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Linda Roorda

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Blog Entries posted by Linda Roorda

  1. Linda Roorda

    Seasons of Change

    By Linda Roorda,

    I love the change of seasons.  But it almost seems to happen while our backs are turned and we’re not quite paying attention.  Like this fall.  Suddenly, we realize the leaves are turning colors, the weather is cooling down, winds are getting brisker, and fall is here for sure.  Many birds who had been singing all summer while they cared for their nestlings have hushed their songs and, a month or more ago, prepared to take off on their migratory routes for warmer climates. 
    Some friends have told me that fall is their favorite season.  Though it is not my favorite, autumn does hold beautiful bright colors in the changing leaves, cooler temperatures, tangy aroma of woodsmoke in the air, leaves gently fluttering down, the fragrance of pumpkin and fresh-picked apples baked into scrumptious pies, and the satisfaction of having canned tomatoes, fruits and veggies, and maybe pickles which fill the pantry shelves.  I enjoyed all the gardening, canning and freezing years ago to supply our family during the winter months, and savor the memories.  I also love the farm smells of fresh chopped corn, the pungent smell of good silage, and getting a good whiff of hay brought down from the mow. 
    And then winter descends with its shorter and darker days.  The birds who stay behind to endure the cold and snowy onslaught easily find feeders filled with favorite seeds.  Unfortunately, back in 2013 when this was originally written, I came to a tough decision and stopped feeding my birds year around, a first after 30 years.  I do miss my birds, though, with their constant twitter brightening the dark and cloudy days.  I also miss seeing the variety of birds during their migratory flights.  There would be great excitement in searching through my “Birds of North America” by Fred Alsop, finding new birds to add to my list as they stopped in for a snack on their way south or the return trip north.
    I love the first snowfalls which create a magic and beautiful white landscape.  I enjoy the beauty of a wet snow as it clings to every branch, every nook and cranny, but not when it brings those limbs or wires down.  And I will also readily admit that soon after the new year I am ready to be done with snow and cold weather, though a long stretch still remains ahead.  I remember an ice storm years ago, after which my birds attempted to dine on seeds splayed out on the ice.  Gingerly walking up an ice-covered slope of snow, they’d go sliding back down, virtually every time.  It was humorous, and I could only wonder if they were as entertained as I was!  Hey, Woodstock!  Look at me…whee!!!
    As the wintry days gradually become longer, I look forward to spring - my favorite season bringing new life, new growth, and fresh-earth smells as creation’s beauty comes alive.  I love to watch the swelling green buds open daily until the full leaf emerges, having passed through several shades of green, and to watch flower buds mature into beautiful flowers, bringing color back to a dull and grayed world.  There is also nothing quite like spring’s earthy smell, especially when the soil is turned over to plant a crop.  What my husband misses most from farming is climbing up on his big green Oliver, carefully turning the soil over with the plow, and easing the dead furrow over to plow each field just right.  When his plow turned over large flat rocks, he’d take the time to stop, pick them up, and bring them home that evening for me to build garden walls.
    I also find great joy in watching the birds return in the spring, setting out sugar-water feeders for hummingbirds and grape jelly for orioles.  Every year I wait with anticipation for the very first robin to arrive in our yard.  Our kids always knew it was spring for real when they heard Mother call out, “It’s a robin!”  They’re soon followed by bluebirds, tree swallows and house sparrows all vying for a favorite nesting box among several in our yard.  And with eager anticipation, we wait to catch a glimpse of nestlings as they fledge, and watch as the parents bring their youngsters to the feeders.
    And then, almost without realizing it, spring has become summer with its sunny warmth to brighten our days.  We’ve planted vegetable gardens to reap a harvest, and flowers to appreciate their beauty, once again enjoying warm and sunny days outdoors, as autumn’s cooler weather returns and trees turn brilliant colors, while shortened hours of daylight and geese honking loudly high above in their long V formations herald the arrival of winter’s cold and blustery days of stark bare tree limbs midst a gently falling mantle of white.  And so, the seasons change… year after year… 
    Seasons of Change
    Linda A. Roorda
    It happened one day
    When we were not looking
    The passage of spring
    That bloomed into summer
    As bright sunny days
    Slid down into fall
    While leaves gently turned
    Bright colorful hues
    And changes of autumn
    Faded slowly away
    When blustery fronts
    Blew briskly on through
    From down off the barren
    Arctic cold slopes
    Leaving behind
    A little reminder
    Of all the cool fun
    About to begin
    When flakes of pure white
    Float gently down
    Reminding us that surely
    As seasons still change
    The dark gloomy days
    Will soon spring forward
    Bursting with abundant life!
     
  2. Linda Roorda

    I Remember A Dad

    By Linda Roorda,

    Remembering the dad I treasure, who taught us well in the ways of life... I remember a lot about him.  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.
    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 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 quickly “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 on my Mom’s ancestry in a highly-respected 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. 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!
                                                                                                                                                       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.
    ~
     
  3. Linda Roorda

    The Good Ol' Days!

    By Linda Roorda,

    Today, I’m celebrating the gift of my mother.  Growing up, we heard very little about my Mom’s childhood years, though I loved visiting my relatives on The Farm, sleeping in the big feather bed with feather blankets and pillows, admiring all the antiques, waking up to the clinking milk cans being put on the truck to go to the creamery, walking through the barn and fields with cousins Sandy and Gary, eating my first bowl of Life cereal at their huge table, the kitchen with floor to ceiling cabinets from one end to the other, and playing inside the big farmhouse. This was a place I loved, of which I carry my own special memories. Enjoy this look back to my mother’s childhood, a time and place that emanates the images of “home.
    My mother, Reba, was born and raised on a farm in Carlisle, Schoharie County, NY at the corner of Cemetery Road with the house fronting Rt. 20, the Great Western Turnpike.  Her parents were Leo Jacob and Laura Eliza (McNeill) Tillapaugh. 
    As #11 of 12 kids, Reba grew up on a large dairy farm which included pigs and about 3000 chickens, with draft horses/black Shires doing the field work.  They did okay during the Great Depression because their farm and large garden provided food for winter.  Her parents drilled a well for running water after they’d been married about 20 years and had 10 kids, with two more to follow.  I cannot imagine the work of running a home and farm, and a large family, without running water! 
    Grandma T. cooked large meals every day, made delicious homemade bread in a kitchen woodstove oven, made scrumptious cookies (I remember her big tin of molasses cookies in the huge pantry from which she let us get our own cookies, after we asked her of course!), homemade ice cream, plus fed traveling crews at harvest time.  She also found time to tat and embroider, raise a vegetable garden to can for winter, grew gorgeous flowers, visited the sick and shut-ins, and more.
    My mom remembers that the winters were much worse than they are today.  “It seems like it got cold earlier in the fall than now.  We would pick drop apples in the fall and have cider made.  My mother kept a 20-gal. crock by the back door of the farmhouse.  I remember coming home after school and running to that crock, breaking the ice, and drinking some of that tasty cider! 
    My favorite black farm cat, Skippy, had 7 toes on his front feet; he’d stand on his hind feet, reach up and turn doorknobs with his front paws!!
    I attended the one-room schoolhouse, William Golding, which used a dry cell system for power like my dad did before electric was put in, and the school had an outhouse.  My favorite teacher in the one-room schoolhouse was Miss Santora who went skiing in the fields with us kids!  We had a big woodstove in the center of the schoolhouse, and when it was very cold we would sit around it to keep warm.  I remember the temperature was -25 degrees one morning, but my father was not able to convince the principal to close school that day.  Somehow, we got there, but then it closed at noon.  My sister and I tried to walk home but it was hard to breathe in the bitter cold and wind, so we called my father to pick us up at the Brand Restaurant opposite the school.
    It was normal to get 2 feet of snow in storms or blizzards.  The wind was so bad in big snowstorms you didn’t know which way you were going.  I’m told that in the Oswego area, people tied a rope around their waist to keep from being lost.  We didn’t think of that but we always made it. 
    My father had a big wooden scoop pulled by the horses to clear snow out of the driveway.  In 1943, my father bought a Massey-Harris tractor; later he had the steel lug wheels changed to rubber tires, and a plow was rigged on that tractor.  We had an ice storm, I believe in February 1943, and light poles snapped like toothpicks.  The town had an old Lynn Tractor and it was used to plow town roads; for state roads, they had big motorized trucks.  I don’t know what they did to clear the roads before tractors and trucks were available, but I assume horses were used.
    I think it was in 1945 or 1947 when the snow came and the wind blew for three weeks, and we were out of school all that time!  Drifts were so high and hard we could walk the horses on top.  The workers broke all the snowplows in town, but the county had a snow blower which was used to open all the roads.  I heard they had to keep the blower between the light pole wires as they could not tell where the road was.  I don’t know how my dad and other farmers got their milk to the creamery then, but, again, I assume they used horses.
    Rt. 20 was the first to be kept open in snowstorms.  My parents often put people up overnight when the road conditions became terrible.  Before Rt. 20 was widened about 1941, the road was very slippery when raining and was icy in winter.  One time a Greyhound bus went off the road and into the field off Rt. 20, south of our house.  They used a bulldozer to pull it out of the field. 
    A state trooper would ride a big Harley during the summer.  When he arrested someone, my dad, as justice of the peace, would hold court downstairs; we would be in the room above the dining room, listening through a stovepipe hole!
    We had at least 3000 chickens in a building west of the main house and we kids helped to water and feed them.  My mother candled dozens and dozens of eggs every Sunday evening for hours.  The eggs were kept cool in the basement, being weighed, cleaned, candled, and crated by hand on Sunday night, with as many as 7 large crates of 30 dozen eggs going to the hatchery in Albany every Monday morning.  My mother candled hundreds and hundreds of eggs to ensure a quality product was in those crates for the hatchery. 
    We took milk to the creamery every day in traditional milk cans, and supplied wood to heat not only our house but the church and one-room school.  We raised several pigs with my father holding a neighborhood butchering day on our farm.  After the butchering was done, he cut up meat for the smokehouse, put some in crocks of salt brine, and made homemade sausage, etc.
    As gangs of local farmers traveled from farm to farm to help each other at harvest, my mother fed the crews when our farm was harvested.  She had all her recipes tucked away in her head, and made the most delicious ice cream, hand cranked by us kids clamoring for a turn!  She even shared beautiful flowers from her gardens with local shut-ins.
    About 1938 or 1939, Admiral Byrd’s snowmobile, the Snow Cruiser, was run up Rt. 20 on its way to Antarctica. As a child, age 5 or 6, I was afraid to go inside when it stopped near our farm on Rt.20.  The rubber tires were not appropriate for use in the severe cold, and it was abandoned in Antarctica.  There was an article and photo about it in the July/August 1996 “Reminisce” magazine, pp. 39-40.”
    My family made our own maple syrup and sold some, and still do that now.  Back when I was little, my brothers would tap 300 maple trees for sap to be boiled down to syrup, so sugar rationing during World War II was not a problem for us.  We trudged through deep snow in the woods each spring to help.  My brothers also cut ice off the ponds in the winter, stacking and packing it in sawdust in the icehouse on the back side of the barn.  Ice was cut from farm to farm the same way summer crops were harvested - by harvesting bees of many farmers working together.  It doesn’t seem like ponds freeze over long enough or thick enough to do this now.  That ice sure helped make my mother’s delicious ice cream – I think hers was the best at the ice cream socials!
    ~~
    I, Linda, remember my mother Reba saying she and her next older sister Shirley, and youngest sister Lois, were in the 4-H with a lot of pins and awards. When fair time came, they got vegetables ready for show at the Cobleskill Fair, forcing mom into canning and freezing. Lois remembers we dug up all the veggies in the garden in order to display 'uniform' vegetables!!!  Thinking back, Lois says, “she might have wanted to kill us, but it kept us grounded and out of trouble. Wouldn't trade it…!”  My cousin Allan remembered our Aunt Lois trying to ride a heifer to their house as if it was a horse. OH THE GOOD OLD DAYS!!!!!!!!
    My Mom also shared that growing up in the Great Depression you made your own fun.  She remembered her father had an old school bus, and the kids would go there go in there to play and sit and talk.  At Christmas there was a very large family gathering at the long table.  She helped walk the draft horses, black Shires, to pull the ropes which helped her brothers put the hay up into the mow.  She and a few of the younger sibs took their Little Red Wagon out by the road to pick up the grass mown by the hi-way dept. They’d pile the wagon high, and pull it back to the barn. Mind you, this was in the days of real horsepower.  So, imitating how their dad and older brothers put hay up into the mow with the huge hayforks on rope pulleys with the horses doing the work, she and her sibs took ice tongs and smaller ropes, slinging the rope up over the pipes above the cow stanchions.  With kids on each side, the ice tongs held bits of hay as the kids on the other side lugged on the rope to pull the hay up and over, and down into the feeding trough for the cows!  Now that’s imagination!  Reminds me how I used to milk cows when I was 4-5.  In the barn with my dad as he milked in Marion, NY, I stood on a bale of hay, moving an old teakettle along on the road-side wall ledge, I’d stop to “milk a cow” every few inches! 
    My mother’s father was a jack-of-all trades, not just a farmer, but a man before his time.  It was from him that I inherited green eyes.  He built a top-quality registered Holstein herd with Canadian Holstein-Friesian bulls before most other farmers.  I remember seeing the bulls as a kid in their pens as I peered between cracks in their wooden stalls.  Besides a dairy herd and chickens, he raised pigs, and sold extra hay. He took community responsibility seriously as Carlisle town highway superintendent, Carlisle school superintendent, Justice of the Peace, and Cobleskill school board member and president. A highly respected man of the community was my Grandpa Leo, as well as Grandma Laura.
  4. Linda Roorda

    Once Upon A Day

    By Linda Roorda,

    Sitting in my East Garden yesterday, I absorbed the warm sunny rays while viewing the garden’s fading beauty, enjoying the colorful zinnias now more beautiful with recent cooler days and refreshing rain, gazing out beyond the garden proper to encompass the yard, our house, and the road beyond… listening to the golfers’ chatter and excited shouts of joy... spying birds flutter among the hidden branches above, hearing their gentle twitters – tuhweet, tuhweet… watching a gentle breeze stir the branches and leaves above me and beyond… remembering the many years that have passed us by, 40 to be exact, since we moved into our new house… thinking of all the good times and the difficult days that entered our lives… and so very thankful for the blessings of home and family.
    Like the tiny seed in my poem that was once upon a day planted with so much hope held within the task, to the joy it brings on seeing and touching the beauty in full array as it reaches its zenith… so it has been in our lives.  Among blessings more than we take the time to count, our precious little ones have grown up from being nestled in our arms, absorbing our love and attention, building the foundation on which to stand while testing their wings, flying all too soon out into the great big world to find their own way…
    And that growth, that wisdom, which they eagerly absorbed into their hearts and minds, came into their lives as we parents tried to follow the wisdom from our creator, our Lord God above.  “Train up a child in the way he should go, And even when he is old he will not depart from it.” (Proverbs 22:6) 
    It is He who has established and numbered our days.  “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (Psalm 139:13-16)
    It is God who has blessed us with our many talents and wisdom. James, the brother of Jesus, describes such wisdom from God as, "the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere." (James 3:17)
    It is the same God who guides us as we seek our way along this life’s journey... though sometimes we take the reins until we recognize God’s greater wisdom is really the wiser portion, for “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.” (Psalm 119:105)
    Our pathway might be smooth or it may be rocky, strewn with one obstruction or hurdle after another… all part of what matures and teaches us, giving us a deeper understanding of life, empathy and insight to support others facing a similar storm… as we turn for peace and comfort in God lest we become arrogant, thinking we alone know best.  King Solomon reminded us so long ago to “Trust in the Lord with all your heart; and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and he will make your paths straight.” (Proverbs 3:5, 6 NIV)  Or, as the King James Version says, …”and He shall direct thy paths.”
    But we so easily forget and take charge of those reins… only to realize later that we need to return to the true source of wisdom once again. Though Solomon wrote down his profoundly wise words centuries ago, granted to him by God through prayer on becoming king when his father died, he encourages us in our walk of life today.  “The proverbs of Solomon son of David, king of Israel: for gaining wisdom and instruction; for understanding words of insight; for receiving instruction in prudent behavior, doing what is right and just and fair; for giving prudence to those who are simple, knowledge and discretion to the young -- let the wise listen and add to their learning, and let the discerning get guidance -- for understanding proverbs and parables, the sayings and riddles of the wise. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and instruction. (Proverbs 1:1-7)
    And thus we see how blessed we’ve been when looking back…acknowledging how God has led us all the days of our lives… guiding us when we didn’t even realize it… using the difficulties to teach us wisdom for the future… making our paths straight for His purpose…  What an awesome God we serve!! 
    Once Upon A Day
    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
    Patiently waiting its growth to begin.
     
    As the rains commenced and the sun shone warm
    The seed emerged from protective shell,
    And with firm foundation of sturdy roots
    Its tender leaves burst into the light.
     
    While storms blew fierce it held on firm
    Tightly gripping its feet in the soil
    Its tender stem and each tiny leaf
    Were gently swaying, dancing to the tune.
     
    Despite the tempest our plant stood tall
    It weathered the storm for its roots went deep
    Our plant knew its purpose, the unswerving truth
    And humbly displayed character unbent.
     
    And so with us as we arrive at birth
    Helpless and feeble, but eager to grow
    Nourished in love with foundation deep
    We mature to face the storms of life.
     
    Though we might break without firm support
    And may wander down destruction’s lane
     Yet often it’s from our mistakes that we learn
    The wisdom of God planted deep in our soul.
    ~~
  5. Linda Roorda

    Lord, Take My Hand

    By Linda Roorda,

    The words of this poem flew quickly from thoughts to paper several years ago, essentially as a prayer, asking the Lord to take me and use me… to guide me on the right path that I may bless others and not ignore a need… asking that He help me to remain faithful, to rely on His word to guide my life…
    With the passing of Queen Elizabeth II of England this past Thursday (September 8, 2022) at age 96, I was surprised and pleased to hear how much she treasured her relationship with Jesus, her Lord… and how much she relied on Him and His wisdom to guide her during her reign of 70 years... an amazing monarch, beloved by so many, including us Americans across the Pond. 
    I cannot imagine the strain she must have felt at a young age when her father became king following the abdication of his brother. She knew she would someday become queen. Yet, as she faced life during and after WWII, with its difficulties then and beyond, Elizabeth was not crushed in spirit.  She had an inner strength, a sense of duty with old fashioned values of grace, elegance, and respect… a beloved “Grannie” to not only her family but others.
    Putting her faith and trust in God to lead her through the many storms of life, as queen she prayed that “God may give me wisdom and strength to carry out the solemn promises I shall be making, and that I may faithfully serve Him and you, all the days of my life.” (Christmas 1952 address) … “For me, the teachings of Christ and my own personal accountability before God provide a framework in which I try to lead my life,” she said in 2000. “I, like so many of you, have drawn great comfort in difficult times from Christ’s words and example.”
    In a similar vein, after writing my poem below, it reminded me of the old hymn, “Take My Life and Let It Be,” another favorite from childhood.  “Take my life and let it be, consecrated, Lord, to thee; take my hands and let them move at the impulse of Thy love, at the impulse of Thy love.”  Written in 1874 by Frances R. Havergal, this hymn began as her own prayer to the Lord that He would use her to reach others.
    Born in 1836 in England, Frances was a gifted child.  She had learned to read before the age of 3, and was writing poetry by age 7.  She was capable of memorizing lengthy sections of Scripture, knew several languages, and was a gifted pianist and singer.  Unfortunately, her mother died when Frances was 11, leaving her with these parting words, “Fanny dear, pray God prepare you for all He is preparing for you.”  And, with those words, her life-long prayer was to reach others with the love of God.
    We are pulled in so many directions every day. There is so much going on around us in life, while we keep all too busy in our own little world.  Preoccupied with our own situations and needs, we often forget the needs of others… I know I do.  As these words came to me, I realized that I need to ask the Lord to take charge of my life... to take my hand, my voice, my eyes, my ears, my feet… essentially all of me, that I would be open to seeing and meeting the needs of others while walking in His will, sharing His love.
    Take my hand, Lord… walk with me, and lead me on… 
    Lord, Take My Hand
    Linda A. Roorda
    Lord, take my hand and walk with me
    Lead me on and show me the way
    And let me know You’re my companion
    You’ll never leave, You’ll always protect.
    ~
    Lord, take my voice that I may yet speak
    Treasures of grace in praise of mercy,
    As I delight in Your wisdom’s depths
    May all my words reflect back to You.
    ~
    Lord, take my eyes and bless my vision
    As I encounter those different from me
    May I now see the world through Your eyes
    That I may seek to reach out in love.
    ~
    Lord, take my ears and grant I may hear
    The pleas for help, the cries from the heart
    May Your tender voice guide all my actions
    That with compassion others I may bless.
    ~
    Lord, take my feet and guide all my steps
    Grant me wisdom on this path of life
    Keep my feet from straying aside
    Hold accountable the way that I take.
    ~
    Lord, take my soul and cover with grace
    That I may rejoice in Your salvation,
    For the cleansing flood that washed over me
    Has created faith that trusts in You.
    ~
    Lord, take my heart and fill me with joy
    Share with me Your endless love
    That I may then to others extend
    Your precious peace with bountiful praise.
    ~~
  6. Linda Roorda
    With another school year beginning, I was reminded of my own school days a few many years ago.  
    Thinking back to the start of the school season when my kids were young, brings me back to my own childhood.  I attended Public School #15 for kindergarten in Clifton, NJ, and  two small Christian schools for elementary - East Palmyra Christian School for 1st through half of 4th, and then Passaic Christian School for the second half of 4th through 6th grade.
    After my family moved back to Clifton, NJ from East Palmyra, NY when I was in fourth grade, there was a verse which was our prayer at the close of every school day during 5th and 6th grades at Passaic Christian School.  Under Mrs. Marie (Rev. Dick, Sr.) Oostenink, we memorized many Scripture passages, including this prayer: “May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart, be acceptable in Thy sight, O Lord, My strength and my redeemer.”  (Psalm 19:14 KJV) 
    It was a prayer that had settled itself in my mind though, admittedly, I had not always valued its place in my life.  Still, it has often come to my thoughts over the years, reminding me of the few years at that school and the friends I’d made.  But it also reminds me that, just like we as youngsters need training and guidance, so do we as adults need reminders at times.  We often hear of negatives spread by gossip.  Maybe we tell half-truths or outright lies to make ourselves look better to others, think we can hide behind electronic gadgets while taunting, or allow our thoughts to travel beyond the appropriate.
    Owning my own frustrations when overwhelmed, I’ve spoken words in haste, words regretted, words apologized for.  I could have found a better way to express myself, to affirm the right way to handle difficult situations with God’s loving words as guide. 
    In apologizing and asking forgiveness from others, we also go to our Lord in confession, receiving forgiveness from Him.  It doesn’t matter what we’ve done, or where we’ve been.  As we humble ourselves, He accepts our confession and guides us on our path forward… so that our words, our thoughts, and our actions will bless others and bring honor to Him.
    Because, when the words and meditations of our heart contemplate praise and thanksgiving, we bless someone who might be hurting… sharing joy and laughter together from the depths of our heart… even shedding tears for a friend’s loss or difficulty… simply letting them know how much we care. 
    For “…whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything is worthy of praise, dwell on these things.”  (Philippians 4:8 NASB)
    Often, we have no idea how our words and actions affect others now or in the future.  But, as we endeavor to speak and meditate on what is worthy and acceptable to our Lord and Redeemer, we will be a blessing to those around us. 
    Meditations of My Heart
    Linda A. Roorda
    The years have shown me to value Your love
    A love that seems deeper than when I was young.
    But sometimes the trials that life brings to bear
    Cause my heart to tire with weakness exposed.
    ~
    It doesn’t matter who I am now
    From where I’ve been You accept me still
    Your arms open wide with an eternal love
    As I say thank You for blessing my soul.
    ~
    Thank you for guiding my life on this path
    Thank you for saving my soul from sin’s wrath.
    Thank you for words which praise your great name
    Though I am prone to wander away.
    ~
    Thank you for calling me gently back home
    Back to your side with mercy and grace.
    Thank you for blessing my soul with your peace
    With praises to sing for loving me so.
    ~
    For Lord you hold me in the palm of your hand
    Sovereign and loving, protecting and guiding.
    Yet what can I give to the One with all?
    Showers of love to those all around.
    ~
    As I press onward to a higher goal
    Walking Your path to follow Your lead
    With praise and honor for You, my Lord
    In all that I do and all that I say.
    ~
    And “May the words of my mouth
    and the meditations of my heart
    Be acceptable in Thy sight, O Lord,
    My strength and my redeemer.”
    (Psalm 19:14)
    Artwork photo attached sketched by Linda A. Roorda 1986.
  7. Linda Roorda

    Eden's Couple

    By Linda Roorda,

    Isn’t it so like us… we have it all and yet we want more.  I know I’ve been guilty of that at times.  The eyes of green, the envy of more...  Even Adam and Eve fell victim to this desire with the temptation of luscious forbidden fruit.  Sometimes we’re just not satisfied with what we already have… because we need just a little more to feel complete.  Even the “rich and famous” will tell you that, if they’re honest. We want it all, and we want it now!  The longing to have that little bit extra can be insatiable… we never feel fully satisfied… we just need a little something else, a little something more, thinking we’ll be happy then…  Right?  Wrong!
    That continuous search for pleasure, for things, for little trinkets is a dynamic within that keeps moving us forward… in search of bigger pleasures, and more and bigger things… like the phrase, “The one with the most toys wins!”  We seem to think that if we find the best life has to offer, we’ll find that envied state of perpetual happiness.  Then we will feel really good about ourselves.  We’ll have “arrived” in society, and we’ll be admired and loved by everyone around us.
    But that is so not where life is truly at! That’s the treadmill of a never-ending rat race! So, where and how do we find true happiness, a true inner joy? 
    Seeking more is not necessarily a bad concept in and of itself.  Often, seeking more can push us forward to better ourselves with an education for a lifetime career, and as we seek to meet more of our family’s needs.  The desire for more can even be the impetus to starting our own company, or meeting the needs of others with our ideas or inventions.  For me, a love of writing and researching of my mom’s family ancestry led me to become a published genealogy author of three in-depth family research articles in the “New York Genealogy and Biographical Record.”  Later, the desire to write more led to writing articles for our former “The Broader View” local weekly newspaper, and ultimately to writing two blogs online, including at the “Twin Tiers Living.”  Just because it gives me pleasure to write… all non gratis.
    For it’s what and why we seek that makes the difference.  If that which we seek is found only in material goods and the best of life’s pleasure, then we’re heading down the wrong path.  But, if we seek to honor our Lord God in all we do, there we will find His blessings of peace and contentment... regardless of our circumstances.  The Apostle Paul expressed it well in Philippians 4:11-13 “…for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.  I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty.  I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.  I can do everything through him who gives me strength.”
    Yet, I know that’s simply not always easy.  It’s a tough lesson to learn at times.  Be content, be satisfied with what you have.  Be happy with the blessings God has given you… in your health, your family, your job, your home, and your personal possessions.  Certainly, you have the right and ability to acquire and improve your situation, but don’t make these things your everything. Don’t hold onto them so very tightly. 
    I remember hearing Chuck (Charles) Swindoll in a radio sermon use an example from my favorite evangelist, Corrie ten Boom.  She made quite an impact on him, and me, about holding everything loosely in referring to his love of his children.  As Chuck said, “Cupping her wrinkled hands in front of me, she passed on a statement of advice I'll never forget.  I can still recall that strong Dutch accent:  ‘Pastor Svendahl, you must learn to hold everyting loosely… everyting.  Even your dear family.  Why?  Because da Fater may vish to take vun of tem back to Himself, und ven He does, it vill hurt you if He must pry your fingers loose.’  And then, having tightened her hands together while saying all that, she slowly opened them and smiled so kindly as she added, "Remember… hold everyting loosely… everyting.’” 
    Our desire for all, for everything, can truly only be found in our Lord… in His gift of eternal salvation… His love, His forgiveness of our sins, and in His peace.  Romans 3:23 makes it clear that we “…all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.”  Yet, there is hope.  As one of my favorite verses since childhood notes, “God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3:16) And in seeking Him, we’ll find an overwhelming peace to know “there is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus."  (Romans 8:1)
    And in this we find our all as we rest in the peace of His blessings.
    Eden’s Couple
    Linda A. Roorda  
    They had it all but still wanted more
    Though in the garden was all they would need.
    And yet intrigued they listened to greed
    His words seemed wise, they reasoned to self.
     
    Forbidden fruit is lush to the eye
    For yearnings within do cravings beget.
    As they control, resolve is forgot
    And self-serving wants are justified needs.
     
    But after the deed their conscience was pierced
    For now their God came seeking their time.
    While concealed from view afraid to come forth
    Their eyes were opened, and ashamed they hid.
     
    Yet their deeds He knew, and depths of their hearts.
    His chastening words showed Fatherly love.
    With discipline stern and promises pledged
    He sent them away to life cursed with toil.
     
    He vowed to redeem souls from destruction
    For One would be born to this world of woe.
    His Son the gift to take the world’s sin
    That righteous we’ll stand before His great throne.
     
    How can it be His love would compel
    Payment for sin by One who knew none?
    How can He love the me who I am
    When I’m no better than Eden’s couple?
     
    Yet with open arms like a Shepherd King
    He draws me near for He knows my heart.
    And with contrition I give Him my life
    As mercy and grace flow freely with love.
    ~~
  8. Linda Roorda

    I'm Only One

    By Linda Roorda,

    There are so many people, past and present, who have made a difference for others by simply being who they were intended to be… each an individual who stands out in the crowd in their own way… and who have made a difference in my life and your life.  I once took a photo of a single stalk of corn growing in a field of soybeans across the road from us and posted it to Facebook.  It spoke silent volumes of being the one alone, not afraid to stand out and be different. (Since I can't find it, I shared this unique photo of field grass.)
    We have gifts, unique to each of us, enabling us to reach out to be there for others in as many different ways as there are people.  And it’s what we do, or don’t do, with our gifts that makes a difference in this world.  For, as the venerable Ben Franklin once wrote, "He that is good for making excuses is seldom good for anything else."
    When our son was in Boy Scouts of America Troop #17, he learned the association’s motto has always been: “Do a good turn daily.”  And I recall Dan sitting for his Eagle Scout “inquisition,” quizzed about all he’d learned and accomplished over the past several years of badge work, camping, and camaraderie with friends.  The gentleman from Binghamton had a strong bold character while Dan has a quiet, easygoing, humble personality like his Dad.  On being asked what he’d done that day as his good deed, my son was speechless.  He had no idea what “good deed” he might have done. When they took a break, I shared with Dan that he naturally helped others out of the kindness of his heart, consistently every day and often without being asked, just like his Dad.  But I also told him he had helped me that morning without my having to ask him to help with certain household chores.  He doesn’t have to go looking for a good deed.  It’s a gift that comes natural to Dan, without hesitation, and something he continued through college, carried forward in his employment, and still does freely for his wife and children, and others.  Anyone blessed to know Dan knows his gentle loving heart.
    What a great motto - teaching young boys to do a good deed every day by serving others without hesitation!  As the Bible puts it, we should “do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than [ourselves].  Each of [us] should look not only to [our] own interests, but also to the interests of others.” (Philippians 2:3-447)
    And in all of this, I am also reminded of what God said to Jeremiah: “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.” (Jeremiah 1:5) We certainly may not be called to be a prophet like Jeremiah, but the Lord has set each of us apart, given each of us special gifts, unique to who we are meant to be.
    Reminds me of reaching out to others in a welcoming manner whether working as a medical/radiology transcriptionist before retiring or now as a teacher/TA sub in our local schools.  It’s a chance to give back… a time to assist others in understanding… a time to smile and encourage… a time to give praise for a job well done… a time to listen when someone needs an ear to hear where they’re at… a time to simply be there when they need someone on their side… like others have done for me.
    Individually, we may be only one, and we may feel insignificant at that, but we can accomplish so much for those around us… to meet their needs, to put a smile on their face, and joy in their heart.  Be that one! 
    I'm Only One
    Linda A. Roorda 
    I'm only one, but a difference I make
    By touch of hand or the sound of voice
    Soothing the anxious, fearful and hopeless
    Blessing with peace the heart in distress.
     
    I’m only one, but a smile I bring
    A ray of sun to brighten your day
    A sprig of hope that glows eternal
    To cheer you on when all else seems lost.
     
    I'm only one, but humbly I seek
    To amend the wrong I've offended you by
    Forgiveness I ask from your heart to mine
    With grace and mercy to heal the rift caused.
     
    I'm only one, but peace I offer
    With arms that welcome to embrace your heart
    To show I care no matter the pain
    For only with love do we reflect grace.
     
    I'm only one, but courage I ask
    To tackle issues that trouble our days
    Seeking answers to life's woundings deep
    That healing may come to scars of our soul.
     
    I'm only one, but beauty I desire
    Not outward surface but heart's inner glow
    The balm of solace, depth of contentment
    Glitter of joy, and the calm of peace.
     
    I'm only one, but change I effect
    Bringing comfort to the hurting souls
    Sharing laughter, burdens to lighten
    With hands tightly clasped to feel love’s cadence.
     
    I’m only one, but wisdom I crave
    To humbly walk with You as my guide
    Sharing Your truth to brighten the path
    That leads us to Your embracing love.
    ~~
    06/08-11/16
     
  9. Linda Roorda
    It’s that time of year again!  School is already in full swing in some states, while locally and elsewhere school begins during the week after Labor Day. And students are either glad to be back in class or longing for the final bell of the day to ring.  Classes and the extended subjects are much different now than they were 200 years ago.  Students often did not have a strictly set school year like today, but were excused to help with farm chores such as planting and harvesting crops.  Like many great Founders of America who were self-taught, our ancestors were either self-taught, home tutored, private schooled, or had limited access to public school.  Even then, a good foundation was laid in what they learned which enabled them to succeed well in their life’s profession or to pursue university studies. I have two school books for math and English (in photo above) used by ancestral families, published in 1852 and 1875, that show they definitely got a solid education!
    The school was considered the next most important building in a community after the home.  It was the center of a small town where church, town meetings, community events and picnics were often held.  The “Little House on the Prairie” books and TV series provides a good example of the one-room schoolhouse, the hub of the community. 
    According to Jean Alve (Spencer Historian, Tioga County, NY) in “Sounds of Spencer” for February 24, 1993 (“Looking Back at the History of Spencer, A collection of newspaper articles, 1983-1997”, pub. by The Spencer Historical Society), the Huggtown School of North Spencer was one of the last local one-room schoolhouses.  In use until 1935, John Cowell was the last teacher.  Located next to North Spencer Baptist Church, the building was moved to private property on Cowell Road in 1981, and is now owned by The Spencer Historical Society. 
    My attending two small Christian schools in East Palmyra, NY and Passaic, NJ for elementary grades was, in some ways, similar to the old-fashioned one-room school concept.  Two or three grades were combined with up to 25-30 children per teacher.  I well remember the stop-watch timed math tests, the spelling bees, and oral reading groups.  We memorized math facts, learned to read phonetically, and were drilled with flash cards. 
    My mother and her 11 siblings attended the one-room school in Carlisle, Schoharie County, NY from 1st through 5th grade before going to middle and high school in Cobleskill.   In the 1930s and 1940s, a bus saved them from walking the mile or so to and from school.  She recalled their attempt to walk home during a blizzard one winter, but the fierce wind-driven snow and cold drove them into the town’s only restaurant where they called their father.  They took sandwiches to school, but once a week their teacher cooked them a hot meal.  She can still recall her teachers’ names, with the only man teaching for a few months before being drafted into WW II.  Her favorite subjects were social studies/history, with a 95 on her 8th-grade Regents!  Still her favorite subject, it’s an interest she’s passed on to me.
    My mother’s father, born in 1887, went to that same one-room school building, graduating with an 8th grade education.  A jack-of-all-trades, Leo Tillapaugh was not only a premier dairy farmer of registered Holsteins when that was not the norm, he was elected to the Cobleskill school board for 20 years until his passing, was town Justice of the Peace, Town Highway Superintendent for Carlisle, bookkeeper for the local creamery, and a highly-respected community leader.  I wish I could have known him…
    In the typical one-room schoolhouse, up to eight grades were taught together.  Just as for my mom, boys and girls entered through separate front doors and sat on opposite sides of the room, with the youngest children up front.  Classes were usually held from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. with short morning and afternoon recesses.  Schools were typically built within about a 2-mile walking radius for the students, though some came from longer distances and rode a horse or horse-drawn wagon.  There was often a pasture to stake the horses in, and occasionally a shed in which to stable them. 
    Lunch was carried in baskets or tin pails.  The teacher called the students inside by ringing the bell.  Classes typically began with the Lord’s Prayer, a Bible reading, and roll call before lessons.  An outhouse/privy was located behind the school.  Water from the well was often drunk from one bucket, each student using a common dipper to drink from.  No wonder illnesses spread like wildfire among the children, and quarantines were necessary with suspension of classes at times.
    The teacher was equally a man as a woman, though most women did not teach after marriage.  The teacher was well respected, meting out discipline as necessary.  We have read or seen depictions of teachers who severely overstepped their bounds in disciplinary actions, but that was not the norm from my research.  One of the most common punishments was a whipping with a switch/branch, which would leave red marks on contact.  My mother said there was little disruption and unruliness in their classes; but, she chuckled to recall that, indeed, a few students were taken out to the back shed for discipline.  Most teachers truly cared for and loved their students, being involved in their lives within the community outside the classroom.  My mother said that was also true of their teachers, including one who enjoyed cross-country skiing with them on their farm.
    Students were given responsibilities according to their age.  In the colder months, older children brought in coal or firewood for the stove set in the middle or back of the room.  There was little to no thought of putting insulation in buildings back then, so those sitting nearest to the stove would be toasty warm while students farther away shivered.  Younger students cleaned the blackboard/chalkboard and took erasers outside to clap them clean.  I remember doing that as a child!  It was so much fun to watch the puffs of chalk dust - the harder we clapped, the bigger the puffs!
    Chores by the teacher and students would include making sure the chimney was clean of soot to prevent smoke buildup or a chimney fire.  The floor was swept every day, desks cleaned, blackboards and erasers cleaned, and the windows washed often for light as there was no electricity, only oil lamps or candles which would have given off a certain amount of smoke.  I would imagine that, like now, not all children willingly did their assigned chores, and sometimes certain chores might be doled out as punishment for an infraction. 
    The three R’s, reading, ‘riting and ‘rithmetic, are the necessities to the foundation of any good education.  Teaching back then did not require the extensive education and degrees of today.  What they needed most was a good knowledge of what was being taught, a love for the children, an ability to discipline fairly, and a commitment to teaching and helping each child learn.  Much was taught by memorization, rote and drills.  Flash cards and drills were popular. Children memorized math facts without the fancy terminology of today, which I think causes confusion.  Nor did the elementary grades touch on the algebraic sets or equations that are used to teach now. 
    Reading was taught by the phonics method with hornbooks (a primer with the alphabet and numbers for children) and spellers, and later the six popular graduated “Eclectic Readers” by William Holmes McGuffey.  McGuffey readers were first published in 1836, teaching reading and values such as honesty, courage and good manners.  These popular books were still used in the early 20th century.  Eventually, sight word recognition came into vogue.  http://www.thephonicspage.org/On Phonics/historyofreading.html   I remain a strong proponent of phonics; it’s been the key to my success in medical transcription when meeting new terminology, and was key to helping my children learn to read. 
    Spelling bees were often a popular way to end the school week. The student who could out spell everyone else was highly admired until the next week’s bee and new winner.  Except, of course, when you carry the stigma of an infamous mistake!  Having only moved to Clifton, NJ a week earlier, I was intrigued by a tractor trailer I saw with an orange S.O.X. printed on the side for South Orange Express.  We happened to have a spelling bee that morning, my best subject!  Seriously!  My turn came and the teacher called out, “Socks.”  Confidently facing the entire class, and without thinking, I heard myself say, “S-o-x.” 
    Writing was not with lined paper and pencil familiar to our students.  Instead, they used rock slates and scratched their answers with slate pencils.  As they got older, pen and paper were used, usually with a quill pen made of a sharpened goose feather dipped into the inkwell on their desk.  To prevent the ink from smudging, they would press special blotting paper down onto their writing to absorb the excess ink.  What a lot of effort that must have taken, especially when compared to the ease of today’s technology!
    Desks might be planks with benches, or actual 1-2 person desks.  Up front, the teacher might have a bench near her desk for students to “privately” recite their lessons.  A blackboard, an alphabet sheet, a United States flag, and a clock were often decoratively displayed on the front wall.
    Many of us have seen the “famous” 8th grade test from 100-200 years ago making the email rounds that we adults supposedly couldn’t pass today.  I agree; in reading through it, I can’t begin to answer the questions.  However, if we had studied facts specifically for the test, I think we’d pass with flying colors.  Well, except for anything above algebra and general science – those were not among my best subjects.
    As evidenced by research, our ancestors were very well educated with “just” a one-room schoolhouse 8th-grade education.  After all, their education success led them to become the successful parents, community  leaders, and businessmen and women they were as they brought our communities into the modern age.
  10. Linda Roorda
    Early Friday morning, before heading to another of Ed’s appts, I stood on the deck with the sun on my face, gazing at the garden beyond this big beautiful tree that, 40 years ago, was about 8-10 feet tall at most. Even our daughter said when visiting in July that she couldn’t get over how big it had gotten! Then, hearing the drone of a plane engine in the bright blue sky overhead, until its sound slowly faded on its journey to far-away places … reminded me of my childhood, laying in the grass, staring at the clouds and listening to plane engines overhead, without a care in the world, especially about bugs and ticks in the grass, deciding what the huge puffy clouds looked like in comparison to my sister’s thoughts… and sometimes, what I’d give for more days like that childhood fun… quiet, unperturbed, no worries or cares, and no fears of an unknown future…
    We’ve spent 6 of 7 weekdays going to medical appointments since Ed came home from the hospital on the 3rd… with 3 out of 5 days next wk having appts. Tho Ed is utterly exhausted, we’re thankful he’s still here with us, as we’ve come close to losing him at least half a dozen times over the decades… thankful for my prior hospital medical transcription job where my boss allowed me to work 3am to 11am so I could take care of Ed and his appts in the afternoons over so many years in the past… thankful for the elderly dear friend who wanted to visit Ed this past week and who, on hearing I was sorry to tell him “no” for how exhausted Ed was from his extensive appt calendar, graciously apologized and said he’d leave us alone for a while till Ed felt better again.  Unlike someone several years ago who could not understand that concept nor our needs.
    But for all who’ve cared enough to ask how Ed’s doing, tho I say “ok” and “stable”, he’s not ok. It’s really hard to explain. We thank you and are so grateful for your caring. Ed is improved from when he was hospitalized both times in July. That said, life is a daily struggle for him, for anyone with worsening severe congestive heart failure and multiple other health issues, knowing CHF has no cure. He’s had a few drug changes, eliminating some nasty side effects while replacement meds bring on new problems.
    It’s remembering to focus on God being here with us, even in the midst of what seems like never-ending difficulties in health or other challenges, wondering if our prayers are heard, while also knowing He does work all things for good to those who love Him… even when we feel so alone… because He has said He will never leave us nor forsake us. And sometimes I need a little reminder when life becomes overwhelming…
    I wrote the following article in 2016, accepted for publication in the Christian Reformed Church Disability Network Newsletter in 2017.
    Why do we have to deal with suffering? Why aren’t we miraculously healed when we pray for healing? Didn’t Jesus say, “Ask anything in my name and it shall be given you”? So, are we not healed due to a lack of faith or the right prayers?
    What Jesus did say was: "Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” (Matthew 7:7) He also said “… and I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Son may bring glory to the Father. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it." (John 14:13-14) 
    John later wrote, "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) And therein lies the key – asking in God’s will. But that begs the question… what is God’s will?
    My husband, Ed, and I have traveled a long road with his disabilities and health issues. We’ve been told to pray and fast for healing, and trust that he will be healed. It sounds so easy, but healing has not come. We have been told it was our fault that he has not been healed because we did not pray right. Although I would never want to destroy a prayer of hope, the Bible does not teach that we can manipulate God into doing what we want just by saying the right words or having "enough" faith.
    With his long-term illnesses, disabilities, and unrelenting pain and dizziness, my husband and I have wondered what’s wrong with us that healing has passed him by. Intimations by well-meaning friends that healing is simply for the asking has devastating effects, including guilt. While the “well” person can walk away emotionally and physically intact, how do we handle the seemingly raw deal we’ve been dealt? 
    Personally, I think it takes a deeper faith to move forward without obvious answers and healing. Just maybe there really is a purpose in our suffering. As we read in James, we are to “consider it pure joy…whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” (James 1:2-4). For “Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial." (vs.12) Once upon a time I did not understand that concept and reacted poorly to adversity. Yet, even in that, I am not alone. 
    Paralyzed from the neck down after a shallow dive soon after graduating from high school, I learned Joni Eareckson Tada initially reacted negatively when I read several of her books. She expected answers to prayers for miraculous healing. But healing never came. Disappointed, discouraged and despairing, she finally came to terms with accepting her disability. She has seen God work by changing her heart instead, and she praises God for the blessing her ministry has been in transforming the lives of others.
    Despite his multitudinous losses of family and personal property, Job did not sin in his quest for answers. Learning of his losses, he worshipped God saying, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.” (Job 1:21b) He did not blame or curse God. But, in questioning God, and hearing the Almighty’s queries of him, Job acknowledged an understanding of where he fit in the overall scheme of life. . . and that God was in control. And God eventually blessed him even more than before. I am impressed with Job’s humility as he learned to fully trust our loving, all-knowing and all-powerful God. 
    In unbelievable circumstances that I can’t comprehend, others have struggled to regain normalcy after devastating losses, knowing their life will never be the same. I’m sure they wish their life stories were different. But God knows why life has its rough roads. He knows our story from start to finish. (Psalm 139:13-16) He hears our cries and pleadings. And, though God seems silent at times, I’m reassured by Romans 8:28, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” 
    As God draws us into a closer relationship with Him on a path we don’t like, Ed and I know that He will never leave us nor forsake us. (Hebrews 13:5b) We understand the redemptive quality which pain and difficulty can bring to our lives. As Philip Yancey put it so well, “We’re concerned with how things turn out; God is more concerned with how we turn out.”  (“The Question That Never Goes Away – Why?”, p.105) Therein lie the keys to accepting and understanding life’s difficult situations.
    When there are no answers to pleas for healing, may you, too, feel the Lord’s loving arms gently holding you with a comfort and peace only He can give.  May you feel His strength enable you to finish well the path He’s allowed you to walk. And, may you know His answer will yet be coming in His time…though maybe not until you stand face to face with Him. And may we each be found worthy at the end of our journey. 
    Answers
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Sometimes we have no healing for pain
    And answers to prayers seem elusive at best
    But in the silence the Lord whispers soft…
    I am still here; You are not alone.
     
    When the way gets rough, I will guide your steps
    When the path is steep, your hand I will hold
    When the night is long, at your side I’ll be
    When you can’t go on, I will carry you.
     
    Though sometimes My will is not what you want
    Plans I have made take time to work out
    Wending their way through trials you face
    With meaning found as your heart seeks mine.
     
    There’s much I long to share from My word
    Coming together with trust placed in Me
    Finding comfort in My arms of peace
    When to Me you give control of your path.
     
    Even though Faith is bright hope unseen
    It covers your soul, a protective shield
    And holds you tight when stormy winds blow
    To persevere when all else seems lost.
     
    For though sometimes answers seem fleeting
    Your heart is held still gently secure
    That you may know My mercy and grace
    Hold your best interests in loving scarred hands.
    ~~
    06/18/2016
     
  11. Linda Roorda

    Listen To Me

    By Linda Roorda,

    I thought you might enjoy this look back in time to lessons learned while raising animals on our backyard farm. 
    Can you hear wisdom’s call in the depth of your soul?  It’s that still small voice that we often hear, but don’t always heed.  And I’m guilty, too.  I so want to do things my way… but need to heed the reminder that my way is not always the best option.
    I’ve shared before about the animals under my care as I grew up.  After moving to Lounsberry, NY in my mid-teens, we acquired a little over three dozen baby chicks in the mail... extras in case some didn’t survive the trip.  The tiny fluffy chicks were raised briefly under a lamp in a big box in the kitchen corner.  When they were big enough, we put them out in the ca.1930s chicken coop that I’d helped my dad renovate.  And then, from an auction, my dad obtained six adult Muscovy ducks for our menagerie.  My father had raised chickens, ducks and geese under his mother’s tutelage while growing up, while my mother helped her family care for at least 3000 chickens, and knew the importance of having a guard goose – which my youngest brother Ted named Honk!  My Dad had even been a delegate to Boston on a 4-H chicken judging contest!  With my parents’ love of farming, it was only natural that would be part of the legacy passed on to me.
    So, imagine my excitement one day to discover a broody duck setting on eggs. After the first four hatched and were ready to face the world, Mama Duck took her little ones out for a stroll in the fenced-in chicken yard.  Coming home from school, I saw a little straggler left behind, trying to hatch itself.  Not knowing any better, I decided to help what I considered to be a poor little duckling abandoned by its Mama.  After breaking off pieces of the shell to create a wider opening, the little fella slipped out of the shell and lay quietly in the nest.  Sadly, he did not survive… simply because I had taken matters into my own hands and helped him hatch.  Unbeknownst to me at the time was the fact that chicks need to do the work of hatching on their own. 
    There is a natural process that tells the chick when it’s time to escape its shell confinement, notably elevated carbon dioxide.  When this reaches a certain level inside the shell, the chick begins to flex its tiny muscles.  But before it begins to hatch, which can take up to or just over 24 hours, the chick absorbs the yolk and blood vessels inside the shell into its own body.  This will provide nourishment for a few days after the hatching.  Next, pipping begins with the tiny chick using its “egg” or “beak” tooth to make a tiny crack or hole through the membrane and shell so that vital oxygen can enter.  Gradually, it cracks the shell all the way around the large end of the egg.  Then, the little chick stretches until it throws off the protection of the shell and emerges, wet and floppy.  The chick should be left alone to dry as its feathers fluff to keep it naturally warm.  Soon enough it will be up and walking, under Mama’s tender care.
    By feeling sorry for the little duckling left behind as its Mama and siblings went out for a stroll, I took matters into my own hands.  “I did it my way,” to quote Frank Sinatra’s famous song.  By assisting this tiny duckling to hatch, I did not allow it to go through the natural process established by our Creator.  And, sadly, I caused the demise of my littlest duckling.
    From that painful lesson years ago, I realized doing life “my way” is not always the best option.  There’s a better way.  Unfortunately, I haven’t always sought the better way.  But if I learned anything, it’s that seeking wisdom is a life-long learning process.  We definitely don’t know it all in our youth… we need experience to gain knowledge to travel wisely through life.  And experience comes in realizing that we make mistakes because we don’t know everything… and, with humility, seeking advice from others.  Perhaps someone else studied the subject at hand, trained under a worthy teacher, and learned skills which we don’t have.  If only I’d asked my father how to care for my ducklings, I would not have rushed headlong into taking matters in my own hands.  But he was an over-the-road trucker at that time, and not instantly available.
    By giving up “our way” as we seek wisdom from our heavenly Father through His word, we gain knowledge to live life under His guiding hand… a knowledge and love we can then share with others.  “Instruct a wise man and he will be wiser still; teach a righteous man and he will add to his learning.  The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.”  (Proverbs 9:9-10) 
    Listen To Me
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Where is my heart?  Where is my focus?
    Where are my thoughts and my attention?
    In idols that grab, my vision distort
    Or is it heaven with treasures of gold?
     
    Listen to Me and consider blessings
    Focus upon the door of your heart.
    Who has the key to enter therein
    To whom give credence, to whom pay homage?
     
    Hear wisdom’s voice as she calls your name
    Heed her message with a joyful heart.
    Welcome her words that direct your path
    And dwell in peace by her guiding light.
     
    Fear the Lord humbly with reverence and awe
    Become the wiser as knowledge is gained
    With confidence seek His will in your life
    And choose the One who will guide in truth.
     
    For the scales of justice weigh out every deed
    To plumb the depth of my heart and soul
    Balanced by truth from Your word alone
    Will my life show my pride or Your love?
    ~~
    PHOTO CREDIT: My photo taken of my Muscovy ducks 1971.
  12. Linda Roorda
    It’s been a rough month for both of us with my husband's ongoing health issues that never completely go away, extraneous related issues, so many medical appointments, house electrical and car problems, leaving us both feeling like we want to just run away… escaping it all to the proverbial vacation in the hills. I know you’ve been there, too.  But God… answered our needs with good friends who were glad to help, and a new medical internist team who really care.  And I found this poem and blog written during another difficult time in 2014 and 2015 that spoke to my heart, reminding me…
    We all have doubts and questions in our hearts.  We all have fears and worries and thoughts with which we wrestle.  But so did the best of men and women who were close to the heart of God – like Abraham, Sarah, Moses, Jacob, Joseph, David, Job, Esther, Mary, Peter, Paul, just to name a few… In fact, there’s a reason why I appreciate their life examples so much… it’s in the depth of their honesty.
    Perhaps we deal with wondering or wandering thoughts, difficult and painful questions, tears with pleas, and heart-felt longings.  Maybe, truth be told, we’re upset and just a little angry at God for not answering our prayers.  Maybe we wonder why our faith seems weak in the face of a host of trials while others float along in life with hardly a problem.  Maybe we feel we’re not worthy of His love and His grace, or maybe we think we don’t need His help... that we can manage on our own, or maybe we think He really can’t understand what we’re facing.
    Yet, we do know we truly can take all our problems to our Lord in prayer, though sometimes it seems like we just shouldn’t bother Him with all of life’s little seemingly insignificant issues.  Sometimes, our heart is so heavy we don’t even know how to put our thoughts into words in order to pray… 
    I’ve been there.  I’ve wrestled.  I’ve wondered, wandered and worried. Yet, Jesus understands.  He knows what we face.  He cares.  He’s been there.  He faced life head on with trials and temptations, with love from friends, but also with rejection, mocking and scorn.  And He knew to whom He could turn – His heavenly Father. 
    When I focus on what Jesus went through, how He suffered for each of us, then what have I to fear?  He knows… for He’s a friend like no other, just as the Apostle John wrote:  “Greater love has no one than this:  to lay down one's life for one's friends.  (John 15:13 NIV) 
    And being the Friend that He is, He welcomes our ponderings.  He exemplifies the bond of a friend who shares the burdens, doubts and fears of our heart.  He helps us understand the meaning within or behind life’s trials and wrestling thoughts.  He loves us deeply.  No matter what we’ve done or where we’ve been, or what questions keep us awake at night, we can go to Him.  He opens our eyes to His truth and words of wisdom when we come to Him in prayer.  And with a heart of love, He welcomes us into his arms of peace.  He truly cares about even the littlest things that we get so concerned about and fret over… for, as I Peter 5:7 reminds us, we are to “Cast all [our] anxiety on him because he cares for [us].”
    This poem came out of my own doubts, questions, fears and frets, and my tendency to take the reins amidst the struggles of life… when I should be giving all these things over to God and rest in His peace.  May you, too, find peace in knowing that, though we all go through these issues, our Lord has his arms and ears and heart open, waiting for us to come to Him with all our concerns.  Because He cares… 
    Thoughts That Wrestle
    Linda A. Roorda
    Within my heart are thoughts that wrestle…
    Where is my faith? On what do I stand?
    Help me now Lord to draw close to You
    Help me to grow rooted in Your truth.
     
    Why am I prone to wander away?
    Why do I hold ever tight the reins?
    Help me to know You guide me gently
    As I rely on Your restoring word.
     
    Your word is truth, reality to me
    A firm foundation to strengthen my soul,
    Lessons to heed when life falls apart
    Knowledge to earn by traveling this road.
     
    Should I utter my bitter complaints
    To underscore the trial I face,
    You offer hope when I’m in despair
    As all my cares I release to You.
     
    Despite my doubts You still rescue me
    You draw me close on hearing my cries,
    Your gentle words within my soul
    Give voice to reason, a wisdom to gain.
     
    You understand my human frailties
    Though I can’t fathom you lived in two worlds,
    Within your heart was sinless perfection
    But in this life temptation You faced.
     
    For You knew pain, rejection and jeers
    And You were tempted, in hunger and thirst,
    But better than we, You stared down the hand
    Of evil's grasp which held not Your will.
     
    You cried with loss, and needed to rest
    You shared a heart for those steeped in sin,
    Your words gave life to the seeking crowds
    As You fed their souls with unreserved love.
     
    The great I Am, the giver of life
    You bless all who come, whose hearts are seeking,
    That we might know, the one holy God
    The Word in flesh, the Light of the world.
     
    For this our faith in your death alone
    And resurrection from the tomb to life,
    Cannot be swayed by earthly passions
    When we take hold of your nail-pierced hands.
     
    Grace and mercy bestowed on my heart
    When faith is wrapped in your sacrifice
    The reason you came among us to live
    How great a gift I can never repay.
    ~~
  13. Linda Roorda

    Tolerance...

    By Linda Roorda,

    It seems we often want our way regardless of how anyone else feels.  That old “give-and-take” attitude I remember growing up with seems to be lacking... all too evident among those who mock and bully others, even within today’s world of politics… where a war of words continues to erupt, and others are canceled.  It seems like absolute truth and moral or ethical standards have become a negative, a cause for ridicule… while relativism, or determining our own truth as we want it to be, is more often revered. 
    Authors like Laura Ingalls Wilder and Mark Twain/Samuel Clemens have become suspect, apparently not worth our reading in today’s political correctness. They, like so many others, wrote about the way life was as they experienced it while walking upon this earth, something we can learn from.  The Wilder Award in literature has been renamed the Children’s Literature Legacy Award because Wilder used words of a different era, inappropriate for today.  We were appalled at censorship, banning and burning of books many years ago, yet even now we walk a fine line of what is appropriate.  We disallow our children to read of life in other times when words or language we now recognize as inappropriate was used.  Even the Holy Bible is often not acceptable because it might offend.
    Yet, as discerning parents, we did not allow our children to read a few specific books in high school.  We discussed why they were inappropriate reading material with both our children and school personnel.  We were told by the principal that, because we calmly explained our objections, the school graciously saw our valid points and gave alternative reading material.  In Jenn’s case, after giving one particular oral book report, a few classmates told her they wished they’d read that book instead of the original proffered book.  A true story, it showed a quality of character in the challenges a young man faced as an Olympian runner diagnosed with cancer.  Unable to compete, he turned to helping inner city under-privileged kids. 
    The book read by the rest of the class, however, was filled with gratuitous sex, filthy language, and mocking of parental/family values – found when I simply opened the book at random junctures.  Actually, the teacher told his students to seek their parents’ permission to read that book!  And, apparently, if other students actually showed it to their parents, we were the only ones who said “no way!”  Even the school board was shocked to learn what that book held.  It was pulled from the school’s required reading list, and the teacher actually complimented us on our strong stance, saying he learned a lot from us.  There truly is a time for discernment of right and wrong when done with respect. 
    My poem here began to flow with news of the violence and tearing down of our nation’s historical monuments in the summer of 2017 and since.  Removing such historical memorials does not erase or change history… except for the younger generations who never learn its truths.  There are lessons learned in those memories earned.  We’ve come so far.  We’ve grown in understanding and acceptance. Isn’t that cause for celebration rather than condemnation?  Our differences can be teachable moments.  That’s what Freedom of Speech is all about… with a chance to show love and respect even in our disagreement, revealing true tolerance, not denigrating or canceling someone just because you don’t like their stance.
    Tolerance, by definition, is an ability to be fair, to accept a viewpoint which is different, and to bear with another in realizing that the opposition also has rights… without approving wrong by our silence, or going into full rage when disagreeing with the alternative view.  Perhaps we remember that society’s Golden Rule (which promotes tolerance, when you think about it), actually comes from the words of Jesus in his Sermon on the Mount:  “So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the law…” (Matthew 7:12a) 
    Yet, tolerance is not a license to do anything we want at will.  A moral society adheres to absolute truths of right and wrong, or it breaks down without this solid foundation… as we now see with a preferential treatment of criminals being put back out on the street where they are free to commit crimes again, by not holding them truly responsible and accountable for their criminal acts.
    We should certainly be cognizant and tolerant of others’ opinions or beliefs, respecting our differences… but, that does not mean we have to tolerate rude or foul language, or abusive, bullying, or violent and criminal behavior.  Tolerance is not freedom to persist in traveling down a wrong path.  There are consequences for everything we do... and there is a time and place for speaking out respectfully against inappropriate words or actions. 
    So where did tolerance go?  Too often, it seems tolerance is relegated to that which accepts and promotes a particular politically-correct agenda to the exclusion and canceling of the opposing view and person… regarding differing perspectives as not having validity to be respected. What happened to our ability to show respect through appropriate discussion? What happened to Freedom of Speech? Why the hate-filled, foul-worded, disrespectful language?  Why violence with riots and destruction, or angry rhetoric to disallow conservative or religious speakers, even on college campuses?  What is there to be afraid of… that others might actually have valid points of truth, different from your own perspective and agenda?
    Fear of a differing opinion by engaging in anger and wrath toward that with which one disagrees serves no viable purpose.  We have heard mobs calling for their rights or else violence will ensue… while proclaiming how tolerant and justified they are.  Seems to me that violence as a coercive bully tactic is anything but tolerance.  Perhaps it would be wise to observe that true tolerance… the courtesy to listen, even agreeing to disagree in appropriate discourse… comes by respecting another’s viewpoint, their freedom of speech, without the backlash of vitriolic speech and/or destructive violence.
    When morality steps up and extends a hand in true respect, we’re living out the ancient Ten Commandments (Exodus 20:1-17). Given by God to Moses for the Jewish nation during its exodus from centuries of Egyptian slavery, these words still serve us well as a moral foundation for life even in today’s modern society.  Doing our best to live out Jesus’ words in what we call the Golden Rule, we show great love and respect for others… “So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you…” (Matthew 7:12 NIV) – just as we wish to be treated.  With this love, and acceptance of those with whom we disagree, we embody Christ’s love, for “love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.”  (I Corinthians 13:6 NIV)
    Tolerance
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    Could I but live a life that was safe
    I wouldn’t question the wrongs encountered.
    I would not wrestle with problems I face
    Or troubles inherent with consequent strife.
    ~
    For if I the bad from this life expunged
    I’d then have left the best for display.
    My life would exist by my design
    For my benefit and pleasure alone.
    ~
    Remove the memories and mask the failures
    Fashion the remains to what I deem fit.
    Let visible be selfish ambition
    My life according to myself and me.
    ~
    I have no tolerance for views but mine
    My way is right and suspect is yours.
    I demand my way and fight you I will
    If only to prove entitled am I.
    ~
    Yet what I now see is your hand held out
    Bearing a gift, tolerance by name.
    You’ve come to my aid and lift me up
    To help me stand with dignity tall.
    ~
    There’s a price, you see, for this freedom shared
    It’s a cost in red that flowed for us all.
    And it grants relief from oppression’s fist
    That your words and mine comingle in peace.
    ~~
  14. Linda Roorda
    I have to admit… it sure would be nice to win the big lottery!  Life would be so much easier with all that money, wouldn’t it? ‘Course, ya gotta play to win!  And since I don’t play, there’s no chance I’ll ever go home a millionaire… ah well, it was a fun thought while it lasted!
    But watching the newly “rich and famous” with their instant money, I also wonder how happy many of them really are.  They seem to have it all… from gorgeous clothes to the most beautiful mansions. But, on the flip side, do they ever ask if that’s all there is to life?
    When you open the door to peek in on their private lives, how often don’t we find them less than the seemingly perfect and shining example we think they are?  Don’t get me wrong, some know how to handle their wealth with an envied wisdom.  On the other hand, too many blow through their new wealth by not having the inner strength to handle what comes their way… while many of those who have truly earned their way up the ladder of success and wealth usually seem to know the secret to handling their situation wisely.
    And I can’t help but wonder, do any of them ask if that’s all there is to life… for I have a suspicion that many “rich and famous” have an ache, a pain, deep in their heart... a void needing to be filled.  Too often, the news contains stories of their drug addiction, wild parties and debauchery… only to leave us quietly asking the words of the hit song written by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller in the 1960s, and made famous by Peggy Lee, “Is that all there is?” As Pastor Greg Laurie wrote in “Lennon, Dylan, Alice, & Jesus, “Contrary to popular belief, adversity is not the greatest test of character; overnight success is.”
    Because that’s not all there is to life...  Money is not the answer to all our troubles, and the “rich and famous” will tell you that if they’re honest.  Unfortunately, some learn the hard way there’s truth in the old biblical saying that “…the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil.”  (I Timothy 6:10)  With this thought, I was reminded of the biblical book of Ecclesiastes, believed by many scholars to have been penned by the wisest man who ever lived, King Solomon: “Whoever loves money never has money enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with his income…” (Eccl.5:10)  Later, Solomon reflects that “When times are good, be happy; but when times are bad, consider: God has made the one as well as the other…” (Eccl.7:14)  Note that it’s the “love” of money that can taint a life.  For, with the blessing of wealth, can also come the ability to give… a giving to bless others out of love.
    Though we may look upon the “rich and famous” as enjoying the epitome of happiness, we often see those in front of us who struggle from day to day, barely getting by, as the ones who exude true joy.  There are those who live a life of unending pain, emotional and/or physical, yet they share a heart of empathy.  There are those with hurts so deep no one knows the true depth of their hidden pain, but they have love to spare.  And, there are those who cover their pain with a shield of protective bullying, alcohol and drugs, while others cover their pain with the smile of brave endurance.  And we wonder about the difference.
    As much as we might wish it so, a life of riches, free of pain and sorrow, was never promised to any of us.  By learning to accept our trials, we grow through perseverance into wisdom, understanding, and joy… like the wisdom found in Hebrews 13:5 – “Keep your lives free from the love of money, and be satisfied with what you have.  God has said, ‘I will never leave you; I will never forsake you.’” And, in understanding those words, we realize that “…the testing of [our] faith develops perseverance.” (James 1:2-3) But, oh how hard the journey can be at times!
    In all honesty, life’s difficulties mature us into wisdom as we experience pain, loss, and discomfort… over time, not overnight… if we let them. It’s not by longing for the world’s many riches, but by being content in our life’s situation that we find happiness.  Unlike Job’s friends who castigated him for his supposed sins having been the cause of his great suffering, it is in the depth of our struggles that we often learn who our true friends are.  And, we also find out where our real strength lies… in God. 
    For it’s as we learn to walk with God at our side during life’s ups and downs that we find ourselves trusting all the more the One who knows the purpose and reason behind our trials.  Then, as we come to understand why He allows us to travel the darkened road, we gain insight into issues hidden within our own life, and acquire an empathy to feel for, and share with, those who might be traveling a similar bumpy road.
    Be a blessing to others through your difficulty!  And praise God for the blessings He’s given you along your difficult road! 
    Behind the Door
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Behind the door of our curtained lives
    Lies the dark ache of a hurting soul
    So often hidden as though behind walls
    Feeling as if the world doesn’t care.
     
    The life of pain has many faces
    Some openly brave, some hidden and sad
    But all are covers for truth in the depths
    Which we conceal behind words and smiles.
     
    Yet there are those seemingly untouched
    Who exude the ease of life without pain
    All sun and fun, or so it would seem
    But what have they learned of perseverance.
     
    Do not envy what appears so grand
    Since hidden lessons don’t emerge from glam
    Many are they who follow such dreams
    Only to find silken paths want more.
     
    For in trials deep do our hearts learn truth
    By laying open the heart, mind and soul
    Riches are found as depths are plumbed
    Knowing persistence leads to wisdom’s gold.
    ~~
  15. Linda Roorda
    Today, I’m posting something a little different on Poetic Devotions. So many of us are thankful for the blessings we, as a nation and as a people, have received since our nation was founded. And today, I’d like to celebrate those who gave their support to the founding of our great nation. In knowing a little about some of my maternal family’s ancestors who took part in the American Revolution, it helps put a personal perspective to the many individuals who gave of themselves that we and so many others might enjoy the freedoms we’ve been blessed with. Are we individually or collectively as a nation perfect? Of course not!  But we learn and grow from past mistakes, not from erasing them from history, praising God for all He has blessed us with.  Enjoy your celebrations of our nation’s founding with your friends and family!!
    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 readily recall the two important founding documents of our nation:   
    1.       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…” 
    2.       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.  
    So, why is history important to us?  To quote David McCullough in "Why History?" in the December 2002 Reader's Digest, 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.)
    8 ) 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!
    Read my full research article by clicking below at: Celebrating Independence Day! - Homespun Ancestors - Twin Tiers Living:
     
     
  16. Linda Roorda
    The dawning of each new day brings another opportunity… to make things right… to help someone in need… to express love for your dear ones and all those you meet.  Each morning is a new beginning!
    Each morning brings a blank slate for the new day ahead.  It’s up to you to decide how you’ll respect it.  What will your attitude be?  Will you bring a thankful heart, a joyful heart, a bright and cheerful attitude to all those around you?  Or, will you grumble and complain, and find fault with every little thing that just happens to annoy you?  It’s entirely up to you!
    Before your feet hit the floor, contemplate what might lie ahead and think about who you want to be as you greet the new day.  With a positive attitude, not a victim mindset, meet whatever challenge comes your way.  Remember, it’s a blank slate and it’s up to you to fill it with good.
    Give a gift to everyone around you.  Slow down and savor the gift of time spent with your loved ones.  Let them know how much they mean to you.  Enjoy a few precious moments in the gift of time among friends.  Smile at everyone you meet; let it be a simple way to show that someone cares about them.  That’s my favorite gift to the world! 
    As Mother Teresa once said, “Yesterday is gone.  Tomorrow has not yet come.  We have only today.  Let us begin.”  Yesterday is history.  You say you made a mistake?  Pick yourself up, confess it, apologize for it, and move forward in forgiveness… for that’s no more than our Lord asks of us to be forgiven by Him.
    But, remember that tomorrow is not promised to any of us either.  Don’t borrow trouble for the future by fretting about what you don’t know.  Live in today, and trust the Lord for the day ahead – no matter what you might face.  For, as Psalm 118:24 reminds us, “This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” 
    Rejoice and be glad!  Let God’s gift of a new morning become your gift of love to everyone around you! 
    Each Morning New
    Linda A. Roorda
    Each morning new is your love for me
    A thankful heart I give in return
    For who am I without you beside
    As we share this path, and our dreams for life.
     
    I see great love from within your heart
    As your tender gaze recalls that which was
    And as your arms envelope me tight
    All of my soul embraces your gift.
     
    This gift of self, a precious treasure
    Is a glowing light to brighten our walk
    For on this path a vision we share
    As we follow in His guiding steps.
     
    Yet our pathway long with steps that falter
    Is often littered with stones and boulders
    But in the trials your love carries me
    Over and above all that threatens loss.
     
    Nothing we do will change mercy’s grace
    For He promised us a love that’s secure
    And no matter what we ever confront
    True love awaits within open arms.
     
    So is it not true each day brings bright hope
    As hand in hand the future we face
    Finding within a calming peace
    For each morning new is your love for me.
     
  17. Linda Roorda

    The Stalwart

    By Linda Roorda,

    The old red barn stood tall on an open flat, alone against the gray sky, testament to a long life.  It had weathered countless storms, looking just a bit worn… another great photo by my friend Kathy’s husband, Hugh Van Staalduinen.  And once again, the picture painted a thousand words that raced through my thoughts.
    As we celebrate Father’s Day today, and my husband’s 70th birthday this coming Saturday, that barn seemed to be the perfect illustration of Ed’s character over the years.  In fact, the day I saw the photo, and wrote this poem in a couple hours five years ago, I was waiting to bring him home from yet another hospitalization.  Stalwart and steadfast, he’s remained standing no matter what life has sent his way… a true gentle giant.  And like that barn, he’s faced many storms head on, never bending or collapsing as the winds attempted to shake his foundation.  He’s remained firm with his faith in the Lord, resting secure in God’s provision and love, a pillar of strength for all of our family.
    Yet, it hasn’t been easy.  There have been some serious storms that sent waves crashing against him… and against us as a couple.  Despite some plain old-fashioned trials, dashed hopes causing great disappointments, the loss of a daughter, and his losses of sight, physical strength and ability, he’s overcome those trials with an inner strength and peace that comes from his faith in the Lord. 
    And now, facing a continued ebbing of strength and ability with the progression of permanent muscle damage caused by statin/cholesterol drugs, and worsening congestive heart failure, we’ve begun discussing what we should do when he can no longer function and get around on his own.  In all honesty, we don’t know what our options will be in the not-so-distant future.  We’re facing new frontiers.
    Still, through each difficulty, his and our faith has grown stronger, for we’ve learned “[We] can do all things through [Christ] who strengthens [us]” (Philippians 4:13)  As I’ve said many times before, James 1:2-4 puts it so well, even though we don’t want to welcome another difficult challenge.  “Consider it pure joy my brothers and sisters, 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, lacking nothing.” 
    Being “strong in the Lord and in His mighty power” (Ephesians 6:10-13) is the foundation on which we survive great storms and come out standing. (Proverbs 10:25) … Just like that barn in Hugh’s photo.  If we have a good foundation on the solid rock (Godly wisdom), weathered by time (experience), the structure (our character) will stand tall… and prove stalwart and unwavering. 
    The Stalwart
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Stalwart and stoic through the test of time
    Facing the world to weather life’s storms
    Meeting head on whatever befalls
    Humbly proclaiming, steadfast I stand.
    ~
    Bringing together nature’s harmony
    Weathered and worn, reliably true
    Dependably there to meet others’ needs
    Asking for nothing but structural care.
    ~
    Like the pioneers who settled this land
    And carved their place from wilderness wild,
    Weathered by nature midst elements raw
    They kept life sheltered from all threats and harm.
    ~
    Without proper care, wood planks become warped
    Foundations fail without wisdom’s base.
    Oh, can’t you see!  The meaning is clear!
    How like old barns are patriarchs wise.
    ~
    Learning through hardship true wisdom is gained
    Taking a stand for what matters most,
    Sometimes enduring alone in the crowd
    Serene and secure midst turmoil and storm.
    ~
    God bless the stalwart, unwavering friend
    Who braves the path no matter the storm.
    Of foe unafraid, on wisdom standing
    Steadfast and loyal with comforting peace.
    ~~
  18. Linda Roorda
    June is a month to celebrate not only Father’s Day, but National Children’s Day on the second Sunday.  Children are such a rich blessing … a gift from God, a miracle of life!  Each one is uniquely endowed with a personality and set of talents established by their Creator.  What parent doesn’t perceive soon after each child is born how different he or she is from a sibling?  Their unique and individual beauty shines through as we lovingly help guide them in following the path of their God-given gifts.
    I’m reminded of the verse:  “Train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old, he will not depart from it.”  (Proverbs 22:6 KJV)  There are different interpretations of Solomon’s wise words; but, for me, it means to work with (to train) each child according to their unique inclinations, tendencies, and abilities.  Our three children were clearly different.  Raised as best we could the same, their unique personalities, likes and dislikes, tendencies, etc. began emerging fairly soon after arriving.  And encouraging their differences helped direct their lives in the way they should go…
    It did not take long to see who enjoyed being in the barn with their Dad at chore time, and who wasn’t fond of the barn and its smells.  One daughter, like her Mom, loved to be in the barn; the other daughter tolerated it, but preferred not to be there.  But, our son took to the barn like a duck to water.  You couldn’t keep him away, quite like his Dad… and Mom! 
    Likewise, when our daughters were given toy tractors, they really weren’t interested.  Just give me a doll, please!  Yet, when our son came along, he naturally took to pushing the tractors and trucks around as soon as he was physically capable, along with making “Vroom! Vroom!” sounds.  No one ever taught him to do that!  He was very happy to acquire a full assortment of tractors and farm equipment to operate his own farm with a big barn built by his maternal great-grandfather.  And now our grandchildren enjoy playing with the barn, animals and equipment.
    Given a homemade Cabbage Patch type boy doll for Christmas one year, I had to chuckle to see our toddler son as he flopped it around to change the clothes, or as he carried it head down, and would gently correct him - while our daughters were so tender and gentle with their dolls right from the start.  But, trust me, that was not indicative of how tender and gentle our son has been in caring for his own son and daughter!  It is equally a pleasure to watch our daughter as she cares for her three sons.
    Beyond the days of childhood though, to watch them shine with their unique personalities and gifts, has been so rewarding!  To even be blessed with children has also given many rewards to us as parents.  There was a time, after two miscarriages, when I feared we would never have children.  And my heart goes out to those who have also lost children, like the loss of our oldest daughter at 25 years, or have not been able to have the family they desire. 
    Being blessed with our three precious little ones, it was a joy to watch them mature into the wonderful adults they have become, as they married, and now bless us with grandchildren.  The roles have come full circle.  We who were once infants ourselves have grown up, matured, raised our own families, matured some more as we grew with our children’s experiences, and now get to relax and enjoy our precious “Grands” while our children repeat the age-old process. 
    I also once feared the empty nest years.  How would I ever manage without my children around?  After our oldest daughter had gone to college, her siblings spent a weekend visiting her. When they came home, I had to admit to Jenn that I actually enjoyed having some time to pursue my own interests.  I said, “Ya know… I think I could get used to having an empty nest…”  And Jenn just smiled that knowing smile of hers.  But, oh, the joys of having watched them fledge to successful lives of their own!  My husband and I have acquired a renewed time for ourselves, time to cherish each other again beyond the busy activities of children in the house.  I delved into hobbies I had once pursued but put on the back burner to raise my family, reclaiming talents God blessed me with. 
    It all reminds me of our first experience watching bluebird nestlings as they fledged years ago.  Little Bird just couldn’t get enough lift under his wings and landed in the grass while his siblings flew up to our roof.  Mama called to encourage him, fed him, and stayed with him.  Having to leave for church, we returned a few hours later to find they were both gone.  I will always believe Little Bird learned to fly despite my husband’s teasing that the cat got him!  Several years ago, I finally found time to write and illustrate this into a story for my grandchildren.  And that’s what it’s all about – lessons in a never-ending circle of life.
    So now we’ve been blessed with a renewed sense of purpose, a new role as Gramps and Grammy to our five young Grands… to be there for them as they grow up... to help them as they strive to reach their full potential… as they become the blessings to others God intends for them to be.   
    The Blessing of Children
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Each child’s a blessing, a gift from above
    A precious bundle to love and to hold.
    The wonder of life with joy unfolding
    Like a blooming rose which opens to sun.
     
    Tiny perfection created by God
    Pure love at first sight, new life to behold
    Dependent for care, nurturing cuddles,
    Looking for parents to guide and protect.
     
    From infant in arms to busy teen years
    Each day awakens with much to be learned.
    Deep roots must be grown, foundation to build
    With dreams given wings in learning to fly.
     
    Yet one day soon the time will have come
    The nest will empty, the house will be still.
    But this is not all, life holds so much more
    For blessings of God do not have an end.
     
    When nestlings have fledged, relationships change
    Each busy seeking new roles to fulfill,
    New needs to be met, new missions to serve
    Each having purpose, established within.
     
    And as the years flow more changes ensue
    Grandchildren arrive with outpouring of love,
    New meaning to life, usefulness restored
    The empty nester has purpose renewed.
    ~
  19. Linda Roorda
    Idols - we all have them... we just may not realize it.  Idols are anything or anyone which takes precedence over our relationship with God.  And yes, I have them, too.  We tend to see the obvious idols in the "things" we clutch closely... especially that which we enjoy doing or collecting - like our hobbies, collectable antiques, our "toys,” and even people.  They fill a void within us and give us an emotional high… for a while.  None of these are evil in and of themselves, but it’s where and how we put the emphasis on them that makes the difference.
    An idol can also be to whom or where we run when we’re dealing with a problem, rather than turning first to our Lord in prayer.  How often don't we fret and worry, feel sorry for ourselves, and take our pain or loss to nurture it and feed it with a selfish pity party.  Once again, I've been there and stand guilty.
    Coddling our idols is also an easy trap to fall into.  We want what we deserve, and we deserve the best!  Or so we think… But that philosophy is misguided, for there is only One who deserves our best.  “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’  The second is this:  ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’  There is no commandment greater than these.”  (Mark 12:30-31 NIV)  And I admit I am not able to unequivocally meet these godly expectations.
    After writing this poem in 2015, and editing it, I re-read it in its entirety … and nearly burst into tears… for many reasons.  First, because the words touched my heart deeply for their depth of truth.  I firmly believe God gives me the words, and each poem is a moving emotional experience while writing, though some more so than others.
    And second, I wondered why the words for a happy, joyful, praise-filled poem wasn’t coming to mind.  Why did the words that flowed from my brain and out through my fingers once again contemplate our sin? 
    As I verbalized these thoughts to my husband, Ed, he said, “But your poem is the story of our lives.  We are sinners, and God does take us from rags to glory.  And that really is something to be writing praises about!”  
    It’s often felt or said that Christians talk too much about sin.  Yet, knowing that the Apostle Paul wrote in Romans 3:23 that we “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God”, it is then we begin to understand that acknowledging we really do sin in so many ways is key.  For in that understanding, it’s also reassuring to know that when we go to God and “…confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” (I John 1:9).
    What a blessing to trust in a faithful Lord who isn’t offended by our wayward feet.  He simply loves us deeply while drawing us back to Himself… no matter our sins, our tattered rags… as He washes us clean!  
    From Rags to Glory
    Linda A. Roorda  
    When someday I stand before You, my Lord
    What will You see of my earthly life?
    Will You see rags, the tatters of sin
    Or will I be cleansed, washed pure by the Lamb?
     
    Yet for a while we proudly proclaim
    My will!  My way!  The cry of our hearts.
    We live a life in defense of self
    To gain the best this world can offer.
     
    A sense of pleasure in idols we make
    To soothe our hurts and meet our desires.
    But what we crave in comforts and perks
    Cannot appease the soul’s deepest need.
     
    Then what will fill this void in my soul?
    What could ever control all my steps?
    Could it be true that Your word speaks clear
    To guide and direct feet that stray from You?
     
    Help me to leave the past behind,
    Help me to walk with You at my side.
    Guide all my thoughts, my words and my deeds
    Create in me a heart of pure love.
     
    For there is nothing I could ever do
    That Your greatest gift won’t cover with peace
    As long as humbly I seek you in faith
    And with contrition gain mercy and grace.
     
    As You draw me near with welcoming arms
    To embrace Your child with a love divine
    I see the filth of sin’s tattered rags
    Fall gently away for a gleaming white robe.
    ~~
  20. Linda Roorda
    I’ve read books or stories from virtually every war in which men and women of our nation, including my immediate family, relatives and ancestors, have been involved.  Their sacrifices have deeply touched my heart as I live a life of freedom, a blessing either limited or unknown to so many elsewhere in this world.  Yet, both of our families have not known a loss of life in war during this past century.
    A few years ago, friends of ours shared some treasured family papers with me before the reign of Covid-19 when friends could freely visit.  Several boxes of treasures were given to this friend by a relative, mementoes she never knew her mother had kept.  They included old photographs and newspaper clippings.  What especially touched her heart were family photos and letters, especially from one of her brothers who had died in World War II.
    Her mother had saved numerous clippings of the war from a local Binghamton newspaper.  Here were reports of a war’s ups and downs, of the efforts of battle-worn troops, of men who paid the ultimate sacrifice, and of soldiers who returned home safely.  Also included were touching news reports by Ernie Pyle, a reporter embedded with troops in the European theater and later in the South Pacific. 
    Pyle was a beloved reporter in the U.S. and abroad.  He had a way with words, evoking an empathy from his readers for the servicemen he wrote about.  A reporter who opened his readers’ eyes, he put a personal touch to the effects of war, and to the emotions of hard-won battles for freedom’s sake.  I remember him well… no, I did not grow up during the war, but had purchased and read his book, “Brave Men,” as a teen.  Perusing my friend’s papers, I knew I had to take Pyle’s book down off my bookshelf and refresh my memory. 
    Continuing to read through the newspaper clippings, thoughts and emotions swirled around and the poem below began taking shape.  I have always been grateful to those men and women who have joined the military to protect our freedoms and to gain the same for the oppressed around the world.  But to think about each one who has ever gone off to war, to remember them as their family knew and loved them so well… is to contemplate the little child who ran into the loving arms of parents with boundless energy, full of love and joy… the playing and learning he or she did under their wise and watchful eyes… the teen coming to terms with adolescent struggles… the young adult who emerged from military basic training with a new sense of purpose… the seasoned soldier whose loyalty to his or her unit proved a perseverance, endurance and bravery they never knew they had… and the final tribute paid to one who gave his or her all that others might live… is to contemplate the heart and soul of each one who left behind a sweetheart or spouse, beloved parents and siblings, and even children… the one forever remembered for a life interrupted, of the greatest sacrifice made, and of the legacy now carried in the heart and soul of those who have grieved their loss.
    As we celebrate Memorial Day tomorrow, may this simple poem evoke in you a heart of thanks for all who have served and not returned home safely, paying the ultimate sacrifice in any war.  Without a willingness to put their lives on the line for the sake of freedom, we would not be enjoying our “…land of the brave and home of the free.”   
     
    Heroes of Yesterday
    Linda A. Roorda
    Where tyranny reigns evil’s at the helm
    As the young and free who know only peace
    With faces brave must enter the fray
    In the fight for rights we take for granted.
    ~
    Responsibility trains boys into men
    With troop cohesion, a unit’s tight bond
    To honor and hold each life in their care
    For freedom’s defense and the rights of all.
    ~
    Orders to battle and the hell of war
    The call to arms which tests the mettle
    For within each heart lies the chance to prove
    The value of truth to fail or succeed.
    ~
    From red alert to general quarters
    Emotions run deep in calm before strife
    Of imminent fight and future yearnings
    Always thinking, “If I get through…alive…”*
    ~
    The sounds of war above stealth and fear
    The zing of bullets and bombs that explode
    Challenges met, overcome with courage
    Proving capable the common valor.
    ~
    Back home they reflect, living fear and dread
    Loved ones waiting for word from afar
    A card or letter received with relief
    Until the knock comes when time stands still.
    ~
    The letters home that ceased too soon
    As horrors of war burn deep in the soul
    Who’ll be the judge at the end of combat
    What the heart ponders to serve and protect…
    ~
    To gain advantage with success for peace
    To hold these truths that all may live free
    To lift the spirit and rebuild from loss
    As we remember peace has a cost.
    ~~
    *”Brave Men,” Ernie Pyle, Henry Holt and Company, Inc., 1944, p.5
  21. Linda Roorda
    Today, I’d like to share something close to my heart.  Tourette Syndrome Awareness Month is May 15 to June 15, with the annual Tourette Syndrome Awareness Day on June 12, 2022.  Tourette Syndrome was named for a French neurologist, Dr. Georges Gilles de la Tourette, 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, and where his family lived.  It was an extremely emotional, disruptive time in my life to leave behind my close friends and the country life I loved.
    I’ve always believed it was that stress which precipitated my tics, but now understand there is a genetic component, though I have no idea who had it in an older generation.  Most of my life I’ve been embarrassed and ashamed to admit I have 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 recognized as readily.  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. 
    I’ve called the tics my “habit”, but never had a diagnosis until reading a letter in either Dear Abby or Ann Landers’ column in my early-20s.  Diagnosing myself from the 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 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 - only somewhat.  But, I’m also thankful they are considered “simple” tics.
    Just as I’ve been ashamed of my movements, so my husband was ashamed of being legally blind growing up. 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… with too often 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 each see ourselves for who we truly are - uniquely created in the image of God.
    Last year, subbing with 5th graders, I was surprised one day to be asked by a student if I had 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?”  As kids do, they apparently talked amongst themselves and others began asking me questions.  This led to their teacher setting aside time for me to share what I knew about living with Tourette’s and answering their many questions.  It was an informative session, endearing these students to me for their kindness and lack of mocking or belittling – 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.  The tics wax and wane, change muscle groups at whim, and become much 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 30 years ago, I was officially diagnosed by a neurologist and prescribed medication.  Unfortunately, even at the smallest dose, and taking half a pill, the dopey side effect for me was 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 (undiagnosed in 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 and has overcome it, 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.  More often than not, as we go through the trials of life, that’s when we learn how to trust and rely on the Lord the best.  For He 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’s as unique as we each are 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
  22. Linda Roorda
    The tomboy that I was growing up, especially in my teens, working and learning beside my Dad, prepared me for later becoming a farmer’s wife.  After all, the love of farming is in the blood of both my parents!  Yet we women fill so many different roles.  Not all of us are wives and mothers.  Some of us remain single.  Some of us are meant to pursue life-time careers.  Some of us work to support our family, when we would prefer to be at home raising our children. Often, our likes and dislikes, and even careers, change throughout our lifetime. 
    Typically, we women are great multi-taskers, but I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad! We come from different walks in life, and we’re very different from each other in feelings, perspectives, and opinions. I’ve had several “big sister” or “surrogate mothers” in my lifetime who added a special dimension to my maturing and learning - my Dad’s mother, Grammy, with whom I wrote letters virtually every week for decades from my teens on, there to help raise me as an infant and toddler, and then there with an ear and advice as I raised my own children; my cousin Howard’s wife, Carol, like a big sister to me and whose four children my sister and I babysat for during their weekend auctions in our teens, and with whom I continue to keep in touch as we share our hearts; and his brother Robert’s wife, Virginia, who was briefly my hunting partner in my teens, who also taught me how to cook certain meals when I lived with their family while working in Ithaca several months before my marriage to Ed, learning to make homemade spaghetti sauce and a down-home delicious goulash, both a favorite on our own supper menu. 
    I remember my Mom for many things… as I grew up, she was a traditional housewife, taking care of the home and growing a large garden.  She continued her mother’s example by canning and freezing the produce every summer except the years we lived in Clifton, NJ.  When we butchered chickens, Dad put them on the chopping block, we sisters were the “dunk-and-pluck” crew, while Mom knew how to properly dress them for the freezer, showing us one hen’s set of graduated eggs sans shells from large to very small!  She was quiet and reserved, did not share much, if anything, about herself or her family as I grew up, but she had a strong faith in God.  She loved the country/farm life, as I do.  And she knew how to cook up the squirrel I shot, or all game and fish my Dad brought home, very deliciously!
    A few things she shared included making fully homemade custard ice cream (no pre-made mix, as we kids clamored for a turn at hand cranking), bottling homemade root beer, and heating up the best hot cocoa with real cocoa powder, sugar and milk on the stove.  She also made a Dutch barley soup with buttermilk and brown sugar that I loved, as well as the most delicious cream puffs in the world using our duck eggs.  She could sew, but it was not her favorite.  She taught me to iron our clothes and Dad’s handkerchiefs before permanent press fabrics hit the market.  I loved her homemade bread and made some a few times after I was married, but it was more work than I really liked.  As a kid, I savored her delicious toasted Velveeta cheese sandwiches with her homemade dill pickle slices tucked between slices of her homemade bread – long before Vlasic ever thought of selling bottled dill pickle slices for that very purpose! 
    My sister and I did a lot of the bean and pea picking, snapping and shelling.  Though we tossed some of those veggies as youngsters when we were tired of our chore, freshly picked and cooked peas remain my favorite.  I loved visiting the farm my Mom grew up on, and later in life enjoyed hearing her tell stories of her younger days.  She shared some of her wisdom, but typical of teens, I wasn’t always listening or accepting.  I did not hear much of her childhood until I began researching and documenting her family’s genealogy decades after I got married.  I treasure the time I drove her around her home town of Carlisle, NY, as she shared and pointed out places connected to her life, and wrote down her childhood stories. But, sadly, I have very few photos of her.
    My only desire had been to be a stay-at-home mother like my Mom, but circumstances beyond our control put me back into the workforce when my children were very young.  Each of my secretarial jobs (beginning part time as a high school senior in an Owego law office), built the foundation and skills for the next job, preparing me for my final medical transcription career before retiring and changing direction once more - subbing for teachers and their TAs, jobs I love, “being there” for the students.  But whether it’s being a mother or having a career, that’s not where all our satisfaction is found.
    It does our heart good to “be there” for someone else, whether to provide emotional support, bring a meal to a shut-in, or lend aid in other ways to someone in need… sometimes even if only to give an ear and a shoulder for their hurts.  And that doesn’t begin to describe the love felt by the recipients of our gifts of love and time.  But, doing good for others is not where we derive all our satisfaction either.
    For several years, a popular women’s Bible study has been the “Proverbs 31 Woman.”  I like this passage of Scripture in Proverbs 31:10-31 (NIV), written by Israel’s King Solomon who had achieved fame as the wisest man in the world.  It speaks about a wife of noble character, and what she does to bring blessing to her husband and children, her family.  She works to care and provide for the needs of her household.  She buys and sells property and goods for a profit.  She respects her husband and brings him good in all she does, whether at home, among her friends, or in the city at large.  She speaks with a wise heart.  She does not sit around in idleness; instead, she demonstrates strength and dignity in all situations.
    As I ponder this passage, I feel like it shows that I clearly don’t measure up.  For I know all too well my own failings.  Yet, there’s no reason why I cannot pursue change within.  So, I shall seek that quiet time to study, meditate, pray, and listen to what the Lord has to say within my heart.  It’s the Lord’s approval I seek… to guide my steps, to change my course, to cover me with forgiveness, peace and contentment, and to find satisfaction in doing what He expects of me even when it’s not the easiest path, nor the one I would choose.
    May you be blessed - whether or not you are called Mom - for all the love you share, and for all the time and effort you put into being there for those around you… Happy Mother’s Day! 
    I Am A Woman
    Linda A. Roorda
    I am a woman.  I am a mother.
    I’m a little girl, deep in my heart.
    I am emotions, raw and revealing.
    I am deep strength when life overwhelms.
    ~
    I’ve carried love within my heart
    For family dear, and friends held close,
    For husband wise, light of my world
    And children young, growing their dreams.
    ~
    I see the needs to be fulfilled.
    I reach to you, a life to touch.
    I shed a tear, and hold your hand
    To ease your pain, and bring a smile.
    ~
    In quiet time, I seek Your will, Lord.
    A time to renew, to calm my fears,
    To savor sweet dreams, my hopes and plans
    As You care for me, and meet all my needs.
    ~
    I fail at times to walk the path
    Yet You, oh Lord, are at my side.
    You pick me up each time I fall
    To gently remind, Your child I am.
    ~
    I’ve harbored pain of losses that wound.
    I’ve weathered storms, battered and scarred.
    My weary soul with peace You fill,
    That I may praise and bless Your name.
    ~
    I hear Your voice and will in Your Word,
    For wisdom I’ve gained upon this road
    Will lead me on to comfort and love
    Others in need with You at my side.
    Photo taken by my Dad of Mom, my sister and me in our one-room cabin in Delta Junction, Alaska
    while my Dad completed his Army service foreign assignment (before Alaskan statehood).
     
  23. Linda Roorda
    Early April is typically the start of fishing season.  And as a kid, I loved to go fishing with my Dad… not so much for how to catch “the big one” as simply spending time with my Dad.  When I was about age 7 or 8, he had me, my sister and brother practice casting our lines with a lead weight (instead of a hook) into a 5-gallon bucket.  Can’t say I hit the mark very often!  I also remember fishing in the Erie Canal just west of Palmyra, New York.  One time we even watched a boat being raised in the lock while we stood on the concrete edging… petrified I’d fall in and drown!
    After moving back to New Jersey near my Dad’s family, we fished in the large pond at Clifton’s Garret Mountain, Lake Hopatcong, and Upper Greenwood Lake in northern Jersey all where he’d fished as a youngster with his father.  I never could bear to touch those squiggly worms, or put them on the hook, though my sister didn’t seem to mind so I left that nasty deed to her or Dad.  I only managed to catch little fish, so was never even able to brag about catching “the big one!”  And I could never manage to touch their slimy scaly bodies either!  Ugh!!! Dad filleted them, and Mom cooked them up so scrumptiously!
    But there’s another aspect of fishing we don’t often think about.  I remember a song we sang as kids in East Palmyra Christian School, enjoying the hand motions that went along it:  “I will make you fishers of men, fishers of men, fishers of men.  I will make you fishers of men, if you follow Me...” 
    The words to this children’s song are taken directly from Jesus’ words to Peter and Andrew, two brothers who were fishing on the Sea of Galilee:  “Come, follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.”  (Matthew 4:19 NIV)  Jesus called twelve men as His disciples, men from various backgrounds – Peter and Andrew (brothers, fishermen), John and James (brothers, fishermen), Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, Matthew (tax collector, a despised occupation), James, Thaddeus, Simon the Zealot, Judas Iscariot (who later betrayed Jesus and then hung himself), Matthias (who replaced Judas), and Paul whom Jesus met on the road to Damascus.  (Acts 9:1-22)
    Paul, a tentmaker, previously known as Saul, was a Jew who zealously killed many Christians before his conversion, thinking he was stopping the spread of heresy.  Answering the call of God on that road, Paul became an Apostle, a fisher of men, and helped spread the Gospel far and wide, writing 13 New Testament books (or 14 books if he authored Hebrews).
    Jesus had taught the initial twelve for three years, giving the example of His holy life and words for them to follow.  It was His mission to teach them the foundations of His love and truth, knowing that He would later send them out to reach others in His name… with His words and example for us to follow today.
    It makes us think a little deeper as we compare fishing gear and their function to that of fishing for the hearts of our friends.  Letting others know Christ’s gift of love and forgiveness is our calling.  For, in pondering Jesus’ words, we are reminded to fulfill Christ’s words in Matthew 28:19 to “…go and make disciples of all nations…,” and this poem began to take shape in my thoughts. 
    Going Fishing
    Linda A. Roorda
    Walking along with pole in hand
    The peace of nature to soothe the soul
    With time to think and ponder life’s ways
    To ease the tension from busy schedules.
     
    With rod and reel slung over shoulder
    Whistling a tune that lifts the soul
    Down narrow path to water’s edge
    Dappled shadows splay out from the sun.
     
    Finding a spot along the shore
    To sit a spell and cast out my line
    The wiggling worms, bait for the fish
    On hooks to lure and tempt the big one.
     
    Standing on shore I cast out my line
    And patiently wait, watching the dobber
    Thinking of life, my family and friends
    Thoughts to ponder, and wisdom to gain.
     
    Did not our Lord say, “Come follow me,
    And I will make you fishers of men.”
    Allegory set in their working days
    From fishing nets to fishing for souls.
     
    The pole holds gear like Bibles the Word
    It’s the main support as Scripture to life
    Fishing depends on strength of the rod
    As life relies on God’s truth to lead.
     
    A reel is the heart which sends out the line
    Reaching others with love for their soul
    Extending a hand to draw from afar
    To carry their load, burdens to lighten.
     
    The line holds the lure of gospel truth
    Our faith walk shared, testament to grace
    With mercy gentle we lead them to Christ
    Who transforms hearts, redeems by His love.
     
    With hook we set the love of Jesus
    His death took our sin, from One who knew none
    For by his gift He purchased our souls
    That in His life salvation we find.
     
    A creel we need to hold new believers
    A welcoming church to warmly receive,
    To teach and guide for growth and change
    That they may know new life in the Lord.
     
    How like fishing is seeking lost souls
    To draw them close with love from our heart
    To help them see God’s truth from His word.
    So pick up your pole, let God make the catch!
    ~~
    Photo Credit: My Mom took this on her old camera of me, my sister and Dad
    going fishing on a cold spring morning 1965,
    Lake Hopatcong, NJ
  24. Linda Roorda
    44 years ago today, a precious little girl named Jennifer Arleen was welcomed into our arms. I praise God that we were blessed to have her in our lives for 25 years… just as she blessed others around her.  She was Miss Spencer 1993, Spencer-Van Etten Valedictorian 1996, graduating from Houghton College in 2000 with degrees in elementary education and psychology, earning her master’s as a school psychologist from Alfred University in 2003. She was good, gifted actually, in this field.  Even in high school, friends sought her out for advice.
    We loved our three kids and tried to do a lot together – like going for walks, playing board games or outdoor games, watching our son’s baseball games as a family, stacking firewood together, eating supper together with time to talk about our day, and listening to classic rock and Christian contemporary music.  But life is short.  All too quickly our kids grow up and move on in life, leaving us to wonder where all those busy years went.  Now I understand why older relatives would say to me as a child, “Don't wish to grow up so fast.  You’ll get there soon enough.”  They were right… time sneaks by all too quickly… and Jenn passed away on June 30, 2003 after an unexpected collapse two days earlier.
    When words cannot begin to speak… a mother's heart never forgets. How blessed we've been, and how blessed we are, with God's gift of our children, each especially precious and dear. It's a time to remember, not in sadness of heart, but joy for the blessing, of a life once lived, a gift of memories, a legacy of peace.
    I grieved, and grieved hard for a life well lived and well loved. But that time has passed, and I now celebrate the joy of remembering a beautiful life and all who were touched by her life and love. I miss Jenn, but praise God for the memories of her life well lived and love freely given as we take forward with us the joy from a precious gift.
    Jennifer was our firstborn, an answer to prayer after two miscarriages.  She was born at 3:03 on Monday morning, April 24, 1978.  And, I always remembered it snowed about two inches that morning, after having been in the 80s the week before! As excited as I was that we had our precious little one, I remember thinking after we brought Jennifer home – now what do I do?  I had a baby to care for, and even though I’d shared the care of four younger brothers, and babysat every other day with my sister all thru high school for 4 kids next door, and for many others as a teen, this was different – this was my own baby, 24 hours a day!  I carried her into our trailer and snuggled her into her bassinette, a precious little bundle.  Like all new mothers, I learned day by day as she grew up.
    Jennifer took her time learning to talk.  Maybe, being the first and only child for a while, her Mom knew just what she wanted so she really didn’t have to speak much. One night, looking out the window of the backroom door waiting for Ed to come home from the barn, I purposely did not pick Jenny up to see what she would do.  Very clearly she said, “Pick…me…up.”  Her first sentence!  So, of course I picked her up! 
    As she grew older, Jenny loved being by her Daddy in the barn, riding in the grain cart, “helping” to feed the cows and mixing up the calf replacer milk formula with her Daddy.
    And then along came Emily.  Ed had knee surgery in late October 1980 for torn cartilage from squatting under the cows and tractors on the farm.  The day after he came home, we went back to the hospital as he hobbled around on crutches. Emily had decided she was ready to arrive nine days early on Sunday, November 2nd. That was typical of Emily, ready to face the world and eager for the next adventure.  Another beautiful little girl, with a lot of pretty black hair, though she’s definitely blonde now.
    Jenny was given a twin bed before Emily was born, which made her feel like a big girl!  She loved her baby sister Emily dearly, and I think fancied she was “her” baby.  She often climbed into the crib to sleep with Emily overnight.  
    We now had two busy, growing toddlers to care for, good little girls who loved to play together and make their own fun. We built our house in the summer of 1982 while expecting Dan, and moved in on August 18th.  Though active throughout the summer with the usual gardening, canning and freezing vegetables and fruit, the move took much more out of me than expected, and I was utterly exhausted. The girls loved all the steps in the house, and often played with their dolls or had a tea party there!  The free space in the basement provided room to ride their tricycles around.  In preparation for the new baby, Emi was moved from the crib into the bottom of a bunkbed – she was a big girl now! And Jennifer and Emily became big sisters to their brother, Daniel, on October 28th.
    Nearly two years later, our county Pennysaver held an art contest for the annual community brochure.  It was to include something specific to Tioga County with a $50 prize.  I entered the contest with the hope that, if I won, I could buy a swing set that I longed to give my children.  God knew my heart’s desire and, amazingly, I won!  I had not had time to refine my collage sketches of Tioga County life, but my kids got their first swing set! 
    We enjoyed playing games, taking walks in the back fields or on the hill, played badminton, volleyball, card games, and board games; and, in the winter, snow forts and life-sized snowmen were made, with sledding down the slope behind our property.  We invented a few games of our own – like floor hockey in the kitchen while waiting for supper to cook.  We used a small ball and attempted to kick it with bare feet past the other person to score.  The kids also played bowling in the hall by setting up empty 2-liter soda bottles, using a tennis ball or similar-sized ball to roll down the hall, knocking over as many bottles as possible. 
    I sewed a lot when they were younger, making clothes for the kids, Ed and myself – shirts, pants, dresses, nightgowns, bathrobes, and even doll clothes.  I loved playing with my little ones, even on my hands and knees on the floor or outside on the ground.  Saturday evening was always homemade pizza night since we got married.  The kids loved it, and as a teen Jenn made tapioca pudding with layered blueberries for dessert - a delicious way to top off dinner!  She loved to fuss over meals and make delicious treats, a natural at cooking like her Daddy’s Mom.
    Jenn also had a favorite joke, “Hollow Statue,” which she told with a terrific “old European” accent.  One day, a very wealthy businessman decided to build a new home with the finest materials money could buy.  As he discussed the house with the contractor, he told the man what he wanted.  “Over here, I want a curved staircase, made of the best wood with fancy railings.  Here, I want a beautiful fireplace, made with the finest marble you can find.  And, over here, I want a ‘hollow statue.’”  “Not a problem; we can do all of this,” said the contractor.  “But, there’s one thing I don’t understand.  You want a ‘hollow statue?’”  “Oh yes; I want the very best ‘hollow statue.’”  “Ok, that’s what we’ll do.”  Not able to be around during the construction, the owner told the contractor that no expense should be spared for the best items.  When the mansion was finally completed, the contractor showed the owner all of the fine details.  “Oh, this is beautiful!  It’s just what I wanted.  It’s perfect!  I like it very much!” exclaimed the owner. “But, wait… what’s this?”  The contractor replied, “Why, that’s what you asked for – a hollow statue.”  “No, no, no.  That’s not what I want. You know – ‘Rrrring! Rrrring! Hollow! Statue?”  I loved to hear her tell this story with an “old-world” accent and her graceful, feminine hand gestures. 
    As we look back with 20/20 hindsight, we tend think of our loved ones who have left us as virtually perfect.  I find myself doing that with Jenn, but I know she had her faults too.  It was said by their band teacher that Jenn was a special person who was kind, loving, thoughtful and sweet. She was a quiet person, who never said a bad word about anyone.  Jenn truly had a sweet, gentle spirit.  She cared about others and gave of herself in helping them.  She always had time to listen to her friends or family, to listen to those who sought her advice, or to those who just needed an ear. But…
    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.  Their dad was at The Carroll Center for the Blind in Massachusetts, and I was grocery shopping with all three kids.  As I turned around, Jenn was slowly taking 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, he would have charged her with shoplifting, I said.  And, people who do that get sent 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 the county jail. I’m sure the message was received, and Jenn never attempted to steal anything again.
    Our children – each a unique individual, a most precious gift from God to be treasured and loved as we guide them on their journey through life.  My late friend and distant cousin, Mimi, shared a quote from her stitchery – “There are two lasting gifts we can give to 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.
     
    Song of the Soul
    For Jenn
    Linda A. Roorda  
    Music expresses the song of the soul,
    From out the depth of pain and despair,
    To upward heights of love and joy…
     
    When words cannot express,
    music brings forth its lilting song
    to comfort and soothe with healing touch…
     
    Remember with me a tender time
    colored by loss and deepest grief
    yet filled with hope and contented peace…
     
    A peace beyond all understanding,
    in the flight Home of a precious soul
    to glory and joy beyond compare…
  25. Linda Roorda
    Beauty – we all admire the aesthetic and beautiful in both people and nature, though beauty is in the eye of the beholder they say.  Often, as our young girls strive to look beautiful, they imitate the actresses and models they admire on the “silver screen” or magazine covers.  But youthfulness fails to realize the images are a façade, made more beautiful and glamorous by makeup and the air brush.  It’s not a true beauty.  And a pretty face may not always have a heart of love.  For “…man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” (I Samuel 16:7b)  So then, what is beauty?  And how do we define it? 
    There’s an old-fashioned philosophy which I believe still holds true today.  “Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as [elaborate hairstyles] and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes.  Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.”  (I Peter 3:3-4 NIV) 
    With those words in mind, when we give of ourselves to benefit others, a depth of beauty is seen through the glow of an unselfish act, and a genuine love for others.  “Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.” (Proverbs 31:30)  Living our life to please God reflects the unique inner beauty He blessed each of us with.  “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mothers’ womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful. I know that full well.”  (Psalm 139:13-14)
    We show the beauty of true character by reaching out to help those in need, especially those who cannot pay us back for such a free gift.  Beauty is in a heart of humility, serving others with grace and gentle kindness.  Beauty shines brightly when we don’t call attention to ourselves… as we quietly go about living a life of peace by showing honor and respect to all we meet on our path.  And you know what has touched someone with the beauty of your heart…
    Yet, the question must be asked… then what is the opposite of love’s beauty?  The generous airs or charms put on to cover that which has been defiled… to disguise a selfish attitude of pride filled with self-centeredness and greed.
    Which brings us back to our question, what is beauty?  Smiles to brighten someone’s day.  A helping hand serving those in need.  Sharing truth with humility.  Generous acts of kindness strewn among friends and strangers.  An unfading gentle spirit of love and peace found within the selfless heart.  Among these and more we find true beauty…   
    What is Beauty?
    Linda A. Roorda 
    What is beauty if the heart is shallow
    What is glamor when rudeness takes charge
    And what is charm with selfish desire…
    For what is love but the giving of self?
    ~
    What then are words when the mind deceives
    What is character with rebellious soul
    Why enticing lures to captivate hearts…
    For what is virtue but integrity’s truth?
    ~
    What is kindness if the tongue reviles
    And what is honor without reputation
    Or the humble soul if boastful and proud…
    For what is grace but gentle elegance?
    ~
    What is adornment when respect has fled
    What are principles if deceit is the core
    What is esteem when self is worth more…
    For what is honor but morality’s judge?
    ~
    What then is beauty but innocence pure
    The charm and grace of respectful repute
    Humility’s stance with integrity’s honor…
    For what is beauty but the gift of self?
    ~~
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