Delaware Grammy

Please pray for my cousin, Merlin Yoder, (oldest son of my Daddy’s twin, Luke) who has been seriously injured in a farming accident in Bay Port, Michigan.  He has been airlifted to Saginaw, and things are extremely critical.

Please pray also for his wife, Pat (Shetler) and his children, Shari (Married to Chad Craig) and son, Mike as they make travel arrangements and face this incredibly hard time.

The rest of his family needs all the prayer support they can get, too.  And thanks~

Certain Man and Middle Daughter have just put up the THANKFUL WALL for 2011.

No entries yet, but that is sure to change yet this morning.
Come on by
Have a hot drink,
and tell us what you’re thankful for!

May we all give Grateful Praise!

Sunday would have been my parents’ 62nd wedding anniversary.  The day’s emotions were encompassed by the passing of her brother in law, but one of the things my Sweet Mama said to me has been so precious to me.

I had called her in the afternoon, and said,
“Mama, I know that this day has been so hard with the passing of Uncle Vernon,
but I wanted you to know that I thought about this day,
and I remembered what day it is. 
I suppose that, all those years ago, this was such a happy day.”

“Oh,” she breathed, almost too quiet for me to hear, “that was the day all my dreams came true.”

She’s a brave lady.
We’ve been so blessed by those dreams that came true for her.

I love you, Mama!

My heart is beyond full today.  It is overflowing.  Life is made up of so many shades of the basic emotions — happiness, sadness, peace, sorrow, satisfaction, etc., can all fill our hearts in a way that makes us almost not know what it is that we are actually feeling.  And that is how I feel.

Uncle Vernon died this morning.  He quietly slipped away in the early morning darkness, and left his pain wracked body lying still and at rest.  I got the call just before we left to pick up “our” three kids to go over to our Church Retreat.  I really didn’t have time to think about his passing until on the way home.  The kids were tired, quiet in the back, and suddenly Muffie piped up and said, “Miss Mary Ann, can we come to your house on Thursday night?”

“I don’t know, Muffie,” I said, “but probably not.  My uncle died this morning, and his funeral is on Thusday.”  The words hung in the air, thick and heavy.  “He was such a good Uncle,” I said, now crying.  And then I told them this story.

I remember one time when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Freda come to visit us, and I was in the throes of young adolescence (‘Addled Essence” would be more accurate, to be sure!).  My hair was a mess, and my dress was dirty.  I had been trying to clean up the kitchen, and I was talking to Uncle Vernon.  We stored the frying pan in the oven at our house (Still do in my house, to this day!)  But I had put a cake in to bake just a little before, and it was almost done.  I was talking animatedly to Uncle Vernon, who always engaged me in conversation, and without thinking, I grabbed the frying pan and put it into the oven without looking, right on top of that almost baked cake.  I felt an unfamiliar thud and then I looked in disbelief at the flattened and scrunched cake.

My Sweet Mama was not happy with me for ruining the cake.  We had plans to use it for a dessert the next day that is similar to Cherry Delight.  The only difference is that you use the baked cake as the bottom layer instead of a graham cracker crust.  It was all the rage back then, and I am pretty sure that Mama was expecting company for lunch the next day.  I don’t know what she must have thought, but it WAS a result of not paying attention.  (Something I was, unfortunately, quite famous for.  Still am.)  Uncle Vernon and Aunt Freda were the current company, though and so she didn’t scold me too hard.  But I felt awful, and I cried.  We tried hard to repair and salvage, but it was still rather sorry looking.

Later, I was back in the kitchen, and Uncle Vernon came up to me and said, “Mary Ann.  Come here.”  He took me to where our living room and dining room met, where there was a large, full length mirror, and positioned me in front of it.  “Take a good look,” he said.  I did.  Didn’t particularly like what I saw, either.  “What do you see?” he asked.

It really wasn’t much to look at.  My hair was stringy, falling down over my face.  I reached up and tried to tuck it behind my ear.  My dress, made of the shirtwaist pattern of the day, was an aqua gingham, rumpled and dirty.  I was dreadfully self conscious.  “Um, I don’t know.  Me?”

“Now, Mary Ann,” he instructed kindly, “I want you to straighten your shoulders.  Don’t slump.  And I want you to smile.  You can smile.”  He took my hands gently in his and crossed them over my tummy.  “Hold your hands just so.  Like that.  Now look at you.  I see a beautiful young lady,” he said with energy, confidence and enthusiasm.  “Look at you!  You really are a wonderful young lady.  You are intelligent and you will go far.”

I looked in the mirror.  I smiled at the girl in the mirror and she smiled back.  I felt a surge of confidence like I had never known before.  I didn’t feel beautiful, but I felt capable.  I knew I wasn’t gorgeous.  I certainly didn’t have a reason to be vain, but I really did feel like I could meet the challenges of life, and that I had something to offer this old world, and it felt really, really good.

I have always blessed him for that day.  It was pivotal in my life.  It was many, many years before I understood how “Uncle Vernon” that was.  He lived and breathed encouragement.  He looked for something to praise, something to give hope, something to affirm.  

We are going to miss him.  We are so glad for his triumph, so sad for our loss.  A mix of emotions, again.  This old world keeps on turning, ever bringing us closer and closer to Home.  I wonder how emotions will play into our existence in Heaven.  I’m sure they will be there, and will be a part of that glorious experience  But to think of emotions without the contradictions of our limited knowledge, without the distractions of our Humanity — now that will be Heaven!

Rest in peace, Uncle Vernon.  We’ll see you in the morning. 

Oh, and tell my Precious Daddy that I will always love him and will miss him until my last breath.   

I just heard a car pull into the driveway! 

Our Rachel-girl is safely home.  She drove the entire distance alone from Cedarville, Ohio to Milford, DE, in her little Mazda. 

She may have been the only PERSON in that car, but there were many, many PRAYERS circling her ’round. 

Ah, LORD JESUS, this Mama’s heart gives grateful praise for traveling mercies, and for the joy of a child come home.

My uncle is slipping away from us.  This vibrant, intelligent man who chose to be kind and loving and faithful, who pastor-ed a church in downtown Wilmington in the turbulent 60’s, who was a school principal for years in New Castle County, who had the rare art of encouragement almost down to a science, is slowly but steadily slipping away.

My Sweet Mama and I stopped over unannounced yesterday, and at my cousin’s invitation, we sat in on a conference between my cousin and Compassionate Hospice.  Sometimes the answers are so hard, solutions to the immediate so elusive.  As part of the extended family, we are aware that the best thing we can do is continue to pray, be supportive, and love this part of our family with every tangible means we can think of.  My aunt is a courageous woman, and she has been remarkable in her care of her husband.  From being a caregiver myself, I am so aware of how “carried” we can be in difficult situations, but I also remember how easy it is to feel overwhelmed.  I remember getting out of my house on rare occasions for necessary “market runs” and I would find myself crying out loud, unrestrained, when I was all alone in my car and no one could hear me.  I remember how little things were HUGE, and stuff that I might have been able to “shake off” I couldn’t when I was under the stress of caring for desperately ill people.

Case in point:
When we moved to our farm in 1989, our family was caring for Harriette, a high functioning individual who had developed a cancer on her vulva.  (A REALLY bad place to develop cancer, believe me —  but that’s another story)  Daniel was busy with his plumbing business and raising chickens — and it usually meant that I needed to go for groceries late at night.  I remember one night that Harriette was almost out of pain meds, and I needed groceries, so Daniel stayed with the kids and the ladies (We had four kids and three ladies at that time) and I made a bee-line for Meatland in Harrington.  I had planned my evening almost down to the last minute, so that I could get out of Meatland and get to the drugstore before closing.  I hadn’t shopped for quite some time, and I had a big cart load of things.  When I pulled the cart into the checkout lane, the young cashier sighed and rolled her eyes.  I tried hard not to notice or be too upset.  It was late — she had probably had a hard day, and she had no way of knowing that I had just cried my eyes out on the way there, and that I was very, very fragile.  She started checking me out, thumping the groceries down in a pointed way and the bagging fellow kept piling the things higher and higher in the cart. 

I finally said, rather meekly, “Do you think maybe we ought to get a second cart?” 

That brought another rolling of the eyes and a lips in a straight line, and so I said nothing more — especially since I saw that my time was running out to get to the drugstore for Harriette’s medicine.  They piled the cart up and stuffed things into nooks and crannies, and I paid my bill and headed for my car. 

About halfway across the parking lot, a bag that was just out of my reach suddenly slid off the top and crashed to the ground.  Inside the bag was a bottle of lemon juice and a card I had picked up for some occasion.  The jar shattered, and the card was ruined.  I remember standing in that parking lot, crying, and the overwhelming feeling I felt was RAGE.  I was so angry at that cashier, so angry at the store, so angry about not being able fix things for Harriette (and the way things were so complicated in my family) so angry that I didn’t have enough time to go back into the store and demand recompense because if I did, I wouldn’t make it to the drugstore on time and Harriette wouldn’t have her pain medicine.  I felt so powerless, completely at the mercy of the “wind and rain” in a boat that was taking on water at an alarming rate.  I don’t know what I did with that bag — I may have left in right there in the parking lot.  I loaded my groceries and paused long enough to look at the store, clenched my fists and said, “If I can help it, I will NEVER again shop in this store!!!”  And that felt really good in a twisted sort of way.  (The truth is, I never did another shopping excursion in that store.  I think I may have gone in there in an “emergency” to purchase an item, but I really was DONE!)

Looking back, I think about some of the hard lines I took during that time that were so stubborn and ridiculous.  The state was paying me (the lowest amount they paid anyone) for Harriette’s keep and care, and I knew that they should be paying me more, but I kept saying, “I refuse to ask them for more money.  They know how difficult this is, they know they should pay me more, but I will NOT ask them.  More money doesn’t make an unbearable situation bearable.” 

That sounds right, doesn’t it? 

But I was wrong.  More money wouldn’t have cured the cancer, but it would have bought some help for me.  It would have bought time away for my family.  It would have bought pizza on Saturday nights for the kids and Daniel and I — a real treat for our family.  But I kept thinking that the state would somehow realize what the needs were and that they would do what was right.  (I learned that, when it comes to MONEY, the state really doesn’t ever hand out money to care providers unless they are forced to.  As long as I would do something and not ask for more, they figured that I was somehow getting along okay.)   The upshot was that when Harriette was finally moved to a nursing home and my one lady had her hip replaced and then went to another placement, I was so exhausted, so incredibly depleted, and so sure that I was in the wrong field that I let my license expire, and kept only Old Gertrude, whom I could keep without a state license.  When people asked me why, I would say, “Because we need to heal as a family.  These last months have been a struggle, and I, in particular, but also our whole family, need to heal.”

I am so concerned about my aunt right now.  Her eyes are so tired, and she is so determined to see this through — and that is admirable, but any time someone is caring for a family member, particularly a spouse, there is a whole different dimension and sorrow associated with that — more so even than what I’ve done with my ladies. It is challenging and difficult and Heart-rending.  It is partly the weight of responsibility, but it is more than that — it is the intense love of a lifetime, playing an unfamiliar “last verse” to an old love song, a sorrow that never leaves you, a weight in your chest, a “foot in your stomach” kind of feeling that wants so badly to hope for the best, but is constantly being hit in the face with reality.  We are in a solemn place of  responsibility to hold fast the prayer ropes for our loved ones in these days.  My aunt, in particular, but also their four children and their families.

I suppose this is too long — that I’ve probably lost some of you long ago.  For those of you who are still with me, please pray for Vernon and Freda Zehr and their family.  Logically, we know that dying is a part of living.  Experientially?  Well, it just doesn’t make sense.

What motivates the frantic gathering and harboring of food when there is a crowd of people?

What makes them plan ahead and ask for the leftovers to take home before the meal even begins?

What is it that spurs them on to ask if they can “Fix plates for Mom and Dad” before the line is even through?

And why the brown paper bag, stuffed full of all the gleanings from the table at the end of the night?

Lord Jesus, what is it that motivates ‘Our Kids?’  These kids that don’t belong to us at all,
and yet ‘belong’ to our church family and Daniel and me in ways the we don’t really comprehend?
Is there a threat waiting for them behind that stark, grubby door
(inside which I am seldom allowed)? 
Or is it soul hunger that gnaws away at their hearts and tells them that there will
“NEVER BE ENOUGH”
No matter how hard they try.
Never enough food.
Never enough creature comforts.
Never enough energy to meet their emotional needs.
Never enough resources to meet their physical needs.
Never enough security.
Never enough love.
Lord Jesus, once again, my heart cries out to you for the children.
Could you build a protective wall around them?
And costly though that may be, may we count the cost,
and may we be found inside that wall.
Where it counts.
Where we can be found by them.
So YOU can make a difference.

It’s been a busy day at Shady Acres.  For the past two days, our church has hosted a food/rest/pottybreak stop for Black Rock’s Bike-a-thon.  (See here:http://www.blackrockretreat.com/bikeathon/)  What a great time it was, and the event is so well planned, down to the way the food stops are handled, it was a joy to be a part of it.

Yesterday, there were about 50 bikers that stopped at our little country church.  Gary Burlingame and I stayed for the entire time, and Christina with Charis and Deborah and Certain Man all did some helping, too.

This morning, the co-coordinator felt it would be wise for someone to be there somewhat ahead of time, and so I went up around 9:30 and set up what we had, just in case there were some early birds.  It was cold and overcast, and no one came early.

Pretty sparse fare at this point — just bananas and cookies
and, in the cooler, chocolate milk.

But with cookies like this, who needs much else?
Dave and Ilva came to be our church’s volunteers for the day,
And wouldn’t you know, I didn’t get a picture of them!
I am so grateful for their help today,
because it meant that I could go home after things were set up.

 Then the food wagon got there, and there were wonderful things to choose from.

These were the Black Rock “Foodies” for our station.
Jon and Rose Diener. 
Wonderfully organized, helpful and cheerful.

Pretty soon, the bikers started pulling in.

There were lots of stories and note comparing and encouraging words.

This is a mother and son team that were doing the ride today.
I think he said that he is 13, and this is his second year to ride.
After the first riders came through,
I left the Bike-a-thon in the capable hands of the team that was there
and came home to my waiting chores.

I had LOTS of relish waiting. 
I had gotten a batch into jars and sealed before I left,
but I had two more to go.  What a wonderful feeling!
39 pints (in 45 jars).  All sealed.

But then I kept thinking about how I had checked my Lima Beans
yesterday, and they were in dire need of picking.  So around six,
I went out and picked lima beans.  I got about 3/4 of a bucket.
Middle Daughter, home from her trip to the Baltic Sea, helped me shell them.

I washed them, blanched them, and got them into the freezer.
Four more bags!  Total now is 30 bags.

While I was picking the beans, though, I noticed a wonderful thing.
There are beans hanging on those vines in unbelievable numbers!
If we don’t get frost for a few more weeks,
I should have a couple of really good pickings left!
Even though it means lots and lots of work, I am so happy!
There really is nothing quite like Delaware Lima Beans.

It is Autumn at Shady Acres.  There are candles on the table and they are burning!

But these candles are forced to run a tough obstacle course.

There is a little girlie who loves to blow out the candles:

The only problem was — this Grammy didn’t watch closely enough,
and, sure enough, she got that beautiful hair too close.

How great was the consternation and wailing and this Grammy’s guilt.

But her Mama assured me that she would be okay, that she was, in fact, quickly to sleep.

The hair, not too damaged, and the quarter-sized red spot on her cheek looking better.

I guess this Grammy learned her lesson. 

Even when their enthusiasm seems careful enough, it probably isn’t.

Even when you think you are watching with impeccable carefulness, you probably aren’t.

And when something happens that you regret, the truth is,

The little ones forgive you better than you forgive yourself.

I posted this a few weeks ago around the time that I sent it into http://www.dearphotograph.com.

Dear Photograph,

The old swing is empty, but this Mama’s heart never is.

MaryAnn Yutzy

It’s been quite a while, and I decided that it had just not made the cut.   I know I’m prejudiced, but I was pretty sure that my photo was every bit as interesting as the next guys.  Today I got this message from the site director:

Hey MaryAnn,

—
Taylor Jones