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December 25, 2014 · 4:58 pm

Merry Christmas, 2014

Christmas, 2014 * Shady Acres Farm * 7484 Shawnee Road * Milford * DE * 19963

Merriest Christmas Greetings to YOU and your family,
“For unto you is born this day. . . a SAVIOR, which is CHRIST, the LORD. Glory to GOD in the highest, and on earth PEACE, GOODWILL to men.”
Isn’t it wonderful how our days are so filled with the things of living in ways that we cannot miss the hand of our incredible God? What a year it has been for the family at Shady Acres as well as people we love! The things that have always been important continue to be what matters – faith, family and friends, but in the accessories (to all three) it has been “pedal down, throttle open, bumpy road” all year long. Some of those bumps have been difficult to maneuver, but some have been gloriously, giddily exciting adventures.
We said good-bye to family members this year. In April, Ariel Joy, 16-month old daughter of nephew Jeremy and his wife, Cheryl, succumbed to Spinal Muscular Atrophy (a genetic disorder). Ariel Joy Yoder. Girlie with the smile that lit up a room and eyes that never stopped communicating. She has left a space behind that will always be “Ariel-shaped” but her true legacy is that of Grace, bigger than unanswered prayer, bigger than disappointment and loss, bigger than a little grave in a country cemetery here in Delaware. Our God is GOOD.
Throughout the year, we watched with uneasy concern the ongoing battle that our sister in law, Frieda, was fighting with breast cancer that had metastasized. Though there were many happy days, and even weeks that it looked like Frieda was going to be well, in the early autumn, things deteriorated rapidly and at the end of October, she went quietly into the presence of the Lord Jesus that she loved so much. Frieda Ann Yoder. Beloved wife, dedicated mom and loving Mimi. The grief is still too fresh for me. I rejoice in her victory, and I believe in God’s incredible timing, but it feels like she was so valuable to her family and to God’s Kingdom, that I don’t even pretend to understand.
The latest difficult bump in the road has affected the church family that meets at the white church building known as Laws Mennonite Church. In the early morning hours of December 2, two young men vandalized and burned three churches in rural Kent County, Delaware. One of those churches was ours. The response of the church family was disbelief, shock, and sorrow. The ensuing days have proven the resiliency, resourcefulness and optimistic mindset of this congregation. We’ve been blessed with unity, a sense of family and the will to survive as a flock with The Shepherd. We’ve also been blessed with an outpouring of prayers, love, offers for help, even monetary gifts from the community and the larger church family. It has certainly been a case where something that was meant for evil has been (and will be) used for our good. We believe that God wants to work redemption through this hard, sad and malicious event in our lives, and the attitudes of our brothers and sisters have been encouraging.
*   I said that some of the bumps in the road were exciting adventures. Yes!!! There are a few of them, as well. Perhaps the biggest news of the year in our lives as a family has been the addition of three Yutzy grandsons. In September, Raph & Regina adopted Simon, (age 4) Liam, (age 3) and Frankie (age 2). The boys have been a part of our family since February of 2013 and finalizing the legalities was celebration time, indeed. The boys have all had birthdays since then so they are 5, 4, and 3. They have certainly changed life for Raph and Gina and for the rest of us, as well. Raph is working for The Little Cottage Company in sales part time and was also hired by Grace Mennonite Church as Director of High School Ministries (also a part time position). Gina spends most of her time being a mommy, but works one day a week at 61 Surplus, a non-profit industry that gives all of its proceeds to help orphans. The answers to prayer that are embodied in Raph and Regina’s family are exciting and energizing. This is a “God Story” that has so many chapters already. With deep gratitude, we acknowledge that God has been using many, many people to “write” this story, and it is wondrous in our eyes. It is also far from finished.
*       Adding the three grandsons has given our only granddaughter, Charis, three new cousins. She has three little boy cousins on the Bontrager side of the family as well. When asked by someone if she had any siblings, she said with great discouragement, “No . . .” She thought a little bit and then said, “Just a whole bunch of boy cousins.” Well, yes, I guess that would about size things up. Boy cousins or not, we would hate to be without the influence of this girlie. She continues to make our lives so interesting, has an undying loyalty and affection for her Grandpa, is overjoyed with sleepovers at ‘Grammy’s house,” and is growing much too fast. Christina & Jesse stay busy with their lives. Jesse celebrated 20 years of employment at Burris Foods (he’s not old enough, is he?) where he serves as a Systems Engineer. Christina is a stay at home mom and babysits two days a week for Kate. Charis is in Kindergarten this year, so the family schedule has changed somewhat in these last few months. Christina recently started a coffee bar for our church on Sunday mornings which has been very well received. She enjoys people so much, and Jesse is supportive of her efforts.
*      Deborah continues to work for Delaware Hospice evenings, nights, and weekends. She has spent a good part of this year planning for the trip of a lifetime with her Aunt Lena – a cruise to Antarctica! They set out for this grand adventure in early November and returned almost three weeks later. She had a wonderful time! The pictures are phenomenal, the stories mesmerizing, and her memories rich and impressive. From doing a polar bear plunge into water that was actually below freezing, to sleeping on the ice without a tent, to waddling with penguins, she did everything that she possibly could– partly just to say that she did it! She came home to reality, went right back to work and in the last few weeks, has been an integral liaison between our congregation and the cleanup crew that is working at the church. She has kept the church family informed with pictures and reports and encouraged good feelings on the part of the work crew by conversation, encouragement and even buying them lunch on one of the last days they were planning to be there.
*      Lem & Jess are still in Alexandria, VA. Jessica continues to work in the Department of Veterans’ Affairs in Washington, D.C., with many opportunities to use her brain and her skills in the challenges of her position. She was delighted with an opportunity to travel to Italy for a few days with some girlfriends in late October. It was a great time of exploring, rejuvenation and renewal. You can imagine that Lem was really glad to have her home again. Lem transferred from the doctoral program at Bryn Mawr to the one at the The Catholic University of America in Washington, DC. He continues to work as a behavioral therapist at Alvord, Baker and Associates, a counseling firm with offices in Silver Spring and Rockville, MD. They still live in the apartment they first rented when they moved to the area, and it has been sufficient for them. They brought some people to Shady Acres for an early Thanksgiving dinner, and we enjoyed learning to know some of their friends. They are involved in a small church that is just finding its way from a very recent beginning. It is exciting to see the way things are working out.
*       Rachel graduated from Cedarville University in Ohio with her degree in Social Work in May, and by the end of June, she was in Philadelphia, PA, beginning the same year long Master’s program that Lem graduated from in 2010. She found housing with one of Lem’s classmates and began an internship at Joseph J. Peters Institute as a clinical therapist with sexually abused and traumatized children. Her life has had one of the most bumpy rides of any of us emotionally as she has dealt with the injustices that has been dealt to so many of the people of our society that are marginalized – the children and women of poverty that are so often the victims of humanity that has gone so wrong. She has also dealt with loneliness in the big city with few close friends and grief, being affected by the family deaths, and also illness in the lives of people she loves. Rachel still is unsure of where this next year will lead her, as she weighs job opportunities over the college debt that she has accumulated. Those of you who know Rachel will understand that the “not knowing” is very difficult for this girlie who likes to plan and likes to know what is happening next. Whatever it is that God is doing in her life at this juncture is going to be valuable and will equip her for whatever it is that He is calling her to do. As her parents, we are confident in God’s timing and Rachel’s ability to discern what is best, and for that – we pray!
*      And Daniel and I are doing much of the same things we’ve always done. Daniel has stepped down from his role as the head of the leadership team and is taking a six month sabbatical from all church duties except being the Deacon. He certainly is less stressed in this capacity and it is good. He has almost 14 years with the state of Delaware, and continues to plan to be there for a few more years. He raises chickens and keeps this farm in shape. We both can tell that we aren’t as young as we once were. Nettie and Cecilia are still a part of our household, but both of them are showing signs of aging. My Sweet Mama has had a very turbulent year health wise, and we continue to seek the best way to care for her while giving her the independence she wants. What a courageous and resourceful woman she is!
So now you know at least some of what is happening at Shady Acres! We are so blessed!
Blessings to you and yours for the coming New Year.
~ Daniel and Mary Ann Yutzy

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December 8, 2014 · 2:22 am

The Stroke

He sits in a wheel chair, a stocking cap on his thin white hair. His hands, once so busy and given to expansive motion, will not do his bidding. His eyes are alive and expressive and he tries so hard to communicate. I am sitting beside him in the hospital room, and trying so hard to understand.

“I think–” he starts to say, then stops, confused. He tries to form more words. “I think–”

I wait. He shakes his head despairingly and then tries again, “I would say — .” He looks at me helplessly and lapses into silence. The sequence is repeated over and over.

I smile and tell him stories about Rachel, our youngest daughter, who is my connection to this man. Stories about papers and professors and accolades and anxieties. He listens eagerly and smiles and tries to talk again. “I think –” he begins, and then with conviction, “I think that I think!”

That makes me laugh. “Oh, J–! I know you think. That mind of yours never stops. I know that you think about a LOT of things.”

He smiles again, and I make conversation. He says an occasional “yes” and “no.” And then I take his face into my hands and look into his faded eyes and I talk to him about the gifts that have been given him through no effort of his own — his good mind, and how he has used it to help his fellow man. I tell him that it truly was a gift, entrusted to him by God and that he has helped so many people with his brilliant mind. I am just warming up to saying some specific God words to this man who has spurned so many of God’s instructions, and hasn’t trusted Jesus for his salvation. He has sometimes said things that indicate that his hope is that the good he’s done will outweigh the bad. And he has done so much good. Our family, especially Rachel, have been blessed abundantly by his kindness. So I wanted to tell him about the best gift that can be his — just for the taking. I remind him that he is very loved, and that he doesn’t need words to talk to Jesus. When no one else can understand what he is trying to say, Jesus knows his heart and he can talk to Him.

And then we are interrupted by a speech therapist. It is time for him to have his lunch, and time for me to leave. His eyes look at me pleadingly, and I stoop to kiss his leathery old cheek. It is wet with tears. I taste the salt as I turn to go.

The days are long, the future is so uncertain, the conflict around him intense. I cannot bear to look back as I leave. So much of his business unfinished. So much important still undone. Though he is in his eighties, he always thought that he had more time. How little any of us know what will be tomorrow. How quickly life can change.

“Oh, Lord Jesus. May your love invade his conscious thought, his complex heart. And may the presence of Jesus be so real to him that he cannot escape it. May his restless heart find peace. Please, Lord Jesus. Have mercy on us all. In a world gone so wrong, how desperately we need the Savior that the angels announced that Holy night. Peace on earth, goodwill towards men? Lord Jesus, may it be so.”

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December 7, 2014 · 2:58 am

Holding the Hurt Loosely. Thoughts on Church Arson

The call came in at 5:41. Our friend who is a Delaware State Trooper was on the other line.

“Mary Ann, this is Andrea. Has anyone called you about anything going on up at your church?”

It was still dark outside. My head was fuzzy. “Our Church?”

“Yes. I just came by and it appears that your church is on fire. The firemen are on the scene. Initially I thought there was an accident, but I did see smoke.”

“No, no one has called.” I felt like this just wasn’t true. Who would burn our church? We’ve had break-ins over the years, some petty vandalism, graffiti (that didn’t use Sunday school words) spray painted on the outside, but these incidents were few and far between. Who would burn our church?

“Well, I’m going to turn around and go back,” she said. “I’ll see what’s going on and I will call you back”

I hung up the phone and went to talk to Daniel. His first response was to get ready to go up to the church, calling the integral people on the way. I started my morning routines, getting ladies up and showered and fed. My busy hands were on automatic, but my heart was in turmoil.

“What could have happened? We had carry-in on Sunday. I wonder if something got left on? Oven? Coffee Pot, Candle? Oh, Lord Jesus! Please. May this fire not be the result of any of our member’s negligence. That would be a burden too hard for anyone to bear. Please, Lord Jesus.

Andrea called back to verify that there was, indeed a fire.

“Do they know what started it?” I asked.

“They are waiting on the fire marshal,” she replied reassuringly. “They will investigate and I’m sure you will have an answer.”

It wasn’t long until Daniel called. The fire marshal was there and had a conversation with him. It seems that there were three churches in the immediate area that had fires within about three hours.

“We can’t know for sure,” Daniel told me, “but it would certainly point to the fact that it was arson.”

I was so relieved to know that this fire wasn’t from negligence on anyone’s part. I know that may sound really immaterial, but one of the things that I have found in these days following this cataclysmic event is that our minds cling to small comforts and somehow, in the greater scheme of things, those small things add up to a bigger, better picture of a God that has our good in mind.

As the story unfolded, we have certainly had ample reason to rejoice. Apparently, a passerby noticed the flames through a church window and called 911. The local fire company had just gotten back from one of the other churches, and were still suited up — they were at the church within five minutes. When they got there, the first thing they noticed was that both entry doors were propped open. The firemen found a critical situation in the auditorium of our church. A pile of hymnbooks, bibles and Sunday school papers as well as some blankets, bedding, and costumes were put under a bench that had been torn off the floor and the whole thing had been used to ignite a bonfire. The church had been vandalized, with every single cupboard and drawer gone through and the doors to the classrooms left open. The firemen said that we were only five to seven minutes from what they call the “flash point.” This is where everything is so hot that it bursts into flame. The clock on the wall was melted to nothing. The plastic speakers in the ceiling had dropped to the floor in a blob of melted plastic. The flowers on the Christmas wreaths and the tinsel on the angel wings, all up in the one classroom where we stored the costumes, were melted. If the fireman had been just a little bit later, we would have lost the whole thing. As it is, though there is terrible damage to so much of the inside, the structure is sound.

One of the biggest blessings has been a gift that we were mostly unaware of until this all came down. Some years ago, J.R. Campbell, as a trustee of our church, had gone over our insurance policy with a fine-toothed comb. We couldn’t have had better coverage. When J.R. passed away earlier this year, we had no way of knowing how his foresight and expertise would bless our little church. It has been so comforting to us, knowing that we don’t have to clean up that terrible mess. Knowing that all the contents were covered, all the cleanup, all the repairs. Everything to return it to its pre-fire condition. This blessing has been beyond our expectations, and we are so grateful.

“Ah, J.R.!!! What I wouldn’t give to see you get into this situation with your knowledge and ability to get what is needed, when it is needed. If you are watching somewhere, I hope you know how much of a blessing you’ve been to us . . .”

The ensuing days have been so incredible. It feels like the slashes across my heart have been filled with healing and love on the part of the greater family of God and our local communities. People have literally come out of the woodwork to pray for us, to offer help, to comfort and encourage and even commiserate. I cannot begin to tell you what is in my heart tonight. So, so much good has come out of this tragedy already. I can only imagine what God has for us in the coming weeks and months.

I know this post has been a long time coming. I am still processing so much. I hope that those of you who are reading it will continue to pray for us, to speak encouraging words. We are resourceful and accustomed to working hard. We want to stay together. I won’t pretend that this has been easy, but I hope you understand when I say that it has been GOOD. And it will be GOOD. We have so much to look forward to.

And once again, my heart gives grateful praise.

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November 12, 2014 · 10:53 pm

Down from the Lofties

It was at least the fourth phone call from the grandma in the trailer. There was no heat, no electric, no cookstove, little furniture. Mostly there was no hope. A $2100.00 electric bill needed paying before they could have the electric hooked up. On oxygen, she was using a gas run generator to run the necessary things to keep the house livable. Six adults lived there, and most of their stuff was in storage, and only one had a drivers license. There was no vehicle.

Certain Man has helped this family for many years, and sometimes we would like to tear our hair and gnash our teeth. The health issues of the Grandma is what keeps us from cutting them off and leaving them out in the cold. That and the fact that this next generation truly is just living what they’ve learned. Poor choices repeated over and over again add up to so much sadness and struggle and poverty and brokenness. And it isn’t that Certain Man hasn’t instructed and exampled and been encouraging and kind, but they just don’t get it.

So, last night, the food was all. There was an inch of fuel left in the generator. Things were desperate. She has to have her oxygen. Certain Man groaned within himself, considered and prayers were offered, desperate pleas for wisdom and such. And he came to the conclusion that we needed to do something to help. So we sallied forth, and carefully bought five gallons of fuel, and groceries that could mostly withstand no refrigeration or could be cooked on a hot plate. There were also two gallons of milk and a gallon of juice that would take the available space in the two dormitory refrigerators they had stacked on top of each other.

On the way to make the delivery, Certain Man stopped at another house where there had been a young woman with a passel of children, her own and her siblings and a boyfriend. He wanted to check if this family was in need of a Thanksgiving box this year. The pit bulls bellowed and brayed and the holes in the driveway were deep enough to swallow a small car. Certain Man maneuvered his truck around the mammoth holes and turned off his headlights. Everything was swallowed in darkness. He turned them back on.

“I’m staying here until you know something,” I said, thinking of a stiff little baby I had tried to cuddle on our last visit. It didn’t look like the same family lived here. Certain Man made his way up to the gate. The dogs barked and barked and finally a woman came to the door and then came out to talk to him. He seemed to be gone a long time. When he came back, the stories were once again disappointing and sad. But this was one house that didn’t need a Thanksgiving Box this year.

On the road again, I was feeling grumpy. Sick to my bones of the broken children, broken hearts, broken lives, poverty, bad choices and feeling so impatient about the adults who just don’t get it.

In the quiet of the van, I reached over and took Certain Man’s hand. “Do you mind if I pray” I asked in the darkness.

“Not at all,” said my good man.

And so I prayed. I prayed for wisdom for him and the situations that face him over and over. I prayed for the family and that there would be redemption. And then I felt convicted of my attitude.

“. . . and Lord Jesus,” I prayed. “Help us not to be condescending or to look down on these people. May we be loving in what we say and do tonight and free us from feeling better than they are.”

And then we were at the trailer. The lights were dim, and the adult son was standing at the door waiting for us. He and another person came out to help carry and to discuss about the five gallons of fuel for the generator. Between Certain Man and the two of them, they took most of the groceries and the fuel and went in. I looked at the remaining two gallons of milk and the one of juice and a light bag of groceries and decided that I could manage that load. I picked them up and made my way to the trailer. Certain Man came out just as I got there and would have taken one of my gallons, but I had a firm grip and I was doing just fine. Three steps up to the trailer with no handrail and then a final one into the trailer.

I lifted my right foot to make the final step, realized too late that this step had an extra almost three inches over the others, caught the front of my sandal on the metal lip and down I went like a cow on wet cement. I was dimly aware of a very satisfying splatting noise as three plastic gallons of liquid hit the floor, and the general alarmed outcry as I landed pretty much on my hands and knees on the floor of the trailer. My first concern was whether there was any spillage. There was none.

“Miss Mary Ann, oh, Miss Mary Ann!!! Are you hurt??? Are you okay???”

Behind me, I heard my husband say, “No, she is NOT OKAY!!!”

This deserved attention. “Yes, I am,” I said with great conviction, “I really am. I am not hurt.” Helpful hands picked up the gallons of milk and juice and carried them to the rickety cupboard, and someone rescued the bag of groceries. I assessed the damage and got myself up.

“Are you sure you are okay?” I was asked over and over again and I reassured them in like manner. I wasn’t injured much at all. It felt like there might have been a brush burn on my one knee and the palms of my hand had a stinging sensation, but other than that, there was no bleeding, no skin missing, no bruises.

Except for one thing. My condescension had taken a terrible blow. It never reared its ugly head one time while Certain Man discussed practicalities and possibilities and how he could best help the family. It is hard to look down on people who have witnessed the embarrassment of you being sprawled all over their living room floor. I stood there in the cluttered, chaotic living room with the smells of poverty all around me and wondered at God’s incredible grace to me and my family.

And wished that God wouldn’t take me so much at my word.

Then acknowledged that I really did deserve that comeuppance.

“Oh, Lord Jesus. May it be with a humble and grateful heart that I remember.”

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November 10, 2014 · 2:47 am

Old gifts, Good Memories

It was spring of 1973. I pulled my Volkswagen Beetle into the driveway of Dr. and Mrs. Crabb where I worked as a mother’s helper and was surprised to see that Dr. Crabb was still home.

“H-m-m-m-m,” I thought. “I’m later than usual. He should already be at the office.”

He was leaving though, and as he backed his sports car out of the garage, he stopped long enough to roll down his window. He was grinning, his eyes alive with mischief.

“The cat–” he said. “That cat made a terrible mess in the dining room on the oriental rug. Could you please clean it up first thing?”

Oh, no! Not again. That stupid Siamese cat. One of a small herd of cats in the Crabb home, but the ruler of them all, and probably the one that was always peeing in the bean bag chair. The oldest Crabb son would go flying into the bean bag chair on his way to watch a favorite TV show and come up sputtering. And wet. And often disgruntled. Mrs. Crabb was so sick, fighting her last brave battle against the breast cancer that would take her life in another few months. She loved kids and animals and could never bear to turn anything away that was lonely or hurting or in need of care. The Siamese was the exception of the motley crew when it came to beauty and lineage. The rest were pretty much nondescript mixes of mongrel and feral that showed up at the door and were taken in and loved and given pretty much free reign in the stately house that was home to this family of six.

And now, another mess on the beautiful oriental rug in the formal dining room. And why was Dr. Crabb so happy about it??? Oh, well. I loved this family. I loved working for them. This animal business was the one draw back. I got myself together and entered the house. Mrs. Crabb was sitting at the table in the breakfast nook.

She looked up and said, “Oh, Mary Ann! There’s a mess –”

“I know. Dr. Crabb told me.”

She followed me with her disease impacted gait as I went through the little hallway to the formal dining room and there was no mess! Instead, the table was set like it was ready for a formal dinner for eight. The delighted eyes of Mrs. Crabb were beyond mischief. Pure unadulterated joy shown there.

“It’s your wedding present,” she breathed. “The silverware is your wedding gift. Dr. Crabb drove to Philly last night to pick it up so we could set the table for you to show it off. He wanted to see you when you saw it, that’s why he is late, but he couldn’t wait any longer.”

It was beautiful silverware. American Colonial, an expensive, heavy, beautiful stainless steel set that shown with a soft luster in the morning light. I was ecstatic. It was beyond my wildest dreams. Then Mrs. Crabb’s father, Mr. Martin, gave me a serving set for a wedding gift and the perfect set of silverware was mine.

Ten days before Daniel and I were married, Mrs. Crabb died. 36 years old, mother of four children, Jennifer, Colin, Jim and Mary. I mourned deeply, but I was getting married and moving to Ohio and life made such a drastic change for me. A good friend, Faith Cox (now Zencak) had taken over my spot as mother’s helper a few weeks before Fran’s death, and I left them in capable hands. My memories were so warm and good and even helpful as I remembered the things that Mrs. Crabb had taught me in her better times. And every time I set a “company table” with that gorgeous tableware, I would think of her and the wonderful gift that she gave me.

As time went on, I found that eight place settings just weren’t enough for a company table and I found a fairly nice set for sixteen at JCPenney’s one year on clearance and purchased it to use for guests. I loved the American Colonial, but when I priced it out, the cost was prohibitive, rising at one point to $100.00 a place setting. I never, ever thought of selling my set, but I knew that I couldn’t afford to add to it. Especially when the JCPenney one was doing just fine.

Then came the time a few years ago, when Middle Daughter began to peruse the internet in search of the replacements for some the pieces of my wedding china that have gotten broken. I wasn’t interested. I have been using plain white Corelleware, open stock, for quite some time. (Might even sell that china, to be honest.) Unknown to me, she was also looking for American Colonial silverware. When she came up with a service for twelve, reasonably priced with an offer to pay for some of it for a birthday gift, I was ecstatic. We were able to get it and with the eight I already had, I had service for 20 — the same number of Corelleware that I have in my china cupboard. This was one happy gal.

Last night we had company for an early Thanksgiving Dinner. Youngest Son and his Girl with a Beautiful Heart brought friends from Washington D.C. and Alexandria, VA to Delaware for some country time and for some home cooking. The day went well, and in late afternoon, Certain Man set the table for me while I finished up some food in the kitchen.

He spread out the long white tablecloth. It is literally over twenty-five years old. Years ago, Sister in Law, Ruby Yoder, gave me a long, long piece of lace and said it was for a tablecloth. Sister Sarah Slaubaugh bought me five yards of 60 inch wide, white, bottom-weight material and I sewed a tablecloth that was long enough to cover and hang down on all sides of the 13 foot family table that Certain Man’s father, Ralph Yutzy made almost 50 years ago for his family. This tablecloth has seen a LOT of living, but it is still beautiful. I wash it in hot water, bleach it when it seems necessary, and it just keeps on holding up. I don’t think I ever say, “Use the long white cloth” without thinking of my brave sister in law and her gift to me so many years ago.

And then he spread out the plates and tumblers and salad bowls. I looked down the long table and it was so full of happy memories. The tumblers were made possible through a beloved niece, Joni Geissinger, and her Pampered Chef business. Always looking out for me in sales and discounts, she helped me until I got 20 of these beautiful glasses. Actually there are 40, because they are mine in two sizes, both juice and large drinking size. They bring sparkle and light to a table, and I think of her and am so grateful. They are sturdy enough for a dishwasher, coming out crystal clear each time. The crystal salad bowls were gifts from another sister in law, Polly Heatwole Yoder, and I use them and use them and use them. Also, I am so grateful that there are 20 of them, as well. They come in so handy when there is a LOT of food and more than one salad, or the famous Delaware limas with lots of juice that demand a bowl of their own.

Then, looking down over the expanse of table, I mention that since there is an overwhelming amount of white, we will use Thanksgiving napkins. So Certain Man puts down colorful (flamboyant!) Thanksgiving napkins and carefully places the silverware at each setting. Fork on the left, knife and spoon lined up on the right.

And I think again, of Frances Crabb. She loved to cook. She liked having people over to her house when she was well enough to set a pretty table and make a great meal. She missed out on so much because of her illness and so did her family. But I like to think that there is a way where some of it gets passed on when there is a pretty table set at Shady Acres, when family and new friends and old friends gather round and enjoy time together, and eat off of a set of silverware that was given to a 19 year old bride who had no idea of its value. Nor did I know the value of the life lessons I learned as I watched Fran Crabb live the last two years of her life.

She’s been gone for over 41 years now. I still see Dr. Crabb on occasion, but I’ve lost track of the children. Jennifer, the oldest, passed away a year or two ago. I think that Frieda’s passing with the same insidious disease that took Mrs. Crabb has brought back memories from those two years that I haven’t thought about in a long time. And some of the memories make me – oh! So sad!

That is when it is time to bring out a long white tablecloth, set the table with memories, make some good food, invite some people over, and thank God for reminders of the happy times and the rich legacy I’ve been given.

My heart gives grateful praise.

Thankful Wall

Our Thankful Wall is up. It is a bit later than we usually put it up, but this past month has been anything but ordinary. When Middle Daughter realized that her time grew short to get ready for her excursion, she said to me, “Mama, there is almost no way that I am going to get the Thankful Wall done. What shall we do?”

I had been thinking about that, and I was wondering, too, just what we would do. It is no secret at this house that the Wife of Certain Man has almost no artistic ability whatsoever. However, several of our children have pronounced talent and enjoy creating things with canvas and paint. They got that from their father, and even though he hasn’t developed his capacity, he often has ideas and a sense of design that far surpass my feeble attempts.

“Well,” I said to Middle Daughter, “I’ve been thinking of asking Daddy if he would consider doing it for us this year.”

“Oh, Mom! Do you think he would? He wouldn’t have to do it like I do it, just so we aren’t putting a blank piece of paper up there!”

That caused me to rather ruefully think of the year that Deborah was in Bangladesh or some other faraway place, and I had just scrawled, “We Give Thanks” across the top and that was the extent of it. People still signed it, but it lacked something. I decided to see if Certain Man might consider doing the job.

“Hon,” I said the other night, “Beebs doesn’t think she is going to get the wall done before she leaves. Is there any chance that you would consider taking that project on?”

He looked thoughtful and then said, “Yeah, I might be able to do that. At least, I could try! It won’t be as good as hers, but I could probably get something up there.”

I bought the brown paper that we always use and last evening he got started. He first penciled in the words on an angle. They were words that we’ve never used before on our Thankful Wall, and my heart gave a lurch when I saw what his choice was:

“With Grateful Hearts . . .”

I looked at those words and thought about hearing them sung by a choir made up of my cousins at the funeral of our beloved sister in law, Frieda:

“If on a quiet sea, towards Heaven we calmly sail
With Grateful Hearts, oh God, to Thee, we’ll own the favoring gale.
With Grateful Hearts, oh God, to Thee, we’ll own the favoring gale.”

They have been so forcefully branded on my heart and brain. Almost every Yoder relative that we’ve buried in the last ten years has had that sung at their funeral. It started with my Grandpa Dave fifty-eight years ago, and when it has been possible and asked for by the family, those of the cousins (and sometimes uncles) who can, usually seem honored to help sing in the cousins choir. I think there were somewhere close to 30 family members who sang on Sunday at the memorial service. I did not. I could not. I cannot even sing that song in church without crying, and I knew I would be in no position to sing in front of a crowd of almost 400. I opted to stay in my seat. It was good I did. My husband’s strong arm held me close, his tears mingling with mine as I sobbed in the seat beside him while my cousins sang.

And now, he chose a phrase from that song for the Thankful Wall this year. “With Grateful Hearts . . .” It settled into my heart and felt so appropriate. That is what I need to do in this present storm. Own the gale with a grateful heart and believe that it will be a “favoring” one. The truth is, I DO believe that this storm will somehow accomplish purposes that wouldn’t have been brought to fruition otherwise, and I do believe that somewhere, Frieda knows and is pleased. More importantly, our Heaven Father knows. He has a plan. May He be pleased.

Certain Man let the paper lie on the kitchen table overnight while he mulled about the picture that he hoped to put up in the corner. Tonight he grabbed the pencils and finished it up, checked to make sure it fit properly and securely fastened it into place. It is done. Ready for the first signatures. So drop by and fill it up. The beauty of this wall is always the individual praises, written in many colors for such a diversity of people.

My heart gives such grateful praise.

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November 4, 2014 · 1:45 am

Das Alte Seese Grumvalda (That old sweet potato)

Middle Daughter brought home a couple of sweet potatoes last Thanksgiving or Christmas. I let them lie on my kitchen cupboard for a very long time. Months, in fact. Several times I asked her what she was planning for them, but the answers were vague — something about sweet potato fries. And mumblings about looking up a special recipe. Certain Man said that she didn’t have to worry about him taking them when she wasn’t looking. He was convinced that he didn’t like sweet potatoes.

So the months went by. (Yes, MONTHS) And then the largest of the sweet potatoes showed signs of life. Little sprouts started to appear and it shriveled up and looked pitiful. One day, when one of my outside planters was looking rather bare, I gathered it up, dug a quick hole in the planter and put it in. Didn’t ask, didn’t tell until some time later when a gorgeous vine had started to spring forth. There was more relief than anything else on the part of Middle Daughter. She was tired of looking at them, and tired of me asking her to do something with them.

For several months, I’ve watched and watered and fertilized and envisioned what might be going on in that big brown planter. I planted some mums in there to give some color and they are blooming for the second time. Several times I asked people if they thought it might be producing a crop of sweet potatoes down there. I was especially interested because we have discovered that Certain Man is not as adverse to them as he thought he was. I kept waiting and waiting and over the last week, the vine looked like it was wilting. I was so excited. I was thinking there could be so many sweet potatoes in there that there wasn’t hardly enough room for them all. I was sure they would be a few in there as big as my hand, and they would be smooth and sweet and wonderful.

Tonight was the night that Middle Daughter left for her next big adventure. As she was pulling out of the driveway (on her way to Youngest Son’s house, then to the airport, then to Miami where she meets her Aunt Lena, then on to Buenos Aires , then on to ANTARCTICA!!!) she paused when she saw that I was beginning to dig into the brown planter.

“Oh, Mom,” she said, “I was hoping that you would dig that up I want to see!”
I pulled up the plant. Nothing on the end of it that was remarkable.

“There’s nothing there,” intoned Certain Man, also watching with great interest.

“I’m pretty sure there is,” I insisted, and began to dig deep into the soft dirt. Sure enough, I came up with one that was about a quarter of the size I was hoping for. I dug deeper and deeper, came up with a few more puny ones and that was it.

I don’t expect that they will make much of anything too pretentious for a company dinner. I think they will taste good, but there just isn’t enough of them.

Next year, I just might see if Certain Man will plant a few in the garden. If we could do this good by accident, just think what we might do on purpose.

And that is the news from Shady Acres where Middle Daughter has gone off on her excursion without doing our Thankful Wall, where Certain Man is working on it while we speak, and this Delaware Grammy is so grateful for the blessings of this time and this place.

My heart gives grateful praise.

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November 1, 2014 · 2:21 am

Frieda’s Obituary

WAGENER, SC – FRIEDA ANN (MISHLER) YODER was born on April 4, 1951 in Sarasota, FL to John and Dema (Chupp) Mishler. On October 28, 2014, she went quietly and peacefully into the presence of Jesus whom she loved with a focused intensity. Frieda was the embodiment of fire and grace and she lived her life with integrity, enjoying the moments deeply while keeping an eye on the eternal. Dedicated to her family, she also took time for a myriad of people; friends as well as strangers. Her passing, though glorious for her, is an inestimable loss to us all.

Shortly after her marriage in 1970, she moved with her husband to El Dorado, Arkansas. It was there, in 1971 that she obtained her LPN training at Oil Belt Vocational School and worked most of her adult life in home health care. She was a loving and resourceful caregiver, unafraid of getting involved in the lives of the people for whom she cared.

Frieda and Clint lived in Arkansas for short periods of time on two separate occasions before settling in Delaware in 1976. There, Frieda served as a pastor’s wife, first at Cannon Mennonite Church for 28 years, then at Tressler Mennonite Church for two more years before she and Clint moved to South Carolina in October of 2011. As a young girl, she spent six years of her life in the hills of Kentucky, and the people there and her memories gave her a deep love for the south. She loved the people, the culture and the beauty that is so common to the area that she and Clint have called home for the last three years. There, closer to her children and their families, she lived out her most treasured role, that of being “Mimi” to her four beloved grandchildren, Juliana and Steven Egge and Hannah and Clinty Yoder.

She is survived by her loving husband, Clinton Yoder, Wagener, SC; her daughter, Shana (Doug) Egge, of Pacolet, SC; her son, Clinton (Susan) Yoder, of Lexington, SC and the four grandchildren. Also surviving are her parents, John and Dema Mishler, of Greenwood, DE; two sisters, Fern Elaine (Duane) Miller and Elvida (Curtis) Yoder, both of Milford, DE; five nieces and two nephews. She will also be deeply missed by Clinton’s family.

Frieda came to know Jesus as her personal Savior as a young girl. Currently, she was a member of Dayspring Community Church in Salley, SC. She and Clint also have had a lot of interaction with the New Holland Mennonite Church, in New Holland, SC, where there will be calling hours Thursday evening from six until eight o’clock. There will also be calling hours in Delaware at Greenwood Mennonite Church Saturday evening from six until half past eight o’clock. There will be a private burial at Greenwood Mennonite Church Cemetery in Greenwood, DE, followed by a public service Sunday afternoon at three o’clock at Greenwood Mennonite School.

In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be directed to New Holland Mennonite School, 2539 Old 96 Indian Trail, Batesburg, SC 29006.

SHELLHOUSE – RIVERS FUNERAL HOME, 715 EAST PINE LOG RD, AIKEN, SC

Please visit the online guestbook at http://www.shellhouseriversfuneralhome.com