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First Day of Marketing

So tonight Eldest Daughter and Beloved Son in Law got a whole lot of books ready for shipping tomorrow.  I wanted to help.  I wanted to write the addresses.  I wanted to rejoice over every single order.  I wanted to laugh and exclaim and do all sorts of celebrating.

But I couldn’t.

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I was too busy immersing my left hand into a two gallon pitcher of ice water.

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You see, on this gloriously happy day, I steamed more than grapes.

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My trusty steamer betrayed me and sprayed scalding juice on my left hand, seriously burning my index finger.
(There are actually other blisters that aren’t visible here.  This is the impressive one.)

It’s been really painful, but it is now almost five hours later and I think I just might live.

The laundry is done, but my kitchen is a disaster.

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(It looks pretty bad, I know, but it would look even worse if it weren’t for the faithful ministrations of Eldest Daughter who took care of seriously necessary things and helped in a dozen integral ways (I love you, Christina!) and Beloved Son in Law who helped fill some of the jars with juice when I couldn’t think straight for the pain.  Besides, If I just go in there and close some cupboard doors and load the dishwasher and put some pans in to soak, it will look even more better!

Tomorrow is another day.  I have so much to be grateful for tonight.  I have my van back and it is beautiful and it is running.  Youngest Daughter made her trip to Cedarville, Ohio with many delays but no accident, though she saw such along the way.  The washer and dryer worked faithfully and well, and the laundry is pretty much done except for folding towels — which Middle Daughter always does for me.

And so, even though I can scarcely bend this finger, and even though I may have trouble getting to sleep tonight, I will count my blessings and smile when I try to sleep, and pray when I can’t.

I love you all out there who have come, called, e-mailed and messaged me to get a copy of the book on this first marketing day.  It really, really surprises me — and humbles me, and makes me glad that I listened to Beloved Son in Law and ordered more than a hundred for our first run.  I Love you, Jesse.  THANKS.

And Lord Jesus, Master of the Wind, Maker of the Waves, and Blessed Controller of All Things, I love you, too. My heart gives grateful praise.

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So you think you want a book?

My book is ready to sell.  

If you want one, you can email us at  cmwstories@gmail.com or call 302-422-5952 (My phone) or 302-382-6170 (Christina’s phone) and we’ll either mail one out or set one aside for you.  

The cost is $14.00 each if you get it this weekend at the Anniversary Celebration or pick it up at our house.

 If you want it mailed, shipping and handling is 2.50 for the first book and if you order more than one, each additional one is an extra .50 for shipping.  

You are welcome to pick them up at my house.  Or you can order and we will mail and invoice once we have your address and order.

Eldest Daughter is my partner in this sales endeavor, so it is fine to contact either of us.  

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Sunday Musings

I always thought that my Daddy would live a long, long time.  I thought he would be one of these wizened old men, running around, working and gardening and visiting and traveling.  I thought that he would continue to have things to say for our church and that he would be a wellspring of counsel and encouragement to people in general, his family in particular.

I don’t know why he had to die at 76.  Maybe it was the exposure to the insecticides and pesticides that he used on the farm that turned his skin yellow in the summer breezes when he sprayed his fields.  They didn’t have the restrictions and warnings and even the protection then that they do now.  He didn’t like to farm.  The work was hard and so often things were unpredictable in the un-irrigated acres that were Fair Hope Farm.  I suspect that he welcomed the chemicals that seemed to make life easier.  It’s hard to farm with a two bottom plow and a two row cultivator.  It was far easier than the horses that his Papa used to work the same fields through the Great Depression and the decades following, but the work was non-stop and even with the “modern conveniences” it was a grind.

When Daddy went to work at the Country Rest Home in the early 70’s, he was still a young man in his early 40’s.  As a family, we were uncertain as to how this would work out and we actually tried to talk him out of it.  He said that he would follow our wishes, but we knew that he desperately wanted something different than the farm.  In the end, Daddy did what he wanted to do.  (As he usually did!)  There were challenges there, and he wasn’t always happy, but he had a dream, and he held on and he expanded his life beyond the confines of his business and he did well.  Not only with the vision that made the Country Rest Home what it is today, but in things that involved relationships, church planting, people business and especially his six children, their spouses and his 27 grandchildren.  He lived to see eight of those grandchildren married, and to hold some of his great grandchildren.

Yesterday, as I was contemplating where my life is now, and the fact that I have a book that we are ready to market, that Daniel and I are ready to celebrate 40 years together, the offspringin’s are coming home, and I turn 60 in two short months –it seemed like my mind is unable to shake thoughts of my Daddy.

What would he think?

What would he say?

Would he be proud of his girl?

He was such an encourager, and he often gave me reason to think thoughts way bigger than myself.  I think he would be pleased.  He wouldn’t know quite what to think about some of the stories.  He would be surprised to find himself in some.

I don’t know what he would say, or think or do.

But I wish I did.

I wish I did.

I just never thought that one of the by products of this dream come true would be fresh grief over a loss that is 2799 days old.

Can he really be so long gone?

It feels so new.

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Ordinary Days with a twist of God . . .

Thursday morning started entirely too soon.  On Wednesday night, we had gathered at our country church to clean.  There were helping hands and willing hearts and we moved a BUNCH of dirt.  We’ve been in the process of remodeling and painting, moving church benches around, getting rid of a large number of benches (does anybody want some, cheap?) and the basement really needed attention.  When this illustrious event happened to fall on the fourteenth of August, the wife of Certain Man thought it well pleasing to celebrate Certain Man’s 60th birthday.  (What with it actually being the exact day.)  So there were people called, a cake arranged for, and other refreshments planned and when the work was mostly done, friends helped to celebrate.

But the hour got late, and CMW needed to stop by the store on the way home to buy some sausage.  Certain Man’s office had planned a breakfast and he had promised to bring sausage gravy.  By the time CMW got to bed that night it was quite late, indeed.  And then, come morning, it was “up and at’m” pretty early so that the gravy could be finished before Certain Man left for work at seven.

Everything got accomplished in fairly good timing. Cecilia and Nettie got on their buses, and CMW was getting on with her day, when she remembered something important.  Nettie’s wallet.

CMW carries two wallets in her pocketbook that belong to the individuals who make their home at Shady Acres. Cecilia’s is white.  Nettie’s is an electric purple.  They are the modern hard cased, hard to open things that contain the many cards and identification items that CMW needs for them from time to time.  They are probably the most important item in the lives of these two ladies because it holds their access to health care, savings accounts and family information.  CMW never treats them lightly.

However, on Tuesday night while CMW was taking friend Torre for some items for school, she had stopped at the bank to withdraw some much needed funds for Nettie just before taking Torre home.  CMW had enjoyed a great time with Torre, and the buys they had found were beyond good (actually, incredible!) but the hour was quite late.  CMW told stories about ATM’s and people coming out of the bushes when Certain Man was depositing the church’s offerings, and there was much exclaiming and shivering while CMW searched frantically through her purse, trying to find Nettie’s wallet.  She finally discovered that it had slipped through a rip that was behind a zippered compartment in her purse and was floating around in the darkness beneath the lining.  Once she found it, there was a hasty withdrawal, and a stuffing of receipt and money into the wallet, and the two gals headed home.  It was 10:15 until Torre was home and her mom talked to and then CMW headed home.

Some time during the day on Wednesday, while CMW was out and about with her Sweet Mama, she realized that Nettie’s wallet was missing again.

“It probably slid down through that rip again,” thought CMW.  “I really need to do something about fixing that.”  And she put it towards the back of her mind.  But then she would think about it and wonder if it really was there.  She made a few perfunctory passes through the purse and didn’t see it, but her purse is notoriously unorganized and so she thought she just must be missing it somehow.  She finally decided that she really needed to look for it in earnest.  That would have been Thursday morning. In her (ahem!) spare time.

The thing was, it was the last day for Youngest Daughter to have the three kids that have been part of her summer job.  They were heading out for some fun things to do.  CMW was hoping to take her rental van home that morning because she was sick of it.  Well, actually, sick of paying for it and homesick for her own van that was to be finished by Friday. There were deposits that needed to go to two different banks and several canning and household chores clamoring for attention.  And the man at Enterprise said the van needed to be back by 11 o’clock to avoid being charged for another day.

But then she remembered that she hadn’t found Nettie’s wallet yet and it just might (probably was!) somewhere in that van.  She had to find that wallet before she took the van back.  So she first dumped all the contents of her purse out on the counter and methodically went through them.  This was an exercise in futility.  There was no bright purple wallet. Not even slipped down under the lining.  Then she went out and went through the van.  She carefully looked and looked.  Nothing.

She came back into the house and spoke sad words with Youngest Daughter.

“Boy, Mom,” said Youngest Daughter sympathetically, “you’ve not been having the best of times with your ladies the last few weeks, have you?”

CMW murmured assent, but thought ruefully that she hadn’t been having the best of times with a number of integral parts of her life the last few weeks.  And grumbling didn’t help.  She went back out to the van and looked again, including places that just weren’t likely.  Then she came in and called Sweet Mama.

“Mama, is there any chance that I inadvertently dropped Nettie’s wallet into your pocket book yesterday when we were in Lewes? ”  she asked hopefully.

“I don’t know,” said Sweet Mama, “let me look.”  She returned to the phone with another negative answer.

“Do you remember seeing it?”

“No.  Not at all,” replied Sweet Mama.  “It is something I think I would have noticed because it is so unusual.  I don’t recall seeing it all day.”

CMW returned to the van and looked some more.  The situation was looking more and more hopeless to her.  How in the world would she ever recreate all the information that was in there?  And since the medication error of a few weeks ago, she has tried really, really hard not to draw any attention to herself in any way whatsoever when it came to her ladies and the State of Delaware.  There was over a hundred dollars in there, too, as well as two very important receipts.  She had been murmuring some desperate prayers as she muddled about, but it was time for some serious praying.  So pray, she did!

The one thing that kept nagging at the back of her mind was whether it had maybe fallen out on the back alley at Torre’s house.  She knew that Torre would never have taken it, but since she hadn’t seen it since that night, she began to wonder if she may have dropped it somehow when she and Torre were unloading the car.  However, the last thing she wanted Torre to think was that she was suspecting her.  The dilemma about whether or not to call Torre waged for quite a while, but as the morning passed, she decided that she should at least check and see.

“No,” said a surprised Torre, “I didn’t see anything out there on the drive at all.”  I wasn’t surprised.  That alley is a pretty busy place and if a brilliant purple wallet had been lying there, it would have been eye catching.  CMW began to resign herself to the fact that it was gone for good.

Unknown to her, Youngest Daughter was busily entreating Heaven on behalf of her troubled mama.  CMW noticed that she was unusually busy around the kitchen and unusually quiet, but was too besot with her own troubles to wonder.

And then CMW decided to look through the van one more time.  It seemed futile, because she had opened every compartment, looked under every seat, opened every door and snooped through places she didn’t even know were there.  She had cleaned out all the trash in preparation for returning the rented vehicle, and collected all the things that had accumulated over the course of the nine days that the family had the vehicle.  There really was no where else to look, but an almost compelling force drew her back out.  Discouraged, she opened the door, and there, right on the passenger seat lay the familiar purple wallet.

To say that there was great astonishment would be an understatement.  To say that there was great rejoicing would also be an understatement.

Dancing on a garage floor,
Hands raised to my Father.
Tears of relief.
Giddy with grateful joy.

Mystery of mysteries.
How could this be so?

I do not know why
The God of the Universe
Concerns Himself with me —
Careless, unobservant, and human.

I don’t know why.

But this I know.
A miracle came today
Out of the blue
In the color of purple.

And my heart gives Grateful Praise.

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My Book is Printed . . .

book front cover      Book Back

We are still working on the marketing strategy and have a few things that need ironed out —

But I held the very first copy in my hands this afternoon and still cannot believe it is real.

There are mistakes, as I’ve already found.  But I expected that.

I will be posting how to get one once the big order gets here and I know a little more what I am doing.

Whew!

Now I need to come back down from my “high” and go clean my refrigerator.

And steam some grapes for juice.

And blanch some lima beans for freezing.

And cook some tomatoes for pizza sauce.

How’s that for a dose of reality on this Glorious Delaware Afternoon?

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August 5, 2013 · 10:16 pm

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Love Bug had a big day.  Blue Play Doh (Who’da thunk that Grammy could make play doh???) and weeding in the garden with Grandpa.  Riding the Golf cart and cutting and pasting and coloring.  Watching the movie “Madeline” for the first time, and “Milo and Otis” twice in one weekend.  Taking a bath and making a glorious mess with the colors for the bath and the tablets to make the water a funny color.  A story and a prayer and the songs from Mommy’s childhood, “You’re Something Special” and “Jesus, I heard you had a Big House” and “Good-night, My Father, Put Thoughts of Jesus in My Head.” Torre, here to spend the night, listened from her mattress on the floor, while Grammy prayed that the words would sink into her hungry heart and take root.  Love Bug was asleep before the last song was done, and Torre turned her light out soon.  Two girlies, both so precious.

Oh, Lord Jesus.  “Put Angels all around all our beds.”

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Children of the Heavenly Father

When our family got together for our reunion about a month ago, it was the first time I was even remotely aware that our nephew’s six month old daughter, Ariel, was possibly affected by SMA,(Spinal Muscular Atrophy) a genetic disorder that, in infants, is usually fatal within the first year.  I’ve watched the faith journey of Jeremy and Cheryl in the years since they began their relationship, and have come to realize that God has chosen to do extraordinary works of Grace in their hearts and lives.  They have yielded to Him in ways that speak of unusual trust in a God who makes no mistakes, but is always leading them on adventures that are challenging, scary to contemplate and volatile in nature.  And it seems to happen with such consistent regularity that it cannot be a coincidence.

It was with a heavy heart that I realized that this much desired, greatly loved and precious daughter of a much loved nephew and his incredible wife was in need of a miracle.  “A miracle of such magnitude,” I thought, but was immediately corrected in my spirit.  A miracle is by definition always “of magnitude” or it isn’t a miracle.  My thoughts were scrambling over themselves as I thought about this young family and their unwavering commitment to believe God for what seems (and is, by human standards) impossible. I decided that I would also pray for that miracle for Ariel.  And that when I pray for her by name, specifically, I would also pray for Jeremy and Cheryl, and Max and Boaz, Ariel’s devoted brothers.
I shed some hot tears that evening after the reunion, and that feeling of heaviness, that something just wasn’t right woke me and followed my steps in the morning.  I got my ladies ready for church, prepared lunch for family members who were passing through, and went to church.  Our talented and animated song leader, Abi, was in charge of the singing for worship that morning and she did her usual exceptional job.  We sang through several hymns, and then she announced #335 in the Mennonite Hymnal.  I flipped the pages and read the title.  “Children of the Heavenly Father”

My heart caught in my throat.  “What an appropriate song,” I thought, “for little Ariel. How like The Father to lead Abi to lead this song this morning.”

Children of the Heavenly Father
Safely in His bosom gather.

Suddenly, it was like the Spirit of the Lord spoke to my heart and said, “This song isn’t for Ariel.  It’s all about Jeremy and Cheryl.”  I began to listen more closely to the words.

Nestling bird nor star in Heaven
Such a refuge e’re was given

I suddenly got at picture of this young couple, gathered close to God’s heart as the storm raged around them. It was an incredibly safe place, and a refuge that was theirs alone.

We began the second verse:

Neither life not death shall ever
From the Lord His children sever —

The tears began to prickle behind my eyelids, and the words stuck in my throat.

Unto them, His Grace He showeth,
And their sorrows all He knoweth.

Although my voice was clouded and I could not sing, my heart was singing.  God is showing and will never stop showing and giving Grace.  And He knows their sorrows, and their sorrows that have become ours as a family.  “He knows!  He knows!  He knows!”  The words permeated my heart.

Our congregation moved quietly and reverently into the third verse.

Though He giveth, or He taketh
God His children ne’er forsaketh

Precious promise!  They (and those who love them) will never be forsaken.  I knew this in my head, but on this uncertain day, my heart needed to catch up.

His the loving purpose solely
To preserve them, pure and holy.

The tears were more than prickling now.  Coursing down my cheeks, but with no angst, no bitterness.  I bowed my heart before the Sovereign Lord.

I will continue to pray for the miracle.  I know that God does the impossible.  But the thing that is clear to me is that God is working in the lives of this young couple (and in our lives as a family) in ways that go far beyond the here and now.

Ariel’s family rejoices over her.  They celebrate who she is and what God is going to do through her.

This story is far from finished.

God is to be trusted.

My heart gives grateful praise.

Cheryl and Ariel

 

Ariel Joy Yoder and Her Mommy, Cheryl Heatwole Yoder

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Delaware Grammy steps out

ImageI am attempting to familiarize myself with a new blog system.  

To say that this is out of my comfort zone is more than a little understated.

However.  I have come to realize that I need to start somewhere, so I guess that this will be that start.  I really need to work at it, but it is summer time and life is crazy.

Welcome to Buckeyegirlie’s new blog site, DelawareGrammy.  The new name is a better fit, for both location and life stage.  I hope that we will share many happy moments here together.

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I’m stepping out . . .

I have started a new blog site:

https://maryannyutzy.wordpress.com

My user name is DelawareGrammy.  

(Which, to be honest, fits me far better than “Buckeyegirlie.”  I am hopeful that my new name might weed out a certain segment of society that I never considered when I took that name, whose attentions I am not seeking. . . but who persist with a tenacity that I wish they would use to seek Jesus!)

 

I don’t know if it will become my favorite or not — but I will admit to trepidation, anxiety and loyalty issues.

 

Feel free to visit me there and let me know what you think.  

 

It is by no means finished, but the evolution of this site will take some time.

Thank-you, dear friends, who have blessed me so often over these happy years with Xanga.  I’m not going away.  And for now, at least, I will try to post on both sites.  I suspect the time will shortly come when that will fall by the wayside.  Maybe more by the choices of the owners of this site than mine, but we shall see.

Happy Tuesday to you!

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