This post is continued from yesterday. If you’d like to start at the beginning click here.
She continued to pass out from time to time—probably not as often as it seemed to us, but I remember hesitating to leave her in the nurseries of different churches when we came to the States. Her father would be the speaker, however, and I was often called on to tell about some of our experiences in Mexico.
One time when we were visiting in the States, a good friend of mine took me to a big fabric store. I used to love to sew and in those days saved lots of money by making clothes for myself and my daughters. I had my four children in tow, bored out of their minds, of course. Three or four young people dressed in the “flower children” garb of those days, with long shaggy hair and beards, came in. The older children hissed, “There are some hippies,” and Esther, terrified, promptly started to cry, but passed out. There was no water readily available, so I blew and blew in her face for what seemed like a very long time to me, and she did wake up.
I was almost through with my shopping, so I told the older kids (ages 6, 8, and 10) to take Esther to the car while I paid for my purchases. The car was parked right in front of the big store front windows, not more than 30 feet away, and I could see the children plainly. When we went to the car, we were horrified to see that the kids had rolled up the windows and locked the doors, I suppose still in fear of the hippies, but it was the middle of the summer and over a hundred degrees. It’s a wonder they didn’t all pass out. I don’t know why they were so afraid of hippies unless they associated them with the “gypsies” in Guadalajara, who dressed in a similar manner. The neighborhood kids used to yell, “Run!” when they saw gypsies because they said they stole children.
Esther passed the age of two-and-a-half. We hoped she would not have any more fainting spells, and she didn’t for awhile. One evening, however, when I was making cookies, Esther crawled up on the kitchen island where I was working. She kept getting into the flour, the sugar, the dough, and being a general nuisance. I told her more than once to get down, but she ignored me and continued her mischief. Her dad walked in and spoke sharply to her. Knowing she was in trouble, she jumped down and started to run. Between the kitchen and the hall there were two steps which she had been going up and down ever since she learned to walk, but trying to run away from her dad, she stumbled on the steps. He reached and caught her by the shirt before she hit the bottom, so she wasn’t hurt, but her eyes rolled back in her head, and she passed out and started to turn blue. Her father laid her on the island and in desperation started doing artificial respiration. I began frantically pouring water in her face, hoping I didn’t drown her in the process. At first she didn’t react, and I’ll never forget how she looked—like she wasn’t there. Finally, to our great relief she started to sputter and woke up.
That was our worst experience. It never happened again. THANK THE LORD!