Monthly Archives: April 2009

Tonight, in far away Michigan, my precious Daddy’s twin brother, Luke Yoder, passed over into Eternal Life.  We knew that it was going to happen.  Those who march to the drummer of lou gehrig’s disease are not known for escaping his insidious clutches.  Tonight the disease claimed another body, but it didn’t/couldn’t claim the spirit.  Those who knew and loved him know for certain that he is home free.  With his papa and mama, with his brother John, his sister, Ruth, a growing number of in-laws already there, a baby sister he never knew, and  his twin brother, Mark.

Memories are wonderful things.  They crowd into your mind at the strangest time and divert attention needed somewhere else.  They hover at the back of your consciousness and influence moods and choices and actions.  They climb into bed with you on cold nights and warm the coldest hearts.  They ride in the car, and raise their heads at places where you learn to finally expect them — parking lot at church, Philadelphia Zoo signs along the interstate, and always, always, a small graveyard beside an aging brick church along a Delaware road.

Memories are running wild through my head tonight.  I remember that when we were little children, we knew that, even though our Daddy dearly loved his large array of brothers and sisters, that there was something special about Uncle Luke.  He would write letters to him, and Uncle Luke wrote back.  His large, distinctively impressive handwriting would nearly fill the front of a regular sized envelope.  In the early years, it was rare for them to talk on the telephone, but I remember that there were special occasions when there were phone calls made.  One Christmas eve, in particular, I remember.  It was before we remodeled the old farm house, so it almost had to be the Christmas of 1957.  It seemed like a wonderful Christmas to all of us.  Clint (7) and Nel (5) got this hen with a target on her side with a set of dart guns.  When you hit the target with the dart, she would lay an egg.  I was four and I got a rubber doll.  I forget what Markie got.  He was 18 months.  We sat on the floor of that old living room and life couldn’t have been better.  I remember Daddy suddenly deciding to call Uncle Luke and while I certainly don’t remember any of the conversation, it seems that it was at that moment that I realized that there was this special person who was so important to my daddy who lived far away and his name was “Uncle Luke.”

He has been an asset to almost everything he has endeavored to be involved in.  He has benefitted his family, his church, his community, the larger church through his conference, and through many unknown avenues, the world.  He was an encourager, a manager, a minister, and a friend to many in addition to being a son, a brother, a husband, a father, a grandfather, an uncle, a cousin, etc.  The ripples go on and on, and we will not know until eternity where they have left their mark.  As an extended family, we have been prodded, encouraged, amused and sobered by his frequent missives to our family forum, the Yodelings.  He would end his words to us with the same admonition almost every time, “Make it a good day.”

His family has had a tough six months.  There have been hard decisions, difficult things to do, heartbreaking declines that they witnessed and they have hung in there and they have also finished strong.  They were there tonight when he went gently, quietly into the presence of the Lord he loved so much. 

He had fought a good fight.

He had finished the course.

He had kept the faith.

“Well done, Good and Faithful Servant.”

If only I could see where he is tonight . . .

Thirty Years ago today, Daniel and I were having a momentous day.

For one year, 11 months and 15 days we had been the recipients of a “tenuous” blessing.  I say “tenuous” because much of the time we didn’t know if the little girl we loved and counted as our own would ever truly be our legal daughter.  Even the morning that we dressed her in her prettiest dress and headed to downtown Columbus for the adoption hearing, we knew that there was one more thing that could raise its ugly head to stop the proceedings.

As our caseworker and lawyer sat with us in the waiting room, I overheard the lawyer say, “There wasn’t any appeal filed, was there?” 

I remember thinking, “That is exactly why we hired this guy, wasn’t it?  To take care of the legal aspects so that there could be no going back?” 

Our caseworker was the best.  She said, “Nope.  There was none,” and I could breathe again.

It was so simple, once we got to this place.  We went in, there were some questions, and a pronouncement by the judge, and Christina Elizabeth Yutzy had a new name, (officially, at least) a new Daddy and Mama, and even a new birth certificate.

We came outside of the courthouse into the city smog and we told her that we were going to lunch to celebrate.  “Where do you want to go, Christi-girl?” we asked her. “We’ll go anywhere you want!” 

There was only one place that would do for such a celebration.  “I wanna go to McDonald’s!” was her instant reply.  I remember Daniel and looking at each other, both of us were hoping for a more grown-up place, but it was her day, and so, McDonald’s it was!

I remember sitting in that McDonald’s, looking at her bright eyes and listening to her prattle.  Just as I knew that all of life and death is in the hands of our Heavenly Father, so I knew that something wonderful had changed in the known future of us as well as this beautiful little girl. 

“She’s our to keep!’ I remember thinking in that McDonald’s that day.  “She’s ours!  No matter what happens, no matter what comes, she’s our very own.”   I cannot begin to describe how that felt to me after almost four years of being a foster parent, and also the loss of three much wanted babies through miscarriage and fetal demise.  There was this quiet wonder, a calm and a peace that settled into my heart.  The greatest satisfaction of all was the knowledge that God had intended all along for this to be our child.  The time leading up to that day had been marked by so many uncertainties, reversals and shoddy legal work, that it seemed impossible that she would ever become ours.  I remember standing in my sunny kitchen one afternoon in the Ohio house that had heard her childish laughter, her first words, her first prayer, seen her first steps, watched her grow from little more than skin and bones and lethargy to this curly-haired youngster, full of life and song, and thinking, “Lord Jesus, if they take her away from us, I cannot stand it.” 

We knew how dreadful separation was.  One after another, children that we loved for a time had gone on to other homes, or back to their parents, and a part of me died every single time.  When I thought about being bereft of yet another child that we loved, and one that had become so much our own, I couldn’t stand it.  I remember standing there in the kitchen, crying myself almost sick, clenching and unclenching my fists as if I could somehow, in the opening and closing of them, will my heart to hear the voice of God to my heart.  I kept thinking I heard Him saying, “Who do you choose, Mary Ann?  Do you choose Me and My Will even if it doesn’t include Christina?”  I thought that I would throw up, it was so intense, and I didn’t feel like such a question was fair of God to ask of me, but I could not shake it off.  And I remember exactly where I was standing, and the peace that flooded my heart the minute I said brokenly to Him, “I choose You.   I choose YOU!  Whatever comes, whatever happens, I choose you.  But whatever comes, whatever happens, Oh, Lord Jesus, please take care of this precious child.”

And over the next months, miracle after miracle happened until that wonderful day in April, 1979 when we finally “got her papers” and she “could stay for ever and ever!”  (Her definition of what happened that day.)

Sometimes it seems as if we, as a family, but Jesse and Christina especially, are facing the same sort of thing.  If you could remember to pray for them and to pray for “baby boo” and for the circumstances surrounding the upcoming birth and the decisions that need to be made.  I don’t want to say too much here, except to say that the God of miracles is still God.  He will do what is best.  Sometimes He seems to take a LONG time.  Sometimes things go suddenly, but I still want to trust His timing.  Even when it isn’t mine.

He is God.  He is worthy of our Trust.