finally did meet him in person.

Next Up: “Her Crazy Little Letters”