Linda Roorda

Recently, I was mocked for my faith and belief in God by a reader of my online blog. Attributing to God the special ways my prayers were answered to overcome a fear of going alone through major airports, I met folks who became helpful friends on my flights to and from visiting family. This woman was aghast, proclaiming God had nothing to do with it. She added that her comments were “unlikely to sway anyone who has been indoctrinated into a belief system.” Rather, her purpose was to “lay bare the myth of religion” as Christianity has been “incredibly destructive.” Proudly, she stated how “green” she was, yet bragged about travelling to 90 countries, logging millions of miles, and that God had nothing to do with her flights because “God does not exist.” Without God, we trust in ourself - that’s called pride. How sad! For as King David wrote in Psalm 14:1, “The fool says in his heart, ‘There is no God.’” I chose not to respond, but to pray for her instead, while two supporters/administrators made it clear to her that her comments were very inappropriate. As a meme I once saw noted: “An umbrella cannot stop the rain, but it allows us to stand in the rain. Faith in God may not remove our trials, but it gives us strength to overcome them.” Faith… it’s intangible. You can’t see it. You can’t feel it. And it’s hard to define. But it’s there… deep in the heart. Faith is a trust, a belief, a confidence knowing that something positive will happen based on past experiences, while hope is optimistically looking to the future. Even though we may not see the evidence of our faith and hope for a long time, we can agree that biblically speaking, “faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.” (Hebrews 11:1 NIV) “For we live by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7) We put faith in a lot of things – like people, money, real estate, our job, military power, that the water we drink and use will always be there, even our electric until it suddenly goes off. We put faith in our best friends, in our dear loved ones, and hope that they will come through for us. We have faith our car will start… especially on those bitter cold mornings! We often don’t know or understand how something works; it just does – so we say we have faith that it will work. We have faith knowing that at the end of a long, dark and dreary winter, we will see spring’s beauty unfold. The cells of life are within each seed whether human, animal, or plant as created by God and established within its own kind. And as we watch the flower or leaf bud begin to swell, and then open, we see the evidence, the proof, of our faith and hope in this new life that’s about to burst forth. Yet the opposite of faith is pride in self, while the opposite of hope is uncertainty, anxiety, despair… with uncertainty being sure of one thing – nothing. And how often don’t things and people let us down? Thus, we should “be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let [our] requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard [our] hearts and minds through Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:6-7). We have faith, hope, and trust in our God to guide and assist us when we look to Him, seeking to follow in His steps, His path, His will. So, what exactly is at the heart of this kind of faith? True faith must be put into practice… for though faith is unseen in our heart, it becomes an action on our part when we actually place our trust in the Lord. And, I’m ashamed to say, I have failed at times. Yet, faith is essential in relating to God. Faith helps us realize that no matter what happens to us, good or bad, God is working in the situation for His will, His purpose. And Ed and I have seen our God working through many difficult situations and losses of health, jobs, and life, using what we’ve learned to come alongside and assist someone else on their difficult journey. We can’t see God and can’t feel Him next to us. But, in fact, it is even He who opens our heart and gives us the faith to come to Him seeking forgiveness and salvation. “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith – and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God – not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:8-10 NIV) And it’s within that faith as we build our trust and confidence with belief and hope that we learn how much our heart wants to please and praise our God. Still, at times I have failed to understand the effort to trust that I must put forth in the equation of faith. At times I have questioned what I sense the Lord is telling me to do versus what my heart wants. At times I have pushed the limits of self will, wresting control of the reins instead of resting in His hands, His will. But as I’ve learned to trust Him more, to obey His Word, to have faith in His greater purpose for my life, I find peace. Yet, how hard the lesson can be at times! Still, God is faithful, even when I am not, so I can have confidence that “…he who began a good work in you [and me] will carry it on to completion...” (Philippians 1:6 NIV) Thus, faith is trusting that God will work through me in whatever situation I face. He wants me to simply trust Him… like a child trusts their parents… to have faith and confidence in Jesus as my Lord and Savior, and in Him alone… that He will take me through a difficult situation, and bring me to the other side with new understanding from the journey. Out of this depth of trust comes the proof of our faith in God as we see the fruits of the spirit emerge in our actions and love toward others. This will then bring glory and honor back to our great God and His precious gift of love as we continue drawing closer to Him through prayer and study of His Words of wisdom. And therein lies our growth… the fruit of our faith. So what’s at the heart of faith? An obedience to trust and live out what God expects of me by showing I have confidence in Him and His word. “For we live by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7) Faith is trusting the Lord will provide and care for me even when I don’t see immediate answers to prayer, knowing “…that in all things [He] works for the good of those who love Him… (Romans 8:28a NIV) Simply put, faith is resting in the arms of God, allowing Him to work His will through me… like putting my hand in the Lord’s hand and saying, “Where you lead, I will follow.” (based on Luke 9:57) Faith Linda A. Roorda My faith is more than just mere words More than the eye could ever see For underneath the surface stirring Believes the heart with hope evermore. A hope within the depths of my soul Focused upon what cannot be seen There in the quiet and solitude calm Lies sweet the dream someday to fulfill. Choosing always to patiently rest Under Your wings to calmly abide Eagerly awaiting the break of dawn A gentle semblance of faith held secure. Your promises firm ring evermore true For when I put my trust in Your hands And then release the reins to my life You guide my steps from within Your will. And yet faith hopes in what can’t be seen Always expecting the best to emerge For faith is more than just simple dreams It’s holding on to trust in the truth. For truths in Your Word which cling to my soul Will give me hope and confidence clear When all seems lost and fears wander dark Faith holds forever its promises bright. ~

Attending my Owego Free Academy 50th class reunion last night, July 22, 2023, it was great to see and chat with so many former classmates. We were the 100th class to graduate from OFA, and the first class to graduate from the new high school building – such honors! Being asked to give the prayer at the reunion dinner last night, it was an honor to thank our Lord for all His many blessings – of friendships, places we’ve been, lives we’ve built, and to thank Him for the friends who have left this life much sooner than any of us would have liked. We were given a great informative tour yesterday afternoon at the high school by the young principal – how can he be principal looking like a kid barely out of school! A lot has changed in the intervening 50 years, with great programs in place to help the students achieve their best and prepare for their successful launch into society at large. Having moved 15 times by the time I was 15, attending five different schools, learning to make new friends at each school, I’ve held onto many treasured memories. With the reunion in mind, I just had to share this blog originally posted in 2013. Oh, the childhood memories of places we’ve been and the friends we’ve made! Don’t you just love to visit with friends from long ago, remember childhood fun, and recall the good ol’ days when life was simpler? I suspect we all have precious memories tucked away, ready to be pulled out every so often. It’s a chance to gaze back in time, to smile anew on fun shared by all. But, I’m just as sure I’m not alone in having some memories that bring emotions to the surface, and tears to the eyes. Twice a year as our children grew up, we’d visit back and forth with my childhood friend and her husband, Hugh. Kathy and I were friends in East Palmyra – in church, in class at the Christian school, and in playing at our homes. We continued our friendship via snail mail after my family moved away in 4th grade, just before I turned 10. It was a very painful and emotional move for me – away from farm life, away from the best friends I’d ever known to city life in Clifton, New Jersey where I was born, and where my dad’s parents and siblings’ families lived. It was an unwelcome change. I hated city life, was horribly homesick, and cried for weeks. But life got better as I let go of childhood pain and released the sadness. Though there were difficult times and events in Clifton, I now find many good memories to replay in my mind’s eye. It was an era when my sister and I could walk or bike everywhere without fear. And then there was the time we biked from our eastern side of Clifton to where our grandparents lived all the way on the other side. When my grandmother opened the door to our knock, trust me, she was not pleased… because no one knew where we were! Still, with the used bikes my grandfather gave us, we felt so rich! I also treasure memories of fishing with my dad in northern Jersey lakes, and of spending time with my grandparents. My grandmother was a former professional seamstress who taught me to sew clothes and quilts – and to rip it out if it wasn’t right and sew it over again, more than once as I recall! This little Dutch immigrant had an unspoken life motto - “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right!” How I miss her greeting us at the door with a hug and always sweetly saying, “Hello Dear!” in her soft Dutch accent. Admittedly, my favorite memories are those of my childhood on the farms, and the fun my sister and I had back when there was no technology to ruin what games our little minds could conjure up. My earliest memories, though, begin after we moved back from Delta Junction, Alaska. My dad had a foreign assignment in the Army, stationed at Fort Greely before Alaskan statehood. He wanted to homestead, but my Mom wasn’t keen on the idea, so back to New Jersey we went. I’ve often wished I’d been old enough to remember the trip and the beautiful sights down the Al-Can Highway back to the States; but, then again, as I heard about the road without guardrails next to steep cliffs, of an old car with a steering wheel that caught at the most inopportune times (like coming around a curve and heading straight for a cliff when, at the last moment, the steering engaged again for my Mom, preventing us from plummeting off the cliff), maybe I’m glad I wasn’t old enough to remember that trip. Dad got rid of that car as soon as they got into Washington state, and they took a train east to Newark, NJ where my grandparents brought us back to their home. Dad next went to work on the Everson Farm in Clifton Springs, NY. I have photos of that time, but my first memories begin when he worked on the Wychmere Farm in Sodus, NY. I clearly recall that, at age 3-4, we drove down a lane to a Lake Ontario beach where I floated in an inner tube. Seeing a ship on the horizon, my child’s mind feared it would “run me over!” Then, imagine my excitement when, while dating my husband-to-be, Ed, my friend, Kathy, and her husband, Hugh, took us to that very same lane and beach near Chimney Bluffs and it was totally familiar to me, remembered from all those years ago! Next, on the Breemes farm in Marion, NY, my sister and I could be seen playing in and around the barn; milking “my cows” with an old tea kettle on the bank-barn’s wall ledge while standing on a bale of hay as Dad milked his cows, and throwing rocks into mud/manure puddles with my sister, accidentally following those rocks into the muck. My brother, Charlie, was born that year, an interloper to our fun… or so I thought at that age. Later, we once again moved back to Clifton, NJ where I attended kindergarten, a big girl walking several blocks by all myself to P.S. #15. Returning to Marion, NY the summer after kindergarten, we had many more adventures with Fran and Betty DeVries while living upstairs in their beautiful Victorian house on their parents’ farm. I remember the layout of their barn, helping a few times to put milking machines together, watching their Dad put in silage with the belt-driven unloader off the tractor. My Dad knew Gerald and Joann from the Sussex, NJ Christian Reformed Church youth group when he was herdsman for old Mr. Titsworth after graduating Clifton High School. Actually, Mr. Titsworth was a direct descendant of Willem Tietsoort who settled in that area after the 1690 Schenectady massacre, purchasing extensive lands from the northern Jersey Indians. Unknown to our family back then, my genealogy research several years ago discovered Willem Tietsoort was related to one of my mother’s ancestors! Moving up the road to the spacious farmhouse on the Musshafen tenant farm brought more fun as we meandered the fields, and walked back down the road to spend time with Fran and Betty. My Dad bought a steer from Mr. DeVries to raise for beef. We girls named him Elmer… as in Elmer’s Glue we joked! My sister and I thought it was more fun running between rows in the garden instead of our weeding chore. Brother Mark was born here, with Charlie anxiously asking, “When can he play ball with me?” My Dad’s sister, Aunt Hilda, taught us the little song, “On top of spaghetti...” Needless to say, whenever I think of that song, it is always with images from that house as the poor little meatball rolls off our dining room table, out the back door, down the cement steps, down the slope, past the garden and under the lilac bushes this side of a small creek! We shelled endless piles of peas and snapped mountains of beans, and, I’m ashamed to say, threw some under those lilac bushes when we got tired of it all. We practiced our fishing techniques, aiming to put the dobber into a bucket though I don’t believe we were too accurate. We caught tadpoles and watched them grow legs while in jars before returning them to the creek to finish growing into frogs. And we even tried to fry an egg on the road on a very hot summer day… well, the adults always said it was so hot you could…! Next, as tenants on the Bouman farm on Whitbeck Road just outside of East Palmyra, fun found us running with Ruth, Annette and Grace in the haymow, catching my shoe on baling twine and tumbling down to the wooden floor below, barely a foot away from the upturned tines of a pitch fork and getting a concussion; traipsing over the fields and through the woods; walking among the cows in the pasture only to be chased by a very indignant new mom for getting too close to her baby and barely making it under the fence with her hugeness right behind me; roller skating, only once, on a pond because we didn’t have ice skates; building snow forts; sledding down the hill outside the barnyard; playing telephone as we kids all sat in a circle, laughing at how the secret message had changed from the first person to the last; playing Mother May I, Red light, Green light, and Hide and Seek; learning to ride bike under Grace’s tutelage with a few falls resulting in scraped-up knees; playing at friend Kathy’s home, sledding down their hill and across the field when a train came through, freezing up and not thinking to roll off - thankfully, the sled came to a stop a few feet away from the track as I looked up in horror at the train rushing by; voraciously reading every book I could get my hands on, a life-time habit; and so much more…! Oh such fun!! Then, abruptly, we moved back to city life in Clifton, NJ. Sadly, Dad left much behind, including the unique doll house made especially for us girls by our landlord when I was in kindergarten. Now, we enjoyed visiting often with our grandparents, and loved the family gatherings for every main holiday on the calendar. When brother Andy arrived, my sister and I, at ages 10 and 11, were responsible every week for months for hauling the family laundry in the little red wagon to the laundromat across the street from the bar at the top of our block, washing and folding it all (we became little pros, respected by all adults doing their own laundry), and getting to buy treats like 5-cent double-stick popsicles, way bigger than today’s version! We taught Charlie to ride bicycle in the former train station’s empty parking lot across from the end of our block, which is now all gone. Our Dad took us fishing to northern Jersey lakes and on Clifton’s Garret Mountain with its great vista overlooking the cities to the New York City skyline, all fishing holes from his childhood. We also enjoyed going to Green Pond for water fun where Dad’s sister, Hilda, and family spent the summers. We two girls enjoyed traipsing the city unsupervised without problems, walking or biking everywhere to parks, the city library, to Passaic Christian School and then to Christopher Columbus Junior High 12 blocks from home. I can still visualize so much of the city like the back of my hand, forever frozen in time. After four years, my heart rejoiced when we moved back to New York state! We were slowed by heavy bumper-to-bumper traffic because of hippies everywhere on Rt. 17 finding their way to the the fields of the Woodstock Festival on Saturday, August 16, 1969. Our long drive ended at a house on River Road in Lounsberry, half-way between Owego and Nichols, where the odor of neighboring farms was heavenly. Here, my latter teen years were spent caring for three-dozen-some chickens, 6 Muscovy ducks and their newly-hatched ducklings (which grew to provide us with fine dining), my lamb, and mare, War Bugg, a beautiful grand-daughter of Man O’ War… along with the arrival of our youngest brother, Ted. I was, admittedly, very disappointed he was not a little girl, but fell in love with him and those big blue eyes as my sister and I helped care for him. After all, we were “pros” in baby care by then! Meeting Edward, my husband-to-be, at our Owego Christian Reformed Church held at the Talcott Street Community Center, I began another new chapter. He was a dairy farmer with his Dad, so I moved to Spencer, making a new home, new friends, and a new life. Simply spending time recalling precious memories of family and friends in a long-ago world brings a few tears and many smiles to my heart… So, what cherished memories do you have that are waiting to be brought to mind and shared? Going back home… Linda A. Roorda Going back home within my mind To simple retreats of childhood days Holding sweet memories of yesterday Like quiet oases of rest and peace. ~ Stirring emotions that overwhelm On traveling back to gentler times With early images tucked far away On pages engraved in a long-ago world. ~ For what could ever make me forget The fears that then descended strong With dog at fence and thunderstorm To shake the world of toddlerhood. ~ While a life-long love was built in scenes Of farming and learning beside my Dad With laughter heard through carefree days In adventures had by my sister and me. ~ The many homes of my younger days Are shelters now for cherished views As dear and precious memories enhance Wistfully perfect they ever remain. ~ But tucked within the pages recalled Are days of change and tender tears Moving away and losing friends Through a lifetime lived, they’re never forgot. ~ Yet often they say it’s just not the same We can’t return to scenes of our youth That life and times are forever changed The rift between then and now is too great. ~ But as I gaze on all that once was I find it’s okay to let the tears flow As they wash away the lingering pangs To leave my heart refreshed and clean. ~ So I shall always savor the joy Of going back home within my mind And holding dear those treasured days Of childhood mem’ries and lessons learned.

Ever feel as though you’re broken and scattered… like pieces of shattered glass? You’re so overwhelmed by life, torn apart by one situation after another, perhaps in rapid succession. And you begin to feel like you want to run away from all the stress and responsibility. I have… and know I’m not alone. We all get hit hard by life at times, like the disruptive past few years midst the coronavirus pandemic. We all stumble and fall. We’re all broken… broken by our mistakes, sins, fears, unending pain, ongoing chronic illness, loss of a loved one, financial stress, or simply by the weight of life’s never-ending demands. But are we willing to admit we’re broken people? Do we think we’ve got it so together that we would never admit a failing? Do we lash out at others around us out of anger, hurt and resentment? Do we perhaps look down on those who might stumble in a moment of weakness? Or do we humbly apologize and ask forgiveness from those we might have offended? The damage from any trauma or abuse can be devastating, leaving us feeling raw and exposed, torn apart. Just the simplest things can take a toll when we’re overwhelmed by stress without relief. Long-term illness or disability can have the same effect. We keep hoping that one day… somehow… things will get better… but they don’t seem to. Reminds me of what it might be like sitting in a boat in the middle of a lake without oars, rudder or motor when the storm hits. We won’t get very far. In fact, the storm will toss us about unceasingly or capsize us without that rudder to steer and stabilize the boat, or the oars to row our boat to shore. And it’s so true that life’s challenges can blindside us when we least expect them and catch us totally unprepared, leaving us feeling like we’re unable to handle what comes our way. Certainly, we don’t feel like our brokenness is beautiful! God never promised us a life without problems and pain. But He did promise He’d give us what we ask for when we ask in His will, and that He will always be with us. We just need to ask and trust Him as He “works all things for the good of those who love Him…” (Romans 8:28) He intends our journey of difficulty to strengthen our faith. For James 1:2-3 reminds us to “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance…” Yet that trial, or broken road, can sure seem long and tedious, and not something we readily rejoice in! Still, as we draw closer to our Lord in the difficulties, we realize He’s been drawing us close to Himself. He’s at work putting our broken pieces back together to make us complete… to restore us. How often haven’t we felt His love surround us when the path is hard and long, and we seemed so alone? Haven’t we looked back to see He’s carried us at times when we’ve done all we could and felt as though we couldn’t take one more step? And isn’t He the one who sent someone to wrap their arms around us, with an ear to listen to our heart, words to heal, and arms to hold us up and help us stand… until we felt stronger and able to function again? Just like Paul wrote, “I can do everything through him who gives me strength.” (Philippians 4:13) Recently I read about the Japanese artform of Kintsugi (golden joinery), or Kintsukuroi (golden repair) https://www.britannica.com/art/kintsugi-ceramics . These are terms for a special type of repair to broken pottery which began in about the 15th century. Artisans take gold, silver or platinum dust, mix it with a special lacquer or resin, and apply it to the broken pieces. As they fit the broken pieces together, the shattered pottery is made whole again. Typically, the broken vessel becomes even more beautiful in its new state of repair – broken beauty, in other words! No matter what we go through, God will bring comfort and peace to our heart when we look to Him for strength to face each trial. He has it all under control, and even has a reason for taking us through the storms, allowing us to grow and heal through the difficult journey. He welcomes us as broken people, and makes something beautiful from our shattered pieces of life! Then comes the day when we realize we’re healed… maybe not exactly as we’d wanted… but the pain no longer has a grip on us… for our brokenness has been used to heal a weakness! The difficult journey was worth every step from brokenness to a new wholeness … because it has given us a better understanding of life with a greater empathy for others, with peace like a comforting blanket… enabling us to come alongside someone else who is struggling and overwhelmed as we “encourage the disheartened [and] help the weak...” (I Thessalonians 5:14) For we know that God has used our trial in such a way that we now shine a light from within that we never knew we had… as we’ve gone from broken to beautiful in God’s restorative eyes! Broken Beauty Linda A. Roorda ~ Sometimes… Like a beautiful vase Our life is shattered Like so many shards Of broken glass Where once there was A vessel whole, unbroken. ~ Because… Trials of life Came crashing down To take their toll Inflicting damage Leaving emotions raw Trying to destroy The joy from within. ~ But… There comes a day When it’s time To pick up the pieces And one by one To then reclaim The former beauty Of the vessel treasured. ~ So… An effort ensues To fit the pieces Back together In such a way That there will shine Illuminating brilliance Never before seen. ~ For… An inner strength Has taken hold So that the pieces Broken and scattered In coming together Now give the vessel A broken beauty! ~~ 02/05/14

I heard this after my flights to visit family - “How can you not see God in every little thing, in every little moment?” It was a meaningful phrase in a great song by Leanna Crawford that I heard last Monday while picking up some groceries. I’d just gotten home after a 12-hour delayed flight, and thought, how fitting… especially after my trip to see some of my family the end of June. I was nervous about going through the airports... 1) Elmira to Detroit to Nashville, 2) Nashville to Minneapolis, and 3) Minneapolis to Detroit to Elmira... and sure enough, we had a hitch, or should I echo a friend calling it a hiccup. I'd prayed before leaving home that God would guide me through the maze of huge terminals, cities unto themselves, and He answered my prayer way better than I could have dreamed! Friday, June 23 – As a sub, was invited to attend a breakfast staff meeting at the middle school. I heard the principal speak kind words about someone… which turned out to be me… greatly surprised, I promptly forgot everything she’d said, next congratulating a friend and fellow sub sitting next to me for her own award. Then it was home to recheck my backpack, with my sister-in-law Diane and her husband Mark driving me to the airport. Elmira/Corning Regional Airport is small, updated a few years back, easy to get around in, but there was still an underlying nervousness about flying. Yes, I’ve flown before… alone in 2004 to CA to help Emily move to SD, with Ed in 2006 to Sioux Falls, SD for Em’s graduation with her master’s, and in 1980 we took toddler Jenn to visit my family in Texas, but, still… I was very nervous about getting lost in the big city airports. Enter a nice couple who sat near me as we exchanged smiles and greetings. They chose to sit near me again after we ran the gauntlet of x-rays filming our bodies and belongings. Striking up a conversation, I learned they were flying from their home on Keuka Lake to Texas to visit a daughter. Long story short, our words tipped each other off that we were all Christians. They knew Spencer well as their grandson works at Renovation House rehabilitation center! They eagerly gave advice on what to do, where to go, and how to get help in the huge terminals… very welcome advice that I put to good use! My seatmate to Detroit was a young man heading off to study bio-engineering in England. Safely arriving at Nashville late on the 23rd, got help from those in uniform for where to exit the building to find my niece Nina who easily found me! It was awesome to see her and Chris and their three children, Teagan, Kinley and Nadiya, and to visit with my brother Charlie and wife Monica, both with recent health issues, keeping them in my prayers. Chris and Nina’s coffee shop in Lebanon, TN, Split Bean Roasting Company (website sells their different flavors), has a welcoming, down-home atmosphere. Their menu includes delicious coffee made with Chris’s coffee-grinding expertise, soft drinks, sweet treats, soups, and breakfast fare, wishing I could eat and drink from their specialties to give a 5-star rating. And then we learned they were just ranked 4th in the top 10 best coffee shops in the entire state of Tennessee! Congratulations and way to go, Chris and Nina!! On the 25th, I was returned to the Nashville airport for my flight to Minneapolis, another major hub. As the seats at the gate filled up, a young man sat near me. He struck up a conversation, learning he’d been in Lebanon to visit his sister, where I’d visited Nina and her family, returning home to his wife and kids in Minneapolis. He was involved in his church’s prison ministry, bringing the Gospel to prisoners, assisting those being released in learning to support themselves on re-entering society. At the airport, Nick and Emily picked me up in the 3rd of 4 lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic, driving 1-1/2 hours home to Sauk Rapids. We took day trips, like walking through Munsinger & Clemens Gardens, home to beautiful floral gardens spread out over 20 acres along the Mississippi River in St. Cloud, across the river from the university where Nick is a math professor. You know I want to go back and admire the amazing beauty again, thinking maybe I could transplant a few ideas to my own gardens! I also visited a distant McNeill cousin, Marjorie and her husband John. They gave me a tour of Northfield’s St. Olaf and Carleton Colleges, beautiful campuses from which Marjorie retired as librarian. They showed me the bank, now museum, in Northfield where the James/Younger Gang and compatriots attempted to rob the safe in 1876. Jesse and Frank James fled while others were either killed or later captured, bullet holes still visible in the outside bank walls. Inside the museum, sharing with staff that I was from Upstate New York, south of Ithaca, a gentleman overheard me, saying he has family at Cornell University, and has driven through my town of Spencer! Marjorie and John’s home is beautifully arrayed with family antiques (a living museum), and a unique dumbwaiter John (an engineer) had made between the kitchen and lower patio, all while showing me their welcoming friendship. Home with Em again, we walked around the pond behind their property, seeing ducks, a pair of Sandhill cranes, played games with my Grands, and watched special National Park shows. We walked along the Mississippi, and toured Sauk Rapids’ Benton County Museum. It was the only house in the large community to survive the F4 tornado on April 14-15, 1886 which destroyed every building, bridge and railroad track, leaving the city stranded with no way in and no way out for a time. Killing 72 people in its path, it’s the deadliest tornado on record in Minnesota. That house survived due to its uniquely-built granite walls with an air space between two adjacent walls of solid granite stones. We visited the small but well-kept Pine Grove Zoo in Little Falls, thoroughly enjoying the variety of animals. After a relaxing picnic lunch in the primeval pine grove next to the zoo, we drove to Charles Lindbergh’s home/museum also in Little Falls, his favorite place growing up, set on the banks overlooking the Mississippi, watching newsreels about him and his solo flight across the Atlantic to Paris, learning more than I had previously known about him and his family. Saying goodbye… I spent over 18 hours in the Detroit airport for my flight home to Elmira with delay after delay, finally getting home late Monday morning instead of Sunday evening. But in the waiting, I met a sweet lady. Sitting next to me, I learned Joy was from California, flying east to visit her daughter who lives 5 minutes from the Elmira airport! We shared stories of our lives, finding we had much in common, also sharing our Christian faith. Her family and home had survived the 2018 Carr Fire in northern California, as they helped others in the neighborhood who lost everything, including some who lost loved ones. Another lady walked past me who looked very familiar, but I just couldn’t place her, so I decided to just go ask. Connie recognized me, told me who she was, and it was an aha moment! I knew her years ago as Ed’s mom’s hairdresser who lived locally, was widowed, remarried, now living in North Carolina, on the same flight to visit her daughter here who I also know! And then we met a young man and his wife with 2 kids from Newfield whose dad drove bus with my Aunt Lois for many years! Trust me, we all had a great time chatting and laughing together! Small world indeed! Remember I said God blessed me more than I could have imagined on this trip? Not only with special family time, and getting to sit in “my” old saddle from years ago when riding War Bugg, but spending the night together, we 3 ladies shared stories of how God blessed our lives despite major difficulties we had each dealt with. We chose to ignore the negativity of a lady who emphasized we’d have a lot of trouble trying to get flights out, while I and others instead thanked the one crew member and desk clerk for their helpful kindnesses. We three supported each other and spent the night at Gate 35, keeping each other awake overnight, charging our phones, chatting about our families and life in general. Though our Monday 8 a.m. flight to Elmira was delayed for an hour, boarding and lift-off went smoothly, and we were all very thankful to be heading home. Now it’s hard to believe my trip was ending just a week ago, the reward I’d looked forward to as the school year drew to a close. I was so impressed and thankful for the many ways God blessed me with just the right person at just the right time… and for the blessings of visiting with family! After getting home, picking up some groceries, I took a much-needed nap… not something I’m fond of doing. Sleeping for 4-1/2 hours, I woke up with a start at 5:30 p.m., wondering whose room this was and where I was! Interesting tricks your mind can play when sleep has eluded you for too many hours… and home life resumed its normal routine, finishing two purse orders, baking for our local farmer’s market, enjoying each simple day back home. God bless you this week in all you do, too!

It’s a fact that we Americans love our 4th of July celebrations! We especially enjoy family gatherings and picnics, and big parades with lots of floats and marching bands. We look forward to fireworks with their beautiful colors and designs exploding in the night sky. We decorate our homes with flags and bunting. We salute, or respectfully place our hand over our heart, as our nation’s flag is carried past us by military veterans in parades. And, we recall the two important founding documents of our nation: Preamble to the Declaration of Independence: “…We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness…” Preamble to the U.S. Constitution: “We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America…” What precious meaning these words have held as we take time to gaze backward to their origins, something I never tire learning about. As I contemplated our nation’s celebrations, I thought about the effort and sacrifice it took from many to give us the freedoms we so often take for granted. I am so thankful for all we have in America which many around the world do not enjoy. But I also wondered if perhaps we have forgotten all that took place a long time ago, and if this day has simply become a traditional fun holiday, or just a holiday to besmirch. Though no nation or government has been perfect as far back as the beginning of time, the early days of a young nation’s beginnings provide perspective for today’s America, this bastion of freedom. So, it’s fitting that we ponder what part our ancestors played in the making of our great America some 247 years ago. And, I might add, one of the best parts of researching my ancestors was the great lasting friendships I’ve made with other descendants. Several of my ancestors served in the Revolutionary War in various capacities, some of whom I researched more extensively than others. Originally, I did not plan to bring them into this article. But then it occurred to me that would be fitting. Knowledge of personal service and sacrifice often provides us with a greater understanding of the historical era and what our collective ancestors experienced. Numerous events, political acts, and taxes over many years led to the First Continental Congress meeting from September 5 through October 2, 1774 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It was held to counteract the British Parliament’s Coercive Acts (commonly called the Intolerable Acts by the colonists) which were intended to punish the colonists for their Tea Party held in Boston’s harbor. But, among the early precipitators of the American Revolution was the import ban in 1774 against firearms and gunpowder enacted by the British government. Next came the order to confiscate all guns and gunpowder. The aptly named “Powder Alarm” took place on September 1, 1774 when Redcoats sailed up the Mystic River to capture hundreds of powder barrels stored in Charlestown. Taking the event seriously, 20,000 militiamen turned out and marched to Boston. Battle was avoided at that time, but ultimately took place the following spring at Lexington and Concord on April 19, 1775. Within these events lie the foundation of our Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution as written by Thomas Jefferson in 1791: “A well-regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.” The Second Continental Congress began meeting in Philadelphia on May 10, 1775. That very same day, Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys seized New York’s Fort Ticonderoga from the British after traveling west from Vermont. On June 14, 1775, delegates from the Second Continental Congress created the Continental Army from colonial militia near Boston. The next day, they appointed an esteemed and experienced military and civic leader as commanding general of their new army, a humble man by the name of George Washington, congressman of Virginia. Nearly a month later, Washington arrived in Boston to take command on July 3rd. The Continental Congress then approved a Declaration of Causes on July 6th. This proclamation outlined why the thirteen colonies should stand united against Great Britain’s political clout and military force. Through these early years, and with pressing urgency, the great minds of the day began formulating a bold statement of the burdens the colonists bore from an overbearing government an ocean away. Initially, the colonists were not looking to start a war; they simply wanted their concerns heard and addressed. But, revolt would be a relevant term regarding that which was festering. They felt the heavy hand of tyranny over them like a smothering umbrella with their king and his government’s over-reaching philosophy of “taxation without representation.” It did not take much for congressional delegates to think back and recall the Boston Massacre of March 5, 1770. Several colonials had taunted the ever-present British soldiers. Reinforcement soldiers shot into the crowd killing five civilians, injuring six others. Three years later, the Tea Act in May 1773 was followed by the Boston Tea Party on December 16th. The year 1775 began with several new tax acts put in place; labeled collectively as the Intolerable Acts, they were Britain’s answer to their colonists’ unrest. And then an auspicious delegation met in Virginia on March 23, 1775. Those present never forgot Patrick Henry’s speech and resounding words, “Give me liberty or give me death!” Paul Revere’s midnight ride came the night of April 18/19, 1775 to warn of British ships arriving at Boston’s shores. [From the interstate, I have seen Boston’s diminutive North Church tucked beneath the shadows of modern “skyscrapers,” and walked the upper and lower decks of the U.S.S. Constitution from the subsequent War of 1812 – with a sailor in period dress uniform talking on a telephone!] Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem, “Paul Revere’s Ride” (“Listen my children and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere…”) has been said to contain many inaccuracies; in reality, it was written 80 years after Revere rode out with several others on horseback, quietly alerting other Patriots, but it may also be that Longfellow simply wrote a flowing ode to Revere with embellishments as any poet is wont to do. The British government was again intent on confiscating all weapons held by the colonists. Bands of British troops were sent to confiscate ammunition stores in Salem, Massachusetts and part of New Hampshire. Both times, Paul Revere, a silversmith, was among members of the Sons of Liberty who alerted townsfolk in advance of enemy troops, giving them sufficient time to hide weapons and frustrate the British military. Desiring to alert citizens, Revere garnered assistance from Robert Newman, sexton at Boston’s North Church. To warn that the Redcoats were coming from the shorter water route across Boston’s inner harbor, Newman hung two lanterns from the steeple window. These lanterns were clearly seen by those in Charlestown, including the British, unfortunately. Newman must have felt tremendous fear as the Brits attempted to break into the church while he was still there. Reportedly, he managed to escape capture by quietly sneaking out a window near the altar moments before enemy soldiers entered the church to begin their search. And the very next day, April 19, 1775, the Minutemen and British redcoats clashed at Lexington and Concord with “the shot heard ‘round the world.’” Two months later, June 17, 1775 saw the Battle of Bunker Hill (actually Breed’s Hill) on the Charlestown Peninsula overlooking Boston. Per military records, my ancestor John Caldwell McNeill was present as part of the Hampshire Line. As British columns advanced toward American redoubts, the colonists were reportedly told by their commander, “Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes!” The British were shot virtually pointblank and hastily retreated – twice. It was not until the third advance by the British that the inexperienced colonists lost to a superior military force. As the colonists’ limited ammunition ran out, hand-to-hand combat took place on that third advance. The redcoats took control with greater troop numbers despite their loss of over 1000 men, while the colonists counted over 200 killed and more than 800 wounded. Yet, the inexperienced Americans realized their dedication and determination could overcome the superior British military which, in turn, realized this little uprising was going to bring a long and costly war to the Crown. With pressure mounting, the congressional delegation met the next year in the City of Brotherly Love. Here, they commenced to hammering out wording for what would henceforth be termed a declaration of independence. “Monday, July 1, 1776, [was] a hot and steamy [day] in Philadelphia.” In a letter to the new president of Georgia, Archibald Bulloch, John Adams wrote, “This morning is assigned the greatest debate of all. A declaration, that these colonies are free and independent states… and this day or tomorrow is to determine its fate. May heaven prosper the newborn republic.” (John Adams, David McCullough, Simon & Schuster Paperbacks, New York, NY, 2001, p.125.) The delegates felt the tension amongst themselves in the debates and wording of their declaration, and the voting at the end of the day was not unanimous. Their tension was heightened that evening as news reached the city that one hundred British ships had been sighted off New York, with eventually more than 300 joining the initial fleet. The seriousness of what they were undertaking was felt by every man in the delegation for they knew their very lives were on the line. July 2nd saw an overcast day with cloudbursts letting loose as the delegates met. The New York delegates abstained from voting while others joined the majority to make a unanimous decision. Thus, on July 2, 1776, twelve colonies voted to declare independence from Britain. More than anyone else, John Adams made it happen. His elation showed in writing home about the proceedings to his wife, Abigail. “The second day of July 1776 will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the Day of Deliverance by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations from one end of this continent to the other from this time forward forever more.” (McCullough, pp. 129-130) News spread like wildfire throughout Philadelphia. A young artist, Charles Willson Peale, journaled that “This day the Continental Congress declared the United Colonies Free and Independent States.” (McCullough, p.130) But, Congress still had to review what the delegation had written before an official statement could be made. dJuly 3rd blessed the city with a drop of 10 degrees following cloudbursts the day before. Tensions had even begun to ease among the men, but still there was much work to be done. More discussion and Deliberation ensued as they reviewed the language of their declaration. (McCullough, pp. 130-135) Much had to be cut and reworded to make it a more concise document which then boldly declared, “The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America. When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.” Benjamin Franklin offered encouraging and comforting words to the now-silent Thomas Jefferson whose many words were debated and cut. When their work was finished, it was still Thomas Jefferson’s words, however, which have held a firm and tender spot in the hearts of Americans ever since. To Jefferson goes the credit for writing “…We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed…” (McCullough, p.130-136) Thursday, July 4, 1776, dawned cool and comfortable. The tension was gone from the weather just as it was now from among the men of the delegation. Discussions were again held through late morning when a final vote was taken. New York still abstained, but the other twelve colonies voted unanimously to support the hard work they had wrought in this Declaration of Independence. Ultimately, the delegates from all thirteen colonies, including New York, signed the document in solidarity. (McCullough, p. 136) Celebrations began on the 8th when the published Declaration was read to the public. Thirteen cannon blasts reverberated throughout Philadelphia, bells rang day and night, bonfires were lit everywhere, and candles shone bright in windows. The news reached Washington and his troops in New York City the next day where the Declaration was read. More celebrations sprang up as the crowds pulled down the equestrian statue of King George III. (McCullough, p.136-137) But, their elation was not long in lasting. In reality, it would be several more years before celebrations of this magnitude would again be held. In reality, though the hard work of writing such a declaration was finally completed, even harder efforts and sacrifices of thousands of men and boys on battlefields were about to begin. In reality, the conflict about to begin would affect every man, woman and child living within the thirteen colonies in ways they could never have imagined. And, ultimately, their great sacrifices gave rise to the freedoms which we enjoy and tend to take for granted today. The lives of the men who signed this declaration were also forever affected. If the new America lost its war for independence, every signer of said document faced charges of treason and death by hanging for actions against their king. In signing, they gave “support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, [as] we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.” There were 56 representatives from all thirteen colonies who signed, ranging in age from 26 to 70 (the oldest being the esteemed Benjamin Franklin). Over half were lawyers, but the men included planters, merchants and shippers. Most of them were wealthy men who had much to lose should Britain win. Though none of them died at the hand of the enemy, four men were taken captive during the war by the British, with one-third of the signers being military officers during the war. And, nearly all of them were poorer when the war ended than when it began. There was much at stake in the days and years ahead after the Declaration of Independence was signed and the war began in earnest. Some men abandoned the battle lines, their friends, and what once seemed like worthy ideals, and simply walked home. Many suffered untold pain and suffering as prisoners of war. Many suffered deprivations of food and clothing along with disease and death within their own military camps. Many fought family and friends in the same community as Patriot was pitted against Tory, i.e. Loyalist. Schoharie County, New York, considered by historians to be “The Breadbasket of the Revolution,” provided an abundance of food for Washington’s northern troops. To frustrate the colonists’ efforts, the British and their Loyalist supporters, including many Native Americans, destroyed and burned crops and buildings as they captured, killed and scalped settlers throughout the Mohawk and Schoharie Valley and along the western frontier during the war. In reality, however, we likely would not have won our independence if it were not for Washington’s spies. Barely two months after the Declaration was signed, a 21-year-old Yale graduate by the name of Nathan Hale from Massachusetts eagerly volunteered to spy for Washington. He intended to go behind enemy lines on Long Island and in New York City to infiltrate the British strongholds. Instead, not being sufficiently familiar with the area and its people, and likely having a New England accent, he was caught and found to have sketches of fortifications and memos about troop placements on him. Without benefit of legal trial, he was sentenced to death. His requests for a clergyman and a Bible were refused. Just before being hung on September 22, 1776 in the area of 66th Street and Third Avenue in Manhattan, Hale was heard to say with dignity, “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.” (George Washington’s Secret Six, Brian Kilmeade and Don Yaeger, Penguin Group, New York, NY, 2013, p.1.) George Washington knew that he desperately needed spies, but he needed them to work in such a way that they would not be discovered. His tender heart for his fellow countrymen deplored that even one should die for the cause of freedom. Yet, he also knew that such loss was inevitable. And, thus was born Washington’s spies so aptly named, “The Secret Six.” Out of the realization that Gen. George Washington desperately needed spies, and hating to lose even one more life after the hanging of Nathan Hale, a ring of trustworthy spies was gradually pulled together. Washington’s “Secret Six” included five men and one woman embedded within and around New York City and Long Island, each familiar with the land and its people. They reported to Washington on British movements and military plans in a timely fashion. Because they knew the area, and were known by the people, they were readily accepted as they maneuvered amongst the enemy. That is not to say, however, that they didn’t come close to being found out. They lived in constant fear of such, not to mention the fear of losing their own lives and destroying their families in the process. At times they were emotionally frail, depressed and despondent. But, because of their passion for the freedom movement afoot, they came together for the greater benefit of all. At one point, Washington’s army was entirely surrounded by the British in New York City. With tips from his spies, and being a man given to much time and prayer with God, his troops managed to quietly evacuate the city under the cover of night at an area not under guard. With dawn, however, came the realization that a large contingent still remained behind and would be very visible to the enemy. An answer to prayer was soon forthcoming to allow the balance of his men and equipment to leave the city – an unexpected and extremely dense morning fog enveloped the area, allowing them to continue crossing safely over into Jersey with the British unable to do anything about the Continental Army’s escape from their clutches. Because of the work of Washington’s spies and the “important memos” he managed to have planted with false information behind enemy lines, the Americans were able to surprise the enemy at Trenton, New Jersey on Christmas Day night 1776 after the British had relaxed their guard and celebrated the day in style. Needless to say, the Americans enjoyed a vital and rousing victory. Because of the spies and their efforts, accomplished with great fear for their own lives and that of their families, warning was given to Washington of 400 ships arriving from England. The spies’ insider knowledge that the British were planning to attack and scuttle the French ships and troops coming to Washington’s aid allowed him to turn the tide in a timely manner. He was able to fool the British into thinking he was readying an imminent attack on New York City, causing them to leave Long Island Sound, thus allowing the French time to land and move inland to safety in Connecticut without battling the British at sea before they even disembarked. Because of the spy who owned a print shop which seemingly supported King George, important plans were heard and passed on to Washington. Other spies were privy to the upper level of command amongst the British military at parties in a particular merchandise shop and a certain coffeehouse. A circuitous route was set up for their messenger across Long Island to Setauket where packets with concealed or innocuous-looking papers written in invisible ink and code were rowed to the Connecticut shore in a whale boat (while being pursued by the British) where another member took the seemingly innocent packet of merchandise and rode his horse overland to Washington’s camp in New Jersey. At times, someone simply traveled out of New York City to visit relatives in northern New Jersey and met up with another dependable link to pass the information along to Washington’s headquarters. Because of their courage and resolve, the spies assisted in uncovering the Crown’s Major John Andre` (who, himself, ran a British spy ring) as he worked with Brigadier General Benedict Arnold, American commander at West Point. Despite a prior stellar military record, but due to personal bitterness, Arnold was in the process of handing West Point over to Andre` and the British. Through a series of blundering mistakes, because of the spies’ knowledge given to Washington at just the right moment, and because of the quick thinking of a couple of patriotic guards on a bridge leading back into New York City, Andre` was captured and later executed. Arnold’s hand-over was thus thwarted, although Arnold managed to escape behind enemy lines and ultimately fled to England. Because of the supposed loyal British support by the owner of said print shop, a little book was obtained through his work as an undercover spy. This inconspicuous little book contained key information on British troop movements at Yorktown, Virginia. With important knowledge gained of the enemy’s military plans, Washington was able to redirect appropriate troops and ships to Yorktown. General Cornwallis surrendered for the British on October 19, 1781 in an American victory where total defeat for the Americans would have otherwise taken place. Because they swore themselves to secrecy, no one knew the full involvement of all six spies, nor all of their names. Only gradually over the last few hundred years has their identities become known, the fifth not confirmed until recently. All five men are now known, but the woman’s identity is not; she is simply known as Agent 355. It is believed she was captured and became a prisoner; but, there is no hard evidence by research even to prove that conjecture. The efforts of the six spies as they secretly obtained information and passed it along (devising their own specialty codes, using a unique invisible ink, and more) enabled them to maintain total secrecy. Nor did they ever seek accolades for their work after the war was over. The secrets to their successful accomplishments have been among the methods still taught and used successfully by our CIA today. In the interest of sharing the spies’ courage which undoubtedly helped us win the Revolutionary War, their story (as briefly described above) has been extensively researched and written by Brian Kilmeade and Don Yaeger in George Washington’s Secret Six, The Spy Ring That Saved the American Revolution. It was one of my Christmas gifts from my husband a few years ago, and I highly recommend it to other history buffs. It’s a read you’ll find difficult to set down! So, why is history important to us? To quote David McCullough in the Reader’s Digest, December 2002, author of the books, John Adams and 1776: “Who are we, we Americans? How did we get where we are? What is our story and what can it teach us? Our story is our history, and if ever we should be taking steps to see that we have the best prepared, most aware citizens ever, that time is now. Yet the truth is that we are raising a generation that is to an alarming degree historically illiterate… While the popular cultures races loudly on, the American past is slipping away. We are losing our story, forgetting who we are and what it's taken to come this far.” “The best way to know where the country is going is to know where we've been…But why bother about history anyway? …That's done with, junk for the trash heap. Why history? Because it shows us how to behave. [It] teaches and reinforces what we believe in, what we stand for. History is about life – human nature, the human condition and all its trials and failings and noblest achievements… Everything we have, all our good institutions, our laws, our music, art and poetry, our freedoms, everything is because somebody went before us and did the hard work... faced the storms, made the sacrifices, kept the faith… If we deny our children that enjoyment [of historical story telling]… then we’re cheating them out of a full life.” As I contemplated our nation’s celebrations, I thought about the effort and sacrifice it took from many to give us the freedoms we so often take for granted. I am so thankful for all we have in America which many around the world do not enjoy. But I also wondered if perhaps we have forgotten all that took place a long time ago, and if this day has simply become a traditional fun holiday. The United States of America came to be with God’s hand working a miracle behind the scenes, and within the hearts of men and women who were very involved in its forming by putting their lives, legacy and financial support behind the movement for independence. Though no nation or government has been perfect as far back as the beginning of time, the early days of our young nation’s beginnings provide perspective for today’s America, this bastion of freedom. So, it’s fitting that we ponder what part our ancestors played in the making of our great America some 246 years ago. And, I might add, one of the best parts of researching my ancestors was the great lasting friendships I’d made with other descendants. Several of my ancestors served in the Revolutionary War in various capacities, some of whom I researched more extensively than others. Originally, I did not plan to bring them into my article. But then it occurred to me that it would be appropriate. Knowledge of personal service and sacrifice often provides us with a greater understanding of the historical era and what our collective ancestors experienced. While researching my ancestry over 20 years ago, I purchased Revolutionary War pension application files of several ancestors who had served. For those whose government files I did not purchase, their data was obtained from Schoharie County Historical Society, various Revolutionary War books, CDs, and documents proving their service. Hoping that my family research might provide us a closer glimpse of the war for independence through their experiences, I share their legacy. 1) Frantz/Francis Becraft/Beacraft, bp. 06/12/1761, Claverack, Columbia Co., NY - Private, 3rd Comp., 3rd Regiment, 1st Rensselaerswyck Battalion, Albany County New York Militia, on muster roll from Berne in 1782, 1790 census at Berne. In an 1839 affidavit, Francis Becraft of Berne stated that he “served as a Private in a company commanded by Capt. Adam Dietz in the County of Albany...” Frantz/Francis married Catherine Dietz (sister of said Capt. Adam Dietz), my g-g-g-g-grandparents. In researching my ancestors, I discovered an apparent familial tie to the notorious Tory Becraft/Beacraft. This man felt no remorse in aligning himself with Joseph Brant’s Indians to capture, kill and scalp Patriots throughout Schoharie County, known to have brutally killed and scalped a young boy in the Vrooman family who managed to escape the house after his family had been murdered. After the war ended, Becraft/Beacraft had the audacity to return from Canada to Schoharie County where he was immediately captured by ten men. In meting out a punishment of 50 lashes by whip, the men supposedly reminded him of his infamous acts against the community, his former neighbors. Roscoe notes that death did not linger for him after the final lash, and his ashes were buried on the spot. Of the ten men who swore themselves to secrecy, apparently only five are known. (History of Schoharie County, William E. Roscoe, pub. D. Mason & Comp., 1882, pp.250-251.) However, in "Families (to 1825) of Herkimer, Montgomery, & Schoharie, N.Y.," a genealogical source on many early families by William V. H. Barker, it is noted that the Tory Becraft/Beacraft was Benjamin, born about 1759, brother of my ancestor noted above, Frantz/Francis Becraft. If this is accurate and they are indeed brothers, they were both sons of Willem/William and Mareitje (Bond) Becraft. Another source, “The Life of Joseph Brant – Thayendanegea…” notes Becraft survived his whipping and left the area (pg. 64), just as other undocumented sources indicate he survived and returned to Canada to live with his family. So, I am uncertain as to whether Tory [Benjamin] Becraft actually died from his whippings or survived and left the area. 2) Johannes/John Berlet/Berlett/Barlet, b. 05/08/1748, Schoharie, Schoharie Co., NY – Private, Tryon County Militia, 3rd Reg’t, Mohawk District. He married Maria Gardinier, b. about 1751; their daughter Eva/Eveline Barlett married Martin Tillapaugh, b. 1778, my g-g-g-grandparents. 3) Johann Hendrich/John Henry Dietz, bp 05/10/1722, Nordhofen, Vielbach, Germany – served in Lt. John Veeder’s Company, Rensselaerswyck, later under Capt. Sternberger’s Company at Schoharie. He married Maria Elisabetha Ecker, bp. 1725; their daughter Catherine Dietz, b. 1761, married Frantz/Francis Beacraft above, my g-g-g-g-grandparents. As per my research article on Chemung County’s Newtown Battle, the Indian/Loyalist raids and massacres also touched my ancestral families in New York. In Beaverdam (now Berne), New York near the Switzkill River on September 1, 1781, the Johannes Dietz family was attacked. Johannes’ son, Capt. William Dietz was captured and forced to watch his elderly parents, wife, four young children and a Scottish maid be killed and scalped. (see “Old Hellebergh,” Arthur B. Gregg, The Altamont Enterprise Publishers, Altamont, N.Y., 1936, p. 24; signed by Gregg, in Roorda’s collection from her father.) Capt. William Dietz’s father, Johannes, was an older brother of my ancestor noted above, Johann Hendrich/John Henry Dietz. 4) Johan Dietrich Dallenbach/John Richard Dillenbach, b. 1733 per cemetery records, Stone Arabia, NY; father Jorg Martin Dallenbach born Lauperswil, Bern, Switzerland (emigrated with 1710 German Palatines with mother and first wife). John Richard Dillenbach married Maria Mynard; their son Martinus took name of Martin Tillapaugh (my lineage), married Eva/Eveline Barlett as above. Dillenbach reported for duty March 20, 1757 when Sir William Johnson called local militia out to protect Fort William Henry on Lake George for the British. The Seven Years’ War, or the French and Indian War, began in 1754 and ended with the European peace treaties of 1763 during which year Dillenbach again reported to defend Herkimer with the Palatine District Regiment. James Fennimore Cooper wrote The Last of the Mohicans about the siege of Fort William Henry. Roughly 2300 colonial troops were protecting the British fort when the French arrived with about 8000 troops in August 1763 and heavily bombarded the fort. With additional supporting troops not found to be on their way, the garrison was forced to surrender. The men were to be protected as they retreated by generous treaty terms. However, as the Indians entered the fort, they plundered, looted, scalped and killed about 200 colonials, many of them too sick to leave. In desecrating graves of those who had died before the siege, the Indians exposed themselves to smallpox, taking the germs back to their homes. The French destroyed the fort before returning to Canada. Fort William Henry was reconstructed in the 1950s. Visiting this fort in 1972 with the Lounsberry Methodist Church youth group, I was unaware at the time that my Dallenbach/Tillapaugh ancestor had walked that ground, having been involved in the siege and survived. 5) Timothy Hutton, b.11/24/1746, New York City, married 2nd) Elizabeth Deline b.1760. Their son George b.1787 married Sarah Wyckoff b.1793 (descendant of Pieter Claessen Wyckoff who cared for Pieter Stuyvesant’s bouwery/farm, today’s bowery district of New York City, with his Wyckoff House Museum on Clarendon Road, Brooklyn, NY still standing), my g-g-g-grandparents. Timothy served as Ensign in Philip Schuyler’s Regiment of Albany County Militia, at defeat of Gen. Burgoyne in Saratoga October 17, 1777; appointed Lieutenant in New York Levies under Col. Marinus Willett; defended Schoharie County from burnings and killings by British, Loyalists and Indians. This Timothy is not to be confused with a nephew of same name and rank, b. 1764, which many have done, including an erroneous columnar grave marker in Carlisle, NY. Sorting their military service out was part of my extensive thesis and documentation in researching and publishing two lengthy articles on the origins and descendants of this Hutton family in the New York Genealogical & Biographical Record in 2004-2005. My Timothy’s nephew William Hutton served extensively in the Revolutionary War throughout New York City, Long Island, and the Hudson Valley. My Timothy’s nephew Christopher Hutton of Troy, NY served as Ensign, promoted to Lieutenant, member of the elite Society of the Cincinnati. My Timothy’s nephew, Timothy Hutton b.1764, served as Lieutenant in New York Levies under Col. Willett, enlisting 1780 at age 16 in the Albany militia. My Timothy’s nephews, Isaac and George (brothers of Christopher and the younger Timothy, all sons of George Hutton, the older brother of my ancestor Timothy Hutton), were well-known influential silversmiths during the Federal period in the late 18th/early 19th centuries in Albany. Hutton silver has been on display at museums in Albany, New York. 6) Johannes Leenderse (John Leonardson), b.06/18/63, Fonda, Montgomery Co., NY - enlisted as private in 1779 at age 16, Tryon County Militia, 3rd Reg’t; Corporal in 1781; served on many expeditions in the Mohawk Valley and at forts; joined Col. Willett’s company on march to Johnstown October 1781 in successful battle against enemy who had burned and killed throughout Mohawk Valley; re-enlisted 1782. Married Sarah Putman b.1773. Their son Aaron Leonardson b.1796 married 3rd) Lana Gross, parents of Mary Eliza Leonardson b. about 1732 who married William Henry Ottman, my g-g-grandparents. 7) John Caldwell McNeill, b. 1755, Londonderry, Rockingham Co., NH - at Bunker Hill (actually Breed’s Hill) on Charlestown June 17, 1775 per purchased military pension file. As Sergeant under Col. Timothy Bedel of the New Hampshire Line, John bought beef to pasture and butcher as needed for the troops. Bedel’s regiment joined “Corp.1, Co. 1, New York Reg’t” on mission to Canada against British; McNeill taken captive with cousins and friends at The Cedars near Montreal, an island in the St. Lawrence; soldiers were stripped of clothing, belongings and food, and released in cartel negotiated by Gen. Benedict Arnold before becoming a traitor. John served at and discharged at Saratoga, NY. He married cousin Hannah Caldwell b.1762; removed to Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York ca. 1794; their son Jesse McNeill m. Elizabeth Ostrom, my g-g-g-grandparents. (Neighbor was Thomas Machin who built the Great Chain across the Hudson River to keep the British ships from sailing north. A granddaughter of McNeill married a Machin grandson, removing to the Midwest.) 😎 George Richtmyer, bp 04/23/1738, Albany Co., NY – Captain from 1775 through end of war in 15th Reg’t of Albany Militia, defending Cobleskill and Middleburg, Schoharie Co., NY. Married Anna Hommel; their son Henrich/Henry married Maria Beacraft (see above), my g-g-g-grandparents. 9) Hendrick/Henry Vonck/Vunck, b. 03/06/1757, Freehold, Monmouth Co., NJ - served as private and Corporal in New Jersey and New York City; carried papers for American Gen. Charles Lee; joined units marching to same area of Canada as John C. McNeill; on return became ill with smallpox with others at Lake George when news of the Declaration of Independence was made; honorably discharged; called to serve again at Sandy Hook, NJ; captured by the British at Sandy Hook, taken to a prison ship, then to the [Livingston] stone sugar house in Manhattan, then another prison ship, the Good___ (writing illegible on the early 1800s pension document, possibly Good Hope). After “one year and one month” as prisoner, he was exchanged and released. “Having suffered while a prisoner great privations and disease and in poor clothing and severely unwholesome provisions many prisoners died in consequence of their treatment.” (Per 1832 affidavit of military service for pension.) Conditions suffered as a prisoner left Henry in poor health the rest of his life; removing later to Montgomery County, NY. He married Chestinah Hagaman; their daughter Jane Vunck married James Dingman, my g-g-g-grandparents. From 1776 to 1783 the British made use of decommissioned ships (incapable of going to sea) as floating prisons. At least 16 rotting hulks were moored in Wallabout Bay, the inner harbor along the northwest shore of Brooklyn, now part of the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Among the ships were the Good Hope, Whitby, The Prince of Wales, Falmouth, Scorpion, Stromboli, Hunter, and the most infamous HMS Jersey, nicknamed Hell by the men. Over 10,000 men, perhaps at least 11,500, died on these ships due to the deliberate deplorable conditions. Men were crammed below decks with no windows for lighting or fresh air. There was a lack of food and clothing, with vermin and insects running rampant, and a lack of other humane efforts to aid the ill, all leading to the death of thousands. Prisoners died virtually every day, reportedly as many as fifteen a day. Some were not found right away, their bodies not disposed of until days later. Often, those who died were sewn into their blankets (if they had one) to await pick up by cart the next morning. Many were buried in shallow graves along the shore (unearthed during major storms) or were simply tossed overboard, later washing ashore. With development of Walloon Bay area over the last two centuries has come the discovery of their bones and parts of ships. To commemorate these soldiers’ lives and what they gave in the fight for independence, the Prison Ship Martyrs’ Monument was built. Located in Fort Greene Park, Brooklyn, it was dedicated on April 6, 1808 with improvements made to it several times since. At least another 5-6000 men died in the sugar houses, bringing the total who died as prisoners to more than 17,500 in the sugar houses and ships, more than double the battlefield losses. Sugar houses were buildings meant to store sugar and molasses. Affidavits by my ancestor, Henry Vunck, and friends note he was held for a few months in the “stone sugar house.” This could only mean the Livingston Sugar House, a six-story stone building built in 1754 by the Livingston family on Crown (now Liberty) Street in Manhattan. Demolished in 1846, buildings No. 34 and 36 are now on the site. A second sugar house, the Rhinelander, a five-story brick warehouse, was built in 1763 at Rose (now William) Street and Duane Street. This building was eventually replaced and is now the headquarters of the New York City Police Department. A third, Van Cortlandt’s sugar house, was built about 1755 by the early Dutch family of this name at the northwest corner of the Trinity Church in Manhattan. It was demolished in 1852. 10) Hans Georg Jacob Dubendorffer (George Jacob Diefendorf), b. 01/23/1729, Basserstorff, Switzerland – a Loyalist during Rev War, he left Mohawk Valley for Philadelphia and New York City, returned to a daughter’s home in Canajoharie, NY after the war rather than remove to Canada. A patriotic son disowned his father, taking his middle name (his mother’s maiden name) as his new surname, removing to Virginia. George Jacob married Catharine Hendree; their son Jacob Diefendorf married Susanna Hess, my g-g-g-g-grandparents. On February 3, 1783, the British government acknowledged the independence of the American colonies. The next day, they formally agreed to halt all military operations. A preliminary peace treaty was ratified in April, and Canada offered free land that summer to Loyalists who sought a new life. Still, the British military maintained a presence in Manhattan. When Britain signed the Treaty of Paris September 3, 1783 to end the war, the hated Redcoats finally and slowly began to abandon their New York City stronghold. Next would begin the task of establishing the government and president of this new nation, the United States of America. George Washington rode into Manhattan on November 25, 1783 with his officers and troops, eight horses abreast. At the same time Washington’s parade began, British soldiers and ships were setting sail for their homeland across the Pond. Flags were joyfully waved, church bells rang in celebration, and cannons were fired in honor of those who had fought and for those who had lost their lives, all for the independence of this fledgling nation. The war had definitely taken its toll; but, on this day, great joy was felt in every heart for what had been accomplished. And that is why we continue to celebrate our 4th of July heritage in style – as we remember and commemorate those who gave so much that we might enjoy so much. And, I trust we will never forget what their efforts wrought for us in America!

Father’s Day… a time to remember the dads we treasure. They’ve taught us well in the ways of life. And I remember a lot about my dad. In fact, it would be fair to say that I had put him on a pedestal while growing up… not a wise placement for anyone. But it seems he could do anything and everything, a jack-of-all-trades, almost perfect in my little girl eyes. Though none of us can measure up all the time, there is One who is perfect… who forgives all our failings… our heavenly Father. But, yes, there is so much my Dad, Ralph, taught me and my five siblings, including all about the love of Jesus. As a small child on the farm, I would say, “Jesus is my best friend!” But, for a time as a teen, I forgot my childhood friend until my Dad reminded me of those words I used to say as a little girl. Oops! I loved playing board games on Sunday afternoons with my Dad, especially Scrabble. I love the challenge of this game and tend to play aggressively, perhaps because I was in tough competition with my Dad. Though I won only one game against him over those several years, it was a sweet victory knowing that I’d accomplished the win without his having given me an edge… his way of readying us for the world. He taught me honesty was the right way such that in 8th grade English class I chose to write an essay entitled “Honesty Is The Best Policy”, receiving a coveted A. Actually, I think I may have gotten writing and art abilities from him. Although he was an exceptional storyteller, perfectly imitating voice and mannerisms of various comedians, I speak best through the written word. He also had a gift for drawing with his talent for art passed on to me and my son. He loved trains, especially the old steam engines, having grown up next to the tracks in Clifton, NJ. I loved watching him as he built a passenger car for his train set, using a tweezers to handle those tiny parts. I watched him build Packard and Duesenberg model cars, and a German Focke-Wulf plane from W.W.II, taking us with him as he flew it using a remote-control system… until an unexpected gust of wind dove and smashed the plane into the ground. As we grew up, we loved hearing Dad tell family stories of his and our childhoods. He had a gift for telling any story in a humorous unique way, and how I long to hear them all again. I’d ask him to write them down for posterity, but he never did. When he drove truck in the 1960s through the 1990s (and later huge tractors for an Iowan farmer), he’d come home with stories from the road. He shared radio routines by Bill Cosby and southern Cajun comedians, recalling their stories and imitating accents perfectly! That was way better entertainment than TV any day! I recall a few stories of his time in the Army at Fort Greeley, Alaska (1956-1957), a foreign assignment before official statehood. From 18 months to 2 years of age, I was too young to remember my six months at Delta Junction with my baby sister. But I do remember having heard how he, his best buddy Roland, and two other friends found a sunken rowboat. As it lay not far below the surface of a lake, they pulled it up, cleaned it off, and took it out to fish. It made for an interesting adventure to say the least – while they took turns fishing, the other three worked hard at bailing to keep the boat afloat! Now that’s dedicated fishermen! Fort Greeley is also where he learned to drive big rigs. With someone ill, he was asked to take over in the motor pool one night. Proving he could handle backing up a trailer perfectly, the commanding officer asked where he’d learned to do that since everyone else struggled. “Backing up a manure spreader, Sir!” was his dutiful reply. They kept him in the motor pool, where he gained invaluable training for later driving 18-wheelers. He also was given a rare promotion because he took the time to thoroughly clean an office coffeepot, a skill learned from his Dutch immigrant mother who had taught him all aspects of housekeeping while growing up, like any good Dutch mother. With a general visiting Fort Greeley, the coffee-making task was passed off to my Dad as no one wanted to be making coffee for a general! He didn’t complain but took pains to provide a clean urn for making fresh-brewed coffee… which greatly impressed the general. When the general asked who made the coffee, the aide who was supposed to have made it “blamed” my Dad. Instead of the feared reprimand for the typically bad-tasting coffee the office was known for, the general complimented my father on the best cup he’d ever tasted! Turning to the senior officer, he told him to give my father a promotion! When we were younger, he always had time for us. I loved it when we lived in Jersey and he took us fishing at Garret Mountain in Clifton, Lake Hopatcong and Upper Greenwood Lake. It got me out of the city and into nature where I felt at ease. And, though I could never bring myself to touch those worms (still can’t!), let alone put them on a hook, and never did catch “the big one,” it was the quality time with our Dad that meant so much to us kids. As a tomboy, I especially enjoyed working outside with my Dad whether it was in the barn learning to care for the animals, in the huge vegetable gardens, or traipsing the fields and woods to hunt rabbit and deer. That love just naturally transferred to enjoying time spent working alongside my husband in the barn or in the yard, and growing and weeding gardens of my own. As we grew older, we teens were often in our own little world yet I still adored my Dad. He listened and gave sound advice. I recall the day he didn’t go to work, taking me instead for a drive to discuss a problem I was dealing with. At times though, I wasn’t ready to listen to him because, as life moved on, his anger took control and he wasn’t always there for us as a family, causing division with his divorce by expecting full support for his side. No parent in a divorce situation should ever do that their kids. But I treasure our renewed relationship later in life. With apologies for my own errors as a teen, I heard his sadness as I expressed how family dysfunction affected all of us, and he understood my saying I/we all had needed him more than he realized when he was on the road for 2-4 weeks at a time. I appreciated his compliments on my writing for a local newspaper, my own blogs, publishing genealogy research in a national journal (The New York Genealogical & Biographical Record), and for how well I raised my family and took care of my Mom, even saying he’d never realized all the difficulties I’d faced in my life. Honesty and forgiveness cleared the way for a better relationship with love expressed to both my parents. God truly takes our most difficult situations, working them for our good when we love Him, admit our errors, and make amends. My Dad’s careers changed from his love of farming, to driving a grain truck delivering feed to dairy farmers (winning top NY State Purina Feed salesman awards for 1961 and 1962), to carpentry with his Dad, a general contractor in northeast New Jersey, to driving an 18-wheeler hauling tanks locally and later OTR (over the road/cross country). When we lived in Clifton, NJ, he drove chemical tankers locally in northeast Jersey, southern New England, and New York City. What stories he brought home from his experiences! I got to ride with him only twice and wish it could have been more. I was never so happy as when we moved back to New York in 1969! Though I hated city life, I can now look back at special memories in Clifton where I was born. As we settled into “backyard farming,” he taught me how to care for our mare, War Bugg, a granddaughter of Man O’ War, a retired Western working ranch registered Quarter Horse. One of his trucking buddies also rode the rodeo circuit and put War Bugg through her paces – she did a figure-eight so tight you’d’ve thought she’d fall over! I helped Dad build her corral and box stall in the barn, along with re-roofing and remodeling the old chicken coop for our flock. And then came the heavy-duty barn chores of bringing hay down out of the mow, hauling 50-lb bags of grain, mucking out the pens, learning to groom War Bugg and pick up her feet to clean the soft undersides, devouring books on horses and their care, dreaming of being an equine vet. I saw his deep concern when I stepped on a wasp’s nest in the haymow with 11 stings on my leg, and his gratefulness for my dousing him with a 5-gallon pail of water when a torch threatened to catch him on fire while trying to burn tent caterpillars, chuckling later that I almost drowned him! But I also learned the hard way that running War Bugg flat out up the road and back could have killed her. Not realizing the depth of War Bugg’s Western training, I’d simply clicked my tongue and she took off like a rocket, so I let her run… on the paved road. I was scolded hard, yet taught to walk her slowly, allowing her to have only small sips of warm water till she cooled down. After riding her another time, I dismounted, tied her to the backyard light pole, and ran into the house briefly. On returning, I realized she’d pulled on and broken her bridle, standing as if still tied with reins straight down. And it was then I realized she was Western trained to be “ground tied” and to take off at the click of the tongue, very responsive to touch, the absolute best horse! I still miss her… Soon enough, I got married and began a new life with my new family, while my siblings and parents scattered themselves around the U.S. Life changes, and we change with it. We learn from those childhood mistakes, and grow up wiser for them. As a child, I teased my Dad when he turned 30 that he was old, and that when he’d turn 50 he’d be “over the hill!” Well, Dad, guess what? Your oldest daughter reached that milestone a good ways back, and she’s still kickin’! Giving him this writing in 2014 before he passed away April 17, 2015, his wedding anniversary with my Mom, he knew I felt blessed to have him as my Dad. Sometimes I wish I could go back and relive the childhood fun of days long ago, but I treasure those memories that linger still... and I love you, Dad! May you each be blessed with very special memories of your Dad, too! Happy Father’s Day! I Remember A Dad Linda A. Roorda ~ I remember a dad who took me fishin’ And remember a dad who hooked my worms, Who took those hooks from fishy mouths, And showed me the country way of life. ~ A family of six, two girls and four boys Fun and trouble we shared as we grew. From farms and fields to paved avenues, Walking and biking, exploring we went. ~ I remember a time spent playing games, A dad who’d not cheat for us to win. Family and friends and holiday dinners, Lakes and farms and countryside drives. ~ Weeds were the bane of childhood fun, So ‘tween the rows we ran and we played. But as I grew and matured in age, Weeding was therapy in gardens of mine. ~ I remember a dad who thrived on farming Livestock and gardens, and teaching me how. I remember a dad who took me huntin’ Scoutin’ the fields, always alert. ~ I remember a dad who taught us more For growing up we learn by example. I remember working alongside my dad Roofing a barn and building corrals. ~ I remember a dad whose gifts were given In fairness to meet each child’s desire. I remember a dad whose wisdom we honor In memories of caring and love in small ways. ~ I remember a dad who brought us laughter With Cajun and Cosby stories retold. For blessed with a gift of retelling tales Family and childhood events he recalled. ~ I remember a dad whose time was given To help his children face life’s turmoils. Time spent together are memories treasured For things done best put family first. ~ I remember a dad who taught me more To treasure my faith in Jesus my friend. In looking to Him as Savior and Lord, Salvation by Grace, not earned by my deed. ~ As I look back to days long ago, I remember the dad I knew so well. For I miss the dad who took me fishin’ And remember the dad who taught me more.

We’re very thankful for the good rains that came following the heavy smokey haze we and so much of the northeast dealt with from Canada’s many wildfires. I saw the photos taken by my cousin in New York City sent to his parents, and which his mom forwarded to me. Much denser a haze than we had here, which was bad enough, it permeated everything. And going without rain for several weeks or even a month, it was cause for joy when my students and I heard and saw the heavy rains coming down! But the smokey haze hit me as a good metaphor for the haze of emotional disruption caused by PTSD – post traumatic stress disorder. The emotional distress clouds your normal ability to experience life on a good positive level, while you try to live normally, hiding or concealing symptoms of distress so that few notice something just might be amiss… because you, yourself, may not even understand the depth of distress. I’ve been there… and this is my story. June is National PTSD Awareness Month. PTSD is a serious issue whose effects I don’t think we fully understand even today. This is the story of my journey. I no longer deal with its effects as in years past. Now realizing I did nothing to cause the problems, there is no reason for me to feel ashamed. Life being what it is, an imperfect entity, there are things that happen to each of us over which we have no control. What we do have control over, however, is our reaction… either to our detriment, or to our recovery and growth. And I hope sharing my story here will be helpful, encouraging others in their struggle. Several years ago, a friend’s Facebook post about PTSD suffered by combat veterans brought memories back to me of long ago. Nearly 10 years ago, inappropriate incidents by a so-called friend during a time I felt utterly overwhelmed by extreme stress… working full time and caring for my husband, his many medical appointments, and virtually all household needs for so many years… reactivated my own PTSD symptoms. Post-traumatic stress disorder is not a syndrome affecting only our military vets returning from an active war zone. It is believed that about 20% of American adults who have suffered some form of trauma can be diagnosed with PTSD. This diagnosis includes a host of after effects from various traumas such as emotional, physical, or sexual assaults, natural disasters, serious accidents, and many other traumatic life-altering situational stressors. PTSD is an invisible pain with its own specialized mental challenges. Unlike visible wounds, it often lacks outward evidence or proof, taking prisoner one’s deepest inner self and emotions. PTSD is typically evidenced by flashbacks, nightmares, difficulty sleeping and working, panic attacks, and feeling detached from reality… essentially an unstable emotional equilibrium. Usually, no one else knows the victim has a problem, who may also be in denial that anything is wrong, or may be totally unaware they have a problem. I know. I was diagnosed with PTSD well after the trauma of verbal rape had occurred in junior high. For me, PTSD reared its head to strike years later after having to steel myself daily in an abusive employment situation. Predating the initial traumatic event though, my family abruptly moved when I was 9 from a farming community of everything and everyone I loved to city life, and I was an emotional mess. Within the year, Tourette’s Syndrome began, albeit undiagnosed until years later. But I overcame the challenges and adapted, making a new life with new friends. Yet, just a few years later, my family never knew why I suddenly became withdrawn, was easily agitated, and startled and screamed easily at the unexpected. I was always on alert, wary of others, shied away from making friends, withdrew from a great group of peers in our church youth group, being afraid of even them, and often “clung” to my sister’s side when I should have been making my own friends. I also never shared my fear of the dark, literally sensing someone was behind me to grab and kill me. It was a very real and horrendous fear that I battled for several decades. I was afraid to tell anyone, fearing they’d think I was absolutely crazy. But, to be fair, I also had no idea the trauma of verbal rape in junior high could have caused my problems. I thought that event had simply been tucked away in the distant crevices of my memory. A few years after that emotional trauma, my family moved back to a rural community in upstate New York. There, I was mocked by a neighbor’s sons, or so I assumed, hidden from view in their yard as I took care of my horse. Unfortunately, my dislike for them was real. Unexpectedly, I was reminded of that mocking incident by the perpetrator over 20 years ago. Still thinking it was hilarious fun at my expense, laughing while retelling the mocking episode, I was afraid to share the pain I’d lived with for so many years. Sadly, my sister does not comprehend the damage her mocking did to me. It is well known in the psychiatric community that emotional abuse damages the victim’s self-esteem with long-term consequences to their emotional stability. Wishing I could apologize for my own wrong in holding onto dislike in thinking a neighbor’s son had done this, I gathered the courage to seek him on Facebook. He graciously accepted my apology for my long-held hate, and forgave me, passing away unexpectedly several months later. I am forever grateful I listened to God’s prompting at that time to reach out. A few years after that mocking incident though, returning home from dates with Ed (being legally blind, he could not drive), I would park my car as close to the house as possible, and run as fast as I could to get into the house. The closer the car to the door, the more severe the fear. It was laughed about, but I never shared my intense fear of the dark with anyone except my husband-to-be. Sharing it with my Dad a few months before his passing, I heard the pain in his voice for his never having known in order to have been there for me way back in junior high. Fast forward several more years when, after leaving an abusive employment situation, property damages began, and nightmares and flashbacks set in. It felt like I was beginning to break with reality. Resigning from a new job because of the sudden inability to function and make office decisions regarding things objectively I knew very well how to do, hearing condemning voices and yelling in my head by my former employer, I felt like an absolute and total failure. While looking for just the right tree to drive my car into, I drove past the home of my Dad’s former Army buddy, Roland, a faithful Christian. I’d sat on his knee for Thanksgiving at my family’s cabin in Alaska when I wasn’t quite 2 years old. Now, driving past his home, I clearly heard the voice of God saying, “I’m here for you. Your family needs you. You will be okay.” Like ancient Israel’s King David who said in Psalm 91:2, “I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust,’” God was always here for me in so many ways. Finally seeking professional counseling, I was given a diagnosis - PTSD. My counselor shared that it was not a diagnosis given lightly, typically not given out other than for military personnel. But she said I had been severely traumatized in several ways, had suppressed the trauma and my feelings, steeling myself to additional abuses, and emotions overwhelmed me. Told I really would be okay, and that none of it was my fault (which I’d always believed), the healing process began with my husband’s loving support. Still, having to support my family with Ed unable to work at that time, taking a month off, I put one foot in front of the other to work as a secretarial temp for executives before being hired as a hospital medical transcriptionist over 30+ years ago. The temp jobs were a boost to morale with letters of commendation from a bank president, university labor relations professor at Cornell, and a hotel CEO. They had each told me personally they would have hired me but for their own secretary being on vacation. It seems like a lifetime ago. I have forgiven those two boys in junior high, hoping they’ve gone on to become good men as adults, as well as my mocker, and former employer. The effects of any bullying are devastating as we see all too often among today’s youth. I will no longer allow myself to be mocked or bullied, even when such abuse is hidden from the eyes of others, even within the church. I forgive, but renewed friendship is inappropriate with those who continue to blame their victim, refuse to comprehend the damaging effects of ongoing bullying, and cannot apologize or amend their behavior. Though I still find it difficult to go outside in the dark even with a flashlight, startle easily, and always assess my surroundings, I’ve also learned God uses the traumas of life for a higher purpose, like the words He’s blessed me with in poetry, words which I’ve sensed have come from the depths of my soul. As Paul wrote in Romans 8:28, “we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him…” And I pray God may use me to “be there”, bringing peace and comfort to others who struggle. I’m also thankful to say I’m doing well, appreciative of the great supportive friends who have blessed my life with their presence. My prayer is that anyone else suffering PTSD, or the adverse effects of abuse and bullying, will seek help to recover… and be richly blessed in their healing! Where the Heart Soars Free Linda A. Roorda Little girl sad, withdrawn and teary Changes and loss disrupting life’s flow Leaving behind remnants of what was With emotional scars, reminders vivid. ~ Where once her heart ran free, unhindered Clinging to joys and ease of childhood Now all the world was seen through the lens Of deepening gray on guard for the unknown. ~ Open her eyes, Lord, that she may see All of the wisdom You share with her May she then know how great is Your love That You care enough to shelter her heart. ~ For there is a place where the heart soars free Where love shines bright in a world grown dim Where hopeless need meets faith to overcome By walking the path that conquers defeat. ~ As an airy joy with a zest for life Brings cheer to the sad and light to the dark Where peace in the heart and contentment calm Cover her wounds with Your loving grace. ~~

I couldn't agree more! I'm in that Winter Season too... funny, don't know how it happened so quickly!!

It’s another beautiful sunshine day, with cooler temps down from the mid-90s, thankfully. Still no rain in our area, as we pray for that blessing. Yesterday was a successful day at our Spencer-Van Etten community farmers market season opener, and a great time to see friends and meet new folks as we chatted about various topics. This week as a sub also went very well, with special hugs from students, helping students stay focused on the classwork in front of them. And that reminded me of this previously unpublished poem and reflection written several years ago. We all struggle to stay focused at times, not just our young ones. But there are also benefits to those wandering thoughts… as ideas for good will pop into our thoughts. And maybe that’s how great inventions happen! God really can use those wanderings to benefit us and others! With these few wandering thoughts and ideas, I hope you have a blessed Sunday and a great week ahead, because... We can all get distracted when we focus on something other than the intended. Our thoughts wander and stray, and we have to rein them in, retrieve them, and regain our focus. In fact, as I sat here thinking about writing this reflection a few years back, I recalled a cartoon I’d seen decades ago. As Garfield’s creator, Jim Davis, put it, “I have a fear of letting my mind wander. I’m afraid it might not come back.” How true, how true! Yet, on the flip side, we may learn or discover something new and of benefit in those wandering thoughts and ideas! And I chuckle because I cut that out of the paper back then (and have since lost it)… it’s exactly how I felt! Truth be told, it was on my mind as an example to use as I sat down to write… but then my mind wandered, and I looked out the window at the cold wintry scene… thinking about spring, and gardens, and planting… and, for the life of me, could not recall the above quote when I brought my focus back to the computer. So, I told Ed I’d forgotten the quote I’d planned to use about letting my mind wander and asked if he had any idea what I’d been thinking of. Dear man that he was, he knew the exact quote I’d wanted to use! Ed knew me so well! I also thought about an old hymn that’s been one of my favorites since childhood – “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” written by Robert Robinson at about age 22 in 1757. “Come Thou Fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing Thy grace; streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise… Jesus sought me when a stranger, wandering from the throne of God; He, to rescue me from danger, bought me with His precious blood… Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, prone to leave the God I love; here’s my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for Thy courts above.” It’s a common malady… We all tend to get distracted by what’s going on around us. And we may find ourselves beset with wandering thoughts and/or wandering feet. We may even stray from the narrow path and away from our Lord at times. But, with His loving mercy and grace, He faithfully and gently draws us back to His side… back to His word which guides our steps, our thoughts, and our words. With those thoughts bringing me back into focus, I’ll rest in Him and the comforting peace of His word. In Him I’ll Rest Linda A. Roorda Oh Lord you know I long to follow Your guiding words on this path of life, Yet still I stray in my thoughts and words Away from truth to follow desires. What is the draw? Why do I wander? What do I seek? Is it my will or Yours? Help me, I pray, to give up my wants That which I hold too tightly in fear. A fear that grips my heart in its clutch From being in charge to loss of control, Trying to make this destiny mine Grasping tightly the threads of my life. But what I’ve learned by following self Is that I’ve missed the greater blessing Of true peace found on giving control To the One above who created me. For He established the me I would be And created all for His glory and praise. He knew before time the steps I would take And how He’d draw my heart to seek His. My life is not my own to command I owe my worth to One far greater Giving Him reign o’er all I hold dear Bringing praises to His name alone. Then in Him I’ll rest in comforting peace And patiently wait His answer to prayers As He envelopes my soul with His love And shines His light to glow from my heart. ~~ 07/17/15

You're very welcome, Hal! Thank you for reading my blog. And I'm glad this reflection and poem was special to you and Ann 🙂

I love to see a beautiful rainbow at the end of a storm, don’t you?! I’ve even seen the occasional double rainbow emerging as the sun begins to shine, leaving a lustrous shimmering sheen on everything wet. Then there’s that elusive pot of gold we joke about finding at its end… wouldn’t we be rich! Rainbows have come to symbolize many things. Since the early 1970s, the rainbow has represented the LGBT community with bright bold colors, used by gays as far back as the 19th century to identify themselves. In some cultures, rainbows are a bad omen, a portent of evil, while on the flip side they’re said to bring good luck, especially double rainbows. But spiritually and biblically, the rainbow represents God’s love and covenant to all of mankind that never again would He destroy the earth. In that one-and-only 40-day flooding deluge of rain, only Noah and his family members survived in the ark he built because of their faith in the one true God… while the rest of the world mocked Noah and worshiped their false gods. With representation in twos, male and female of every living creature, including mankind represented by Noah’s faithful family, that must have been one full and noisy ark! After the storm, Noah and his family saw a magnificent rainbow as they left the ark. “God said, “This is the sign of the covenant I am making between me and you and every living creature with you, a covenant for all generations to come: I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth. Whenever I bring clouds over the earth and the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will remember my covenant between me and you and all living creatures of every kind. Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all life. Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures of every kind on the earth.” So God said to Noah, “This is the sign of the covenant I have established between me and all life on the earth.” (Genesis 9:12-17 NIV) And what a blessing of love and hope God gave us as represented by that rainbow! We are showered with mercy and grace when we come to Him in faith, admit our sins, and ask for His forgiveness. We all face the difficult trials of life, some more than others it seems. As one of America’s favorite poets, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, once penned, “Into each life some rain must fall.” “Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.” Yet, just like the rainbow given as a sign to Noah after the flood, God has promised He will be with us, and never leave us… forever. (Matthew 28:20) I’ve always been touched by the story of Israel’s Joseph, sold into slavery by his jealous brothers. Taken to Egypt to become a slave, and though a faithful servant, he was falsely charged and imprisoned for many years. Eventually released by Pharaoh for his ability to interpret the king’s dreams, he became second in command! As a “prime minister,” Joseph led the nation through tremendous harvest successes followed by extreme drought and famine. During the famine, his brothers sought assistance from the foreign nation, not knowing their younger brother was in control of grain disbursement. When later identifying himself to his brothers, Joseph shared how God had blessed him through the difficulties, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good.” (Genesis 50:20) Though we all face our own share of difficulties, we have the hope that our gracious Lord will walk beside us, guide us, and see us through the storms. As Joshua told the nation of Israel on going into the Promised Land, “Be strong and Courageous. Do not fear… for the Lord your God goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6) Many generations later, the Apostle Paul wrote that he had asked God three times to remove the thorn with which he suffered. Instead, God’s response was simply, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness…” Paul was able to boast in his hardships because it was then he felt Christ strengthen him, “For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (II Corinthians 12:7-10) Yet, all too often, like me, we often see only the bad in the difficult situation… initially at least. When we raise our eyes to see how God walks through the storm with us, we see the good, the blessing, that comes as we look back in hindsight. Paul reassured us by saying, “And we know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28) The beautiful rainbow arching across the sky after the storm is a beautiful reminder of God’s love for us, His gift of salvation, His promise to always be with us… no matter what! The Rainbow’s End Linda A. Roorda ~ The richest treasures at the rainbow’s end Reveal the blessings of abundant grace Joy from the heart to brighten your way Wrapped up in love and joy unending. ~ Yet the pot of gold always out of reach Taunts our goals with pursuits of pleasure Tempting the heart to envy another To yearn for more that’s not ours to gain. ~ But when we release our wants for more And humbly embrace to persevere We face the trials standing firm in faith As blessings pour out from our Father above. ~ Such treasures rich we cannot fathom For in His plan all things work together That from a rough path we find His promise And see His face at the rainbow’s end. ~

What a beautiful sunny morning for Mother's Day! Within the busyness of life of working full time in both raising a family and earning an income through a career, finding relaxation through resting or enjoying a special hobby, may you be richly blessed in all you do that is dear to your heart. Wishing each mother a very special Happy Mother’s Day! How to explain a mother’s love… It’s all encompassing… She believes the best, encourages, supports, and nudges her young ones forward from infancy as they grow up to become who they’re meant to be. As a mother holds her tiny newborn in her arms, she feels an intense and special tender love. From deep within her heart, this new love emerges as each little one is born… for every child is created unique by God… an individual with a distinct character and personality… unlike any other in the world. Children are also not born with a set of instructions in one hand as they enter the world… sometimes unfortunately! But, with biblical Godly wisdom, a mother, a parent, also grows within… to become wiser as her children mature. It’s a process involving her learning and understanding while her children move through their own maturation processes. She holds her hands out to pick her young ones up when they fall… while at the same time she tries to let them fail so they can learn from their mistakes… often called tough love. We want so much to keep them from feeling pain, loss and disappointment. And I’ve been guilty of being a helicopter mom… I didn’t want them to face some of the pains I did while growing up. But, that’s not the best option. A mother also realizes she has not always been wise and successful at every turn of the way. She makes mistakes too. At times I needed to apologize for my own misunderstandings and mistakes, being willing to learn from the experience with my children, and to move forward a bit wiser. Discipline, responsibility, accountability, honesty and respect are necessary for a child’s growth, taught and modeled by parents. One form of discipline I incorporated from Ed’s Aunt Ethel with our three children was to have them all sit on the sofa holding hands together when they had been arguing. Unbeknownst to me, as soon as my back was turned, they stuffed their hands down between the sofa cushions – so they wouldn’t have to touch their sibling. As soon as Mom reappeared, they held hands again. When I could see they were treating each other well again, I sent them off to play. As adults, they shared with me what they used to do. I laughed and said, “But it worked! It got you talking and working together, even if you were conspiring against me to unhold your hands!” As a child, Jenn liked to take chocolate chips to her room, hiding them in her desk drawer. One time, this concept went too far. While their dad was at The Carroll Center for the Blind in Massachusetts, I took the kids grocery shopping with me. Turning around one time, Jenn slowly took her hands out of her pocket with an odd look on her face. I knew… I just knew what had happened. Sure enough, she’d slipped a candy bar into her pocket. I made her put it back, telling her that the store manager had literally just walked past us. If he had seen her, I said, he would have charged her with shoplifting. And people who do that go to jail. Maybe that was harsh to tell an 11-year-old, but this was going to be stopped. On the way home, I even drove past and pointed out the county jail. When we visited their dad at his Aunt Ethel and Uncle Harry’s home in Massachusetts a few weeks later, I shared my concern with Uncle Harry. The next day, he took us all to the Boston Aquarium. We saw the Old North Church, like an ant, tucked down amongst tall “skyscrapers.” Then he took us to see “Old Ironsides,” the famous ship from the War of 1812. It was impressive to walk on a piece of early American history! We thought it was especially neat to see a sailor in an 1812-era uniform on deck, talking on a modern telephone! On the way home, Uncle Harry drove us past a prison with its high barbed-wire fences, telling us it was for teenage delinquents. I’m sure the message was received. Jenn never attempted to steal anything again. True love, and guiding our children through the maze of learning appropriate behavior, does not leave them to blindly follow their own selfish desires. After our daughter, Jennifer, passed away at age 25, I wrote my memories of the growing-up years of Jenn, Em and Dan in a book, “Watch Them” for family and friends. In one chapter I wrote, “Our children – each a unique individual, a most precious gift from God to be treasured and loved as we guide them in their journey through life. My late friend, Mimi, shared a special quote from her stitchery: ‘There are two lasting gifts we can give our children – one is roots, the other is wings.’ May we love our children enough to provide them with the deep roots of a sturdy foundation, and yet love them enough to discipline them, giving them wings and freedom to fly out into the great big world on their own.” To me, that is what a mother’s love is all about. And I love each of my kids and grands so very much! God bless you all, and Happy Mother’s Day! A Mother’s Love Linda A. Roorda A mother’s love From the first smile of joy For the precious bundle held in her arms To the pride in her heart As to the future her child is given. A mother’s love With hugs, tears and kisses That heal life’s bruises As arms enfold her child tight A place that no one else can fill. A mother’s love From deep within her tender heart A love that forever hopes the best A love that believes in guiding the will And a love that never ever lets go. A mother’s love Is kept in gentle memories From her tender sweet smiles To the depths of her heart Forever a love held precious and dear. ~~

Today, I’m sharing something close to my heart. I’ve shared this before, but it bears repeating because I am not alone. Tourette Syndrome Awareness Month is May 15 to June 15, with the annual Tourette Syndrome Awareness Day on June 7, 2023. Tourette Syndrome was named for a French neurologist, Dr. Georges Gilles de la Tourette. He was the first to describe children and adults with specific tic movements in 1884, publishing his study about this syndrome in 1885. I’ve had Tourette’s since age 10-11, starting within a year after my family moved from farms in upstate New York to city life in Clifton, New Jersey… the city where I was born and my dad grew up. It was an extremely emotional, disruptive time in my life to leave behind my close friends and the country life I loved… and preferred. Always believing it was that stress which precipitated my tics, I now understand there is often a genetic component, though I have no idea who may have had it in any older generation. Most of my life I was embarrassed and ashamed to admit I had Tourette’s. Nor did my parents know what to do about it. I was initially mocked, and quickly learned to hide or camouflage the tics with movements that wouldn’t be as readily obvious. I am constantly “on alert”. Though I can generally successfully “hide” the tics, or so I think, they have to have an out and are worse when I’m away from the public eye or under stress. I’ve called the tics “my habit”, but never had a diagnosis until reading a letter in a Dear Abby or Ann Landers column in my early 20s. Self-diagnosing from the apt description in that letter and response by the columnist, I felt such a relief to give my affliction a name! Still, I only shared this information with my husband and closest family. Though embarrassed and ashamed to see myself with tic movements in a family video, I have not let Tourette’s control my life or employment. I was also afraid of passing it on to my children, but I wanted and was blessed with a family. I’m aware of the tics, and am able to control them… but only somewhat. And I’m also thankful they are considered “simple” tics. Just as I’ve been ashamed of my movements, so my late husband was ashamed of being legally blind growing up. (He read and approved this when I initially wrote it.) He couldn’t see the school blackboard with his limited vision, even sitting in the front row, and would not ask for the help he needed. Kids don’t want to be different from their peers. When they have a noticeable difference, they are too often teased or mocked like my husband was, and become ashamed of who they are… sometimes with devastating effects, like suicide. It’s up to us as adults, and even children, to be aware of the issues that others around us are dealing with. If we provide support, acceptance, and encouragement, we will see ourselves for who we truly are - uniquely created in the image of God, and very loved. While subbing one day, I was surprised by a young student who kindly asked, “Do you have Tourette’s?” Seeing no point in denying the obvious to those sweet innocent eyes, I replied, “Yes, I do. But how do you know about Tourette’s?” She’d watched a show. As kids often do, they talked amongst themselves and others began asking me questions. This led to their teacher setting aside time so I could share what I knew about living with Tourette’s. I answered their many questions with several adding they knew someone with Tourette’s, too! It was an informative session, endearing these students to me for their kindness and understanding. They simply accepted me for who I am, just as I accept each of them. Tourette Syndrome is one type of tic disorder, meeting certain medical criteria of involuntary, repetitive movements and vocalizations, lasting for specific lengths of time. My “simple” tics include, but are not limited to, sudden brief, repetitive movements of certain muscle groups like hard eye blinking or scrunching (the first symptom for most, including myself), facial, mouth, and head movements, shoulder shrugging, arm, hand and finger movements, head and shoulder jerking, leg and foot movements, throat clearing, repeating words or phrases verbally (or in my mind), and more. I have an arthritic bony prominence of my collarbone from decades-long shoulder shrugs, and thoracic spine pain/arthritis from prior movements. Tics wax and wane, change muscle groups at whim, and become worse under stress. Though the tics have never gone away, they often subside, albeit briefly, when I’m fully absorbed in something like singing, sleeping or designing paintings. Totally absorbed while playing intently with my toddler son years ago, my step-mother commented that my tics had totally stopped during that brief window of time. That was the first time I realized there really were times when “my habit” stopped! Tourette Syndrome is a neurodevelopmental disorder with typical onset in childhood or adolescence. Chemical imbalances in the brain, environmental factors, or genetics are considered causative factors. There is no cure, but there are some treatment options. About 35 years ago, I was officially diagnosed by a neurologist and prescribed medication. Unfortunately, taking just half a pill of the smallest dose, the dopey side effect for me was much worse than dealing with the tics, so I declined further medication. I do not have “complex” tics which include distinct patterns with multiple muscles and movements, hopping and twirling, head banging, and more. Vocal tics can include sniffing, throat clearing, shouting, saying words or phrases, and repeating what was heard. Though swearing and unacceptable language are found in a small percentage of Tourette cases, the media often describes coprolalia as a more common symptom. My heart goes out to those with this more severe and disruptive range of tics, some of whom may qualify for disability benefits. Many with Tourette’s also have other diagnoses including obsessive-compulsive disorder, hyperactivity (possibly me), attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder, and learning disabilities. Guidepost magazine once featured contemporary Christian music singer, Jamie Grace, sharing her diagnosis of Tourette’s. Reading the article about her, I burst into tears just to know that someone else has it, but has not let it stop her from living a full life, too. I always felt so alone, never knowing anyone else with Tourette’s until I opened up about it a few years ago on Facebook. Looking at this from God’s perspective, I find it comforting to know He sees me for who I am, Tourette’s and all. He has a greater purpose for our lives as we bring honor and glory to Him in all that we do, even with our limitations. Often, as we go through the trials of life, that’s when we learn how to trust and rely on the Lord the best. In overcoming our own problems, God uses us and our difficult circumstances to reach others who may be dealing with similar issues, bringing love and comfort to them in a way that is as unique as we are each gifted individually. To learn more about Tourette Syndrome and how to handle the emotional and physical challenges, go to their website: https://tourette.org/ Read shared personal stories at: Home | Mytourette.org

I love spring! It’s a season full of the promise of new growth, new life. Yet as I thought about life emerging from a tiny seed, fed and nourished by the sun’s warming rays and watered by a refreshing shower, I could not help but think of the Lord feeding and nourishing our souls to help us grow. As a TA sub in a science class recently, I was reminded of this unpublished blog. Studying plant life, the students experimented with seeds in different situations. Seeds were placed on a folded paper towel with a specific amount of water… some were set on a windowsill where they would have sunlight and warmth, while others were put into a dark cupboard where it was cooler. Checking on the progress of their seeds daily, each group measured and looked for growth. The seeds with the sun’s warmth did the best with rich green young growth, while the seeds in the dark cool cupboard had some growth with long tendrils of white or very pale yellow instead of a darker rich green… they were searching for light and warmth. Interestingly, when I searched my photo file for a particular set of pictures, I saw this photo for today’s post was taken exactly 6 years ago – 04/30/2017! The bursting leaf buds on my maple trees are at the very same stage as back then! A reassurance when the world around us seems to be in constant flux that we are still in His care. In observing that experiment’s results, I realized how like us and our spiritual growth when we have Jesus and His Word, His light, as our guide, versus the darkness without His guiding light. In Jesus, we have a solid foundation to lean on. We’re fed with spiritual nutrition from His Word, Holy Scripture, as we turn to Him for answers in dealing with life’s problems. And I can’t help but wonder about those who lash out at life around them, having little to no purpose or meaning. Without a solid foundation and moral guidance to keep them on the right path, they often grow with negativity, seeking the easiest route to self-gratification regardless of collateral damage. I long for them to know and feel the embrace of God’s overwhelming love. In creating us and knowing who He’s designed us to be, it must give God great pleasure to watch us fulfill the purpose He’s placed within each of us as we seek His wisdom. Like a seed pushing upward and outward from its protective shelter below the soil, growing from a tiny seed until the whole of its beauty is evident, so is our life. Developing from a tiny cell, we grow until we are one day born unique, created by God like no other being. From infancy onward, we continue our maturing process to exhibit a growth and beauty within our heart and soul as we become who God intended us to be… a beautiful life meant to glorify Him. A Tiny Seed Linda A. Roorda Once upon a day a seed was planted Just a tiny seed, held gently in hand The soil was tilled and the seed tucked in To patiently wait, its growth to begin Learning to endure the seasons of life. As the tiny seed emerges frail From winter’s long and darkened sleep Into the warming breath of spring The sparkling rays of golden sun Shine down upon its tiny head. The rains gently fall to nourish the soil The sun rises high to share its warm glow And day by day the seed begins to grow Coddled with love, nudged into life Slowly but surely potential to gain. So it reaches up yet higher still Straining to achieve its dreams and goals Looking unlike any other around In plain and simple, yet elegant attire Focusing on its purpose ordained. And then one day a small simple bud Opens its petals for all to take note Delicate beauty unfolding soft To praise the One who created it so Like you and me with purpose unique. For by His loving and abundant care Sheltered and nurtured within our heart Is gently worked His will and His plan So that we beloved, precious children of His Bring honor and praise to our glorious God. ~~

Thank you so very much, Ann... yes, there's so much more that could be said, and so many memories tucked away to savor... 🙂

How do you write a tribute to celebrate a life, and capture the essence of 70 years in just a few words? I couldn’t, but will share some snapshots of Ed’s life that I read yesterday at Ed’s burial service with several family and friends present. When he went back to the ER yet again on January 13th, Ed calmly told me he was praying for God to take him home. He was tired and worn out from the constant health issues he’d had since October 2008. He wanted me to know how much he loved me and our family, and that he could not have done life without me at his side for those 48 years - well actually 49 years if you count from Christmas Day 1973 when we started dating. But I also want to share that Ed’s cousin Kevin called me March 29th. He told me something he was hesitant to tell Ed when it happened, and now wishes he had. He had wanted to tell me after Ed passed but was afraid of breaking down so he waited … but in November, he’d had a very vivid dream of Ed. Kevin was in front of his house when Ed appeared and said “Hey Kevin! Look what I can do!” as he ran back and forth!! Kevin believes it was a premonition that he didn’t realize at the time, a treasure!! Ed was an easy-going, laid-back kinda guy, with a great sense of humor. When his friend and coworker Jeff Grover, who he thought highly of, picked him up for work at VTI and apologized for oversleeping and being late, Ed would simply say, “It’s ok. You must’ve needed the extra sleep”. Ed was kind and compassionate to a roommate who’d had a terrible night after surgery such that Ed got very little sleep. Bruce, who grew up a dairy farmer and was a disabled policeman, so appreciated Ed’s kindness and reawakening of his own faith in God that when Ed was discharged, he got out of bed to give Ed a hug and broke down crying on Ed’s shoulder for the friendship bonding they’d shared that week. Ed did not like attention on himself. He was quite a fighter in life and never gave up, working hard to prove he could do things with his limited vision. Over the past several years of his illnesses, he was determined to do whatever he could, for as long as he could, rather than sit back and do nothing. His faith in God was a very real part of his life, praying for God’s wisdom and guidance. He told me he even prayed for a wife, and God had sent me. And he was very supportive of my endeavors, often reading my blogs before posting and gave constructive advice. Yes we had difficulties as a couple, but we made a commitment when we got married and worked through those hard times with God at our side. He was a two-month premature twin, spending a month in an incubator with pure oxygen which damaged his eyes. With no vision in his right eye, and only 20/200 vision with glasses in left eye, he managed to do a lot. With new glasses at age 5 or 6, he was ecstatic to see kids sledding down a hill, something he’d never been able to see before. He used to lose his glasses regularly, with the family finding them in odd places like hanging from a beam in the haymow after haying! He wouldn’t let it be known he couldn’t see the board from a front row seat, but one special teacher caught on and let Ed copy from his notes. He was appointed swim team manager for the state championship team while at Warwick High School. He swam like a pro, but wasn’t allowed to compete on the team for fear he’d hurt himself or someone else by not being able to see his lane, a great disappointment to him, but he accepted it and moved on. Ed had helped on the farm since he was a little kid. As he grew older, he wanted to do what his brother Marv did – like driving tractor and doing field work. His Dad said, “Okay, you can try, but you’ve got to be careful” – not telling his Mom till later. He tried, and was very careful, proving he could handle their John Deere 520 and machinery like he was born to the job. He loved nothing better than doing fieldwork, alert to machinery sounds and problems. He was always extra cautious, never reaching over or into running machinery for the danger that posed. He was also great at rhyming words, making short silly “poems,” telling me it was from all those years of endless hours on the tractor! Ed also had a close friendship with hired hand, Mat Donnelly, who was surprised I was Ed’s wife; we knew each other in Lounsberry. Ed and Mat really enjoyed working together, and visiting together over the years, talking and listening to Ed’s records or CDs. Ed had also milked cows since he was young; but by getting his head under a cow to see where to put the milking machine, his Dad advised him that if he was going to milk cows, he’d better find another way to put the machines on or he’d be getting his head kicked in a lot! So, like for other tasks, he put the machines on by feel. He loved working with his Dad who allowed him the ability to succeed by trying, and did so well at many things that I took his abilities for granted. He grew up on rented farms in Orange County, NY, before moving to their own farm in Spencer in April 1968. That lasted until June 1985 at age 33 when he had a major retinal detachment. Imagine going to the eye doctor, being told you need urgent surgery, and you can’t even do barn chores that night… or ever again. He was devastated. And we had three little ones to raise. But moving forward after recovery he helped take care of the house and kids while I went to work. He made the grocery list until a few weeks before he passed away. Tho he’d given me his master list, I struggle with actually making that list now! Ed held a life-long love of music, from traditional hymns to classic country music, and classic rock from the 1950s thru the 80’s, especially the Beatles! As a little boy, his parents and relatives were amazed at how he knew which little 45-record was which. If someone asked for a song, he always knew the right one to put on the record player his grand-parents had given him. He told me that he never understood why they were all so amazed because, “I just memorized the picture on each record that went with each song!” Of course! How simple… so like Ed, a man without pretentions! But he could have been a DJ. He often knew a song by just a few initial notes, and the background stories of so many singers and their bands, and who left what group to go solo or start another group. Without vision, he knew every CD he had in several boxes, and knew which song was on what track on which CD, just like he’d known his many records! While dating and after we were married, he took great pains to patiently play a record, stop it, write down the words in a letter to me, play the next phrase, stop, write it down, repeat, repeat, repeat. Later he did this with internet songs, writing down special lyrics for my birthday and our anniversary. I loved that he took the time to do that for me, or that he’d ask someone to take him to the store so he could buy me a card. That’s true love! Eventually, he had more eye troubles with hemorrhaging and surgeries, and was left with additional vision loss. He went to The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, Massachusetts for 6 months of personal training from November 1989 to April 1990, spending every weekend by his Aunt Ethel and Uncle Harry, helping them with firewood! He learned Braille well with large dots, but when he had to use smaller dots, he could not feel them to read. After returning home, he was hired by Vergason Technology in Van Etten. He worked as a customer service rep, teaching himself to write programs for the shipping and receiving clerks with the assistance of an engineer and listening to tutorials. He could read large white-on-black print on a closed-circuit TV, was able to see some colors, but lost the last remnants of vision in 1998. Going through another bout of deep depression, we learned from counselors it was a typical response, as his old self gradually rose again to deal with being totally blind. But then he was laid off a month after 9/11/2001. AVRE (Association for Vision Rehabilitation and Employment) in Binghamton again assisted him in seeking new employment. His aide took him to an interview at Cornell’s vet school office. Afterwards, the woman doing the interview told him he’d been the best candidate she had ever interviewed with his knowledge, calm demeanor and ability to think on his feet, but they really needed someone with vision. He understood, appreciating her input, while the aide from AVRE later asked why he wasn’t nervous. Telling her he had been very nervous, she replied, “You never showed it! You were one cool cucumber under pressure!” And that too was so like Ed! A few weeks after Jenn died in June 2003, Ed was still on the Federated Church’s prayer list, looking for work. He told me he had prayed and asked God to bring the job to him because he had done all he could do with no results. That week there was a knock on the door. Ray Maratea came in, pulled a chair by Ed in his recliner, sat down, and asked Ed what he could do for them because they wanted to hire him! God answered Ed’s prayer by sending the job to him! Ray had seen Ed’s name on that prayer list! Working with AVRE, Raymond-Hadley Corporation set Ed up as an office assistant with his customer service background. He set up tractor trailers for pickup and delivery, tracked certificates for files, and made collection calls. When he wasn’t able to work in the office, they willingly set him up at home to continue doing collection calls because he was so good at it - he never got flustered, never got upset at customers, and handled situations with a calm and easy-going manner. Just a few days before he died, he asked me to write his resignation letter as he knew he would not be able to handle the job when he came home again, saying it was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to ask me to do for him - he absolutely loved his job for the company and the wonderful people he worked with. Ed loved his family deeply, and it hurt him that he couldn’t do things with them, go places with them, or visit them. He was very proud of all their accomplishments, and the wonderful adults they became - Jennifer (who’d married Matt), Emily (who married Nick) and Daniel (who married Beth). He also loved his 5 grandchildren very much – Liam, Wesley, Gwen, Samuel, and Maxwell, and always wished he could have seen them, read to them like he did with our own kids before bedtime, or played with them. We love and miss Ed, but rejoice that he’s in his heavenly home with his Savior, and can see and run!

Impetuous Peter… the disciple like so many of us, if we’re honest. I tend to speak quickly, not always giving as much thought to my answer as I should. My late husband, on the other hand, would take time to formulate his reply. And how often I’ve realized the depth of wisdom he shared in what he’d mulled over. Then, there’s the side of us which promises never to abandon a friend in their time of need. Yet we do. And I can’t help but wonder… aren’t we a bit miffed at their denials of wrongs to protect themselves? Does their conscience pierce their heart? Is there even a snippet of guilt or shame? Don’t they know a heart-felt apology for wrongs done begins to restore relationships? But, more importantly, have we forgiven them anyway? For faithful is the friend who remains supportive and encouraging. But please note, I am not speaking about truly abusive relationships. That is an entirely different situation we need to walk away from when no genuine remorse and change is made… despite what others think who don’t know the truth. Which reminds me of the twelve disciples gathered around Jesus and their inner thoughts… no different than us. Unbeknownst to all but Jesus, one of their own, Judas, was in the process of selling out their Lord for thirty pieces of silver, even as they shared the Passover meal together. (Matthew 26:14-16, 17-30) The disciples all knew how much Jesus loved them, so it must have caused great consternation as they heard Him warn Peter that before a rooster crowed twice, Peter would deny ever having known Jesus. (Mark 14:30) They must have wondered how their Teacher could think such a thing, let alone say it! (Luke 22:31-34; Mark 14:27-31) Even Peter protested that he would rather go to prison or die with Jesus, than ever renounce his best friend! After dinner, they went to the Garden of Gethsemane to rest and pray. Judas (who had left the table of his dining friends) eventually rejoined them, bringing along a large entourage of soldiers. And then he boldly gave Jesus a traitor’s kiss as soldiers surrounded his former teacher. To prove his own devotion to his best friend, Peter rashly sliced off the ear of one of the Roman guards with his sword. With tender love for those who meant him harm, Jesus gently restored the man’s ear, and rebuked Peter for such hasty behavior. (John 18:10-11) Surprisingly, as Jesus was being arrested, His closest friends… his followers, his disciples… turned their backs in abandonment and ran out of fear. (Mark 14:50-52) Later that evening as Peter warmed himself around a fire in the courtyard during Jesus’ trial, a servant girl thought she recognized him. Concerned for his own life after Jesus’ arrest, Peter vehemently denied being among Jesus’ closest friends… three times he rebuked their remembrances, the last time swearing like the old fisherman that he was. Immediately, a rooster crowed for the second time. And Peter instantly recalled what Jesus had predicted. His heart sank in broken-hearted grief. He had vehemently denied that he’d ever do such a thing to his closest of friends, and yet that’s exactly what he had done. Feeling utterly ashamed and alone, he walked away from everyone, and wept tears of great sorrow and remorse. (Mark 14:66-72) Once again, Peter had reacted rashly, thinking he was deflecting harm to himself by denying the truth without taking the time to think of the consequences. Yet, Peter loved his Lord. And Jesus loved Peter… unequivocally. For after Jesus’ crucifixion and then resurrection, the angel in the tomb told the women, “[Jesus] is risen! He is not here… Go, tell His disciples and Peter.” To me, those words signify how deeply our Lord loved Peter. Despite Peter’s hasty denials, God wanted to be sure Peter heard and understood the good news! (Mark 16:7) In Luke 24:9-12, we read that as soon as Peter heard about Jesus’ resurrection, he got up and immediately ran to the tomb to check out the story’s validity for himself. So like our impetuous Peter, isn’t it?! But it also shows how deeply Peter truly loved his Lord! Some days later, unexpectedly meeting their Lord on the shore of Galilee after fishing all night, John retold for us how Jesus asked Peter three times if he loved Him. With a tone of voice that likely reflected his deepest feelings, Peter was irritated and hurt that Jesus would ask him the same question for a third time. And Peter gave the same response each time, “You know I love you!” (John 21:15-17) Yet it was all done to help Peter understand that he was truly loved… and forgiven for his denials because of his repentant heart… and that Jesus was now giving Him a second chance with a new responsibility. Peter was to reach out to a world of hurting souls with the same love that he had been given from Jesus after his own failures! The reason Jesus was born into this world… the reason He died on a cross… was to pay for the sinful deeds we’ve done, no matter their size. “For we have all sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption of Jesus.” (Romans 3:23-24) As we confess our sins and need for a Savior, we receive God’s most gracious gift of forgiveness. “For God so loved the world that He sent His only begotten son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16) What depths of mercy and grace are ours! A Blessed and Happy Easter to each of you! Do You Love Me? Linda A. Roorda Do you love me? More than all these? You know I do, Lord! A loving friendship. You know my thoughts, my words and my ways, Surely you know how deep is my love. ~ Do you love me? Do you truly love? You know I do, Lord! I’d sacrifice self. Then feed My sheep, meet them in their need, Go to My flock, and lead them in truth. ~ Do you love me? With your heart and soul? Oh Lord, I am grieved! My heart has been stabbed. But oh! the shame of having denied One with whom I’d walked, the leader of hearts. ~ Did you not warn of what was to come? I pledged you my love above all others. I’d follow you Lord, even unto death! I’d never disown my Savior, my God. ~ But when confronted, my heart shrank in fear. I heard my own words deny with alarm. Twice more they claimed I was with the condemned, When out of my mouth came vicious cursing. ~ I winced in shock to hear the cock crow. My heart sank in shame for what I had done. My Lord had said deny Him I would, Now all I could do was bitterly weep. ~ You gazed thru my heart. You saw my soul’s depth. You poured out Your love though faithless was I. And now, Lord, you ask, do I truly love? Yes, Lord, I do! With heart, soul and mind. ~ Then tenderly care for the sheep of My fold. Go to the fields and guide them in truth. Feed them my Word, everlasting life. Shower with mercy and grace in My name. (Published at the Christian Reformed Church online Network here 04/04/0/23)

We’ve all heard the old adage that there are two sides to every story, and a classic trial brings that point out vividly. I’ve served on three juries in the past – one clearly guilty, one given a lesser settlement than desired, and one clearly not guilty. It’s an honor to be selected to sit with peers to carefully review and ponder the facts of the case as presented by the respective attorneys, and to be responsible for the right verdict. Certainly, some have abused the trial-by-jury system and condemned truly innocent folks, but more often than not it has been an equitable and fair justice system. The legal teams for the defendant and the plaintiff each present salient points to be considered, arguing their case convincingly with evidence and witnesses. Once the case has been handed over to the jury, it’s up to these 12 peers to discuss evidence presented and determine guilt or innocence. For the most part, at each trial, we jurors could tell early on where the truth lay. We also brought along our own life experiences and knowledge which helped weigh the evidence from both sides. In one trial, for example, the farming background I and another gentleman had made all the difference in helping others understand more fully the veracity of certain aspects which had been presented during the trial. But sometimes it seems that a trial with its accusations is like that voice in my head reminding me of how guilty I am. It’s Satan pointing out all of my sins… one after another, stacked high, like a mountain tall. The right way to live is spelled out in the Ten Commandments, in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, and scattered all throughout Scripture. But I’m also well aware that I cannot keep God’s commands and expectations to live a pure and holy life. I have a serious debt which I can never repay. So, what am I to do? Go to the Lord, confess my sins and failures, and accept God’s love and forgiveness, for nothing I could ever do will wash away my guilt. My favorite verse since childhood has been – “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16 KJV) Jesus took the punishment I deserved on that fateful day we call Good Friday. He was put on trial, a one-sided sham of justice. He was whipped, mocked, and nailed to a cross… not for anything He had done for He was sinless, faultless, perfect… fully human, yet fully God. But He did that for me. He willingly took my place, giving His life to purchase my right to join Him in heaven forever. His mercy and grace bring me to tears. Someday I will stand before Almighty God, my judge, to give an account of my life. I will have nothing to say in my defense… except that I put faith in my advocate, Jesus, who will be standing at my side, declaring me guiltless because He has already paid for my sins… with His own life… my Savior. My Advocate Linda A. Roorda With accusations I’m now confronted No plea have I but guilty as charged I hang my head to litany stark And with quiet shame my accuser I face. It once had seemed the world was my own I learned the games to lie and to cheat I did not care if others were hurt As long as my will and goals were achieved. But in the spiral of downward tumble I lost the vision I’d once beheld A purer focus, others before self Humble respect in tangled webs lost. And one by one as charges were read I clearly recalled the past with deep pain Words now regretted, carelessly spoken How could I ever repair what I’d done? In my despair while under scrutiny My only hope was to beg for mercy That perhaps some deed along the way Would balance the book, the ledger of sin. But, alas, I heard the judge declare Guilty as charged; no mercy be shown. Like rock upon rock my sins were stacked high As I stared upon that mountain of debt. Just then the doors were flung open wide And striding forth came a man in pure white Boldly he exclaimed, “This debt has been paid!” “I hung on the cross, and took all the shame.” Slowly I sank to my knees in awe. Who was this man who gave all for me? How could he give his life for my debt? For I can’t repay such a merciful gift. Reaching out gently he pulled me up straight And showed me his scars and nail-pierced hands He held out his arms in welcome embrace As he dried my tears and declared me free. I love you my child… I did this for you. I carried your shame upon my beaten back. I purchased your soul with life-giving blood That you might have life with mercy and grace. Now all I ask is by faith you walk Bring to the world compassion and peace Carry my light to the corners dark Open your heart to love and forgive. ~~

Spring is on its way! For real! I saw little white snowdrops and purple crocuses blooming in my gardens on my walk-about Friday. The blackbirds have definitely returned, their huge flocks of black covering the yard and treetops singing their hearts out, along with the lilting songs of my favorite bluebirds and the tweets of robins. And with the slow emergence of spring comes the vagaries of weather, the plummeting highs and lows, yet we didn’t get the sleet and snow with yesterday’s rain, for which I’m thankful. But with Saturday’s cold blustery, windy, dreary, rainy day I decided to sew up a new purse – using fabric of fanciful and beautiful dragonflies like iridescent butterflies. And as I sewed, my mind wandered back in time to the many various items like clothing, quilts, and purses I’ve made over the decades. But, as is typical, I made a few mistakes that needed correcting… like when I made a special quilt for Ed in the past. The center panel and fabrics were gifted to me by three different friends, yet they meshed so well as if purchased together! And yes, I made a mistake in sewing then too… had to rip out and redo an entire side section. But in the process, I realized something special - isn't that how God takes the pieces of our life and fits them all together perfectly?! And that got me thinking about this old blog, The Master Tailor. I love to sew! And it all started in 7th grade Home Ec sewing class in Clifton, NJ. Making a simple A-line denim skirt using orange thread (to resemble Western clothing) and a beach wrap (displayed on the wall by the teacher) were the simple beginnings of better things to come. With my mom too busy caring for a new baby brother to teach me more, my dad’s mother took me under her wings. A former professional seamstress of gowns and clothing, Grammy helped me sew a western shirt (see attached photo), not an easy project with those angled points, and taught me well to use the seam ripper. I learned to rip out my mistakes, start over, and make it right! Isn't that how God takes the pieces of our life and fits them all together perfectly? In making life mistakes, it’s how we accept correction or change that makes all the difference. So, when I tried to make a quilt on my own, totally wrong, Grammy taught me the correct way. She gifted me with several fabrics as I made a cardboard template to cut out 6-inch squares. Laying out the fabric squares on the living room floor, I set them in a pattern, sewed up the long strips, and then sewed each long strip side by side. With that success, Grammy gifted me with fabric every Christmas over several years for yet more skirts and dresses. After my family moved to Lounsberry, NY in 1969, I bought a c.1900 treadle machine that my auctioneer cousin, Howard, was selling for only $3. My dad oiled it, fixed the tension, got a new leather belt for the wheels, and my sewing obsession took off. More skirts, suits and dresses were made on that treadle machine to carry me through high school, including my prom gown and wedding gown. Turning 20 on my first birthday after we married, my husband bought me a new Singer electric sewing machine! And oh, if it could talk, the miles of thread and fabric it has sewn in clothes for myself, shirts for my husband, clothing for my children, and tiny clothes for their dolls. And, now, using this same sewing machine, I’ve been making quilts in log cabin and prairie window designs among many other designs, along with simple and more-detailed table runners, and purses. How I wish Grammy could see them for she taught me well! Have you known that feeling of contentment as you worked to create something of value for yourself or others? Have you known what it feels like to be so engrossed in a project that you lose all sense of time? Have you known the frustration of having to take the time to rip out a seam, or correct something that just wasn’t right? And, because you did so, you then felt the satisfaction of seeing your finished project in all its beauty? Maybe that’s how God views us when we recognize His hand guiding us through life’s ups and downs. David said it so well, “If the Lord delights in a man’s ways, he makes his steps firm; though he stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand.” (Psalm 37:23-24) This poem was written in a reflective moment, remembering that various mistakes, hardships, and testing over the years have helped define character and create who we are deep in our soul. At times, I’ve not paid sufficient attention to my sewing, made mistakes, and had to employ that seam ripper. I’ve also realized what a life lesson that holds… because admitting I’ve made an error is the first step to correcting it, and then learning from it. I may not want to face the trials which might be coming in the future; but, in looking back, neither can I imagine life without the hardships we have worked through. They refine our life and shape us for the better… just like the seam ripper’s cutting edge. And I also can’t help but realize that the Lord knows what He’s doing as He works His will through those trials which He allows each of us to face. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him...” (Romans 8:28, NIV) For through these difficulties, He shapes and molds us into the unique and special person He intends for us to be. The Master Tailor Linda A. Roorda As the seamstress sits and begins to sew Her loving care goes into each stitch And correlation stirs within her thoughts Of the Creator’s design deep in her soul. In her mind’s eye she sees it take shape From simple concept to finished result And beams with joy, her dream made complete As she holds with pride her creation dear. But what the world just cannot see Are errors which loomed about to destroy For outward beauty can never reveal The seam ripper’s hand in disciplined cuts. When I beheld what the seamstress had wrought I could not miss the significant key Of one who deftly shaped my own soul From even before my life came to be. The Master Tailor gazed into the future And pondered the me who I should be. He planned and designed each path for my good As He cut and sewed the fabric of me. He carefully stitched and eased the seams And reigned in penchants of wayward threads, But now and then along the way The seam ripper’s edge He gently employed. For don’t you see, without the hardships Life’s burdens and pain cannot reflect The greater good down deep in my heart As seam ripper cuts shape my will to His. On a journey I am, a work in progress For someday when my time has come He’ll gaze upon His workmanship And see exactly who He planned me to be. ~~

...and Why It Failed" -- Have read considerably on the American Civil War, been to Gettysburg on our honeymoon, stood on top of the rocks overlooking the field where Pickett's Charge took place. Researched and wrote for my Homespun Ancestors blog about the battle and Lincoln's short and to-the-point simple but reverberating speech to commemorate those who gave their lives in this important battle. This book by Carhart is key to understanding Gen. Robert E. Lee, a highly respected West Point graduate, who thoroughly studied and put to use Napoleonic battle plans which won for the Confederacy. Lee lost Gettysburg because of two main side failures which were to have supported Pickett for a major win - one of which became a great triumph for the Union's Brig. Gen. George A. Custer. A man of great valor, courage and bravery, he, too, studied at West Point, thus also knowing how to win in various battlefield situations. With far less men on the field, he stopped J.E.B. (Jeb) Stuart's advance to meet Pickett's men by also using Napoleonic battle plans... based on centuries' old tried-and-true methods. I was impressed with the extensive research by Carhart. Impressed with his writing and detailed explanations of the battlefields before these armies converged at Gettysburg. Impressed with both Lee and Custer's bravery and skill on the battlefield. As I was intrigued from previous readings about Custer, he was a great soldier before arrogance caught up with him at the Battle of Little Big Horn - a battlefield my daughter and I visited in 2004 enroute from her job in Calif to S.D. for grad school. Standing at the rise which overlooks a wide open plain where the Native Americans had encamped, seeing behind us the gravestones of every one of Custer's men made me wonder "what was he thinking"?! A must read for all Civil War buffs!

My family's order of 3 doz mixed baby chicks arrived safe and healthy with no dead little ones back in the spring of 1970... and as a teen, I commenced a crash course from my Dad on how to care for them once my Mom said they were old enough to be put out in the newly remodeled old chicken coop. And I learned responsibility and a love for my collection of mixed breed hens! Too many people, like Rosenthal, think they know better how to run our lives than we do!!!

Though spring is right around the corner, winter left behind another remnant with a thin dusting of fresh white powder on a newly greening yard with continued flurries and a temp of 20 this morning. So I can either be distressed or accept winter’s last fling, or two, knowing it won’t last as spring will soon be here… the large influx of noisy blackbirds looking for refreshment testified to that yesterday morning! It’s just one of the things I’ve learned to accept, something I can do nothing about other than to appreciate each day of new life and the joy it brings in a myriad of ways. Similar to the ways in which we view our individual life setbacks, problems and struggles. But we know God is still here with us, still caring for us, still guiding us thru each difficulty that we might learn from His wisdom. And I wish you God’s many blessings and abundant love today and always... Sometimes I Strive -- I have struggles in life… like everyone else. I don’t like to see the downtrodden victims of society, regardless of the circumstance. Like others, I ask why there is suffering. Why are innocents murdered? Why do some suffer virtually lifelong with chronic health issues while others go their whole life with barely a problem, and live past 100 (like my great-grandmother)? Why do we find inequality in many societal sectors? Why does it so often seem like the rich get richer, and the poor get poorer? But then, those questions beg another and another… like why is there evil in the world? Is there an evil underplay which thwarts God’s good? And, where is God in all the mess? There was, and perhaps still is, a religious philosophy called the “prosperity gospel.” If we live and pray a certain way before God, we will be blessed… yes, but it's not just a cause and effect. It often seems to go along with faith healing… as if having enough faith, or praying just the right way, will gain us our desires from God… like health, wealth and happiness. Ours is a society that expects instant gratification. In reality, it’s a dangerous message that twists the true meaning of God’s blessings which aren’t always readily poured out the way we want… and may tend to promote the thinking that the degree of blessings is based on our level of faith and spirituality… a works-based manipulation of God through various methods to meet His favor... like my being asked "have you tried this" to gain a certain response from God... We may hope and pray for years that God will heal us or rectify some problem… yet, we may or may not see the answer in our lifetime. We may hold onto Scripture that seems to promise God’s blessings upon faithful followers. Unfortunately, at times, answers that we hope and pray for never seem to come… or, the answers may not be what we want. Why? What’s wrong with us? What are we doing wrong that our prayers aren’t answered, while others seemingly live an unfettered life of health, wealth and happiness? It’s as though a dissatisfaction builds, and we get caught up in looking over our shoulder at what others have or don’t have. And that should not be... it's wrong. So, if we take a step back, we might hear that still small voice in our heart… the voice of God speaking to our soul. As we contemplate Psalm 37, we find the shepherd king David wrote verses rich with meaning, even for us today: 1) “Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.” [vs.3; the secure care and provision by the Lord, our shepherd] 2) “Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart.” [vs.4; seek the Lord, study His word, meditate on His truths, and He will give you the desires which mirror HIS will] With the wisdom God granted him, King Solomon advised that we “trust in the Lord with all [our] heart and lean not on [our] own understanding; in all [our] ways acknowledge him, and he will make [our] paths straight.” (Proverbs 3:5-6) Even James reminded us in chapter 1, vs.2-5 that we should “consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault…” And yet, how well we know that it’s not easy to be joyful in trials. We can find a multitude of examples throughout Scripture of those who loved the Lord yet suffered unjustly, while their faith was strengthened through various trials. Job lost everything, but he learned to trust God’s sovereignty. Joseph, too, suffered unjustly, being sold into slavery by his brothers. It took years before God felt his trials in total had prepared him sufficiently to become second in command under Egypt’s Pharaoh. Our Lord’s disciples were not rewarded with health and wealth for having known Jesus personally. All but John were martyred with their blessing, instead, being a powerful witness to us of Christ’s loving grace which continues today. And, the beloved Apostle Paul shared his own physical struggle in II Corinthians 12:8-10. It was his belief that he was given an irritating “thorn” so that he would not become conceited in his ministry. “Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me… For when I am weak, then I am strong.” Can I say that? No, not always… Paul had tremendous faith, a highly honorable witness of God's love and grace, yet even he was not healed as he desired. Even in turning back a few pages to Romans 8:28, we read that Paul reminded us to “…know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” For “this is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us.” (I John 5:14) Then, as we “…seek first his kingdom and his righteousness…all these things will be given to [us] as well. (Matthew 6:33) The blessings come with faith and trust in God and His will for my life… not following or pleading for my own desires. In the midst of our troubles, as we seek the Lord’s love and guidance, He uses those trials to bring His will to completion in us, causing good to emerge out of what we consider bad… not necessarily health and wealth, but certainly that for which we can bring praise and honor to our loving God as our faith grows through the trial and suffering. For in the end, He is all we need… not riches and great fame. And there I rest my case, putting an end to my own strivings and struggles against what at times seem to be unfair life circumstances… to “be still, and know that [He is] God.” (Psalm 46:10) For who am I to question what trial God will use to bless and mature me into wisdom… or to draw me closer to Him and His great love… and maybe to bless someone else from what I’ve learned? As our Lord’s prayer says, “…Thy will be done…” Sometimes I Strive Linda A. Roorda Sometimes I strive against You, my God Without an answer to desperate pleas. How can it be that silence ensues From heartfelt prayers and a depth of faith? Yet no promise was ever uttered That a life of ease for asking was ours, For at the core of trials and tears Lies deeper faith with trust at its heart. To watch and wonder why suffering exists, What is the purpose? Where is the healing? Did you not say, “Take delight in Me And I will grant the desires of your heart?” But that’s only part of truth in blessing For when it’s Your will and we bear much fruit Will it be said You answered my pleas? No, even then answers seem fleeting. For in the asking You give what is best, Not what we want, but what meets our needs. As You work for good whatever we face Therein lies peace in accepting Your will.

I, too, enjoy reading several sections, read state rep updates, enjoy the efforts of other Local Writers and greatly appreciate the readers of my own columns, and often peruse the daily chit-chat tho I seldom respond to comments there - and would hate to see you end this project!

Despair… a lack of hope... a feeling of utter defeat… like you’ve been so beaten down you can’t get back up to face the world. The loss of something good can be that devastating… whether it’s the loss of a loved one, the disabling of physical abilities, the loss of a job, or perhaps the loss of something greatly treasured. Maybe one of these difficult issues is what you’re facing right now. My poem below was written in 2014, during a very difficult year for us as a couple, found among my cache of unpublished reflections. Ed faced a life-and-death situation from severe pancreatitis with no known cause, the doctor telling him if he’d waited one more day to come to the ER, he would not have survived. That recovery was followed by additional health issues, procedures and surgery for Ed, with my own diagnosis of breast cancer with procedures and surgery. To say we were overwhelmed by life, trying to handle so many health issues one on top of another, would be an understatement… Any loss can be difficult as you slowly wend your way through grief. Your emotions have taken a hit. Yet you may not realize it’s actually healthy to go through the several steps of grief to process a loss… as long as you don’t get stuck in one of the stages. For it’s important to know that, in the end, you will be ok… you are normal… and you will survive to ultimately smile at the world once again. Like many others who have faced losses, my husband and I also faced several major losses which, at the time, seemed utterly overwhelming. And we fell right in line with the Kubler-Ross stages of grief - denial, anger, the “if only” stage, depression, and acceptance. Admittedly, it’s not an easy journey. But in looking back, we can honestly say we overcame the challenges and moved forward in peace knowing the Lord was at our side… every step of the way. One of the initial major losses we dealt with began for my husband in 1985. He had always known poor vision after pure oxygen damaged his eyes as a premature twin in an incubator (then called retrolental fibroplasia, now labeled retinopathy of prematurity). But, unknown to us as a young couple was the disease’s typical gradual deterioration of the retina in his left eye (the right optic nerve was damaged irreparably by the pure oxygen). Going for a second opinion due to odd shadows in his vision field, he was told he had a major retinal tear that the previous ophthalmologist had overlooked and actually denied to another doctor who felt that was the issue… and Ed needed urgent surgery. He could not even do barn chores that evening… or ever again… in order to preserve his only viable eye and limited vision for as long as possible. To Ed, it felt as though it were the end of life… the end of farming with his Dad, the only working relationship he had known, a way of life he absolutely loved. He was only 33, and we had three young ones to care for. In coming to terms with our situation, I went back to work a month after his surgery, while he stayed home to care for our children. Unfortunately, he faced further vision loss a few short years later as we returned from a trip to New Jersey to visit my family. We shared an unforgettable day of fun and laughter when my Dad and step-mother took us to the ocean at Sandy Hook. But on the way home, driving north through the hills of Scranton, PA, his eye began hemorrhaging. After two surgeries, he was left with limited light and color detection, and the stages of grief set in once again. Typically, major loss is also faced with denial and shock that such a thing could happen. Yes, it was devastating. How could this happen to us, and why? He’d lost his farming job and had no idea what else he could do with limited useable vision. We’d also purchased a new riding mower that spring which he was looking forward to using. You think things will get better… soon, somehow… they just have to! You hold out hope that life will return to normal… but the norm we were used to was gone forever. And then, anger and frustration took over. You may go through a time of blaming yourself, or someone else. Life seems unfair and you find yourself retreating into a world all your own. If only things were different, if only I’d done things differently… At this stage, Ed smashed his white cane until broken. What we learned after seeking professional help for the blind and their families from Binghamton’s AVRE was invaluable. Later, while Ed was at The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, MA for six months, he again learned this was part of a normal grief process. Other residents had also taken out their anger and frustration in various ways, with most, if not all, breaking their first cane. It was hard to learn a new way of doing things… to tackle the simplest of tasks with very limited or no vision… learning to do the things we take for granted. Out of his training at The Carroll Center, came the blessing of skills for a new office job. Then, as the final curtain of darkness closed in around him about 10 years later, a deeper depression settled in. As he lost the last remnants of vision, Ed would describe dreams in vivid colors to me. They seemed to taunt him on awakening, and he would be devastated once again to find his world was still dark, totally devoid of all light and color. I suspect that may also be why he wasn’t overly fond of colorful descriptions of things he could no longer see. I get it… that was like rubbing salt into an open wound; it was easier for him to just not think about his vision loss. Gradually, though, he came to accept his situation as his old self rose to the occasion. Just like when he grew up with limited vision in school and on the farm (20/200 with glasses, reading with a book very close to his face), he was determined to accomplish whatever seemingly insurmountable task was put in front of him… and succeed he did! His faith remained strong in God who had given him a kind and gentle heart with a depth of wisdom and sense of humor that once again carried him forward. And remember that new riding mower which Ed never got to use? Well, we have a photo of him sitting on it, reaching to the front of the mower with his new white cane… positioned to guide his path... just for the fun of it. He always impressed me with his sense of humor and inner strength, another gift from God, for I truly don’t know that I could have handled all that he had… as well as he had. Yes, he continued to have occasional difficult days of depression, as anyone does with major loss, but He carried on with strength and courage from the Lord to face each new obstacle. With our hope, faith, and trust in God above, we find He’s there for us. He has promised “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” (Hebrews 12:11) “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10) Our God may have to carry us for a while, but He’s there, helping each of us face the darkest and most difficult days… on our journey to joy. The Journey to Joy Linda A. Roorda ~ I see your hurt and sorrow within As you gaze out from a darkened pane Where once shone light and humor bright Now focus is turned to inward retreat. ~ Not yours to enjoy are bright sunny days And seldom is heard laughter’s easy ring. Your days often pass in a hazy blur With meaning to find in the depth of loss. ~ For you the birds do not sing their songs And clouds have covered the light in your heart. Each waking moment a reminder grim Of all that once was and all that can’t be. ~ But change will come when you least expect And so it is with healing’s growth With subtle tones your soul will be filled As glimmers of hope displace the gloom. ~ For if you allow the dawn’s gentle rays To open windows in the heart of your soul A breath of fresh joy will encompass you Bringing its light on the wings of hope. ~ Then throw open wide shutters of despair And let the Son cover you with His peace Listen to His voice bring soothing comfort Drawing you near in His arms of love. ~ May your heart hear the birds sweetly sing And may your soul see the Light of the world As grateful song brings praise to His name, For He has wrought this journey to joy. ~~

I’m very thankful to be celebrating another birthday, and the many blessings within the sadness of these past several months. God has answered my prayers for strength, to “be strong”, our daughter Jenn’s words of Godly wisdom from my vision of her in heaven while praying in my sitting garden the day after her passing… so fitting even now, as God has wrapped His arms of love around me by using each of my friends and family with their gifts of love, hugs, and encouraging kind words – because you each have a gift within your heart to share… reminding me of this blog and poem written several years ago. Sometimes, our best inspiration comes from the most unlikely place! With the admonition to be “in the world, but not of it,” we find ourselves living out our faith foundation in the world around us (Romans 12:2). After graduating from 6th grade at Passaic (Pine Street) Christian School in New Jersey, my Dad felt it was time to live out my faith by attending public junior high. Despite the culture shock, I learned invaluable lessons… especially since I think we tend to compartmentalize “church/faith” versus every-day worldly life. So yes, sometimes our best faith inspiration comes from the most unlikely place! I used to enjoy relaxing in the evenings with Ed by watching reruns of M*A*S*H, though it’s no longer on that cable station. Though not overly fond of some of the show’s escapades, I especially prefer Corporal Walter (Radar) O’Reilly and the latter years with Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce’s new surgical partners, Captain B.J. Hunnicutt and Major Charles Emerson Winchester, III, as well as their commanding officer, Colonel Sherman T. Potter, and Major Margaret Houlihan. The show and its characters seemed to have evolved from a certain nonsense to one of moving and memorable themes. As the varied characters offer a wide array of human egos and emotions, I’ve found the wisdom of humanity expressed well in many of the shows. There’s an episode that has always held a special place in my heart, one that I consider the arrogant Major Winchester’s best. After operating on a wounded soldier, able to save the young man’s leg with his surgical expertise, Winchester tries to encourage his patient further. Explaining that, although he’ll have permanent nerve damage to three fingers of his right hand, it won’t be too noticeable. Angry, the soldier is reduced to tears and despondency, telling Winchester that his surgical efforts weren’t good enough. His hands were his life… he was a concert pianist! Feeling the pain of failure, Winchester turns away despondent. Then, with determination, Major Winchester approaches the 4077th’s company clerk, Corporal Max Klinger, handing him a list of sheet music to pick up in Seoul. Later, with music in hand, Winchester wheels Private David Sheridan into the Officers’ Club and positions him in front of the piano. Despite his patient’s disgust, Winchester attempts to encourage the young man’s gift to make music. Angry and resentful, Sheridan wants none of it. Unshaken, Winchester shares the story of a pianist from another time who’d lost the use of one hand. Placing sheet music for a one-handed pianist in front of Sheridan, he asks, “Don't you see? Your hand may be stilled, but your gift cannot be silenced if you refuse to let it be.” Private Sheridan scoffs at his surgeon: “Gift? You keep talking about this damn gift. I had a gift, and I exchanged it for some mortar fragments, remember?” With great feeling, Winchester responds: “Wrong! Because the gift does not lie in your hands. I have hands, David. Hands that can make a scalpel sing. More than anything in my life I wanted to play, but I do not have the gift. I can play the notes, but I cannot make the music. You've performed Liszt, Rachmaninoff, Chopin. Even if you never do so again, you've already known a joy that I will never know as long as I live. Because the true gift is in your head and in your heart and in your soul. Now you can shut it off forever, or you can find new ways to share your gift with the world - through the baton, the classroom, or the pen. As to these works, they're for you, because you and the piano will always be as one.” Slowly and hesitantly, Sheridan began playing, gradually finding himself taken over by the emotion as the music in his soul found its voice. (from the TV series M*A*S*H: "Morale Victory", 1980) Just as Maj. Winchester tried to help Pvt. Sheridan understand, we’ve each been blessed with a special gift, a talent. We can hide it, misuse it, or use it to benefit others... we have a choice. Though we may not see our gift as the blessing it is, Jesus’ brother James acknowledged that “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father…” (James 1:17a) Even the Apostle Peter encouraged us by writing that “Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God’s grace in its various forms.” (I Peter 4:10 NIV) We can encourage a friend with our words or any of our unique special gifts, like teaching, serving, leadership skills, mercy and compassion, or even simply giving the gift of our time (Romans 12:6-8). When we make wise use of our talents and training, we truly are blessing the recipients of our gifts. In faithfully serving others, may we one day hear our Lord say to us, just as he told the young man who grew his financial gift: “Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!” (Matthew 25:21) You’ve A Gift Within Linda A. Roorda You’ve a gift within your heart to be shared To love your neighbor as you do yourself But much more than this is humble service Sharing devotion from depths of true love. ~ Seek out the hurting, the ones bewildered In a world of turmoil, in the midst of grief, At a loss for words, not knowing where to turn, Be an anchor bringing peace to their soul. ~ Be generous with praise, speak truth with wisdom, Carry the burden to lift the heavy heart Encourage and esteem, strengthen with hope Humbly meeting each need on your path. ~ Lift up the oppressed, release from restraints Enfold in your arms those wounded by life. Show mercy and grace, forgive the offense Come alongside to guide the wavering feet. ~ For out of confusion and cries of the soul In walking a line tween query and quest, Comes peace that calms and joy that rebuilds From the gift within your heart that was shared. ~~