January 11, 2016 · 12:07 am

The Train Goes Round and Round the Track, and Mama’s Canary Sings.

Whenever there is noise that covers the immediate area, Mama’s bird, Pretty Boy, turns on the trills and chops until it pulls my heart towards the memories of another room, sunny and comforting, with a familiar form in the recliner.  Mama is listening to that same canary, and there is a smile around her thin lips.

“I love to hear him sing,” she would say.  “He doesn’t sing so much, unless there’s some kind of noise, like water running or certain music.”

This week I needed to go out to Country Rest Home.  I parked in the front lot, facing the window where Sweet Mama spent her last days, took her last breaths, and from where her spirit took flight to Heaven.  I tried not to look at her house, tried not to think, but I knew, I knew that I was going to go over to the house that was first my parents’ home,  and where Sweet Mama lived for almost ten years alone.

I finished my errand at Country Rest, and sat in my car for a bit.  And then, when I was pretty sure that no one would follow me and that I would be alone in my journey, I parked my van in front of the familiar front porch and looked at the curtains and blinds in the windows and bushes and (now wintering) plants that look just about the same as they always have.  Except that there was no light inside.  Mama almost always had light.

I stopped at the mailbox and retrieved some mail, and then went in through the front door as I always did.  It smelled just like my Mama’s house.  Her smell was there.  I felt my heart quicken just a bit with the recognition of the sweet, identifiable scent of Alene Yoder’s house. I was home!

I came around the corner, into the living room and it was then that the import of her absence hit me full.  The house was empty.  From where I stood at the opening into the living room, there was a broad expanse, with almost nothing to break up the space.  All the way at the other end, a lone folding chair sat at one table space, and a hickory rocker was pulled up to another.  A small, rickety bookcase, that had served as her bedside table for as long as I can remember, was against a far wall, and two recliners were snuggled together inside the short wall to my right like Daddy and Mama were using them when they shared their nightly devotions together.  The silence was a roaring noise in my ears.  It felt like I should be able to call, “Hey, Mama!  I’m finally here!” the way I must have done a thousand times over the last ten years, and hear her respond from the next room, “I’m here, come on in!”

I began the trek across the big living room, into the dining room, my footsteps muted on the carpet in the deserted house.  And then I heard the sound of weeping.  A whimpering noise was coming from somewhere in my throat, spilling into the empty house, running rivers down my face and dripping off my wobbly chin.  The sound in my ears made me only cry harder, and I stood helpless against the onslaught of grief, suddenly fresh and raw and anything but reasonable and restrained.  I plodded into the deserted study, hovered at the door of her bedroom where she took her last, catastrophic tumble.  The floors were swept clean, and there was no vestige of my Mama there.  “Oh, Mama, Mama!  You are so gone!  I miss you so much.  I miss you so much!”  I stood where her recliner always sat and wrapped my arms around the empty space and brought them tight against myself as if I could somehow hug the place where she always was, but I came up with nothing.

It was probably in that moment that some things began to sink into my fur brain.  I realized that I was never again going to feel my Sweet Mama’s presence in that empty house.  I would have memories, and as long as the smell was there, and the shell of the house was largely unchanged, I would remember her, and think of her, and feel the familiarity of this place that held so many good times, but I wouldn’t be able to feel like she was there somewhere, lurking just around the corner.  And that was a big enough thought that I decided to not stay any longer.

I picked up the rickety little bookcase and thought I would take it home and see if Certain Man could sturdy it up and maybe it could be useful somewhere in the house.  And I got into my van and headed for Milford.  Home was waiting, and the afternoon was gray and chilly.  I came around the corner at 36 and 16 and considered stopping at Mama’s grave.  When all was quiet at Greenwood Mennonite Church and there were no cars in the parking lot, I pulled in and parked beside the brick steps going into the country cemetery, and walked over to the granite marker where we laid her body to rest.

I was crying again, and I traced the letters on the stone.  “Why???” I asked aloud.  “Why???”

And that was when I felt like I was held gently by my Heavenly Father.  “Are you asking why she went to where she is happy, healthy, and free?  Do you think she is worse off now than she was when she was with you here?”  I looked at the grass, almost totally grown back over the grave, and thought about Daddy’s body, now there for ten years, and thought about why the grief was so unmanageable on this January day. I thought about her there, in Heaven with Jesus and Daddy, with her parents and many, many friends.  I thought about what it was like up there, and wondered again just how it would be.

“There’s a city of light mid the stars we are told,
Where they know not a sorrow or care.
And the gates are of pearl and the streets are of gold
And the building exceedingly fair.”

The song rose unbidden in my heart and the next thing I knew, I was singing it in a shaky voice to the falling light.  The cemetery was quiet, and the notes were anything but beautiful, but I grew stronger as I plowed on.

“Let us pray for each other, not faint by the way,
In this sad world of sorrow and woe.
For that home is so bright
And is almost in sight,
And I trust in my heart, you’ll go there.

Heaven.  Our someday Home.  Her present Home.  I cannot begin to understand what was waiting for Mama that June night when she left this all behind and stepped into GLORY and LIGHT and PEACE and PRESENCE and ETERNAL LIFE.  But this I do know.  It wasn’t empty.  It wasn’t quiet.  It wasn’t full of any memories that made her weep.  Mama was Home, and I believe it somehow smelled and looked and felt familiar, but still so far beyond her wildest expectations that it’s unfathomable to us mortals.

I turned away.  Homefolk were going to soon be worried.  It was time I headed on out to Shady Acres where my life still is, and where the people I love still gather.  My tears were over for now.  There will be more, and there will be days when the grief feels fresh and raw and unmanageable.  I’ve come to know that it’s all part of the process.  I don’t like it, but I’m trying to make it my friend. There are valuable life lessons to be learned here, and I don’t want to miss them.

And so, tonight, for the process of letting go, for the part that empty houses and tears and gravestones fill in that process, and for the hope of Heaven and for Jesus, who made it all possible; for this and so much more:

My heart gives grateful praise.

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January 4, 2016 · 8:01 pm

The Bear Speaks Hope

It was the picture of the bear that made me cry.

After the fire in our church building, a child’s teddy bear was found on a grimy window sill, abandoned, its face turned away in the soot.  I looked at that picture and it felt like that was the picture that best represented the darker emotions of my heart in the weeks and months after the fire:  Defenseless.  Violated.  Sad.  Very much in need of being cleaned.

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My life was so caught up, even from the time of the fire, with my Sweet Mama’s health.  From early December, until her death in June, I mostly dealt with my feelings about the burned out Church house by, a) not going there, and b) not thinking about it any more than I had to.  I believed that God was going to do a good work in spite of the devastation, and I believed that He wasn’t surprised or sleeping when arsonists crept into our meeting house and set it ablaze.  But mostly I didn’t think!

I was unprepared for the emotions that came crashing in over the weeks following my Sweet Mama’s funeral, as I worked at cleaning out her house, and found that the emptiness of that house, the stripping of the stuff that was my Mama’s, translated into another very real emotion of loss when I thought about the church house being totally stripped and remade.  It was so difficult for me that I could barely enjoy the first Sunday back, as it felt like yet another dear, familiar face was gone, and had been replaced by something that was, obviously, better and more beautiful — but it wasn’t “mine.”  And it wasn’t what I wanted.

So I’ve wrestled with the whole thing of “What’s wrong with me???”  This is a new start for our little congregation, a new beginning, a fresh opportunity to redefine ourselves.  It’s way more comfortable, way more convenient, way more esthetic than our old auditorium.  And the Sunday School room for The Littles is beyond anything that I have ever had as a teacher.  Beautiful and light and airy and equipped and spacious.  It’s a dream come true.  And it is definitely a whole lot better than the office at our temporary meeting place where we were surrounded by baking supplies and freezers and equipment, where we set up a table every week and did our best to make the room cheery and inviting.

And so, over the last few weeks, I’ve reminded myself that, at least for this Delaware Grammy, everything takes time.  And I’ve decided to not voice my discontent, that I would throw myself into lessons and Christmas preparations in my classroom, that I would do all I could to support and enjoy this new place and ignore my heart’s rebel thoughts that pushed themselves, unbidden, to the surface over the slightest little things that weren’t quite right.

One of the things I’ve always said to my children is “Grumbling is contagious.”  And I’m so aware that just one person voicing one negative thought can turn a tide in a minute.  There’s always something that we can complain about.  However, over these last few weeks, I’ve also learned that Grace extended is contagious as well.  And never was this more real to me than in something that has happened over these last few weeks.

I have a friend.  Loretta Miller, who (with her husband) has been a janitor  at our church for several decades.  I’ve watched (and listened) to her over this last year as she dealt with negative emotions following the arson, put her attention to cleaning our temporary gathering place with wisdom and discernment, spoke encouragement to our church family by seeing the positives that were coming out of the things we were going through, and also dealt with the death of two siblings during the months that we were out of our church building.  She has extended grace in tangible ways despite personal disappointment and challenges that could perplex.  Not too long ago, she told me that she feels so much peace and a sense of worship in our new sanctuary, and that it is something that she is enjoying so very much. That gave me pause to consider.  What was I holding on to that was preventing me from entering into this good gift from Our Father?

Then one day, a week or so ago, she said to me, “You know that teddy bear that was left on the window sill after the fire?  I found it among the things that had been cleaned, and I put it back up on the window sill in your classroom where it had been found.  I thought it might be kinda’ nice.  Maybe it would mean something . . .”

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It’s just a little teddy bear, and it isn’t even all that pretty.  But I looked at it sitting upright on renovated window sill in front of the new and sparkling window and it did this wistful heart good.  It spoke of all the things that were still surviving– that were strong and right:  Things like forgiveness, redemption, restoration, hope and a future.

My conflict isn’t over.   I’m not called “an old stick in the mud” for no reason.  But neither am I blind to the fact that God has often used very commonplace things to redirect this stubborn will and to remind me that I can’t go forward when I’m holding on to the past.  And if humans can take a picture as forlorn and sad as the first one, and with time and effort, make a tableau as peaceful and hopeful as the second one, think what God can do with a restless heart that feels bleak and troubled and discouraged.

“Make your way through these old ruins: the enemy wrecked everything in the Temple.”  (Psalm 74:3)  Once again the verse is echoing through my brain, except with this repeat, there is hope.  If Jesus is making His way through these old ruins of my heart, the enemy can wreak his havoc no more.  There is hope and a future, and I do not need to resist the unfamiliar.  God is already in the tomorrows of my life, and He will be with me in things just don’t seem “right.”  And just to think on these things gives my heart joy.

For a bear on the windowsill, for a friend who extends much grace, for God’s Word, repeating God’s Words to me in my head and my heart, for this sunshiney day and the blessings of life, for these and so much more:  My heart gives grateful praise.

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January 3, 2016 · 1:16 pm

Words to Live By

There’s been a lot of talk in my circles about claiming a word from the Lord for the year ahead.  I see a lot of value in doing this exercise, and I am thinking about throwing a couple of possibilities into a hat and just pulling one out — sometimes deciding what is “mine” has about as much rational thought as that particular way of choosing.  I’m not saying that I don’t pray and ask God for guidance, or that He doesn’t give me insight into such matters, but I often wish for a soul impression so strong and so compelling that I KNOW without a shadow of a doubt that this is MY WORD FROM THE LORD.

Over the last couple of weeks, however, (perhaps due to a couple of situations that I’ve been in or been spectator to) there has been a passage of scripture that has impressed upon my heart in ways that I cannot ignore.  I came across them in my Bible reading and was so convicted and compelled that I wrote them down for ready reference and intend to put them up where I can see them every single day:

“When you talk, do not say harmful things, but say what people need — words that will help others become stronger . . . Do not be bitter or angry or mad.  Never shout angrily or say things to hurt others.  Never do anything evil.  Be kind and loving to each other, and forgive each other — Just as God forgave you in Christ.”  Ephesians 4:29a, 31,32

This, I’ve discovered, is hardest for me with my everyday living.  I need it when I am losing patience with Nettie and Cecilia.  I need it when relationships within my family get uncomfortable for me.  I need it with that Man That I Love Most, in the daily movements of life when there are sometimes things that irritate or make my selfish heart want to use my words to get what I want.

Words.  For me, they are the things about which I need to be most careful.  There was a time, many years ago, when Certain Man said to me, “When we get into an argument, I feel like I have a BB gun and you have a cannon.”

(OUCH!)

That was pivotal for me.  Maybe more than pivotal.  It actually hit me like a ton of bricks.  By profession, (and confession) I’m a follower of Jesus Christ and I understand much of His Teaching to be a call to love, to lay down my life for others, to be a peacemaker.  And yet I was using my words as a weapon against the man that I profess to love the most.   Not just a weapon, but a mighty weapon that left him feeling defenseless and wounded.  The realization made me heartsick.  Was this really how I wanted to use my gift?  Absolutely not!

But old habits die hard, and natural inclinations tend to rear their ugly heads in those situations we haven’t anticipated or when our reserves are running low because of our humanity.  However, the statement my husband made  was stamped firmly on my heart as well as my psyche, and I purposed that I would do things differently.

God has been faithful, my husband has been patient, but I’ve needed reminders and admonition more times than I can count.

And one of those times is now, so this is the scripture that I’m claiming for the year ahead.  I may still receive a word that I consider from the Lord (like silence, maybe??? Oh, HELP!!!)  But for now, I’m taking these verses.  Putting these words into practice will be a big enough challenge for this Delaware Grammy.

This morning my heart gives grateful praise for one more Bible promise:
” . . . My Grace is sufficient for you, for my Power is perfected in weakness . . .”     (2 Corinthians 12:9)

Without this promise, nothing is ever going to change.

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December 31, 2015 · 2:20 pm

A birthday Gift for Mama

The grief walks stealthily these days, pouncing at strange moments, catching me flatfooted and unprepared.  The mild, misty mornings and the green grass and blooming forsythia remind me that nothing is quite right this year.  The busy, busy days of before the holidays have given way to a welcome lull.  I’ve stirred around in my empty-ish house and worked at the paperwork for the State that has been accumulating for almost three months, and I’ve made an effort to think happy thoughts and to remember good memories, but I’ve cried quiet tears onto the torn tapestry of what is my life in this time and in this place.

They say that the holidays are the worst for missing people we love, and I know it’s true, having experienced the passing of Daddy at Christmas ten years ago, and now this, the first year without Mama.  Not only is it that she has participated with almost every Christmas Eve for thirty years, but Mama was born on January 1st.  For all of my 63 January firsts, it has carried the extra special connotation of my Sweet Mama’s birthday.  This year she would have been 87.  The thought of her birthday is dogging my days.

I wanted to go to her grave last night.  I had that terrible aching need to just talk to her, and even though I know she isn’t there, it’s still the place that works best for me when I need to talk to her.  Certain Man encouraged me to just drop everything and go, but the evening looked full enough that I thought it best not to.  My head told me that I could say anything over my sink full of dishes that I wanted to tell her and if she was going to hear, she could hear it as well here as she could if I was out there.

“Oh, Mama,” I whispered when there was no one to worry about the tears sliding down my face.  “I wish I could talk to you tonight.  I don’t have anything BIG or important or terrible or wonderful.  I just need to hear your voice, to have a place to talk comfortably, to tell you the things that I know you would be interested in, to have you cheer me on, to encourage and to remind me that it won’t always be this hard.  Whenever I was grieving, your love and concern always helped to hold me steady.  And your prayers for me were something that I counted on.”  That made me stop to consider the fact that Mama would care very deeply about this grief that I’m feeling over her death.

That was enough to make me thankful that where she is, there is no sadness, no coming back to our human emotions of grief and loss.  She’s There and it is light and joy and the very presence of God, and there is no more “death, neither sorrow, nor crying.” (Revelation 21:4)

She’s there, not saddened by the things that tug at our hearts.  Things like a great-grandchild picking up a Christmas ornament selected last summer from Grandma Yoder’s things.  She carried it to the couch where she cradled it lovingly and wept for the Grandma that always loved her, always played with her, always had time for her.

Or, Peppermint Bark Candy, on sale at Hallmark, always our signal to stock up so that she would have plenty in the months ahead when she couldn’t get it. I blink back my tears and walk on by.  I bought some before Christmas at regular price, just for the sake of the memories.  I don’t need any more.

That empty chair in our family’s Christmas celebration.  No one spoke about it, but I kept feeling the void.  And then I opened a gift from Deborah, and it was a lovely blue and white afghan, done in a familiar stitch.  My heart nearly burst when I heard her say, “I found this among Grandma’s things, Mama.  It was only begun, but I finished it for you so that you could have it.”  It’s soft and beautiful and I cannot tell the difference between the stitches of my daughter, and those of my Sweet Mama.

Remembering how she always tried to be first to say “Merry Christmas!” on Christmas morning, carrying on a family tradition from her parental home.  She never wanted to be the one to say, “Thank-you, the same to you!”

Visits from the couple that comforts me best, Uncle Jesse and Aunt Gladys.  My Daddy’s brother, married to my Mama’s sister.  They make monumental efforts to connect, even when the ravages of time make it hard for them.  Sitting in our house, reminiscing, talking, shedding tears together helps me gather my courage to go on.  Their steadfast support and the reminders of their love has been integral to my healing.  The commonality of grief between my Mama’s sisters reminds me of the many facets of my Sweet Mama’s life, and her deep and vibrant relationships with her family.  How fiercely she loved her siblings, and there were cousins who were kindred spirits and friends for her entire life.  They are grieving, too, and my heart goes out to them when I hear their pain.

Meeting with our Church Family in our renovated church building.  It’s warm and inviting and the pews are so comfortable.  Everything is so different, but the thing that tugs is my beloved Aunt Dottie, sitting alone in almost the same place that she would sit with Sweet Mama on Sunday mornings.  How Mama would have loved this new church building, and it would have been so interesting to her to see the changes that have been made.  I can almost hear her saying, “Oh, if only Daddy could see this!”

There are just so many things at every turn that remind me of My Sweet Mama.  But I’ve wallowed around enough in these past couple of days.  I’ve decided that I’m going to use that sudden stab of grief to recount things that make me happy when I remember them about Mama.  I’m hopeful that remembering the joy will transform the paralysis that wants to invade these old bones when the sadness is tenacious.  The New Year is a good time to start.

The thing is, Mama would approve.  She always believed that you could decide to be happy.  “If you smile for a while, you’ll forget that you are blue!” she would carol to me when she thought I should cheer up.  (I wish I could find that old song.  It’s helped me a whole lot in my life!)  So here’s my birthday present to My Sweet Mama:

I’m going to smile for a while. I just might forget that I’m blue.

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December 25, 2015 · 2:52 pm

2015 Yutzy Family Christmas Letter

*Christmas, 2015*
Shady Acres Farm *7484 Shawnee Road* Milford, DE*19963

Dear Family and Friends,
The year is fast winding down, and it is time to get this letter out once again.  What can we say about a year like 2015?  It’s hard to condense it down into a single Christmas letter, to catch the events, the various things that have influenced us and changed us, the losses, the gains, and the flavor of this season of our lives.  Whew!  But here goes.

Last year ended, and our new year began with our church family coming together in a reassuring way, showing unity and courage and foresight as we put together a plan for rebuilding our church house after the arson of December, 2014.  As a congregation, we worked through issues of forgiveness and reconciliation, as well as feelings of loss and violation.  We haven’t been perfect in this year of rebuilding, but God has been faithful to us, proving over and over again that “He meant it for our good!” This has made the most difficult days and the hardest times, hopeful.  On December 6th, four days after the first anniversary of the fire, we held our first service in our beautiful new sanctuary.  We plan for a public open house after the first of the year, but these first weeks, our church family is savoring this gift that has been given to us through what has proven to be a severe mercy.  Our small church family has been through a lot of changes in the past year.  We had three weddings, a birth, two funerals, and installed two young men (Caleb Bontrager and Tyler Schrock) on the Leadership Team.  All while using a facility shared with us by Grace Community Church in Greenwood. We are so grateful for their generosity and willingness to allow us such free access, but it is really nice to be back into our own space again.

Funerals.  As many of you know, there was one that affected our family directly.  My Sweet Mama, whose health had been in severe decline for the last year and a half, fell in May, broke her femur, had surgery, developed pneumonia, had a heart attack, and just didn’t seem to improve much over the 12 days she spent in the hospital.  On June 2nd, we brought her home to a big sunny room at Country Rest Home where we could spend time with her and have help with her many physical needs.  There were good days and bad days, as there always are in times like this, but on June 16th, she went home to Heaven while we stood around her bed, held her hands and reminded her of what a wonderful Mama she had been to us.  This entire letter could be about how that has impacted us – my siblings and their families, our family and me personally, but it’s been another odyssey of both splendor and sorrow.  It’s been one that has made me quiet and more introspective than is comfortable.  I keep reminding myself that I won’t always be this sad, and it won’t always feel this empty.  But I do know that I will always miss her, even while I’m hopeful for the future.

And then, there are some wonderful things to report on the family front.  Our youngest daughter, Rachel, graduated from Bryn Mawr College with her Master’s degree in Social Work in May.  A series of events made it possible for her to be home through her Grandma’s illness and death, giving her time to be with Grandma, and to lend a hand to the home front when I needed to be gone.  The rest of the summer she was home, checking out jobs, mowing lawn for her Daddy, babysitting some, applying for jobs, visiting friends, going to weddings, being interviewed for jobs, making two trips to the west coast this fall, and (finally!) taking a job.  Earlier this month, she accepted a position with Catholic Charities in Washington, DC, as a social worker/ clinical case manager.  She is working in their homelessness and housing department with children and families. She is living with three other girls in a row home, and seems to be settling into both the job and the living situation with alacrity.

Lem and Jess are in the same apartment in Alexandria, VA, but are actively pursuing home ownership for the near future.  Lem just finished course work for his PhD in Social Work at Catholic University and is carrying a full load as a psychotherapist at Alvord, Baker and Associates, while he works on preparing for comprehensive exams in February and March.  Jessica changed jobs this year, and is now working as a Research Analyst for the US Government Accountability Office.  She is enjoying this job immensely; from the people with whom she works, to the impact that the GAO has on improving life for average Americans. They continue to be involved at The Table, the church where they have found good friends and common ground.  The last few months have been very intense for them with Lem’s schedule, but one of the things that we’ve admired about these two is that they can endure hardship when they have a plan and a dream, and they have proved it to us again this last semester. Having them in the same area as Rachel has been a great comfort to these “elderly parents.”

Raph and Gina, with their three boys, Simon, Liam, and Frankie, have had an eventful year.  They are finishing this year with really good news on the job front for Raph.  As of January 1st, Raph will be a full-time employee of Grace Mennonite Church (a realization of a life dream).  His official title is Director of Students. He will be overseeing the junior high, high school, and young adults of the congregation with a focus on high school and young adults.  Gina, a wonderful mom, is also a supportive wife and best friend to Raph.  It’s been wonderful to watch how God has knit this family together in ways that seemed only remotely possible when the boys first came, nearly three years ago.  They are doing well, and even though there have been significant bumps in the road this year for this family on several fronts, there is hope and joy and so much love and laughter. One of our favorite things to do is to spend a weekend in Holmes County with the “Ohio Yutzys” and soak up the comfort and activity of life in their home.

Deborah’s year has been different than any other since 2007 in that she hasn’t been out of the country this year.  She enjoyed a trek to Mississippi and Louisiana with her friend, Liz Washburn Strite. They visited Deborah’s friends, Joel and Althea Bontrager and their family in MS, and a friend of Liz’s in New Orleans.  Visiting New Orleans fulfilled one of Deborah’s bucket list dreams (as did holding a real live tarantula while there).  She worked long hours for Delaware Hospice (now in her sixth year there) and has been very involved in the renovation of our church house.  She is taking a break from teaching the young women’s class at church this year, but remains involved in the lives and families of her friends.  In April, she discovered that there were some serious complications with her liver, and was advised to engage in focused diet and exercise.  She complied, even while more testing was being done, and the results have been favorable, health wise, and also flattering to her physique.  However, when the tests were all in, it was discovered that she is dealing with a genetic disorder called Alpha-1, which is best managed by doing exactly what she is doing: Watching her weight, exercising, not smoking, and not drinking.  (H-m-m-m-m-m.  The last two aren’t as big a challenge as the first two for a lot of us!)  The good news is that the last lab results show that everything is back within normal limits and we are all relieved.  She still has her living quarters on the left side of the upstairs landing in the old farmhouse at Shady Acres, and having her here has been a decided plus for both her daddy and me.

Christina and Jesse, along with Charis, are still on Bontrager Road, about 1½ miles away.  Charis is in first grade this year at Mispillion Elementary here in Milford, and does well.  She is learning to read and writes the most wonderful notes to the people she loves. (Dere Gemme you arE the Best Gremall ever.  Love Charis.)  (And if you can’t read that, there’s something wrong with you!) Christina, still a homemaker, is involved with school projects, transporting Charis to and from school, and is the motivating force behind several projects within our family as well as helping out at church.  Jesse, still our beloved son in law, is a valuable asset to Daniel and me on so many fronts.  He lends a helping hand when Daniel needs a strong arm for any of a number of projects.  He is my go-to tech when I need something in the world of computers and printers and the problems that come up there.  He is a systems engineer at Burris Logistics and his intelligence, aptitude for solving difficult problems, and loyalty have paid off in recognition and advancement.  He is a good provider for his family and is a creative and involved Daddy to Charis.

Daniel and I are still involved in life in ways that keep us interested and motivated and engaged.  Daniel continues in his job as Plumbing Inspector for the State of Delaware, raising chickens, gardening, taking care of our farm, and serving on the leadership team at our church as deacon.  I am still caring for handicapped adults and leading a Thursday morning Bible study that has been meeting at our house for probably 20 years.  I’ve taught “The Littles” at our church part time over this last year, and that is probably one of my favorite things to do.  Children are so honest, interesting and beautiful.  I’ve not been writing or blogging as much since Mama’s death, but discovered recently that the therapeutic value for me personally is worth the time and emotional investment that it takes.  I’ve been blessed with a husband and family who are supportive, and I’m looking forward to being a bit more consistent with postings at https://maryannyutzy.wordpress.com/. (So if you want to catch up on what is happening in our lives before next year’s Christmas letter, you can check up on us over there).

We are enjoying the Christmas season here in our house on Shawnee Road.  We’ve already had some of our yearly gatherings, and Daniel has his huge Christmas Village set up. (Come and see it!  It will be up until late January.)  The Nativity scenes are scattered through the house, too, and the family comes for early Christmas this weekend (the 19th). We are always delighted for a reason to have our family together under one roof.

But the Christmas Village, the nativities, and even the offspringin’s and their families gathering in are only reminders that this special season points the way to Easter, the Cross and the Empty Tomb.  The Baby came to bring us hope.  In this year, when it has seemed that everything has been so different from what I may have chosen, the one thing that has kept me steady has been the hope of the resurrection, the promises that Jesus made to us that He will never leave us, never forsake us.  For this and for all the blessings that this year has held, my heart gives humble, grateful praise.

Have a wonderful Christmas season and a blessed New Year!
Affectionately,
Daniel and Mary Ann Yutzy

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December 24, 2015 · 10:50 pm

“We need to hang it high . . .”

I looked at the beautiful wind chimes in the flat, heavy cardboard box that lay on my lap.  I had just opened the carefully wrapped present in our family Christmas celebration.  “Mozart” said the label on the box.  These would make some beautiful music.  I immediately began thinking of where I could hang them.

“Where do you want to hang them?” Asked Certain Man.  He had the whole week off and was busy getting things done.

“I don’t really know,” I said.  “I’ve been thinking about taking down the plant that Hortencia gave me last summer just before they left, and hanging them there, right outside my kitchen window.  I could hear them there.”

He looked at me with that look in his eye that said that he had a better idea.  (He really is like the old Ford slogan, He usually has a better idea!)  “I’ve been thinking, maybe,” he said, “that we ought to hang it off the upper deck, outside our bedroom window.  That way we could hear it at night.”

“That sounds fine,” I said.  “It would be nice to hear it at night.”  I thought about the fact that it was winter, and it would be spring before I could hear much of anything, and that if it was up on the upper deck near to the house (where I understood he wanted to put it) it wouldn’t get much wind at anytime and that wasn’t what I wanted, either.  But, still.  This Certain Man often thinks of things that never cross my fur brain, and I thought that he probably had a plan.

He did.

Yesterday, while I wasn’t looking, he put in a hook, up on the corner post of the highest platform, and hung the chimes right exactly where they should have been hung.

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The weather has been so strange this year.  Last night, it was so warm in our bedroom that I opened the window, and turned on the ceiling fan.  It had been a long day, and I lay there so tired I hardly knew whether I was going to be able to sleep.  And then, —

I heard the gentle noise of music in the night.  The chord was familiar and soothing.  The night was wild with the wind and rain, and I listened to the storm interlaced with the music.  A symphony, unscripted and unrehearsed emerged as if Mozart himself was composing in cahoots with the elements.

Certain Man said that we needed to hang it high so we could hear it from our bedroom window.  He was so right.  So very right!

And I slept the hard, deep sleep of the very weary, lulled by a melody that was provided by a gift from Youngest Son and his Girl With a Beautiful Heart, hung by that Man That I Love Best, and carried by a strange warm wind on a Delaware December night.

My heart could not have been more full of the grace and glory of this moment.

And I gave quiet, grateful praise.

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December 15, 2015 · 1:47 pm

Of Mice and Mankind

I was pushing Blind Cecilia’s wheelchair out to the DART bus this morning when I was caught rather flat footed by something on the floor of tehe entry way.  A dead mouse. It looked like it was trying to get out the door, but didn’t make it.  No blood, no guts, just lying there with its tail out behind it.  It startled me, and made me wonder if Certain Man knew something I didn’t about mouse bait.

I’m not mouse freaky.  They don’t scare me to death, or even cause me to scream or climb on things.  (I once had one drop on my head in the chicken house and run down my shoulder and jump and scurry away.  I didn’t even scream that time.  Probably because it was rather dark and I didn’t realize what was happening until it was jumping off my shoulder in the dim light.  But I digress.)

When I saw this mouse on my floor, I was trying to maneuver BL’s chair around a very tight space in a difficult corner and my first glance was fleeting.  But the sight of it caused me to stop and reassess the situation and I suddenly discovered that my first assumption was very. very wrong.

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It  wasn’t a mouse at all.  Oh, boy!

But I’ve been thinking ever since about the “dead mice” on the floor of my life that I shrink back from, and wish someone would dispose of for me and that I think I can smell, and that feel so repulsive to me.

Brothers and sisters, in the Family of God, I propose to you that a whole lot of the stuff in our lives that is attracting the attention that a dead mouse would on the floor of our proverbial entry ways, is nothing more than a dried leaf.  There are things that we should give no more than a fleeting glance, and brush them on out without giving them the audience and attention that a dead mouse might attract.

It’s time to help push the wheelchairs of the people of this old world around difficult corners, through the tight spaces, towards the bus that will take them to where they need to go.

Let’s not let the harmless stuff that looks like so much like something else sidetrack us on our way to Heaven.

Matthew 22:36-39 (NCV)

36 “Teacher, which command in the law is the most important?”

37 Jesus answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind.’ 38 This is the first and most important command. 39 And the second command is like the first: ‘Love your neighbor as you love yourself.

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December 11, 2015 · 10:17 pm

The Lows, The Highs.

This week has been a roller coaster for me.  Monday morning I was talking it over with Jesus, and telling Him how sad I felt.  And telling Him that I just wanted to undo the last fourteen months.  “I want Frieda back, whole and healthy and alive and HERE!  I want our church to not be burned.  I want Mama to not fall full on her face on a cold tile floor at our “borrowed” meeting place on a Sunday morning in February (a pivotal incident for embarrassment and infirmity in her life).  I don’t want to think about the health issues and infertility issues in my family that were exacerbated this year.   I don’t want Mama to fall in May and break her femur.  I don’t want her to have suffered those four weeks.  I don’t want her to have died.  I want her here, healthy and alive.  I don’t want Youngest Daughter, Rachel, to struggle to find a job for six months, with all sorts of reversals and setbacks and disappointments.  I don’t want Middle Daughter, Deborah, to be diagnosed with a genetic liver condition (http://www.alpha1.org/) that has given great cause for alarm.  I’m just so tired of everything! And I’m just so sad . . .”

And (Believe me!) there were a few other things in there that I “didn’t want” that can’t be said here.


Where do we go when life is too much for us?  How do we choose life and hope and peace when it seems like an exercise in futility?  What do we do when the people we love are hurting and struggling and doubting and failing? And what makes us think that it will ever be okay again?Listen, dear friends!  Here is where I’ve chosen to focus:


Even though the fig trees have no blossoms, and there are no grapes on the vines; even though the olive crop fails, and the fields lie empty and barren; even though the flocks die in the fields, and the cattle barns are empty, yet I will rejoice in the LORD! I will be joyful in the God of my salvation! The Sovereign LORD is my strength! He makes me as surefooted as a deer, able to tread upon the heights. Habakkuk 3:17-19a
 

If there is anything that I’ve learned on this sojourn, it is that praise makes the darkest night navigable.  And while there may be all sorts of things that make me sad, I still need to choose that He does all things well, and that He is to be trusted.  It probably won’t ever all be “okay” again.  That’s what Heaven is for.

And if I can’t sink my “trembling soul” onto that immovable rock, then I’m pretty sure there’s no hope for this season of my life, this time, this place and my future mindsets.

The last few days have been better than that terrible Monday.  For every one of the “I wants” there have been blessings that I can choose to look at, be grateful for, and acknowledge God’s hand, working for our good.

I’m as convinced as ever that faith is the key to having a life focus that gives courage and hope.

It didn’t end at the Cross, and our Sunday’s coming!

My heart chooses grateful praise.

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November 23, 2015 · 12:28 am

Party Mix Recipe

I’ve been asked rather often whether I give out my Party Mix recipe.  I’ve never been one to keep my recipes a secret.  However, over and over again, I give someone a recipe and the recipient reads over it and decides that it’s too much work or too big or too fattening or too expensive or whatever.

So let me just tell you before you even begin —

THIS RECIPE IS TOO MUCH WORK, TOO BIG, TOO FATTENING, AND TOO EXPENSIVE!

There, now you know.

So you can adjust the size or skip the steps or substitute the ingredients to your heart’s content.  And you might be just as happy with the results as I am with my results.  I can only tell you that it has taken me years to fine tune this recipe and have it where I like it and feel good about giving it away.  Maybe some of you would like to get together with friends or family members and share the ingredients.  And that’s fine, too.  This specific recipe with this amount of ingredients will make almost 8 gallons of party mix.

2 (12.5 oz.) boxes of Honey Nut Chex

1 large bag Bugle snacks  (14.5 oz.) or 2 regular size (7.5 oz.)

4 bags (6 oz.) Caramel Sweet and Salty Bugle snacks

1 box (1 lb.) Stauffer’s Whales baked cheese crackers (or the equivalent of your preference.)

1 bag (1 pound) pretzels sticks (I like them skinny)

2 boxes Ritz Bits (7.5 or 8 oz.) sandwich crackers.  I prefer to get plain Ritz Bits, but haven’t been able to find them in bulk anywhere.  So, I use the crackers, (my preference is the peanut butter kind, but you can use any that you prefer.  However, when I’m finished with roasting my batch of party mix, I put on gloves and literally take all the little sandwiches apart.  I know!  It’s hard work, but it is worth it, and it doesn’t take very long and they come apart easily while they are hot.  Then the flavor of the peanut butter mixes in with the rest of the ingredients and that makes it good, too.  Our daughter, Rachel, insists that I used the cheese filled ones – once upon a time and that they were “much better!”  I don’t remember this and I don’t think I did.  But I might just have a mental block!

3 lbs. pecans, large pieces

6 cups regular Cheerios

(I have a kitchen scales, so I do the following by weight.  You can measure the amount of cups in a box and do it that way.  The reason I do it this way is that I have exactly enough to do another batch when I run low from giving away so much of the first batch!)

½ box (14 oz.) Wheat Chex

½ box (12 oz.) Corn Chex

½ box (12 oz.) Rice Chex

½ large (46 oz.) can cashews

½ large (52 oz.) can large Spanish peanuts

I put all of these ingredients together in my big round storage container and toss them until they are thoroughly mixed. (I have searched for another set of these containers – originally from Sam’s Club as a set of four different sizes – and the biggest one is measured to 7 gallons, but holds a good 8+ gallons,- but I cannot find them anywhere!  Not retail, not Amazon, not Ebay.  If anyone know where they are available, please let me know!) After the ingredients are thoroughly mixed, I mix the following thoroughly in a separate bowl:

7 Tablespoons Lawry’s Season Salt

4 Tablespoons Garlic Powder

I sprinkle this over the container of mix, a little at a time, tossing often to distribute evenly.  Then I mix the following using a whisk:

5½ cups vegetable oil

6 tablespoon Worcestershire Sauce

When that is thoroughly mixed, I pour it over the mix, tossing again after each cup or so until it is gone.  Then I toss and toss and toss until the oil mixture is evenly distributed.

Then I take five large foil pans (mine are like 11x19x3) and divide the mix between four pans (keeping one in reserve).  I have two ovens, so this is where it goes much faster for me.  The ovens should be preheated to 250 degrees, with the racks spaced just far enough apart to get two pans in at once.  I use two timers, and set one to two hours.  The other, I set for 15 minutes.  Every fifteen minutes, I take the empty pan, empty the bottom pan into the empty pan, and put it on the top shelf, and empty the top shelf pan into the now empty pan from the bottom shelf and put that pan on the bottom.  I keep doing that for every 15 minutes until the two hours are up.  Then I dump everything together on the table which I’ve covered with brown paper and let it cool.  When it is cool, I put it back into my big old container.  If I didn’t have that big container, I would put it into heavy-weight plastic bags and store it that way.  You can make it a long time ahead and freeze it.  (I’ve never done this, but I have an Auntie who has done this often and it doesn’t seem to lessen the quality at all.)

And that, my friends, is my Party Mix Recipe!

 

 

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November 20, 2015 · 6:25 am

The siblings break bread

It is a Tuesday afternoon.  I stir the white sauce that is slowly thickening on my front burner.  On the back burner, a large kettle is beginning to simmer with carrots, onions, celery, potatoes and seasonings.  The shrimp is thawed in the over the sink mesh colander, waiting for its turn to be added to the chowder that I’m putting together for our evening meal.

I hear the door into the laundry room entry way open and feel a surge of anticipation.  He walks into the kitchen with that familiar tread.  My brother is here!  I put down the  scissors I am using to cut the shrimp and dry my hands.  He is not a hugger, but he doesn’t mind a hug sometimes and this is one time when I get away with it.  His smile is steady, but there is a quiet in his bearing that stabs my heart.  He has traveled many miles alone over the last thirteen months, and today was no different.  There are 600 long miles from his home in South Carolina to Shady Acres, and he has driven them repeatedly in the last year.

It isn’t long until the door opens again and in come Uncle Jesse and Aunt Gladys.  We had invited them to join us this evening. These two. Our Daddy’s brother and our Mama’s sister.  Their presence and persons comfort me like no one else can.  Their support and understanding and love have been inestimable, and in them are the tangible remembrances of the two who were our parents.  It feels so right to have them here.

The doors keep opening and shutting behind my beloved siblings and their spouses.  Bert and Sarah come, bringing tender and delicious homemade biscuits.  Alma comes with luscious looking pumpkin pies, lamenting the fact that Jerrel has a DFA meeting, and then Mark and Polly complete our circle, with Polly bringing a marvelous tossed salad to round our the simple meal.  There are beloved faces missing.  Nel and Rose are in Pennsylvania.  Frieda is in Heaven.  Daddy and Mama — I fight back a catch in my throat, and purposefully put it away. We will be glad for who we have in this place, at this time.  We gather around the long dining room table, ten of us at this gathering, and Uncle Jesse prays the blessing.

How many times did I hear Daddy’s voice, raised in prayer at a meal time?  It’s been a long time, but the words of my uncle’s prayer wrap themselves around me with familiarity and quiet comfort.  He thanks God for the food, for the opportunity to be together and prays for blessing on this time shared and for the ones who made the food. Around the table, the hands are joined and we listen to his quiet voice.

And then the “Amen” is said and the food is passed and the conversation weaves a pattern of memories and laughter and tears.  We share so much common ground with each other and with these two whose genetic heritage is the same as ours.  There are stories of Grandpa Dave, and the laughter is vibrant and genuine.  We ask questions and talk about our childhood.  We wonder how our daddy would have handled getting old and infirm and dependent and agreed that God was incredibly merciful to him and to us when He took him HOME.

We don’t speak much about our Sweet Mama.  The missing has settled into a deep and dark chasm for me and there are days when I feel like my heart will burst with all the things I need/want to tell her. I know she is safe.  I know she is happy.  I know that it really was God’s timing.  And I also know that it won’t always hurt this bad.  But it’s hard for me to talk about her without the tears.  At least for now.  And so we remember the good times, several “safe” things, and draw strength and comfort and courage from the time we spend in sweet, sweet fellowship.

All too soon, the night is over.  Uncle Jesse and Aunt Gladys have a somewhat long trek back to their home in Dover and it’s dark.  I worry about them heading off into the November cold, but they are cheerful, dispensing hugs and thank yous and beaming good will to us all.  My brothers and sisters and their spouses gather their leftover food and also depart.  Certain Man takes down the table, puts away chairs and helps to straighten the dining room while I load the dishwasher and put away leftover soup.. The neight has been exactly what I’ve needed.  When I kissed my auntie good by, I smelled the sweet smell of cologne and her cheek was so soft against mine.  It wasn’t my Mama’s signature Chantilly, but it was reminiscent of how important it always was to our Mama that she smelled good.  Oh, Mama!  How I miss you!

The years did pass so swiftly.  Sometimes it seems like Daddy and Mama have been gone forever.  This isn’t something new or unusual or peculiar to the children of Mark and Alene Yoder.  It’s just life.  We had excellent parents.  Truly the best!  Human, flawed, and with their own foibles and peculiarities and sometimes follies.  But so right for us.  So full of faith that they lived before us, and they loved us.  This night reminded us so much of our Daddy and Mama.  But for me, the one thing that shone the brightest though the presence of our precious Uncle and Auntie was the faith mixed with that unconditional love.  We were so blessed.  We are so blessed.  The gifts that we’ve been given through no effort of our own, are gifts that many, many people all over this world have not been privileged to have.

For the gifts of Heritage, warm memories, siblings that are good friends and an extended family who cares — for these good gifts, —

My heart gives humble, grateful praise.

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