Delaware Grammy

“This place is haunted, Ms. MaryAnn,” the children chorused as I went out to search for them after lunch on Sunday at Church Retreat.

“No, it isn’t,” I said indulgently.  “This is a church camp.  Jesus lives here.  This place is not haunted.”

I often wonder what sort of Boogey-man trash these children are fed because they are, every single one of them, pre-occupied with Leprechauns, Ghosts, Goblins and Haunted houses.

“Nuh-uh, Ms. MaryAnn, we were in that dorm and it’s for sure haunted!  We heard voices in there.”

“You weren’t supposed to be in the dorm, kids.  Why were you in the dorm?”  I looked at my troop, two boys and three girls as they tromped across the playground.  There was a scattering and a scurrying at that question, as the boys headed off quickly in another direction.

“But Ms. MaryAnn,” insisted one of the girls.  “It IS haunted!  Something terrible happened in there.  L.J. found a bloody knife on one of the beds!”

“No, he didn’t,” I asserted with great certainty.  “I know L.J., and I KNOW he didn’t find a bloody knife on one of the beds.”

“Ms. MaryAnn!  YES, HE DID!  He told me he did.  He threw it into the lake!”

“No, he did not!  I know L.J. and I know he didn’t find a bloody knife on the bed.”

“Yes, he did!” (This from several of the children.  And then I heard one or two say they had seen it.)

“Kids, listen to me.  L.J. did not find a bloody knife and throw it into the pond.  I know L.J..  If L.J. had found a bloody knife on the bed, he would have high-tailed it for one of us to show us his great find.  I know that he did not throw it into the pond.  It would have been too exciting for him to keep a secret.  He would have had to show it off.”

“Ms. MaryAnn, L.J. threw the knife in the lake because he was afraid that someone would think he had done something–“

“Yeah, he didn’t want to get into trouble — “

By now it was getting so funny, I could hardly keep from laughing.  All during this time, L.J. said NOTHING.  (Another really tell-tale sign of his guilt!)

“No, kids.  L.J. didn’t find a bloody knife on the bed and he didn’t throw it into the lake.  I KNOW he didn’t”

About now, his big sister had just about had enough.  “Ms. MaryAnn, L.J. DID see the knife and got rid of it.  Didn’t you, L.J.?”

“Um–” He looked about as if hoping some brilliant answer would rise up from the dry ground of the playground.  “Um– Uh– no.  I didn’t.”

Oh, boy, then they all acted like they were terribly mad with him for lying to them, hurling accusations and scuffing up leaves in his direction.  As it turned out, they all pretty much knew.  At least I got the “rest of the story.”

There (apparently) was a knife.  A butter knife, lying somewhere in the empty boys dorm at the Wesleyan Camp in Denton.

And it DID have something on it.

Yes, indeed.

And it WAS red(ish).

A little bit of rust.

And Ms. MaryAnn didn’t hear any more about the Haunted Boy’s Dorm.

This day hasn’t been at all the way I thought it would be.  I was supposed to take Nettie for a doctor’s appointment and then for blood work.  Monday is always laundry day, and there was a bed to wash and remake, lots of family laundry from the week and then the weekend at Church Camp, and stuff was still sitting around from where I had dropped it when I got in from Denton.  We had some company last evening, and I had gone to bed without unloading and reloading the dishwasher.  Cups and glasses and plates and bowls and containers of all sorts sat around on the cupboards.  It was a mess.

I dragged myself out of bed this morning.  My alarm had gone off around 5:15 and I luxuriated in the comfort of my smooth sheets and quilt before realizing that time was fast slipping away.  I gathered my stuff and came on downstairs to where Certain Man already had his cup of tea and was snoozing away on his recliner.  I shuffled around, feeling like a sloth, and changed the first load of laundry into the dryer, read my Bible, and finally got Cecilia up and on the potty while I made the bed and laid out her clothes.  Everything felt like a monumental effort.  I showered Cecilia and by then, Nettie was up and at’em.  Finally, Cecilia was dressed and at the breakfast table.

Then Certain Man came flying in from the chicken house, muttering about cross augers that weren’t working and tossing back over his shoulder, “Can you make me a sammich or something that I can eat on the way?  I’m outta’ time!”

So I pulled out my trusty iron skillet, made a scrambled egg and cheese sandwich and poured a tall glass of orange juice.  When he kissed me good-bye, he stopped abruptly.  “You don’t feel good, do you?” he asked, concern clouding his eyes.  That made me want to cry for sure, unfortunately. 

“No, I don’t,” I said, feeling suddenly worse.

“What do you have to do today?”  He asked.

“Well, I need to take Nettie to Dr. Coveleski’s by 8:30, then she needs blood work.  I have laundry, and this house needs my attention.  I’m just so tired and my tummy feels a little bit upset . . .  I’ll be alright.”

He was running really late, so he left then, and I began to think how I could simplify this day.  As soon as the doctor’s office was open, I called to see if I could reschedule Nettie’s appointment.  They acted happy to do that, and didn’t charge her any late cancellation fee.  Her blood work could safely wait a few more days and when her bus came, she happily got on and went to First State Senior Center.  Cecilia had left 45 minutes earlier, so I was finally alone.  I changed a washer again and climbed into my La-Z-Girl recliner and went fast asleep.  I dreamed strange and troubling dreams about shopping at Amish stores and having to go to the bathroom and not being able to climb the stairs out of the basements at Amish houses to get to the bathrooms.  It was incredibly frustrating.  Finally, I got awake and realized that I did, indeed, have to visit the restroom, so I got up, flew to the bathroom, then changed the washer again, folded and hung up the finished dryer load and got back on my chair.

I kept replaying the day before in my mind, thinking about my kids and wondering why I didn’t have more patience?  Why hadn’t I been more cheerful?  Why hadn’t I engaged them more in conversation individually?  Why hadn’t I planned more carefully?.  I had this lingering sad feeling and I just felt draggy and thick and colorless.  And my kitchen wasn’t cleaning itself, either, from the looks of things!

Then Friend Emma called and said that she was coming over.  I looked at this despicable house, and decided that I should at least work on my kitchen while we chatted.  I was still padding about in my house coat and  I decided that I was just going to stay that way.  If I didn’t have to go out, I was going to be comfortable.

While Emma was here with her sympathetic ear and loyal friendship, I stopped feeling quite so sad.  I made some headway on the kitchen, and kept after the laundry.  I stayed in my housecoat, though and just did what had to be done.  Before Emma headed out, she went upstairs with me and helped me to make up the bed, from the mattress up, and things always go better when there are two hands making beds!

And now, It’s evening.  The laundry is almost done, OGN and Cecilia had left over Chicken Corn Noodle soup for supper, things are settling down in the household.  I am still in my housecoat, still extremely sleepy, but I feel so thankful for this glorious, stay at home day.  I baked a butternut squash this afternoon, and methinks I just might make some pie.  It’s the season for pie.  Certain Man came in from the chilly outside and made a fire in the pellet stove and it is steadily burning.  

I’m so grateful for hearth and home.  For quiet days and Autumn scents.  For God’s mercy to me when I’m so undeserving and for the forgiveness of the people who love me.

T’is the season of Grateful Praise.  He is worthy.

I love them.  These kids with holes in their hearts the size of Texas.  

They fight and lie and sass and disobey and sneak.  

They wet the beds that I fiercely try to protect and come out of the shower smelling like they haven’t bathed.  They resist my offers for deodorant, powder and body wash as steadfastly as they resist my encouragement to not swear, pick up trash and answer when I call their names.  Their eyes are bigger than their stomachs, they waste food, spoon sugar into forbidden cups of coffee that they’ve tried to disguise in hot chocolate, fill their cups so full that they spill with the first sip, and use four “stirrers” per cup no matter how many times they’ve been told that one is enough.  They drag in dirt and leaves, don’t check for mud or dog doo on the the bottoms of their shoes and fiercely deny responsibility even when caught red-handed.  They use up the glue, break the crayons, waste craft supplies and want to abandon projects the minute things get tough.  They tattle and pout and aggravate each other and have potty mouths.

But I love them.  Even when they aggravate me to within an inch of my patience, and I feel the only way to some resemblance of order and obedience is to issue stern ultimatums.  (“I can’t take you home because your parents aren’t there, but I can make you sit by Mr. Daniel, and I WILL if you don’t straighten up!”  “Either you come RIGHT NOW or you won’t be coming back tomorrow.”  “Either you come in to church like I told you, or I’m going to pack you up and take you home!”)  I still love them!

Somehow, even in my most frazzled moments, there is this nagging little thought at the back of my head that says, “What would I be like if I were in their shoes–if all the people for all the generations I know in my family were broken by crime, divorce, drugs, alcohol and dependency?  How would I cope with life if my mother consistently chose her own selfish heart over my physical and emotional well-being?  Would I even know what truth is if my parents and grandparents and myriads of “uncles” and “aunts” all lied about anything and everything — even stuff that didn’t really matter?  Who would teach me personal hygiene if I was an adolescent girl living alone with my dad and the only creatures that really cared about me were the cats I rescued from the weeds around the trailer in a despicable, rundown trailer court that I called home? Or what dreams could I dream for life if I lived in a filthy trailer with ten other people most of the time, where dogs and babies and drug dealers and sex orgies mingle with a nine year old boy and an eleven year old girl who have no space to call their own, and the police come out to a child’s birthday party that turns into drunken fights among the adults?  

And I’ve hardly scratched the surface of what these kids deal with every. single. day.  I look at their beautiful faces and wonder what in the world we can do to make a difference for eternity, yes, but also for the challenges of the here and now living that they did not choose, do not want, but cannot escape.  And what does God want?  I’m quite sure that what He wants just may go against my natural inclinations and brightest ideas.

And so I find myself once again, tucking a girlie into the best bed in the house, praying the Lord her soul to keep (while praying almost as fervently that the pull up and the protective pad will hold.  It doesn’t).  It’s almost as if I think that somehow through the clean sheets, the kind words, the peaceful house, the wide open spaces, they will somehow experience the Light of the Lord Jesus, the Hope of Heaven, the possibility of redemption . . .

How futile the efforts of mortals!

But God!

He is the one who must draw them to Himself!  Yes, He uses mortals, and yes, He calls us to be His ambassadors, but the work is Christ’s!  And if any of us come safely home to Heaven, we will do it through His Precious Blood.  I see their needs, so glaring, so desperate, and in the face of the magnitude of their need, it’s easy to lose sight of the fact that it took the same blood for my great need.  

And so, that voice at the back of my subconscious thought needs heeding.

If it weren’t for Grace, where would we be?

. . . Just because some of you have asked for it again, and because, by the end of this week, if the weather man is right, we Delawareans will be needing us some Hot Chocolate. (Yippee!) The batch I made last week is almost half gone! 

The Yutzy Family’s 5 ingredient Hot Chocolate Mix

1 box (20 or 22 quart size) Powdered Milk (I prefer Carnation brand)

1 – 12 oz. can of Ovaltine Rich Chocolate Mix (silver can, blue label)

1 – 30 oz. canister chocolate Nesquik

1 – 22 oz. jar of regular flavor powdered coffee creamer (I like to use the store brand)

2 pounds of Domino powdered sugar

Mix all together thoroughly, and store in a large container

 (This recipe fills a 9 quart Tupperware container)

Directions:

Fill cup 1/3 t0 1/2 full of mix.  Add Hot/boiling water to top.

Stir!

Top with your favorite whipped cream from a can.

If you feel really fancy, shave some chocolate over the whipped cream.

Enjoy!

Daniel and I spent the nicest couple of days in New York.  The first night, we spent the night with his nephew, Jeremy and his wife Doreen.  They have five boys that they are raising on a mushroom farm near the small town of Ghent, New York.  Daniel and Jeremy had the problems of the world to solve, so their four oldest boys and I had a wonderful couple of  hours while I helped to harvest the day’s crop of Shiitake Mushrooms, told them endless stories, and listened to their various observations and informative tidbits.

Here, Daniel holds their youngest son, Nicholas Daniel (almost six months)
while their oldest, Weston (12) listens in on the conversation between his dad and Great Uncle.

Look what I found, crawling on the asphalt outside my garage.
I went to my resident bug man, Dave Hertzler, to see if he could tell me what I was seeing.
It looked ominous to me — like it could sting, or maybe take down a Jonah Vine in an afternoon.
(See that story in Jonah 4)
Dave did a little research and was pretty certain it was
a white-lined sphinx moth caterpillar.

Some day that big, fat, green worm will look like this:

From wikipedia:
“The fore wing is dark brown with a tan stripe which extends from the base to the apex. There are also white lines that cover the veins. The black hind wing has a broad pink median band. It has a wingspan of 2 to 3 inches.”

This moth isn’t the most attractive of moths, (especially with its wings folded)
but its living habits make it fascinating to me.
For one thing, it flits about much like a hummingbird, gathering nectar from flowers.  
We’ve seen a number of them in the gardens around Shady Acres.
They always surprise and delight me.

Yes, I put him back into the garden.

I am always amazed at the many, many things to see in our world.

And (are you getting tired of hearing this?) my heart gives grateful praise.

Thank you all so much for your prayers and for your encouragement!  

Rachel is much, much better this morning.  In fact, to use her words, 

“I’m doing a lot better. Whatever I had seems to be gone.”

My heart gives grateful praise– not only for her recovery, but for the friends who jumped to the fore and prayed for Rachel as well as us.  THANKS!

My Far Away Girlie is heavy on my heart today.

When I send my kids away with my blessing, one of the things I purpose not to do is allow myself to worry.  I truly know that though they may not be “safe,” they are never out of His Care.

It has felt different this time, sending Rachel to Uganda.  Not different in that I miss her more, or I miss her less, but maybe a bit of unsettledness over some issues over which no one has any control (Ebola, malaria, typhoid, yellow fever).  These have nagged at the back of my mind at times.  She did the immunizations that were recommended, and she is careful.  But —

Today my girlie is ill.  She called a couple of hours ago as she walked to her host home in Uganda.  She is running a fever, has an upper respiratory infection and a raging intestinal and upper G.I. disturbance.  No, she hasn’t eaten anything she shouldn’t.  No, she hasn’t been exposed to anything that she knows of.

However, yesterday, she walked a slum from one end to the other in her internship with Compassion, International.  And until this week when they went into their host homes, the team has hardly slept at the same place for more than three days in a month.  Who knows what she picked up, and where?  She was cheerful, optimistic, but very, very exhausted.  And sick. 

Could you please pray for our girl?  She belongs to Jesus, and He will never leave her, never forsake her, but we feel a need for the prayers of God’s people.

Sunday.

It has to be my favoritest day of the week.  Gathering with friends to worship, seeing faces I love, sometimes having company and almost always getting a nap.

So yesterday, we had our usual scrambling morning.  Middle Daughter was home (for those of you who didn’t know, she has moved out to live with her Grandma, my Sweet Mama, for a trial period of time).  A sister of Mama’s, Alma Jean Yoder, from Virginia, had arrived on Saturday to stay for a week, and so Deborah had decided to come home for the week to give the sisters some time together.  With another sister, Freda, just across the lawn from Mama, it looked like a wonderful week ahead.  

We had invited the sisters to lunch on Sunday as they had planned to all come to Laws Mennonite Church for the morning worship service.  I had promised not to go to too much trouble and had kept my promise.  Chicken corn noodle soup and Ground Cherry Pie were the only items that I had to make.  Lunch was rounded out by a great, fresh tossed salad from Lawina who joined us on the spur of the moment and Friend Emma came, too.  Certain Man presided over the table of seven  “hens” with his usual aplomb and we had a great time together.

After lunch, while Mama and the Aunties went home, Beebs and Lawina and Emma cleared away the mess while I went to get ready for calling hours at a memorial service in Milford.  Rats!  I had gotten something on the jacket of the dress that I wanted to wear to the calling hours.  I tried and tried to get it off, but nothing seemed to help, only make things worse.  I finally took the jacket off to see whether I could clean it from the back of the material, and here!  Something from lunch had gone between my jacket and my dress and I had squished it greatly in my attempt to wash it off and there was a spreading stain.  I tried a few more housewifely laundry shortcuts, but nope!  No success.

So, I changed my dress.  Just before leaving the bathroom where I had changed, I grabbed some perfume and gave a few spritzes to my neck, and then we were off.

It has been beautiful in Delaware, and this day couldn’t have been nicer.  High white clouds floated against a blue sky and the temps were reasonable.  Autumn was in the air for sure.  I have recently started putting out my harvest air fresheners, and have been paying special attention to the downstairs bathroom that has had an unpleasant — well — atmosphere here of late.  In fact, just shortly before leaving, I had sprayed some of Yankee Candle’s Macintosh Spice air freshner in the ladies bathroom, hoping to improve things a little bit.

“”Wow!” I thought, as we went down the road, “That room spray must really be absorbed by fabric.”  I could smell “Macintosh Spice” every minute as we were going.  We pulled up in front of the church and Certain Man parked and we went inside.  We talked to old friends, found the immediate family and expressed our great sadness over Bob Nelson’s untimely passing, and then left.  All along the way, all I could smell was “Macintosh Spice.”  It was starting to make me feel more than a little nauseous.  It wasn’t until I was getting out of the mini-van that a troubling thought invaded the extreme autumn atmosphere.  What if???

I surreptitiously rubbed my finger over the area where I had intended to spritz my faithful Imari perfume and it came up with just a tad bit of greasy residue and ranking of a very Autumn  Yankee candle.

 Oh, dear!  I had hugged so many gals and talked to so many people — I just couldn’t think about it.  So I washed everything off, got some powder and the right amount of my usual “smell good,” got into my housecoat, and took a nap.

Walking in my driveway,
Heavy thoughts in my head,
Eyes downcast.

A sudden glimpse of a strange face
Looking up at me
Makes me laugh.

“Lord Jesus,
Thank you for
day brighteners
In unexpected places
At unexpected times.”