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(I have several posts that didn’t get published before we left on a quick trip to Ohio. This was written a week ago – and isn’t exactly edited like I would like, but I do want to get it out because I have another story about a toothpick and a visit to Urgent Care!)

It’s been a rather tough week for this Delaware Grammy.  In addition to looking like a zombie, I have this chest cold that causes me to cough and cough.  Apparently, I pulled a muscle or dislocated a rib when I fell.  In case you didn’t know, these two maladies do not mix well.  There have been days when I’ve been clutching my side, stifling the cough and wishing for a rib belt or a girdle or something!  I’m not sure it would help, but at least I would be doing something.  Thankfully, the protest is subsiding somewhat, but the cough continues.

There has been grief this week.  Around 1980, a family came to our church in Plain City.  They lived at Dayton, Ohio at the time, and Certain Man and I decided that, rather than have them trek the 60 miles back after church and then miss the evening service, they could crash at our house and if they decided that they wanted to attend the evening service, they more easily could. Paul and Catherine Mast had four children: Iris was 8, Rosie was 6, Cathy was 4, and P.J. was 2, and many were the Sunday afternoons that our children played together. We moved away in 1983, but I watched from afar as Iris married the handsome young man we knew as Archie (Arthur Lyndaker) and they moved to Red Lake, Ontario, Canada where Arthur headed up the AquaChink Wilderness training camp, and Iris helped out wherever she could. She and Arthur had five children, and then several years ago, she was diagnosed with cancer.  She fought valiantly and there was a time when, looking on from a distance, it appeared that she had won.  But we all know the insidious nature of this disease, and it returned with a vengeance.  Last week, Iris went home to be with Jesus.  Cancer claimed another body, but her indomitable spirit is with her Savior.  I promise you, she is there, whole and more alive than she has ever been.  But she was only 50.  A beloved wife, daughter, mother, sister, grandma. The Promises are veritable, but right now the loss seems too hard . . . and it’s not even mine to claim!

https://youtu.be/I3OzDBviY-Q?si=PMNR2egeAd22CPb8

We’ve had heartbreak in our out of state family this week.  The story isn’t mine to tell, but the hurt sits heavy on my heart with an impact that exceeds the bump on my head and the wrench to my side. “Surely He hath borne our grief and carried our sorrow . . .”  This, I believe, This, I claim!  For broken dreams, for reversal, for loss, and for decisions made by people I love that have drastic consequences, for family members whose health is compromised through no fault of their own, for surgery on an 11 year old knee, for the prospect of treatment for Ellie’s leg involving lots of discomfort,  for fractured marriages and neighbors who grieve.

It’s been more than a bit difficult to live in grateful praise.  I’ve not given up, but I’ve had to do some searching.  

This past Sunday, (Today’s edit, this would have been September 3rd) as I came out from the Sunday School classroom where I had stopped briefly on my way in, I found a bag on my bench and the familiar writing on the card that is my cousin, Donna’s cheerful trademark.  Donna sees to it that the sick and afflicted, the mourners and those who rejoice with new love and new life, all get the most appropriate and creative cards and gifts.

I couldn’t wait to see what the bag held! Listen you people!  Donna did a fantastic job of choosing!  She knows me pretty well, so I know she pulled from that knowledge to get me what she did, but this hurting heart was instantly feeling better.        

Not only are these some of my favorite things, there was another hurt ministered to that Donna had no way of knowing about . . .

On July 4^th, through hot and voluminous tears, I had written this to Daniel’s late sister, Lena-

“I broke your cup. It was one of my favorites. My mama always said not to cry over spilt milk. And I’ve made a practice of not grieving over things, but this was the one thing I had of yours that I used almost every day. And I almost never took it off its hook without thinking about a sister-in-law who was beyond special. I miss you so much in these hot summer days that you loved so well. The other day I sliced the first round ripe tomato from our garden for your brother’s scrambled egg sandwich and I wished I could’ve shared it with you. I have made gallons upon gallons of sweet garden tea this year, and I never strip tea leaves and mix up this tea without thinking of our Lena girl who loved garden tea with a passion. Our neighbor cut their hay the other week and the smell wafted over Shady Acres and I remember you driving the tractor for Daniel to get the hay in.  The smell of the hay brought those short memories back in ways I could not shake. I’m as committed as I’ve ever been to the fact that our Heavenly Father is the blessed controller of all things, but I still wish you wouldn’t have had to leave so soon . You are forever in our hearts and memories and often in our words as we say things that you would say. We never play a game of Shanghai without recalling your aggressive desire to win. It was one of the places where you really would cut off your nose to spite your face. Thank you for the gift that you’ve given us in so many happy memories that bring laughter and warmth to our days. It’s been three years, but I still sometimes still have to stop and remember that you’re not just off on one of your jaunts. It just seems like maybe , you’ll come in the door with your stuff, and all will be right again.”

But it won’t happen, and I cannot rely on that to set things right again. The memories will linger, as unpredictable as Lena herself, and if, on a hot summer day, I find her lingering in the corners of my heart, I will be glad. She loved us so well . . . and I am grateful.


     

Well.

Yesterday didn’t quite turn out the way I had planned!

We had gone over to the Dorchester County Visitor’s Center in Cambridge, Maryland, which is on the Choptank River, feeding into the Chesapeake Bay. We spent about a half an hour in the center, talking to the two delightful ladies at the desk, and had gotten information, maps, and uploaded a audio for the Harriet Tubman self driven tour.

The water was so beautiful, and the weather was so pleasant, so we decided to walk down to take a look at the water and the shoreline before we started the tour. It was a downhill boardwalk and we were just walking along, holding hands, laughing and talking, when just that fast I was flat on my face. Here there was a board that had warped up about an inch, with a nail, sticking up approximately eight inches in from the edge of the boardwalk and somehow my foot caught it and I suppose since we were going downhill, the force just put me flat down. I had no time to even think! It was like one minute we were happily walking along, and a millisecond later, I was flat on my face! I was immediately aware of a really sharp pain in my right side, just above my hip and a very bad bump on my head but my first thought was one of extreme disappointment and sadness. Intuitively, I knew that our golden day was going to be cut short.

“Lord Jesus,” I prayed silently through the tears that sprang violently to my eyes, “I’m in desperate need of grace!”

There was none of the usual, immediate jumping to my feet to see who was watching. I lay there, hurting, and feeling like something must certainly be broke. There was no blood, and I could move all my extremities, but there was a serious goose egg rising on my right eyebrow, although my glasses and my nose were unscathed. There was a kind man who came running over from the playground where he was playing with his son, and he and Daniel helped me get up. He was most concerned and kind. When we deduced that I could, in fact, walk, he quietly returned to his son, and Daniel helped me to the car.

(It happened on the partly hidden walkway that goes about through the middle of the picture, towards the right side! I know they were planning to fix it because there was some orange paint on the grass, but I never saw it, and besides, it wasn’t very noticeable)!

The first order of business was to get ice We found a ziploc plastic bag in the console of the minivan and Daniel drove around the corner to a gas station and got ice for the throbbing goose egg on my forehead. We debated about what we should do. I was feeling so miserable, but I really wanted to go on the tour. Certain Man was gentle in his advice and we decided to come home. So I sat in my chair with an ice pack off and on for the rest of the day, trying to keep from getting too black and blue (which may have worked better than I think, but I’m not impressed). I told Daniel this afternoon that I wish I could find a hole that I could crawl into and stay there! But anyhow!

I consulted with Deborah concerning the pain in my side and we think it is probably just a pulled keloid or adhesion or something like that. We are going to watch it just to make sure nothing else develops but I think it’ll be okay. It is much better this morning. (Maybe it has just melted into the “day after” aches and pains and isn’t as noticeable, but I’m sure that it isn’t nearly like it was)! Yesterday, I just wanted to cry, but today I am finding so many things to be grateful about.

Christina and Deborah have been so worried and solicitous, and Daniel has been so kind and helpful, even though I know he is disappointed, too. Yesterday was a day we decided we would finally use to maybe make something good out of a week that has gone so wrong. Our chickens went out, Daniel took the week off and we were planning a “Staycation” for the whole week. We had hoped to do any of a number of fun things locally, but I got sick with a bad chest cold so we’ve just stayed home. I felt better yesterday morning, so we decided to go. It was such a beautiful day and we were having such a lovely, happy time. We were both looking forward to the tour. But I guess it wasn’t to be.

Guess what! God didn’t make me fall on that old boardwalk stretch, however He wasn’t surprised (but I sure was)! And Grace was freely given to me, through kind words and helping hands and sympathetic murmurs, and the sweet, sweet comfort of the Holy Spirit.

So, Yes! There are many reasons for my heart to give grateful praise.

“I may not cry!” I tell myself, fiercely.

I help my adult daughter with her shower and see where the surgeon’s knife has cut into the beautiful skin of my child, and my heart aches.  I want to cry out against the violation of this body, fruit of my body, but I swallow back the outcry and hold the drains while she pats the area dry.  Her face is downward, as she carefully pats the myriad of stitches, making their double tracks across her chest, now flat as a man’s, and I catch a glimpse of her lips, pursed tight against the pain, and then I hear her muffled sobs, and I feel as if my heart is breaking.

“Lord Jesus! Have Mercy!”

Then with the resolve, a quiet calm comes into my heart as I feel the gentle presence of My Heavenly Father, and I do not cry.  Not then. I try to speak quiet words of comfort that feel like they fall short, but she hears, and she regains composure, and we finish the task.  She is finally back into the dressings, into her clothes, her hair and body clean once more.  It is a triumph of no small import, and this girlie is a warrior.  She’s wounded, but she is not defeated. 

Late Monday night, Christina, our oldest daughter, took Deborah to the emergency room to check out a pain in her leg that felt reminiscent of the postoperative thrombosis that she had a year ago. She hated to go, but she also knew that blood clots are sneaky and deadly, and something just wasn’t right.  Thankfully, she was clear (but this Mama didn’t sleep until the news was in).  Yesterday was much better, and I’ve been pondering this whole journey because even though it is primarily hers, it belongs to all of us.  It feels like she’s been stripped of parts so vital to who she is as a woman.  And then, this morning as I motored about in her kitchen, her old ipod was playing on a shuffle and the song came on, “Complete in Him.”  I listened to the music and remembered again that this adult child of mine is so much more than what has been taken from her.  Her soul is intact.

Most of you know that I’m a firm believer in having a grateful heart. It truly has made a monumental difference in my life over the almost seven decades that I’ve been privileged to enjoy. But the last few months have been a challenge for me as I’ve watched the 16 other people in my family struggle with so many different things. 

I started to list the things that have set my heart to sadness, but really, it feels like writing them down makes them more real, and frankly, I don’t need any more reality when it comes to the challenges of my family.  The truth is, along with all the reversals, pain and loss, we have more than enough things for which to be thankful! Looking at the flip side of all the things going on, if I look closely enough, I can find ample reason to praise. Even more than that, in this current “dark night of my soul,” my Heavenly Father has given several specific answers to some desperate fervent prayers, sent unexpected words of encouragement, allowed me to find comfort in unexpected places, and provided meaningful contact with beloved family members and friends.  I know who holds tomorrow and while that is comforting, I also know who holds today, and that is not only comforting, but enabling, quieting, and gives me peace.

And yes!  My heart chooses the sacrifice of grateful praise.

The chair looked so familiar.  How many times over the years had I gone into a room like this with My Sweet Mama and she was the one on this chair?  I would get to sit on one of the small chairs by the side.  This time I was in that chair.  The side chairs were empty.  I felt sad.  Memories of her were crashing around my heart as I waited.  Eight years ago we were waiting and watching as our indomitable mother lived her last weeks on earth.  I looked down at my feet.  The veins and the bumps and the shape of my own wide feet were so reminiscent of hers.  And the pain.

The door opened, and Mama’s beloved Dr. O came in with his usual smile.  We had many encounters in a room like this over the years, and he felt like an old friend.  “It’s good to see you,” he said.  “What brings you here?”

I look down at those offending appendages and say ruefully, “Well, Dr. O, I’m afraid I inherited my Mama’s feet.”

The X-rays had already been taken, and he casually went over to look at them while talking about one of his favorite patients. “Your Mom was amazing,” he said.  “I could hardly believe how she kept going with the way her feet were . . .” his voice trailed off and then he spoke of how long she has been gone, and marveled over the length of time it had been, and talked about a number of different things, as he studied my offending X-rays before him on the screen. And then he turned abruptly.

“You are absolutely right,” he said.  “You did inherit your Mama’s feet.  They are really bad!”  (yikes!) “And I hate to tell you this, but we cannot fix them  The left one is exceptionally bad, and the right one could possibly be helped by surgery, but probably not because of how damaged the joints are in there.  I wouldn’t even try it, really.  So.  What do you think we should do?”

My heart felt so heavy.  The path my mother had taken was prednisone shots as often as she could get them and a heavy dependence on pain medications.  I had purposed that I would not live as she had and though I did not want surgery, I wanted other options!.

I guess that I knew things were going downhill over the last year.  There was so much to occupy my heart and my hands that demanded much from my feet, and I often didn’t really take time to think about how I was walking or how often I was choosing to grab the golf cart instead of trekking to the chicken house to find Certain Man.  I resented when people alluded to my “limping.”   But what I couldn’t ignore was the comments from the little grands concerning how Grammy was walking.  In the honesty of children, we sometimes can hear what adults aren’t saying. What they said was humorous, but sometimes I would see pictures of myself, and see that there was constraint on my face, or feel so clumsy and disabled in comparison to my peers.

. . . and then there was the very real component of the increasing pain.  Pain and this Delaware Grammy have an adversarial relationship.  I do have an exceptionally high pain tolerance.  (I once had a doctor tell me that because of the high tolerance, I needed to pay better attention to pain because one day I would ignore it too long and it would have serious consequences).  People, listen to me.  I’m not bragging.  There are no heroics here. The strange thing is, I honestly do not feel pain until it’s pretty high on the scale. Those rating numbers? They confuse me.  I have to stop and concentrate to decide if I even have pain unless it’s about an eight. “What is your pain today?” puts my head into a tailspin. 

“Well, maybe I’m not having pain today.  Well, yes, I am. But it’s not too bad.  It was when I was walking, though. I could hardly walk for a bit coming in. But it’s not too bad now!  So maybe that’s a four!  Yes, it’s a four.  I tell them a four.”  And so I would!

“And at the worst?” 

This one was easier for me because there is a level that I reach when I would reluctantly take a stronger pain medication than Ibuprofen and acetaminophens.  About two or three times a week, when things got hard and I needed to do something, or I needed to sleep, I would reach for it.  That was when things were an “eight.”  Sometimes I would be tempted to think “nine” or even “ten” but honey chil’, I’ve been there and this wasn’t that!  Eight keeps you awake at night.  Eight makes you want to sit on your chair during the day.  Eight makes you want to not go away from your house. Eight makes you look at chairs with scrutiny before sitting down in them so that you will be able to get up without making a spectacle of yourself.  Eight was happening entirely too often.  I wasn’t increasing the use of the extra pain medication, but I often wanted to.  And Eight makes me sad.

In these days I often talk to Mama as I contemplate this place to which I have come.  I tell her “I’m so sorry, Mama.  I just didn’t know.  I didn’t understand how pain affects our personality.  I didn’t understand how much you hated the things that could have helped you that felt like an admission of decline.  I didn’t understand why you grasped at so many things to fix it.  And I often felt like you needed to be more active and invested in the lives of the people around you.  I just didn’t know.”

And I think of the physical and soul pain of people I love in my family and beyond, some younger, some older than me.  The losses of loved ones, the inroads of chronic pain and disability associated with mysterious diseases, broken relationships, cancer, aging, and so much more.  I’m suddenly aware that “I just didn’t know.” (But boy, howdy, am I finding out!  Especially that aging bit).

This recalcitrant foot pain?  It can be temporarily treated, but there is no long term fix.  Dr. O put shots in both feet, and they definitely feel better.  I finished my day happily doing some gardening, picking my tea bed, stripping tea leaves for concentrate and getting them steeping for the night.  I took care of correspondence, and then finally went to bed around 11:30.  At almost 2:00 I was suddenly wide awake.  My feet didn’t hurt, but they were hit with what my Grandma Wert would call “the fidgets” (or Restless Leg Syndrome).  Incidentally, my Mama inherited her feet from her Mama.  My Grandma Wert often complained of her feet hurting her.

And I’m still wide awake.  Prednisone, the all-purpose fixer upper does wonderful things for me.  Usually, anyhow.  The effects are rapid, and often last much longer than predicted as far as helping.  The short term is not as pleasant.  I do not understand how a shot in the foot can make me wide awake, have a flushed face, feel hot, and in general disrupt my equilibrium.  I don’t have any anaphylactic reactions, just annoying.  I really want to sleep.  I don’t like getting flushed.  I don’t like getting the “fidgets.”  They make me feel like a four year old that wants to get into something, and I especially don’t like feeling restless.  The symptoms are often less noticeable if I get up and do something.  And so you got this very self-centered post that I wrote between 2:30 and 4:30am.  Now you know.

But there are reasons for grateful praise.  I’m realizing more and more that while this kind of suffering is not “suffering for Jesus,” how I respond to it can be a part of the perfecting of His image in my life.  This “suffering” is because I am part of the Human Race, and life isn’t going to be perfect.  There are sometimes miracles that fix things, and modern medicine has in its hands wonderful solutions to a myriad of problems, once unfixable and terminal.  But there are some things they cannot fix.  And some things God chooses not to fix. My response to this God who suffered for me, loves me even in my questions, and keeps His Promises cannot depend on whether He decides to do what I want, when I want it, how I want it and where.  He is to be trusted, even when my questions don’t have answers.  Someday, if it still matters, I will know why.  But I wonder if, when I’m in the very presence of a Holy God, forgiven, clothed in the righteousness of Jesus, it will matter at all.  I think not.

And so for Grace to figure out how to maneuver this journey, for the love of my husband and family, both immediate and extended, for a church that helps to hold me steady, a neighborhood full of people I love, a world as mesmerizingly beautiful as ours, and even for this moment when I wish I was sleeping, but am not–

My heart gives grateful praise.

There is a house, back a long lane, that is full of memories and love and peace.

I have often said that when I am homesick for my Daddy and my Mama, my husband will take me the thirty some miles to this house and we are received with enthusiasm and joy and love and an acceptance that gives me so much comfort. Infrequently, I will go with my daughters or my sisters, and they are never slighted in the same sort of welcome that gladdens my heart.

Uncle Jesse and Aunt Gladys are the closest people I have to Daddy and Mama. Daddy’s brother married to Mama’s sister. Their personalities are so different from my parents, but the genes are “synced” and the moral fiber is indelibly stamped and my extended family’s memories are intrinsically woven into theirs in ways that have become more meaningful as the years have passed. As in all families, the memories are interpreted through the eyes and hearts of those who live them, so we don’t see everything the same, but there is something so familial about time spent around the table in their home, sharing memories and heartache and laughter and God-thoughts together in ways that, in all honesty, I cannot even completely share with my own offspringin’s. The older I get, the more comfortable I get with the values of the even older generation.

Last week was an unusual week for me. I actually visited with Uncle Jesse and Aunt Gladys four times! Usually I don’t get there more than once a month or even two, but I think my soul needed it. Certain Man and I were up on Palm Sunday because their daughter (and one of my favorite cousins) Shirley Miller and her husband, Maynard, were in for the weekend, and it suited them and us for an afternoon visit. It was one of those soul-satisfying times when pictures and memories and laughter and stories flowed. Uncle Jesse did identification work on an old picture which stirred anecdotes and conjecture and questions that never did have answers.

On Monday and Wednesday and Friday, the opportunities to visit were presented, and at the risk of being a pest, I grabbed the chance to stop. Each time, the welcome was the same. Smiles, hugs, and a joyful reception that warmed my heart that has been inexplicably homesick for Daddy and Mama.

But it was Friday that has been in a holding pattern over my heart. Good Friday. We had worshipped in the darkness of Tenebrae at our church on Thursday evening, and though we had thought to attend the Good Friday service at Greenwood Mennonite Church, we realized we had a conflict. We had scheduled our usual 2-month blood donation for Friday morning at 10:30. We had already delayed it due to a number of reasons, and since there is a current shortage, we opted to keep the appointment. The days we give blood have developed a sort of pattern. We do the blood bank, stop out at Uncle Jesse’s, have lunch somewhere, and we will stop to do a quick shop at Sam’s before heading home. Usually, but not always, in that order. And this day held to its schedule quite well.

After getting done at the blood bank, we headed out to Pleasant Cove to Uncle Jesse’s house. There were no other cars parked outside the house except theirs, indicating that there were no visitors. We walked up the steps into the house and Daniel rang the bell. From inside we heard the cheerful, “Come on in!” that is typical of any arrival at their house. We came into the kitchen, carrying a quart of soup and some custard, and the two of them were sitting at the table. Daniel found a place in the fridge for the things we brought and then we meandered over to the dining room. Usually Aunt Gladys is sitting in her chair at the table and Uncle Jesse sits in his recliner across the room, but on this day, they were both sitting close together at the table. Between them on the table was a devotional book, and on top of it was Uncle Jesse’s magnifying glass. I realized that we had interrupted their morning worship, and I felt immediately like I was on Holy Ground. I thought about the two of them, now both 91. Their years have been full of triumph and joy and adventure and righteous living It has also been full of reversal and loss and disappointment and pain. They know how to forgive and redeem and hope and believe. They know how to love. They know that faith is not the absence of doubt but a choice to trust a God who has promised to never leave them or forsake them.

And so, they still invest in knowing Him better. They choose to sit together and read and listen to words about Him and His Way. They are not “cramming for their finals,” but rather, they are living with the light of Heaven in their eyes, looking for the morning that they know cannot be far away. There is a sudden catch in my throat when I think about them being THERE and me being here. I know there is much to draw them there, and that they want to go. Their bodies are letting them down; there are inconveniences and pain and confinement and even confusion at times. So many things to anticipate about eternal life and Heaven.

But I’m not ready. Yet. I probably never will be. I realize that none of us are here to stay, and the impacting losses will naturally increase as we age, but I don’t really like to think about it. So maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll think about this moment I have to savor. I’ll think about example and lives well lived and take courage for my own journey. I will hold the memories and the people close in my heart and trust that the journey I’m on will also prove the faithfulness of a God who is to be trusted.

For this, and so much more, #MyHeartGivesGratefulPraise.

I didn’t know.

I trusted you, believed in you, and hoped for you. I prayed for you. You were my friend.

Tonight my heart aches. I am so sad.

I had suspicions that something was amiss, stories going awry, projected glory in the vague future, quotes pulled out of thin air, and a victim mentality that troubled me more than once.

I often wondered. But I didn’t know.

Tonight a friendship lies in shambles. I know that you are believing and will believe things that are not true, but I neither can, nor really want to set things straight. It’s never going to add up in your mind to anything except that you’ve been wronged. That is how it always is in the stories of your colorful life. Who was it that made you feel like you needed to pretend to be so much more than you are? Ah, my friend. You can choose to be enough.

There is physical evidence that there have been carelessly constructed stories that you may have made yourself believe, or may have put in place to protect your image, that were not true, and it makes me wonder how much more is true and who you really are.

I do not think I want to know.

I wish you well. I wish you love. I wish you joy. I wish you Truth.

Most of all, I wish you Truth, because it will set you free.

But I’m still sad.

My tears keep brimming over, and yet their only anchor is the person I thought you were. And that person is missing,


Lord Jesus, there is Grace enough. We all need your mercy.

Sunday morning. The music from my radio alarm clock had become a part of my dreams and I had overslept. I came out of the bedroom into the kitchen, thinking I would get a cup of coffee before anything else. My eyes blurry, my feet shuffling, I twirled the lazy Susan in my corner cupboard until I found one of my “pet mugs.” The corner cupboard, for some reason, is a very cold cupboard and I decided to fill my mug with hot water before making coffee so it would stay warm longer. As my black, round mug filled at our Instant Hot, I looked out the kitchen window, over the deck to the yard and on to the bird feeders that Certain Man had filled yesterday. I was suddenly stopped short!

There was a small fiery red flame on the birdfeeder that Certain Man had filled the day before. The sunshine was shining directly on it, and I instantly went to the “somehow the sun has refracted on the Plexiglas and started a fire” part of my brain (that didn’t stop to think that Plexiglas doesn’t do that!) and my blurred vision demanded a second closer look. I blinked really hard and took another look. It really did look like a fire starting on the edge of our bird feeder! About that time, something moved in that flame.

Well. The sun was reflecting brilliantly off the Plexiglas. And a beautiful male cardinal was sitting squarely in the middle of the sunspot at an angle that made it look like a flame. It wasn’t a fire at all. It was a wondrous display of illuminated red glory. It was so impressive that I ran to see if I could capture a picture of it. Of course, although I tried really hard, I couldn’t. No matter how close I brought it, it was all through a glass, darkly, and it just didn’t show the fire.

My heart was suddenly quiet before my Heavenly Father as I thought about all the things in my life right now that really do look and feel like fire. Things that I want to not only endure, but embrace because it’s the way things are right now and I don’t want to miss the lessons. But it’s not easy. (In fact, it’s hard!)

What if?

What if it only looks and feels like a fire, but is really the Son shining off of the commonness of our humanity, transforming it into something miraculously beautiful? What if we could somehow believe that what we are seeing here and now is only an illusion of destruction and is, instead, the Glory of God reflecting off our human experience and expression?

My Cardinal fed at the feeder, gobbling up the sunflower seeds and finally taking flight. I picked up my thoroughly warm cup and made a cup of coffee. Sunday morning. Our church family would be gathering in. I didn’t know it then, but this Sunday morning service would be a litany of stories of God’s Presence in the lives of these people I love dearly. We would go late, and no one would seem to notice. There would be triumphant singing, encouraging teaching, laughter and tears and reminders that there is too much at stake to quietly quit. And the fire in the lives of people I love would reflect the Glory.

What a sweet, sweet Sunday.

My heart gives humble, grateful praise.

Christmas*2022*Shady Acres*7484 Shawnee Road*Milford, DE*19963

Dear Family and Friends,  

The Christmas Story is repeated often in these days leading up to Christmas (at least in our circles!) and it never loses its wonder to me. However, there is a verse in The Holy Bible that calls me to look deeper at not only the Christmas story, but at the events that this last year has brought into our lives as a family. It’s found in Luke 2:19. “But Mary treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart.”  This Mary has had much to ponder and even treasure over the past 12 months.

It is hard to know where to start with our yearly Christmas letter. The past year has been a wild ride for our family on so many fronts, and I feel like it is easier to focus on the lows instead of the highs. But to not remember how moments were touched by Grace and Glory would not give an accurate picture of a year like none other.

There have been many happy times. Daniel and I have traveled more this year than ANY time in our marriage. We’ve been to Canton, Ohio and Washington, DC, (numerous times for various reasons) Plain City and Rosedale, Ohio for a family reunion. In May we flew to San Diego, CA to join family and friends in scattering the ashes of Daniel’s sister Lena. Afterwards we took a trip up to see the famous redwoods and sequoias. There were family bucket list items crossed off and it was a wonderful trip. But the biggest trip of all was to Guatemala to see our “Almost a Daughter” Lupé, and her family. What an exciting time! Daniel and I traveled with the best traveling companions ever, Youngest Daughter Rachel and her husband Rob. This Grammy came home with a host of sweet memories and increased appreciation for our brave, far away girlie and her ability to embrace a culture and country and make it her home. It was so sweet to meet (for the first time) the three children who call us Grandpa and Grammy (Nicole 13, Joshua 10 and Sofi 6) as well as spend time with her good husband, Ervin. It also increased our awareness of how many things we take for granted in our country, and how privileged we are. For starters, I’m most appreciative of our highways, our traffic laws, our policemen, our personal vehicles, as well as public transportation. But there was a whole lot more, and I came home to the farmhouse at Shady Acres with a deep, deep gratitude for many things that I have taken for granted all my life!

Many of you know about some of the challenges that our family has faced this year:  Middle Daughter Deborah’s breast cancer, Daughter in law Jessica’s ongoing fight against a chronic stomach disorder, and our four-year-old granddaughter, Ellie’s bout with a Synovial Sarcoma in her leg. These have certainly been front and center for us, and rightly so. This is our family, and their hard times are ours as well. There have been other points of sadness in our lives. Daniel and I both lost good friends in the last four months. My friend, Deborah Lynch passed away at the end of August, and Daniel’s “brother-friend” Gary Burlingame died the day after Thanksgiving. This season of Grief is not unique to us. It feels like there are daily reports of the deep, deep grief of others whose losses are staggering and crushing. And grief, though one of the most common human experiences, can often feel the loneliest. The gift that has been given us so freely over these last months is still the best gift of all, and that is prayer. Thank you for remembering us and our family. (We are praying for many of you as well). As far as our family is concerned, at present there is so much good news to report on the health issue side of things. Deborah, after the many complications, is back at work full time with Delaware Hospice, and continues to heal. There has been much progress in the treatment of Jessica’s chronic stomach disorder, and she is experiencing better health in the last while than she has for nearly two years. Ellie finished her last round of radiation the day after Thanksgiving, and the prognosis is very good. For each of these improvements, we are humbly grateful. I think the percentage of our family that has had Covid over the last year is pretty impressive (15 out of 17 and some of those twice) but we’ve weathered that pretty well. For the most part symptoms were mild and recovery uneventful.

Christina and Jesse and Charis are still in their house just down the road. The three of them and Deborah traveled with us to San Diego in May, and Jesse and Deborah did the planning for the trip up the coast. Jesse and Christina’s family picture on our Christmas card was actually taken Sequoia National Park. Jesse still works at Burris (at this rate, he will have 50 years in by the time he’s old enough to retire!) and he provides well for his family. Christina is a homemaker whose many giftings bless her neighbors, friends, and family over and over again. Charis is now a teenager and loves basketball, playing piano, and is in her school play again this year. She has a good voice and we are looking forward to hearing her sing a solo at our Christmas morning church service.

Deborah has spent the year mostly concerned with health issues. It hasn’t been an easy year by any definition, but the support she has received, the cards, notes, gifts and visits have all meant so much to her. Even with her many restrictions, she managed to enjoy the gardens and yard and woods around her Ambleside Cottage, and there were many helping hands that pulled weeds, watered, and even planted for her. She enjoys the birds that feed outside her windows, and even the squirrels have learned that there is usually a food source for them on her porch rail. She is back to work at Delaware Hospice but is working as an admissions nurse with a more regular schedule. Her cat, Julius (or Juju) has been a most constant companion over these last six months, and the company he provides is comforting. The best news is that Deborah is considered “cancer free” at this point!

Raph and Regina’s year has also been unusually challenging. Ellie’s diagnosis came at a time when there were many other constraints upon their emotional energies and time—constraints that don’t disappear (often intensify) just because there is a family health crisis. While the many concerns and needs have tried them with fire, the gold has been/is being purified, and their faith has held them steady. Ellie, a spunky and determined little girlie, turned five the day they removed her port that was used for sedation during radiation. Her personality has served her well during her treatment. Simon (13) Liam (12) and Frankie (11) our three handsome and athletic grandsons, spent a week with us this summer. We took a trip to Sight and Sound, swam in the neighbor’s pool, took in a local outdoor theater production of “Puss in Boots,” went to Chuckie Cheeses, ate out a couple of times, and put miles on the golf cart. The week ended with our whole family home for a short weekend – which was the weekend that we learned that the “cyst” that had been removed from Ellie’s leg the week before was actually a rare childhood cancer, setting their family (and all of us) on a journey that, while difficult, has truly been marked by Grace and Glory.

Lem and Jessica and Stella have also weathered storms this year. I alluded to the fact that Jessica is doing better, and we are so grateful. She is currently taking a short leave of absence from her job and hopes to return after the new year. Stella goes to a preschool a short distance from their house and loves it. One of my favorite “Stella stories” came out of the daily walk to school. I spent part of a week with Stella while her parents went to Scandinavia, and I walked her to school each day and picked her up after school to walk her home again. One day as we were walking, she suddenly asked, “Grammy, why do you sometimes wobble when you walk?”  “Well, Stella,” I said, “sometimes my back is hurting and sometimes my feet are hurting and—.”  “Yeah,” she said reflectively, “and you’re really old, too!”  (Yes, well, there is that!) Lem’s job keeps him busy and the work load for family counselors is no party in ordinary times, and we are all aware that these are not ordinary times. At least he has plenty of work, and he seems to be able to lay things down at the end of the day and pick up at home where he’s needed as a daddy and a husband.

Rachel and Rob are still in Washington, DC. Early this year they realized that the neighborhood they were living in was not a good fit for them, and they were able to find a more secure apartment in a better section of town. It is closer to Lem and Jessica, and even though it’s small, it fits them so well. They’ve traveled some this year, and Rob has been in graduate school and Rachel has worked two jobs. We never see enough of them, and their time with us over Christmas will again be rather short. Rob started a new job at Le Diplomate, a fancy French restaurant in DC and he needs to work Christmas Eve. Rachel plans to come over earlier in the week, and Rob will come as soon as he can and we will be grateful for what we can get! We are looking forward to having all 17 of our family home over Christmas, (overlapping for a mere 24 hours). Rachel has been drawing up spreadsheets to keep us all organized and in line. I’m finding these days when I don’t have so much to be personally responsible for everything a lot more relaxing and fun! This is one aspect of getting older that I’m not about to complain about. These offspringin’s of ours are learnin’ and it’s good for all of us!

Daniel and I are both going to be 70 our next birthdays! (Can you believe it???)  Daniel continues to work “part time” at First State inspections here in Milford. He enjoys the people, the plumbers and the diversion. He is still raising chickens and serves as deacon at our church. He has some ongoing pain issues from his fractured vertebra and is also treated for macular degeneration with shots in his right eye about every six weeks. That journey seems to alternate between encouraging and discouraging. They decided to start him on a new medication about 7 weeks ago, and the results have not been as good as we had been led to believe they would. His doctor says that it sometimes takes two to three injections before any improvement, so we remain hopeful. Daniel’s courage is something that astonishes and challenges me. It’s not easy to go and get a shot in your eye every six weeks, but he rarely complains. I’m so proud of him.

I have had a year of busy hands and a full heart. Some days the sadness dogs me like a dark cloud, and the tears just don’t want to stop. But even though I have been (honestly and rightfully) sad, I have not been afraid, and I have not been frantic. Many of you have heard me say this before, but it bears repeating. “I have experienced God’s inestimable Grace in ways that I cannot begin to really describe. It has felt like I’ve literally been wrapped in grace, carried by the prayers of the people that love me and our family.” I have never felt like things were all going to turn out the way that I want them to, and even now, there are heavy concerns and many unknowns that I have no idea how they will (or even can) resolve. Some things look too broken to fix. But we are not alone, and sometimes I think that that is the real miracle. We are not alone! Jesus walks with us, and He promised to never leave us or forsake us. I have never believed that more fully than I do now, and it gives me courage, strength and peace.

“Peace on Earth, Good Will to men,” the Angel said.  Ponder that in your heart and have a blessed Christmas.

Daniel and Mary Ann

It was around six o’clock in the morning. I stood at the bathroom sink and got ready to comb my hair, wash my face and get ready for this busy day. My cousin, Jon (one of the cousins that I’ve got “going and coming” by virtue of his Papa and my Daddy being brothers and Our Sweet Mamas being sisters) and his good wife, Heleen, were in the area and had called for anyone who wanted to, to come to the local coffee shop for coffee, breakfast, or just to be together.. Amity Coffee Roasters is also a family business, as it is owned by a nephew, Elmer Slaubaugh and his wife, Melody, and I certainly wanted to go!

My cousins and I are getting older. On my Daddy’s side there were 60 of us. The youngest of the 60 is now 56. The oldest is 80. Sometimes I think about how these years have passed and the age old axioms rattle around in my brain like so many loose marbles. “Where did the time go? How did I get this old so soon?”

On this morning, the face looking back at me in the mirror is lined and the chin sags. I need glasses to see things clearly and they aren’t on at the present, but I’m pretty sure that I look every bit of my 69 years. “H-m-m-m-m,” I think while pulling the comb through the tangled hair that is more gray than dark, “Maybe I’ll pull out my wrinkle cream from Olay and put some of that on this morning. It’s getting chilly out, so some moisturizer certainly won’t hurt. I don’t want to look too old when I go to see my cousins!”

I finished combing, washed my glasses and face, pinned on my prayer veiling, put on my glasses, made my bed, got dressed . . . and never thought about Oil Of Olay Wrinkle cream again until I was in the middle of breakfast. And then it didn’t matter any more.

For those who are interested:
(Clockwise from left to right)
James Bontrager, Karen Bontrager, Joan Mills, Uncle Jesse, Paul Yoder, Ilva Hertzler, Leslie Yoder, Sarah Slaubaugh, Jon Yoder, Heleen Yoder (peeking out from behind the head of) Mark Yoder, Jr., and me.

You see, I looked at these familiar and beloved faces. The youngest was my sister Sarah, the oldest was my Uncle Jesse, and even though there were some wrinkles there, I didn’t find a single wrinkle among us all that I found offensive. Quite the opposite. I’m partial to people with smiley wrinkles, and that is something a good many of the Yoders have in abundance. But even the other lines spoke volumes to me of the grief, the struggle and the living that has gone on in the lives of these people and the people they love. It was a wonderful time together. We laughed and talked, caught up with each other’s lives and came away hoping to do it again before too long. We are not young. In fact, most of us are “Too Old to Die Young” at this stage of the game. But that’s alright. We have so much more!

We are so blessed.

#MyHeartGivesGratefulPraise

Certain Man invited me on a golf cart ride this evening to see the gorgeous full moon over our Delaware countryside. It’s there every month, but there is just something breathtaking about how it rises over the south east horizon and climbs its way high into the sky before we have a chance to think or look twice. Especially the Autumn Moons.

The day has been busy, but also so close to normal that my head was able to think about more than what needed to be done. There was bread to bake, soup to make, custard to bake, and of course, lots of dishes to wash. I hadn’t gotten things done after our “First Sunday Potluck” so there was quite a mess in this kitchen. So my hands were busy with lots of kitchen things, but my heart was far away . . .

Far away? Yes. In Canton, Ohio. In Washington, DC. In Cold Spring, New York. In homes not so far away in Harrington and Milford and Greenwood. And in Heaven.

Heaven? Yes, especially Heaven. Thoughts of My Sweet Mama swirled around and around in my head as the sting of missing her took a fresh spot in my heart. And there was a reason.

Last night, Certain Man and I went to a drama program at Greenwood Mennonite Church put on by the Lititz Area Mennonite School. Our granddaughter, Charis, went with us. The production was very well done, and left me more than a bit pensive. After it was over, Charis and I were getting into the car when she suddenly said, “Grammy, may I go and find Grandma Yoder’s Grave?”

“Of course!” I said. “I’ll come, too!” Grandpa was still talking inside the church house, and I figured we had time. She headed out towards the cemetery, and I got things deposited in the car and followed. I watched her stride across the parking lot and thought about this young woman, and how she loved her Grandma Yoder. The loss of her Great-grandmother was huge and there was a picture of her at the grave that has epitomized childhood grief in my mind. The grave was so new that the date (6/16/15) had not yet been engraved.

It was dark in the church cemetery. I have not been there lately and the gravestones looked surprisingly foreign to me, but by the time I got there, Charis had already found the stone that marked the final resting place of My Sweet Mama, and her beloved “Grandma Yoder.” My phone caught this teen as she once again knelt by the familiar stone and traced the letters with her hand.

My heart caught in my throat. My Sweet Mama loved this little girl with all her being. She had prayed unendingly for Christina and Jesse to have a baby and she always had time for a bouncy little girl with shining eyes and undying devotion. On Sunday afternoons, Grandma Yoder and little Charis would spend hours playing a made up game with squishy hand warmers accompanied by shrieks of laughter on both sides of the game and a whole lot of running on the part of the short team. No one ever won or lost, it was just pure, unadulterated fun and I would give almost anything to hear it again.

Charis’ Mama and I usually cleaned up and washed dishes while they played, and then I would drive My Sweet Mama home to her quiet house.

“I’m so tired,” she would usually confess. “It makes me so tired to play with her, but she loves it so much, and I enjoy it, too. I just don’t want to not play when I can!” I reassured her, as I always did, and soon another day was over, and another memory was in my overflowing trunk of good generational memories.

There came a Sunday in early May of 2015 that was the last time.

We didn’t know!


https://youtu.be/qCdevloDE6E

I have so many good memories. The memories help to hold me in a place of JOY in these days that sometimes threaten to shake my sense of calm.

#Myheartgivesgratefulpraise