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Linda Roorda

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Blog Entries posted by Linda Roorda

  1. Linda Roorda
    Father’s Day… a time to remember the dads we treasure.  They’ve taught us well in the ways of life.  I remember a lot about my dad.  In fact, it would be fair to say that I had put him on a pedestal while growing up… not a wise placement for anyone. But it seems he could do anything and everything, a jack-of-all-trades, almost perfect in my little girl eyes.  Though none of us can measure up all the time, there is One who is perfect… who forgives all our failings… our heavenly Father.
    But, yes, there is so much my Dad taught me and my five siblings, including all about the love of Jesus.   As a small child on the farm, I would say, “Jesus is my best friend!”  But, for a time as a teen, I forgot my childhood friend until my Dad reminded me of those words I used to say as a little girl.  Oops! 
    I loved playing board games on Sunday afternoons with my Dad, especially Scrabble. I love the challenge of this game and tend to play aggressively, perhaps because I was in tough competition with my Dad.  Though I won only one game against him over those several years, it was a sweet victory knowing that I’d accomplished the win without his having given me an edge… his way of readying us for the world.
    He taught me honesty was the right way such that in 8th grade English class I chose to write an essay entitled “Honesty Is The Best Policy”, receiving a coveted A.  Actually, I think I may have gotten writing and art abilities from him.  Although he was an exceptional storyteller, perfectly imitating voice and mannerisms of various comedians, I speak best through the written word.  He also had a gift for drawing with his talent for art passed on to me and my son.  He loved trains, especially the old steam engines, having grown up next to the tracks in Clifton, NJ.  I loved watching him as he built a passenger car for his train set, using a tweezers to handle those tiny parts.  I watched him build Packard and Duesenberg model cars, and a German Focke-Wulf plane from WWII, 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 Greely, 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 also remember having heard how he, his best buddy Roland Neefe, 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 Greely 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 was also 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 Greely, 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-percolated coffee… which greatly impressed the general.  When the general asked who made the coffee, the aide who was supposed to have made it “blamed” my Dad.  Instead of the feared reprimand for the typically bad-tasting coffee the office was known for, the general complimented my father on making the best cup he’d ever tasted!  Turning to the senior officer, he ordered him to give my father a promotion!
    When we were younger, he always had time for us. When we lived in Jersey, I loved it when 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 rabbits 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 children.
    But I treasure our renewed relationship later in life.  With apologies for my own errors as a teen, I heard his sadness as I expressed how family dysfunction affected all of us, and he understood my saying I/we all had needed him more than he realized when he was on the road for 2-4 weeks at a time.  I appreciated his compliments on my writing for a local newspaper, my own blogs, publishing genealogy research in a nationally recognized 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 revered 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.
    But I was never so happy as when we moved back to New York on August 16, 1969!  Though I hated city life, I can now look back at special memories of 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! He did have a great sense of humor, which I valued in my husband Ed, too.
    But I also learned the hard way that running War Bugg flat out up the road and back could have killed her, hot, sweaty and lathered.  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… and her gentle neighs when I put grain and hay in her feed trough.
    Soon enough, I got married and began a new life with my new family, while my siblings and parents scattered themselves around the U.S.  Life changes, and we change with it. We learn from those childhood mistakes and grow up wiser for them.  As a child, I teased 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 thankful to be alive and working!  Giving him this writing in 2014 before he passed away April 17, 2015, his wedding anniversary with my Mom, he knew I felt blessed to have him as my Dad.  Sometimes I wish I could go back and relive the childhood fun of days long ago, but I treasure those memories that linger still... and I love you, Dad!
    May you each be blessed with very special memories of your Dad, too!  Happy Father’s Day! 
    I Remember A Dad
    Linda A. Roorda
    I remember a dad who took me fishin’
    And remember a dad who hooked my worms,
    Who took those hooks from fishy mouths,
    And showed me the country way of life.
    ~
    A family of six, two girls and four boys
    Fun and trouble we shared as we grew.
    From farms and fields to paved avenues,
    Walking and biking, exploring we went.
    ~
    I remember a time spent playing games,
    A dad who’d not cheat for us to win.
    Family and friends and holiday dinners,
    Lakes and farms and countryside drives.
    ~
    Weeds were the bane of childhood fun,
    So ‘tween the rows we ran and we played.
    But as I grew and matured in age,
    Weeding was therapy in gardens of mine.
    ~
    I remember a dad who thrived on farming
    Livestock and gardens, and teaching me how.
    I remember a dad who took me huntin’
    Scoutin’ the fields, always alert.
    ~
    I remember a dad who taught us more
    For growing up we learn by example.
    I remember working alongside my dad
    Roofing a barn and building corrals.
    ~
    I remember a dad whose gifts were given
    In fairness to meet each child’s desire.
    I remember a dad whose wisdom we honor
    In memories of caring and love in small ways.
    ~
    I remember a dad who brought us laughter
    With Cajun and Cosby stories retold.
    For blessed with a gift of retelling tales
    Family and childhood events he recalled.
    ~
    I remember a dad whose time was given
    To help his children face life’s turmoils.
    Time spent together are memories treasured
    For things done best put family first.
    ~
    I remember a dad who taught me more
    To treasure my faith in Jesus my friend.
    In looking to Him as Savior and Lord,
    Salvation by Grace, not earned by my deed.
    ~
    As I look back to days long ago,
    I remember the dad I knew so well.
    For I miss the dad who took me fishin’
    And remember the dad who taught me more.
    ~
  2. 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 and compassion.  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 wise words from Scripture in mind, when we give of ourselves to benefit others, a depth of beauty is seen through the glow of an unselfish act – the embodiment of 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 has 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 generous 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 of life.  For you will know when someone has been deeply touched by the beauty of your heart…
    Yet, the question must be asked… what is the opposite of love’s beauty?  The generous airs or charms put on to cover that which is defiled… a self-proclaimed boasting in how humble one is… the disguising of a selfish attitude of pride filled with self-centeredness and greed… an indifference, or absence of emotion, caring, compassion, and love.
    Which brings us back to our initial question, what is beauty? Smiles to brighten someone’s day… a helping hand serving those in need... sharing truth with true humility… earning trust with acceptance and respect of others… generous acts of kindness strewn among friends and strangers… and an unfading gentle spirit of love and peace found within the selfless heart.  Among these and more we find true beauty… 
    For “[beauty] 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 3:4)
    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
    Or 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?
    ~~
  3. Linda Roorda
    With Memorial Day celebrated last weekend, my thoughts were of those who gave their lives in war that we and so many around the world might live in freedom.  Their battles on the field and in the mind are not what we who have never been there can truly fathom.  We can listen to or read survivors’ stories, hear of their fears amid tales of bravery, empathize with the sadness and trauma as they share the loss of buddies and who and what they might have become, consider questions relating to the whys and wherefores of war and the lessons learned, but we can never fully comprehend unless we’ve been there.  I’m very thankful for all who have served for the sake of freedom, but especially remember those who made the ultimate sacrifice.
    Yet, even a few years ago, the corona-virus pandemic was being compared to an invisible war.  Here and around the world, we battled an infection among us that struck unexpectedly.  Our medical professionals grew weary on their battlefront, faced daily unknowns, while being the sole comfort to those dying without family present.  We faced the loss of family and community members to Covid, not to mention the toll among the greater world community.  We saw unemployment numbers skyrocket, houses of worship closing for a while with a smaller return of members, businesses being shuttered forever, long lines of the weary waiting patiently for free food, arrests of those trying to open their business to normalcy while hardened criminals are released from jail only to commit crimes again without true legal justice, and we’re left with doubts and fears.  Will life ever be normal again?
    I have various doubts and fears, too.  If we’re honest, we all do.  We think we’re not good enough and will never measure up.  We may doubt our abilities or skills, fear a lack of control in certain situations, or fear the unknown future.  We look for accolades to prop us up, to make us feel better about ourselves, trying to prove that we really are someone of some importance.  
    But I have to ask: whose voice am I listening to?  That inner voice which berates me for every mistake, every misstep, every poor choice or selfish deed, even looking for praise… or, am I listening in humility to God’s gentle nudging, that quiet voice in my soul from His deep and tender love?  A number of times I’ve been nudged with a gentle inner whisper, while other times I’ve heard His voice speak loud and clear.  Unfortunately, I have not always listened and reacted as I should have.  My will, my desired outcome, got in the way of God’s voice.  I need to remember to “be still, and know that [He is] God.” (Psalm 46:10a)  For when I quiet my frantic ruminations and sit still, humbly and quietly waiting to hear the Lord’s guiding words, it is then that my heart is receptive, and my doubts and fears subside. 
    Open to profound wisdom and examples of Christ’s love in the world around us, I recall “Blood Brothers” from M*A*S*H (April 6, 1981).  This episode is a classic, my favorite about the medical unit’s priest, Father Francis Mulcahy.  I appreciate his quiet gentle ways, words of wisdom, and deep humility, yet I also appreciate that he is not so “holier than thou.”  Like the rest of us in many ways, he reveals a temper flare at times.  Knowing his superior, Cardinal Reardon, is scheduled to visit and review what Mulcahy has accomplished at the 4077th, the good Father wants everything and everyone around him to show perfection… including his own sermon.  Instead, Mulcahy becomes cranky and frantic with constant interruptions from side issues.  Oh, so like me, and all of us, at times!
    In the midst of feeling sorry for himself, Father Mulcahy learns that Capt. Pierce has just diagnosed one of his patients with an incurable disease.  Offering his own blood for his severely wounded best friend, a young soldier is told he has leukemia and can’t give blood.  Arguing about plans to send him out the next morning to the hospital in Seoul, Pvt. Gary Sturgis insists to frustrated Capt. Pierce that he wants to stay.  A matter of days won’t bring him a cure, and it’s more important that he be at his buddy’s side when his wounded and unconscious friend wakes up.  Ultimately, Father Mulcahy sits down and talks with Sturgis.

    The next morning, Cpl. Max Klinger searches for and finally finds the Father still in his pajamas and bathrobe, engrossed in conversation with Sturgis.  Suddenly realizing the entire night has passed them by, Mulcahy is self-conscious and visibly upset at himself.  Totally unprepared to face the Cardinal and his congregants, Mulcahy enters the mess tent used for the worship service.  Stumbling over apologies for his lateness and disheveled appearance, and lack of a well-written sermon, Father Mulcahy decides to simply tell the truth. 
    “I want to tell you about two men.  Each facing his own crisis.  The first man you know rather well.  The second is a patient here.  Well, the first man thought he was facing a crisis.  But what he was really doing was trying to impress someone.  He was looking for recognition, encouragement, a pat on the back.  And whenever that recognition seemed threatened, he reacted rather childishly.  Blamed everyone for his problems but himself, because he was thinking only of himself.  But the second man was confronted with the greatest crisis mortal man can face - the loss of his life.  I think you will agree that the second man had every right to be selfish.  But instead he chose to think not of himself, but of a brother.  A brother!  When the first man saw the dignity and the selflessness of the second man, he realized how petty and selfish he had... I... I... I had been!  It made me see something more clearly than I've ever seen it before.  God didn't put us here for that pat on the back.  He created us so He could be here himself.  So, He could exist in the lives of those He created in his image.”
    What great words to live by!  We truly have a purpose in life!  We can learn so much from others around us in examples of Christ’s love… even as we’re in the world, but not of it. (John 17:14-16)  Just as our “faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1), so should our doubts and fears disappear in the presence of our Lord.  “You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in You.  Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord…is the Rock eternal.”  (Isaiah 26:3,4)
    It’s not the inner negatives nor the adulation I hope to hear that matters.  It’s where my heart resides in humility as I seek our Lord’s approval.  As we each grow in faith, we look to God to guide us through our fears, doubts of inadequacy or inferiority that plague our thoughts, the negativity which so easily berates us… remembering and recognizing that we belong to God, and are loved beyond measure by Him.  Christ lives in us as we become His hands and feet to reach others.  In bringing Him our praise, we will hear His still small voice in our hearts, removing all doubts and fears that assail no matter what we face. 
    When Doubts Assail…
    Linda A. Roorda
    When doubts assail look up beyond self
    Focus on truth from wisdom above.
    Take heart from His words spoken in peace
    And know He holds you in the palm of His hand.
    ~
    When doubts assail know you’re not alone
    There’s Someone who cares, your burden to bear.
    He’ll give you His peace and provide a way through
    As darkest of nights emerge in new dawn.
    ~
    When doubts assail and plague your heart
    Thinking your worth isn’t good enough,
    That you could never measure up in life,
    Know there is Someone who believes in you.
    ~
    When doubts assail and fears haunt your path
    Speak softly in prayer and listen for His voice,
    That gentlest nudge stirring in your soul,
    As He guides your steps in the way you should go.
    ~
    When doubts assail be eager to learn
    At the feet of Him whose wisdom excels,
    Bask in His love and dwell in His presence
    Building your faith to prosper in truth.
    ~
    When doubts assail lift your voice in song
    Glorify His name with reverence and awe,
    For Holy is He, full of mercy and grace…
    As a child of the King, you’re loved beyond measure.
    ~~
  4. Linda Roorda

    Laundry Day

    By Linda Roorda,

    Starting my early Saturday morning chore of laundry, I couldn’t help recall this article I wrote a few years ago. Doing the laundry is everyone’s favorite chore, right?  Ummm… no!  Even with modern conveniences, it’s a task I don’t think many of us look forward to.  Sort the darks and lights, delicate linens from the jeans, pre-treat stains, use various cycles and water temperatures, to bleach or not to bleach, does it go in the dryer, on a hanger or the clothesline outside, does it need to be ironed or can it get by with some wrinkles, etc.  You all get the idea! 
    Actually there was a time my sister (age 10) and I (age 11) did all the family laundry at the city laundromat at the top of the block after my third brother was born and our Mom was laid up with health issues that summer. We pulled the "little red wagon" with one or two baskets of laundry piled up, and learned pretty quick how to do the laundry on our own without being taught, using those big washers and driers. With teamwork, we folded the big sheets and everything else to the admiration of older folks doing their own laundry. But the best part was the incentive in that we also had some money to buy treats each time!
    I remember as I grew up that my dad’s mother did laundry on Monday and ironed on Tuesday, without fail.  Both she and my mother had old wringer washers, which fascinated us kids.  My sister and I actually enjoyed putting the laundry through the rollers to “wring” out the excess water, heeding the warning to keep our fingers away from those menacing rollers!  I’m sure many of my readers remember those antique washers, too!  With perhaps a few fingers painfully scrunched between the rollers.
    So, imagine what it must have been like doing laundry in colonial days without washers and dryers.  The fabrics were wool, linen, cotton or silk, without permanent press.  It was a major undertaking back then, and not an effort completed every week.  I found it interesting to learn that most items laundered were “body linen.”  These garments (undershirts, shifts, chemises, etc.) were worn next to the skin to protect the fancy outer shirts and dresses from skin oils and sweat.  Clothing from a few centuries ago was not laundered often because the undergarments protected them, in turn being the very reason that antique clothing has survived the centuries.  Removable cuffs and collars also protected their shirts and dresses from dirt, along with the full bib aprons which I recall my mom’s mother always wearing over her dresses in the old farmhouse.  My dad’s mother seemed to wear mostly a below-the-waist type apron over her every-day dress.  Wearing pants, or jeans, was out of the question for my grandmothers’ generation!

    But, to wash all the laundry, soap was needed.  One of the annual fall chores was to make soap, typically done after the fall butchering of hogs.  Virtually every part of a butchered hog had a purpose with the lard being used for cooking or making soap.  Soap making began well in advance by burning hardwoods down to white ash.  Next, a tall wooden barrel was set up with holes in the bottom for drainage.  Small stones were placed in the bottom of the barrel, and covered with straw.  A good layer of white ashes was put in with naturally soft rainwater poured on top of the ashes.  Then followed a slow drainage of the water down through the ashes, straw and stones before the liquid leached out of the holes in the bottom of the barrel and into a separate wooden or glass bucket.  This effort produced liquid lye.  Aluminum containers were not used as the lye would destroy them.
    Sometimes an ash hopper was used to make lye rather than the tall wooden barrel.  By keeping the ash hopper in a shed to protect it from rain, fresh ashes could be added periodically with water poured on top every so often to obtain a steady supply of lye.  Again, the lye would drip slowly into a bucket beneath the hopper. 
    To test the strength of the lye, either a potato or an egg was floated on top.  If it floated with about a modern quarter-sized area of its surface above the liquid, the lye was ready for use in making soap.  If it was too weak, it could be boiled down more, or poured back through more ashes.  If it was too strong, a little more water was added.
    To make old-fashioned soap, water, lye and tallow/animal fat is needed.  One recipe I found online uses 2 gallons of rain water, 10 ounces of lye by volume (not weight), and 5 lbs of tallow/lard (animal fat).  Trim the fat into about 1-inch cubes, removing anything that looks like meat or is not white.  Start a fire under a cast iron pot (split pine apparently works best as it heats quickly and the heat is controlled easier).  Place the tallow cubes into the pot to render (cook) the fat into a liquid.  Once the fat has cooked down, strain it through cheesecloth in a funnel-shaped container.  The liquid should be a nice amber color. 
    Then, measure and weigh 5 lbs of liquid fat, putting it back into the cast iron pot (again, aluminum will be eaten by the lye).  Slowly add the water to the fat, which cools the fat down to solidify it into a greasy cream.  Make sure the mixture is well blended.  Carefully measure out 10 oz. of lye into a glass container.  (Red Devil Lye brand can be purchased, and was often used by our ancestors if they did not make their own lye from ashes.)  Carefully add the lye into the tallow/water mixture using a wooden paddle to stir it gently.  Be careful - since lye is extremely caustic, it can burn your skin and eyes on contact. 
    Cook the soap mixture for 30-60 minutes, stirring occasionally, adjusting the heat to keep it from boiling over.  After cooking, the mixture should be similar to a creamy chicken soup.  When the wooden paddle removed from the mixture has “sheets” that look like hot wax hanging from the paddle, it’s ready to pour into wooden, glass or cast-iron molds that have been lined with plastic wrap or waxed paper.  Allow the soap to harden for a few days before cutting it into bars.  It may take a week or more to harden for use.  (Online Source:  Shepherds Hill Homestead, Making Lye Soap – no longer available online.  Try Daves Homestead, How to make the easiest lye soap ever.
    Before washing stacks of laundry, the ladies would have sorted the clothing, soaking some overnight in soapy water.  Sounds similar enough, doesn’t it?!  But the difference starts with their gathering enough firewood to feed a large fire under each huge copper (which did not rust or stain like iron) or black cast-iron kettle.  You’ve seen those kettles in front yards either upright or on their side as a large flower urn.  The Iron Kettle Farm in Candor takes its name from their large black iron kettles on display.
    Next, water had to be hauled from the well to fill the kettle(s) and any other wash or rinse basins.  About 20-40 gallons of water were needed per wash load, with perhaps 10 gallons more for the scrub and rinse basins.  Remember, they had no running water back then either; and, if they did not have a water source close at hand, walking a distance with heavy shoulder yokes to carry buckets of water would have been the norm.  My mom’s mother raised a large farm family of 12 children, not having running water in the house until the early 1930s, 20 or so years after my grandparents married (my mother, child #11, was born after running water was available).  Are we tired yet?!
    After starting a good fire under the kettle to boil the water, some lye soap was put into the water.  Clothes were then dunked into the boiling water and agitated by using a 2-3 foot long wooden paddle.  Some garments might be removed to a smaller basin where they could be scrubbed more thoroughly to remove dirt and stains.  Remember the antique wooden shutter-like washboards?  They were put to good use as the clothes were rubbed over the “shutters” to loosen dirt.  Chalk and brick dust were often used on greasy stains.  Alcohol could treat grass stains, kerosene, and blood stains.  Milk was believed to be helpful in removing fruit stains from clothing and urine stains from diapers.  Lemon and onion juice were often used for bleaching. 
    Colored garments were not washed with lye soap in order to prevent fading.  Instead, they were scrubbed by hand in cold or lukewarm water.  Need something starched?  Great-great-grandma simply put that garment into water that had been used to cook potatoes or rice, making sure the water had not soured or turned moldy before putting the clothing in it.  If the used potato or rice water was not used for laundry, it was often used to make bread.  Nothing went to waste back then. 
    Once boiled, washed and rinsed, the laundry had to be wrung out before drying.  If you were wealthy, you might own a “box mangle” which wound the laundry around rollers, and then rolled a heavy box over them to squeeze out excess water.  Normally, water was simply wrung out by hand by twisting each garment.  Then, the clothing was hung on a clothesline (without clothespins), spread out on bushes, hedgerows, fences, wooden frames, or even spread out over the lawn.  And, oh my!  If the farm animals or pets got into the clothing, one had quite a mess and had to start the process all over again.  If it was not good drying weather, everything was dried inside the house or up in the attic.  A good hot fire in the fireplace or cook stove would help dry the clothes very well.
    After the laundry was done and dried, the ladies would need to iron the clothing.  That required heating up heavy irons in the fireplace in order to press each garment.  What a hot chore that must have been!  And all the time they were taking care of the laundry, they had other household chores and meals to prepare, children to care for, and barn chores if the man of the house was out in the fields clearing land, planting or harvesting.  It was definitely not an easy life for our ancestors.
    Linda Roorda writes from her home in Spencer. 
  5. Linda Roorda

    Blessings

    By Linda Roorda,

    Blessings are simple gifts given with joy and appreciation to another. Like this week, I was blessed by one of “my” students.  Opening the door to welcome each one as they arrive, I heard how much a young lady appreciates my smiles and personal greetings every day, as she reached out to give me a big hug.  That touched my heart deeply as I thanked her with tears in my own eyes.
    Blessings are gifts given with no expectation of payback.  They arrive unexpectedly from many sources… from our dear family and friends, from strangers we pass on our daily path, from a special moment in time, and all from our God above.  Blessings convey love from the sender.  They invoke inspiration as we face nature’s finest moments of grandeur.  Given by our Creator God, blessings take our breath away as we pause in awe.
    Blessings come in the simple form of a thankful heart when we’ve given to meet someone else’s need without expecting a reward…
    Blessings come within the deep sense of pleasure for that special little something done as a random anonymous act of kindness and generosity to cheer another soul on their journey of life… 
    Blessings come specific to each person… for we are each created unique.  My blessings are different from yours, and yours are different from those who you know.  When we truly stop to think about it, we realize that all of life is a blessing.  I remember the old hymn from my childhood, “Count your blessings, name them one by one. Count your blessings, see what God hath done…”  But, in reality, I cannot even begin to count all my blessings nor to comprehend their great number.  And that’s the key – understanding that all of life, from this entire world and universe down to our little life in and of itself, is a blessing in every way imaginable from our great and awesome God!
    Blessings come with prayer and a thankful heart as we receive them from God.  He, as creator of this universe and each of us within it, owes us nothing.  Yet, He loved us so much, despite our disobedient ungrateful hearts, that “[He] shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:8)  We owe Him everything… every ounce of praise from our thankful heart… for from Him, we have life, even the air we breathe, and so much more which we take for granted every day… and from Him, we have our precious gift of eternal salvation that nothing can destroy.
    And when we see our life and the world around us that way, we truly see our blessings with a grateful heart… ready to offer praise with thanksgiving to God for such awesome gifts in even the simplest of treasures.  May you be blessed, today and always!!
    Blessings
    Linda A. Roorda
    Like dawn awaking to a gentle rain
    Are blessings showered upon our lives
    From seemingly small to greatest of all
    They are the simple, and yet not trivial.
    ~
    We take a breath with no thought to the gift
    Each second, each minute of every new day
    Yet it’s a blessing we take for granted
    With nary a thought as to the Giver.
    ~
    From dawn to dusk the sun bathes our world
    As our eyes behold the beauty around us
    With its warming glow is our life enhanced
    While we think naught from whence it came.
    ~
    A whispered word of gentle praise
    And loving concern expressed with feeling
    Abilities shared with ease of talent
    These, too, are blessings which touch deep the soul.
    ~
    An act of kindness, random or thoughtful
    Given from the heart is but a reflection,
    An image of grace like that received
    And bestowed in mercy by our Lord above.
    ~
    Love from the heart, in tenderest form
    Treasures each life we meet on our path,
    To bless another aside from our wants
    Enriches us both as God leads our way.
    ~~
  6. Linda Roorda
    I’ve had Tourette’s since age 10-11, starting within a year after my family moved from farms in upstate New York to city life in Clifton, New Jersey… the city where I was born and my dad grew up.  It was an extremely emotional, disruptive time in my life to leave behind my close friends and the country life I loved and preferred.
    I’ve shared my story before, but it bears repeating because I am not alone and I wish to encourage others. And actually, I have been contacted privately by a few with Tourette's, sharing their story.  Tourette Syndrome Awareness Month is from May 15 to June 15, with the annual Tourette Syndrome Awareness Day on June 7, 2023.  Tourette Syndrome was named for a French neurologist, Dr. Georges Gilles de la Tourette.  He was the first to describe children and adults with specific tic movements in 1884, publishing his study about this syndrome in 1885.
    I’d always believed it was the stress from moving to city life which precipitated my tics. I now understand there is often a genetic component, though I have no idea who may have had it in any older generation.  Most of my life I’ve been embarrassed and ashamed to admit I had Tourette’s.  Nor did my parents know what to do about it.  I was initially mocked, and quickly learned to hide or camouflage the tics with movements that wouldn’t be as readily obvious.  I am constantly “on alert”.  Though I can generally successfully “hide” the tics (or so I think), they have to have an out and are worse when I’m away from the public eye or under stress.
    I’ve called the tics “my habit”, but never had a diagnosis until reading a letter in a Dear Abby column in my early 20s.  Self-diagnosing from the apt description in that letter and response by the columnist, I felt such a relief to know my affliction had a name!  Still, I only shared this information with my husband and closest family. Though embarrassed and ashamed to see myself with tic movements in a family video, I have not let Tourette’s control my life or employment.  I was also afraid of passing it on to my children, but I wanted and was blessed with a family.  I’m aware of the tics, and am able to control them… but only somewhat.  And I’m also thankful they are considered “simple” tics. 
    Just as I’ve been ashamed of my movements, so my late husband was ashamed of being legally blind growing up.  (He read and approved this when I initially wrote it.)  He couldn’t see the school blackboard with his limited vision, even sitting in the front row, and would not ask for the help he needed.  Kids don’t want to be different from their peers.  When they have a noticeable difference, they are too often teased or mocked like my husband was, and become ashamed of who they are… sometimes with devastating effects, like suicide.  It’s up to us as adults, and even children, to be aware of the issues that others around us are dealing with.  If we provide support, acceptance, and encouragement, we will see ourselves for who we truly are - uniquely created in the image of God, and very loved.
    While subbing one day, I was surprised by a young student who kindly asked, “Do you have Tourette’s?”  Seeing no point in denying the obvious to those sweet innocent eyes, I replied, “Yes, I do.  But how do you know about Tourette’s?”  She’d watched a show.  As kids do, they talked amongst themselves and others began asking me questions.  This led to their teacher setting aside time so I could share what I knew about living with Tourette’s.  I answered their many questions as several added they knew someone with Tourette’s, too!  It was an informative session, endearing these students to me for their kindness and understanding.  They simply accepted me for who I am, just as I accept each of them.
    Tourette Syndrome is one type of tic disorder, meeting certain medical criteria of involuntary, repetitive movements and vocalizations, lasting for specific lengths of time.  My “simple” tics include, but are not limited to, sudden brief, repetitive movements of certain muscle groups like hard eye blinking or scrunching (the first symptom for most, including myself), facial, mouth, and head movements, shoulder shrugging, arm, hand and finger movements, head and shoulder jerking, leg and foot movements, throat clearing, repeating words or phrases verbally (or in my mind), and more.  I have an arthritic bony prominence of my collarbone from decades-long shoulder shrugs, and thoracic spine pain/arthritis from prior movements.  Tics wax and wane, change muscle groups at whim, and become worse under stress.
    Though the tics have never gone away, they often subside, albeit briefly, when I’m fully absorbed in hobbies like singing, sleeping or painting.  Totally absorbed while playing intently with my toddler son years ago, my step-mother commented that my tics had totally stopped during that brief window of time.  That was the first time I realized there really were times when “my habit” stopped!
    Tourette Syndrome is a neurodevelopmental disorder with typical onset in childhood or adolescence.  Chemical imbalances in the brain, environmental factors, or genetics are considered causative factors.  There is no cure, but there are some treatment options.  About 35 years ago, I was officially diagnosed by a neurologist and prescribed medication.  Unfortunately, taking just half a pill of the smallest dose, the dopey side effect for me was much worse than dealing with the tics, so I declined further medication.
    I do not have “complex” tics which include distinct patterns with multiple muscles and movements, hopping and twirling, head banging, and more.  Vocal tics can include sniffing, throat clearing, shouting, saying words or phrases, and repeating what was heard.  Though swearing and unacceptable language are found in a small percentage of Tourette cases, the media often describes coprolalia as a more common symptom.  My heart goes out to those with this more severe and disruptive range of tics, some of whom may qualify for disability benefits.  Many with Tourette’s also have other diagnoses including obsessive-compulsive disorder, hyperactivity (possibly me), attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder, and learning disabilities. 
    Guidepost magazine once featured contemporary Christian music singer, Jamie Grace, sharing her diagnosis of Tourette’s.  Reading the article about her, I burst into tears just to know that someone else has it but has not let it stop her from living a full life either.  I always felt so alone, never knowing anyone else with Tourette’s until I opened up about it a few years ago here on Facebook.
    Looking at this from God’s perspective, I find it comforting to know He sees me for who I am, Tourette’s and all.  He has a greater purpose for our lives as we bring honor and glory to Him in all that we do, even with our limitations.  Often, as we go through the trials of life, that’s when we learn how to trust and rely on the Lord the best.  In overcoming our own problems, God uses us and our difficult circumstances to reach others who may be dealing with similar issues, bringing love and comfort to them in a way that is as unique as we are each gifted individually.
    Sharing my brief story on the Tourette Association’s website to encourage others, you can check it out here, and read about the road others have traveled and learn more information at the Tourette Syndrome website tourette.org.
  7. Linda Roorda
    I heard this after my flights to visit family - “How can you not see God in every little thing, in every little moment?” It was a meaningful phrase in a great song by Leanna Crawford that I heard last Monday while picking up some groceries. I’d just gotten home after a 12-hour delayed flight, and thought, how fitting… especially after my trip to see some of my family the end of June.
    I was nervous about going through the airports... 1) Elmira to Detroit to Nashville, 2) Nashville to Minneapolis, and 3) Minneapolis to Detroit to Elmira... and sure enough, we had a hitch, or should I echo a friend calling it a hiccup. I'd prayed before leaving home that God would guide me through the maze of huge terminals, cities unto themselves, and He answered my prayer way better than I could have dreamed!
    Friday, June 23 – As a sub, was invited to attend a breakfast staff meeting at the middle school.  I heard the principal speak kind words about someone… which turned out to be me… greatly surprised, I promptly forgot everything she’d said, next congratulating a friend and fellow sub sitting next to me for her own award.  Then it was home to recheck my backpack, with my sister-in-law Diane and her husband Mark driving me to the airport. Elmira/Corning Regional Airport is small, updated a few years back, easy to get around in, but there was still an underlying nervousness about flying.  Yes, I’ve flown before… alone in 2004 to CA to help Emily move to SD, with Ed in 2006 to Sioux Falls, SD for Em’s graduation with her master’s, and in 1980 we took toddler Jenn to visit my family in Texas, but, still… I was very nervous about getting lost in the big city airports.
    Enter a nice couple who sat near me as we exchanged smiles and greetings.  They chose to sit near me again after we ran the gauntlet of x-rays filming our bodies and belongings.  Striking up a conversation, I learned they were flying from their home on Keuka Lake to Texas to visit a daughter.  Long story short, our words tipped each other off that we were all Christians. They knew Spencer well as their grandson works at Renovation House rehabilitation center!  They eagerly gave advice on what to do, where to go, and how to get help in the huge terminals… very welcome advice that I put to good use! My seatmate to Detroit was a young man heading off to study bio-engineering in England.
    Safely arriving at Nashville late on the 23rd, got help from those in uniform for where to exit the building to find my niece Nina who easily found me!  It was awesome to see her and Chris and their three children, Teagan, Kinley and Nadiya, and to visit with my brother Charlie and wife Monica, both with recent health issues, keeping them in my prayers. Chris and Nina’s coffee shop in Lebanon, TN, Split Bean Roasting Company (website sells their different flavors), has a welcoming, down-home atmosphere. Their menu includes delicious coffee made with Chris’s coffee-grinding expertise, soft drinks, sweet treats, soups, and breakfast fare, wishing I could eat and drink from their specialties to give a 5-star rating. And then we learned they were just ranked 4th in the top 10 best coffee shops in the entire state of Tennessee! Congratulations and way to go, Chris and Nina!!
    On the 25th, I was returned to the Nashville airport for my flight to Minneapolis, another major hub. As the seats at the gate filled up, a young man sat near me. He struck up a conversation, learning he’d been in Lebanon to visit his sister, where I’d visited Nina and her family, returning home to his wife and kids in Minneapolis. He was involved in his church’s prison ministry, bringing the Gospel to prisoners, assisting those being released in learning to support themselves on re-entering society.
    At the airport, Nick and Emily picked me up in the 3rd of 4 lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic, driving 1-1/2 hours home to Sauk Rapids. We took day trips, like walking through Munsinger & Clemens Gardens, home to beautiful floral gardens spread out over 20 acres along the Mississippi River in St. Cloud, across the river from the university where Nick is a math professor. You know I want to go back and admire the amazing beauty again, thinking maybe I could transplant a few ideas to my own gardens!
    I also visited a distant McNeill cousin, Marjorie and her husband John. They gave me a tour of Northfield’s St. Olaf and Carleton Colleges, beautiful campuses from which Marjorie retired as librarian. They showed me the bank, now museum, in Northfield where the James/Younger Gang and compatriots attempted to rob the safe in 1876. Jesse and Frank James fled while others were either killed or later captured, bullet holes still visible in the outside bank walls. Inside the museum, sharing with staff that I was from Upstate New York, south of Ithaca, a gentleman overheard me, saying he has family at Cornell University, and has driven through my town of Spencer!  Marjorie and John’s home is beautifully arrayed with family antiques (a living museum), and a unique dumbwaiter John (an engineer) had made between the kitchen and lower patio, all while showing me their welcoming friendship.
    Home with Em again, we walked around the pond behind their property, seeing ducks, a pair of Sandhill cranes, played games with my Grands, and watched special National Park shows. We walked along the Mississippi, and toured Sauk Rapids’ Benton County Museum. It was the only house in the large community to survive the F4 tornado on April 14-15, 1886 which destroyed every building, bridge and railroad track, leaving the city stranded with no way in and no way out for a time. Killing 72 people in its path, it’s the deadliest tornado on record in Minnesota. That house survived due to its uniquely-built granite walls with an air space between two adjacent walls of solid granite stones. We visited the small but well-kept Pine Grove Zoo in Little Falls, thoroughly enjoying the variety of animals. After a relaxing picnic lunch in the primeval pine grove next to the zoo, we drove to Charles Lindbergh’s home/museum also in Little Falls, his favorite place growing up, set on the banks overlooking the Mississippi, watching newsreels about him and his solo flight across the Atlantic to Paris, learning more than I had previously known about him and his family.
    Saying goodbye… I spent over 18 hours in the Detroit airport for my flight home to Elmira with delay after delay, finally getting home late Monday morning instead of Sunday evening. But in the waiting, I met a sweet lady. Sitting next to me, I learned Joy was from California, flying east to visit her daughter who lives 5 minutes from the Elmira airport!  We shared stories of our lives, finding we had much in common, also sharing our Christian faith.  Her family and home had survived the 2018 Carr Fire in northern California, as they helped others in the neighborhood who lost everything, including some who lost loved ones.
    Another lady walked past me who looked very familiar, but I just couldn’t place her, so I decided to just go ask. Connie recognized me, told me who she was, and it was an aha moment!  I knew her years ago as Ed’s mom’s hairdresser who lived locally, was widowed, remarried, now living in North Carolina, on the same flight to visit her daughter here who I also know! And then we met a young man and his wife with 2 kids from Newfield whose dad drove bus with my Aunt Lois for many years! Trust me, we all had a great time chatting and laughing together!  Small world indeed! 
    Remember I said God blessed me more than I could have imagined on this trip?  Not only with special family time, and getting to sit in “my” old saddle from years ago when riding War Bugg, but spending the night together, we 3 ladies shared stories of how God blessed our lives despite major difficulties we had each dealt with. We chose to ignore the negativity of a lady who emphasized we’d have a lot of trouble trying to get flights out, while I and others instead thanked the one crew member and desk clerk for their helpful kindnesses.  We three supported each other and spent the night at Gate 35, keeping each other awake overnight, charging our phones, chatting about our families and life in general.
    Though our Monday 8 a.m. flight to Elmira was delayed for an hour, boarding and lift-off went smoothly, and we were all very thankful to be heading home.  Now it’s hard to believe my trip was ending just a week ago, the reward I’d looked forward to as the school year drew to a close. 
    I was so impressed and thankful for the many ways God blessed me with just the right person at just the right time… and for the blessings of visiting with family!  After getting home, picking up some groceries, I took a much-needed nap… not something I’m fond of doing. Sleeping for 4-1/2 hours, I woke up with a start at 5:30 p.m., wondering whose room this was and where I was! Interesting tricks your mind can play when sleep has eluded you for too many hours… and home life resumed its normal routine, finishing two purse orders, baking for our local farmer’s market, enjoying each simple day back home. God bless you this week in all you do, too!
  8. Linda Roorda
    Father’s Day… a time to remember the dads we treasure.  They’ve taught us well in the ways of life.  And I remember a lot about my dad.  In fact, it would be fair to say that I had put him on a pedestal while growing up… not a wise placement for anyone. But it seems he could do anything and everything, a jack-of-all-trades, almost perfect in my little girl eyes.  Though none of us can measure up all the time, there is One who is perfect… who forgives all our failings… our heavenly Father.
    But, yes, there is so much my Dad, Ralph, taught me and my five siblings, including all about the love of Jesus.   As a small child on the farm, I would say, “Jesus is my best friend!”  But, for a time as a teen, I forgot my childhood friend until my Dad reminded me of those words I used to say as a little girl.  Oops! 
    I loved playing board games on Sunday afternoons with my Dad, especially Scrabble. I love the challenge of this game and tend to play aggressively, perhaps because I was in tough competition with my Dad.  Though I won only one game against him over those several years, it was a sweet victory knowing that I’d accomplished the win without his having given me an edge… his way of readying us for the world.
    He taught me honesty was the right way such that in 8th grade English class I chose to write an essay entitled “Honesty Is The Best Policy”, receiving a coveted A.  Actually, I think I may have gotten writing and art abilities from him.  Although he was an exceptional storyteller, perfectly imitating voice and mannerisms of various comedians, I speak best through the written word.  He also had a gift for drawing with his talent for art passed on to me and my son.  He loved trains, especially the old steam engines, having grown up next to the tracks in Clifton, NJ.  I loved watching him as he built a passenger car for his train set, using a tweezers to handle those tiny parts.  I watched him build Packard and Duesenberg model cars, and a German Focke-Wulf plane from W.W.II, taking us with him as he flew it using a remote-control system… until an unexpected gust of wind dove and smashed the plane into the ground.
    As we grew up, we loved hearing Dad tell family stories of his and our childhoods.  He had a gift for telling any story in a humorous unique way, and how I long to hear them all again.  I’d ask him to write them down for posterity, but he never did.  When he drove truck in the 1960s through the 1990s (and later huge tractors for an Iowan farmer), he’d come home with stories from the road.  He shared radio routines by Bill Cosby and southern Cajun comedians, recalling their stories and imitating accents perfectly!  That was way better entertainment than TV any day! 
    I recall a few stories of his time in the Army at Fort Greeley, Alaska (1956-1957), a foreign assignment before official statehood.  From 18 months to 2 years of age, I was too young to remember my six months at Delta Junction with my baby sister.  But I do remember having heard how he, his best buddy Roland, and two other friends found a sunken rowboat.  As it lay not far below the surface of a lake, they pulled it up, cleaned it off, and took it out to fish.  It made for an interesting adventure to say the least – while they took turns fishing, the other three worked hard at bailing to keep the boat afloat! Now that’s dedicated fishermen! 
    Fort Greeley is also where he learned to drive big rigs.  With someone ill, he was asked to take over in the motor pool one night.  Proving he could handle backing up a trailer perfectly, the commanding officer asked where he’d learned to do that since everyone else struggled.  “Backing up a manure spreader, Sir!” was his dutiful reply.  They kept him in the motor pool, where he gained invaluable training for later driving 18-wheelers.
    He also was given a rare promotion because he took the time to thoroughly clean an office coffeepot, a skill learned from his Dutch immigrant mother who had taught him all aspects of housekeeping while growing up, like any good Dutch mother.  With a general visiting Fort Greeley, the coffee-making task was passed off to my Dad as no one wanted to be making coffee for a general!  He didn’t complain but took pains to provide a clean urn for making fresh-brewed coffee… which greatly impressed the general.  When the general asked who made the coffee, the aide who was supposed to have made it “blamed” my Dad.  Instead of the feared reprimand for the typically bad-tasting coffee the office was known for, the general complimented my father on the best cup he’d ever tasted!  Turning to the senior officer, he told him to give my father a promotion!
    When we were younger, he always had time for us. I loved it when we lived in Jersey and he took us fishing at Garret Mountain in Clifton, Lake Hopatcong and Upper Greenwood Lake. It got me out of the city and into nature where I felt at ease.  And, though I could never bring myself to touch those worms (still can’t!), let alone put them on a hook, and never did catch “the big one,” it was the quality time with our Dad that meant so much to us kids.  As a tomboy, I especially enjoyed working outside with my Dad whether it was in the barn learning to care for the animals, in the huge vegetable gardens, or traipsing the fields and woods to hunt rabbit and deer.  That love just naturally transferred to enjoying time spent working alongside my husband in the barn or in the yard, and growing and weeding gardens of my own.
    As we grew older, we teens were often in our own little world yet I still adored my Dad.  He listened and gave sound advice.  I recall the day he didn’t go to work, taking me instead for a drive to discuss a problem I was dealing with.  At times though, I wasn’t ready to listen to him because, as life moved on, his anger took control and he wasn’t always there for us as a family, causing division with his divorce by expecting full support for his side.  No parent in a divorce situation should ever do that their kids.
    But I treasure our renewed relationship later in life.  With apologies for my own errors as a teen, I heard his sadness as I expressed how family dysfunction affected all of us, and he understood my saying I/we all had needed him more than he realized when he was on the road for 2-4 weeks at a time.  I appreciated his compliments on my writing for a local newspaper, my own blogs, publishing genealogy research in a national journal (The New York Genealogical & Biographical Record), and for how well I raised my family and took care of my Mom, even saying he’d never realized all the difficulties I’d faced in my life. Honesty and forgiveness cleared the way for a better relationship with love expressed to both my parents.  God truly takes our most difficult situations, working them for our good when we love Him, admit our errors, and make amends.
    My Dad’s careers changed from his love of farming, to driving a grain truck delivering feed to dairy farmers (winning top NY State Purina Feed salesman awards for 1961 and 1962), to carpentry with his Dad, a general contractor in northeast New Jersey, to driving an 18-wheeler hauling tanks locally and later OTR (over the road/cross country).  When we lived in Clifton, NJ, he drove chemical tankers locally in northeast Jersey, southern New England, and New York City.  What stories he brought home from his experiences!  I got to ride with him only twice and wish it could have been more.
    I was never so happy as when we moved back to New York in 1969!  Though I hated city life, I can now look back at special memories in Clifton where I was born.  As we settled into “backyard farming,” he taught me how to care for our mare, War Bugg, a granddaughter of Man O’ War, a retired Western working ranch registered Quarter Horse.  One of his trucking buddies also rode the rodeo circuit and put War Bugg through her paces – she did a figure-eight so tight you’d’ve thought she’d fall over!  I helped Dad build her corral and box stall in the barn, along with re-roofing and remodeling the old chicken coop for our flock.  And then came the heavy-duty barn chores of bringing hay down out of the mow, hauling 50-lb bags of grain, mucking out the pens, learning to groom War Bugg and pick up her feet to clean the soft undersides, devouring books on horses and their care, dreaming of being an equine vet.  I saw his deep concern when I stepped on a wasp’s nest in the haymow with 11 stings on my leg, and his gratefulness for my dousing him with a 5-gallon pail of water when a torch threatened to catch him on fire while trying to burn tent caterpillars, chuckling later that I almost drowned him!
    But I also learned the hard way that running War Bugg flat out up the road and back could have killed her.  Not realizing the depth of War Bugg’s Western training, I’d simply clicked my tongue and she took off like a rocket, so I let her run… on the paved road.  I was scolded hard, yet taught to walk her slowly, allowing her to have only small sips of warm water till she cooled down.  After riding her another time, I dismounted, tied her to the backyard light pole, and ran into the house briefly.  On returning, I realized she’d pulled on and broken her bridle, standing as if still tied with reins straight down.  And it was then I realized she was Western trained to be “ground tied” and to take off at the click of the tongue, very responsive to touch, the absolute best horse!  I still miss her…
    Soon enough, I got married and began a new life with my new family, while my siblings and parents scattered themselves around the U.S.  Life changes, and we change with it. We learn from those childhood mistakes, and grow up wiser for them.  As a child, I teased my Dad when he turned 30 that he was old, and that when he’d turn 50 he’d be “over the hill!”  Well, Dad, guess what?  Your oldest daughter reached that milestone a good ways back, and she’s still kickin’!  Giving him this writing in 2014 before he passed away April 17, 2015, his wedding anniversary with my Mom, he knew I felt blessed to have him as my Dad.  Sometimes I wish I could go back and relive the childhood fun of days long ago, but I treasure those memories that linger still... and I love you, Dad!
    May you each be blessed with very special memories of your Dad, too!  Happy Father’s Day! 
    I Remember A Dad
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    I remember a dad who took me fishin’
    And remember a dad who hooked my worms,
    Who took those hooks from fishy mouths,
    And showed me the country way of life.
    ~
    A family of six, two girls and four boys
    Fun and trouble we shared as we grew.
    From farms and fields to paved avenues,
    Walking and biking, exploring we went.
    ~
    I remember a time spent playing games,
    A dad who’d not cheat for us to win.
    Family and friends and holiday dinners,
    Lakes and farms and countryside drives.
    ~
    Weeds were the bane of childhood fun,
    So ‘tween the rows we ran and we played.
    But as I grew and matured in age,
    Weeding was therapy in gardens of mine.
    ~
    I remember a dad who thrived on farming
    Livestock and gardens, and teaching me how.
    I remember a dad who took me huntin’
    Scoutin’ the fields, always alert.
    ~
    I remember a dad who taught us more
    For growing up we learn by example.
    I remember working alongside my dad
    Roofing a barn and building corrals.
    ~
    I remember a dad whose gifts were given
    In fairness to meet each child’s desire.
    I remember a dad whose wisdom we honor
    In memories of caring and love in small ways.
    ~
    I remember a dad who brought us laughter
    With Cajun and Cosby stories retold.
    For blessed with a gift of retelling tales
    Family and childhood events he recalled.
    ~
    I remember a dad whose time was given
    To help his children face life’s turmoils.
    Time spent together are memories treasured
    For things done best put family first.
    ~
    I remember a dad who taught me more
    To treasure my faith in Jesus my friend.
    In looking to Him as Savior and Lord,
    Salvation by Grace, not earned by my deed.
    ~
    As I look back to days long ago,
    I remember the dad I knew so well.
    For I miss the dad who took me fishin’
    And remember the dad who taught me more.
  9. Linda Roorda
    I love to see a beautiful rainbow at the end of a storm, don’t you?!  I’ve even seen the occasional double rainbow emerging as the sun begins to shine, leaving a lustrous shimmering sheen on everything wet.  Then there’s that elusive pot of gold we joke about finding at its end… wouldn’t we be rich!
    Rainbows have come to symbolize many things.  Since the early 1970s, the rainbow has represented the LGBT community with bright bold colors, used by gays as far back as the 19th century to identify themselves.  In some cultures, rainbows are a bad omen, a portent of evil, while on the flip side they’re said to bring good luck, especially double rainbows. 
    But spiritually and biblically, the rainbow represents God’s love and covenant to all of mankind that never again would He destroy the earth.  In that one-and-only 40-day flooding deluge of rain, only Noah and his family members survived in the ark he built because of their faith in the one true God… while the rest of the world mocked Noah and worshiped their false gods.  With representation in twos, male and female of every living creature, including mankind represented by Noah’s faithful family, that must have been one full and noisy ark!
    After the storm, Noah and his family saw a magnificent rainbow as they left the ark. “God said, “This is the sign of the covenant I am making between me and you and every living creature with you, a covenant for all generations to come:  I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth.  Whenever I bring clouds over the earth and the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will remember my covenant between me and you and all living creatures of every kind.  Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all life.  Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures of every kind on the earth.”  So God said to Noah, “This is the sign of the covenant I have established between me and all life on the earth.”  (Genesis 9:12-17 NIV)
    And what a blessing of love and hope God gave us as represented by that rainbow! We are showered with mercy and grace when we come to Him in faith, admit our sins, and ask for His forgiveness.  We all face the difficult trials of life, some more than others it seems.  As one of America’s favorite poets, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, once penned, “Into each life some rain must fall.” 
    “Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
    Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
    Thy fate is the common fate of all,
    Into each life some rain must fall,
    Some days must be dark and dreary.”
    Yet, just like the rainbow given as a sign to Noah after the flood, God has promised He will be with us, and never leave us… forever. (Matthew 28:20) 
    I’ve always been touched by the story of Israel’s Joseph, sold into slavery by his jealous brothers.  Taken to Egypt to become a slave, and though a faithful servant, he was falsely charged and imprisoned for many years.  Eventually released by Pharaoh for his ability to interpret the king’s dreams, he became second in command!  As a “prime minister,” Joseph led the nation through tremendous harvest successes followed by extreme drought and famine.  During the famine, his brothers sought assistance from the foreign nation, not knowing their younger brother was in control of grain disbursement.  When later identifying himself to his brothers, Joseph shared how God had blessed him through the difficulties, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good.”  (Genesis 50:20)
    Though we all face our own share of difficulties, we have the hope that our gracious Lord will walk beside us, guide us, and see us through the storms.  As Joshua told the nation of Israel on going into the Promised Land, “Be strong and Courageous.  Do not fear… for the Lord your God goes with you.  He will not leave you or forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6) 
    Many generations later, the Apostle Paul wrote that he had asked God three times to remove the thorn with which he suffered.  Instead, God’s response was simply, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness…”  Paul was able to boast in his hardships because it was then he felt Christ strengthen him, “For when I am weak, then I am strong.”  (II Corinthians 12:7-10)
    Yet, all too often, like me, we often see only the bad in the difficult situation… initially at least.  When we raise our eyes to see how God walks through the storm with us, we see the good, the blessing, that comes as we look back in hindsight.  Paul reassured us by saying, “And we know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.”  (Romans 8:28)
    The beautiful rainbow arching across the sky after the storm is a beautiful reminder of God’s love for us, His gift of salvation, His promise to always be with us… no matter what! 
    The Rainbow’s End
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    The richest treasures at the rainbow’s end
    Reveal the blessings of abundant grace
    Joy from the heart to brighten your way
    Wrapped up in love and joy unending.
    ~
    Yet the pot of gold always out of reach
    Taunts our goals with pursuits of pleasure
    Tempting the heart to envy another
    To yearn for more that’s not ours to gain.
    ~
    But when we release our wants for more
    And humbly embrace to persevere
    We face the trials standing firm in faith
    As blessings pour out from our Father above.
    ~
    Such treasures rich we cannot fathom
    For in His plan all things work together
    That from a rough path we find His promise
    And see His face at the rainbow’s end.
    ~
  10. Linda Roorda

    A Tiny Seed

    By Linda Roorda,

    I love spring!  It’s a season full of the promise of new growth, new life.  Yet as I thought about life emerging from a tiny seed, fed and nourished by the sun’s warming rays and watered by a refreshing shower, I could not help but think of the Lord feeding and nourishing our souls to help us grow.
    As a TA sub in a science class recently, I was reminded of this unpublished blog. Studying plant life, the students experimented with seeds in different situations.  Seeds were placed on a folded paper towel with a specific amount of water… some were set on a windowsill where they would have sunlight and warmth, while others were put into a dark cupboard where it was cooler.  Checking on the progress of their seeds daily, each group measured and looked for growth.  The seeds with the sun’s warmth did the best with rich green young growth, while the seeds in the dark cool cupboard had some growth with long tendrils of white or very pale yellow instead of a darker rich green… they were searching for light and warmth.
    Interestingly, when I searched my photo file for a particular set of pictures, I saw this photo for today’s post was taken exactly 6 years ago – 04/30/2017!  The bursting leaf buds on my maple trees are at the very same stage as back then!  A reassurance when the world around us seems to be in constant flux that we are still in His care.
    In observing that experiment’s results, I realized how like us and our spiritual growth when we have Jesus and His Word, His light, as our guide, versus the darkness without His guiding light.  In Jesus, we have a solid foundation to lean on.  We’re fed with spiritual nutrition from His Word, Holy Scripture, as we turn to Him for answers in dealing with life’s problems.  And I can’t help but wonder about those who lash out at life around them, having little to no purpose or meaning.  Without a solid foundation and moral guidance to keep them on the right path, they often grow with negativity, seeking the easiest route to self-gratification regardless of collateral damage.
    I long for them to know and feel the embrace of God’s overwhelming love.  In creating us and knowing who He’s designed us to be, it must give God great pleasure to watch us fulfill the purpose He’s placed within each of us as we seek His wisdom.  Like a seed pushing upward and outward from its protective shelter below the soil, growing from a tiny seed until the whole of its beauty is evident, so is our life. 
    Developing from a tiny cell, we grow until we are one day born unique, created by God like no other being.  From infancy onward, we continue our maturing process to exhibit a growth and beauty within our heart and soul as we become who God intended us to be… a beautiful life meant to glorify Him. 
    A Tiny Seed
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Once upon a day a seed was planted
    Just a tiny seed, held gently in hand
    The soil was tilled and the seed tucked in
    To patiently wait, its growth to begin
    Learning to endure the seasons of life.
     
    As the tiny seed emerges frail
    From winter’s long and darkened sleep
    Into the warming breath of spring
    The sparkling rays of golden sun
    Shine down upon its tiny head.
     
    The rains gently fall to nourish the soil
    The sun rises high to share its warm glow
    And day by day the seed begins to grow
    Coddled with love, nudged into life
    Slowly but surely potential to gain.
     
    So it reaches up yet higher still
    Straining to achieve its dreams and goals
    Looking unlike any other around
    In plain and simple, yet elegant attire
    Focusing on its purpose ordained.
     
    And then one day a small simple bud
    Opens its petals for all to take note
    Delicate beauty unfolding soft
    To praise the One who created it so
    Like you and me with purpose unique.
     
    For by His loving and abundant care
    Sheltered and nurtured within our heart
    Is gently worked His will and His plan
    So that we beloved, precious children of His
    Bring honor and praise to our glorious God.
    ~~
  11. Linda Roorda
    How do you write a tribute to celebrate a life, and capture the essence of 70 years in just a few words? I couldn’t, but will share some snapshots of Ed’s life that I read yesterday at Ed’s burial service with several family and friends present.
    When he went back to the ER yet again on January 13th, Ed calmly told me he was praying for God to take him home. He was tired and worn out from the constant health issues he’d had since October 2008. He wanted me to know how much he loved me and our family, and that he could not have done life without me at his side for those 48 years - well actually 49 years if you count from Christmas Day 1973 when we started dating.
    But I also want to share that Ed’s cousin Kevin called me March 29th.  He told me something he was hesitant to tell Ed when it happened, and now wishes he had. He had wanted to tell me after Ed passed but was afraid of breaking down so he waited … but in November, he’d had a very vivid dream of Ed.  Kevin was in front of his house when Ed appeared and said “Hey Kevin! Look what I can do!” as he ran back and forth!!  Kevin believes it was a premonition that he didn’t realize at the time, a treasure!! 
    Ed was an easy-going, laid-back kinda guy, with a great sense of humor. When his friend and coworker Jeff Grover, who he thought highly of, picked him up for work at VTI and apologized for oversleeping and being late, Ed would simply say, “It’s ok. You must’ve needed the extra sleep”. Ed was kind and compassionate to a roommate who’d had a terrible night after surgery such that Ed got very little sleep. Bruce, who grew up a dairy farmer and was a disabled policeman, so appreciated Ed’s kindness and reawakening of his own faith in God that when Ed was discharged, he got out of bed to give Ed a hug and broke down crying on Ed’s shoulder for the friendship bonding they’d shared that week.
    Ed did not like attention on himself. He was quite a fighter in life and never gave up, working hard to prove he could do things with his limited vision. Over the past several years of his illnesses, he was determined to do whatever he could, for as long as he could, rather than sit back and do nothing. His faith in God was a very real part of his life, praying for God’s wisdom and guidance. He told me he even prayed for a wife, and God had sent me. And he was very supportive of my endeavors, often reading my blogs before posting and gave constructive advice. Yes we had difficulties as a couple, but we made a commitment when we got married and worked through those hard times with God at our side.
    He was a two-month premature twin, spending a month in an incubator with pure oxygen which damaged his eyes. With no vision in his right eye, and only 20/200 vision with glasses in left eye, he managed to do a lot. With new glasses at age 5 or 6, he was ecstatic to see kids sledding down a hill, something he’d never been able to see before. He used to lose his glasses regularly, with the family finding them in odd places like hanging from a beam in the haymow after haying! He wouldn’t let it be known he couldn’t see the board from a front row seat, but one special teacher caught on and let Ed copy from his notes. He was appointed swim team manager for the state championship team while at Warwick High School. He swam like a pro, but wasn’t allowed to compete on the team for fear he’d hurt himself or someone else by not being able to see his lane, a great disappointment to him, but he accepted it and moved on.
    Ed had helped on the farm since he was a little kid. As he grew older, he wanted to do what his brother Marv did – like driving tractor and doing field work. His Dad said, “Okay, you can try, but you’ve got to be careful” – not telling his Mom till later.  He tried, and was very careful, proving he could handle their John Deere 520 and machinery like he was born to the job. He loved nothing better than doing fieldwork, alert to machinery sounds and problems. He was always extra cautious, never reaching over or into running machinery for the danger that posed. He was also great at rhyming words, making short silly “poems,” telling me it was from all those years of endless hours on the tractor! Ed also had a close friendship with hired hand, Mat Donnelly, who was surprised I was Ed’s wife; we knew each other in Lounsberry.  Ed and Mat really enjoyed working together, and visiting together over the years, talking and listening to Ed’s records or CDs.
    Ed had also milked cows since he was young; but by getting his head under a cow to see where to put the milking machine, his Dad advised him that if he was going to milk cows, he’d better find another way to put the machines on or he’d be getting his head kicked in a lot!  So, like for other tasks, he put the machines on by feel.
    He loved working with his Dad who allowed him the ability to succeed by trying, and did so well at many things that I took his abilities for granted. He grew up on rented farms in Orange County, NY, before moving to their own farm in Spencer in April 1968. That lasted until June 1985 at age 33 when he had a major retinal detachment. Imagine going to the eye doctor, being told you need urgent surgery, and you can’t even do barn chores that night… or ever again. He was devastated. And we had three little ones to raise. But moving forward after recovery he helped take care of the house and kids while I went to work. He made the grocery list until a few weeks before he passed away. Tho he’d given me his master list, I struggle with actually making that list now!
    Ed held a life-long love of music, from traditional hymns to classic country music, and classic rock from the 1950s thru the 80’s, especially the Beatles!  As a little boy, his parents and relatives were amazed at how he knew which little 45-record was which. If someone asked for a song, he always knew the right one to put on the record player his grand-parents had given him. He told me that he never understood why they were all so amazed because, “I just memorized the picture on each record that went with each song!”  Of course!  How simple… so like Ed, a man without pretentions!
    But he could have been a DJ.  He often knew a song by just a few initial notes, and the background stories of so many singers and their bands, and who left what group to go solo or start another group.  Without vision, he knew every CD he had in several boxes, and knew which song was on what track on which CD, just like he’d known his many records! While dating and after we were married, he took great pains to patiently play a record, stop it, write down the words in a letter to me, play the next phrase, stop, write it down, repeat, repeat, repeat. Later he did this with internet songs, writing down special lyrics for my birthday and our anniversary. I loved that he took the time to do that for me, or that he’d ask someone to take him to the store so he could buy me a card.  That’s true love!
    Eventually, he had more eye troubles with hemorrhaging and surgeries, and was left with additional vision loss. He went to The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, Massachusetts for 6 months of personal training from November 1989 to April 1990, spending every weekend by his Aunt Ethel and Uncle Harry, helping them with firewood!  He learned Braille well with large dots, but when he had to use smaller dots, he could not feel them to read. After returning home, he was hired by Vergason Technology in Van Etten.  He worked as a customer service rep, teaching himself to write programs for the shipping and receiving clerks with the assistance of an engineer and listening to tutorials. He could read large white-on-black print on a closed-circuit TV, was able to see some colors, but lost the last remnants of vision in 1998. Going through another bout of deep depression, we learned from counselors it was a typical response, as his old self gradually rose again to deal with being totally blind. But then he was laid off a month after 9/11/2001.
    AVRE (Association for Vision Rehabilitation and Employment) in Binghamton again assisted him in seeking new employment. His aide took him to an interview at Cornell’s vet school office. Afterwards, the woman doing the interview told him he’d been the best candidate she had ever interviewed with his knowledge, calm demeanor and ability to think on his feet, but they really needed someone with vision. He understood, appreciating her input, while the aide from AVRE later asked why he wasn’t nervous. Telling her he had been very nervous, she replied, “You never showed it!  You were one cool cucumber under pressure!”  And that too was so like Ed!
    A few weeks after Jenn died in June 2003, Ed was still on the Federated Church’s prayer list, looking for work. He told me he had prayed and asked God to bring the job to him because he had done all he could do with no results. That week there was a knock on the door. Ray Maratea came in, pulled a chair by Ed in his recliner, sat down, and asked Ed what he could do for them because they wanted to hire him! God answered Ed’s prayer by sending the job to him! Ray had seen Ed’s name on that prayer list!  Working with AVRE, Raymond-Hadley Corporation set Ed up as an office assistant with his customer service background. He set up tractor trailers for pickup and delivery, tracked certificates for files, and made collection calls. When he wasn’t able to work in the office, they willingly set him up at home to continue doing collection calls because he was so good at it - he never got flustered, never got upset at customers, and handled situations with a calm and easy-going manner.  Just a few days before he died, he asked me to write his resignation letter as he knew he would not be able to handle the job when he came home again, saying it was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to ask me to do for him - he absolutely loved his job for the company and the wonderful people he worked with.
    Ed loved his family deeply, and it hurt him that he couldn’t do things with them, go places with them, or visit them. He was very proud of all their accomplishments, and the wonderful adults they became - Jennifer (who’d married Matt), Emily (who married Nick) and Daniel (who married Beth). He also loved his 5 grandchildren very much – Liam, Wesley, Gwen, Samuel, and Maxwell, and always wished he could have seen them, read to them like he did with our own kids before bedtime, or played with them. We love and miss Ed, but rejoice that he’s in his heavenly home with his Savior, and can see and run!
  12. Linda Roorda
    Impetuous Peter… the disciple like so many of us, if we’re honest.  I tend to speak quickly, not always giving as much thought to my answer as I should.  My late husband, on the other hand, would take time to formulate his reply. And how often I’ve realized the depth of wisdom he shared in what he’d mulled over.
    Then, there’s the side of us which promises never to abandon a friend in their time of need.  Yet we do. And I can’t help but wonder… aren’t we a bit miffed at their denials of wrongs to protect themselves?  Does their conscience pierce their heart?  Is there even a snippet of guilt or shame?  Don’t they know a heart-felt apology for wrongs done begins to restore relationships?  But, more importantly, have we forgiven them anyway?  For faithful is the friend who remains supportive and encouraging.
    But please note, I am not speaking about truly abusive relationships. That is an entirely different situation we need to walk away from when no genuine remorse and change is made… despite what others think who don’t know the truth.
    Which reminds me of the twelve disciples gathered around Jesus and their inner thoughts… no different than us. Unbeknownst to all but Jesus, one of their own, Judas, was in the process of selling out their Lord for thirty pieces of silver, even as they shared the Passover meal together. (Matthew 26:14-16, 17-30)
    The disciples all knew how much Jesus loved them, so it must have caused great consternation as they heard Him warn Peter that before a rooster crowed twice, Peter would deny ever having known Jesus.  (Mark 14:30)  They must have wondered how their Teacher could think such a thing, let alone say it! (Luke 22:31-34; Mark 14:27-31)  Even Peter protested that he would rather go to prison or die with Jesus, than ever renounce his best friend!
    After dinner, they went to the Garden of Gethsemane to rest and pray.  Judas (who had left the table of his dining friends) eventually rejoined them, bringing along a large entourage of soldiers.  And then he boldly gave Jesus a traitor’s kiss as soldiers surrounded his former teacher.  To prove his own devotion to his best friend, Peter rashly sliced off the ear of one of the Roman guards with his sword.  With tender love for those who meant him harm, Jesus gently restored the man’s ear, and rebuked Peter for such hasty behavior. (John 18:10-11) Surprisingly, as Jesus was being arrested, His closest friends… his followers, his disciples… turned their backs in abandonment and ran out of fear. (Mark 14:50-52) 
    Later that evening as Peter warmed himself around a fire in the courtyard during Jesus’ trial, a servant girl thought she recognized him. Concerned for his own life after Jesus’ arrest, Peter vehemently denied being among Jesus’ closest friends… three times he rebuked their remembrances, the last time swearing like the old fisherman that he was.  Immediately, a rooster crowed for the second time.  And Peter instantly recalled what Jesus had predicted.  His heart sank in broken-hearted grief.  He had vehemently denied that he’d ever do such a thing to his closest of friends, and yet that’s exactly what he had done.  Feeling utterly ashamed and alone, he walked away from everyone, and wept tears of great sorrow and remorse.  (Mark 14:66-72)
    Once again, Peter had reacted rashly, thinking he was deflecting harm to himself by denying the truth without taking the time to think of the consequences.  Yet, Peter loved his Lord.  And Jesus loved Peter… unequivocally.  For after Jesus’ crucifixion and then resurrection, the angel in the tomb told the women, “[Jesus] is risen! He is not here… Go, tell His disciples and Peter.”  To me, those words signify how deeply our Lord loved Peter.  Despite Peter’s hasty denials, God wanted to be sure Peter heard and understood the good news!  (Mark 16:7)  In Luke 24:9-12, we read that as soon as Peter heard about Jesus’ resurrection, he got up and immediately ran to the tomb to check out the story’s validity for himself.  So like our impetuous Peter, isn’t it?!  But it also shows how deeply Peter truly loved his Lord!
    Some days later, unexpectedly meeting their Lord on the shore of Galilee after fishing all night, John retold for us how Jesus asked Peter three times if he loved Him. With a tone of voice that likely reflected his deepest feelings, Peter was irritated and hurt that Jesus would ask him the same question for a third time. And Peter gave the same response each time, “You know I love you!” (John 21:15-17) Yet it was all done to help Peter understand that he was truly loved… and forgiven for his denials because of his repentant heart… and that Jesus was now giving Him a second chance with a new responsibility.  Peter was to reach out to a world of hurting souls with the same love that he had been given from Jesus after his own failures! 
    The reason Jesus was born into this world… the reason He died on a cross… was to pay for the sinful deeds we’ve done, no matter their size.  “For we have all sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption of Jesus.” (Romans 3:23-24)  As we confess our sins and need for a Savior, we receive God’s most gracious gift of forgiveness.  “For God so loved the world that He sent His only begotten son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16)  What depths of mercy and grace are ours! 
    A Blessed and Happy Easter to each of you! 
    Do You Love Me?
    Linda A. Roorda
    Do you love me?  More than all these?
    You know I do, Lord!  A loving friendship.
    You know my thoughts, my words and my ways,
    Surely you know how deep is my love.
    ~
    Do you love me?  Do you truly love?
    You know I do, Lord!  I’d sacrifice self.
    Then feed My sheep, meet them in their need,
    Go to My flock, and lead them in truth.
    ~
    Do you love me?  With your heart and soul?
    Oh Lord, I am grieved!  My heart has been stabbed.
    But oh! the shame of having denied
    One with whom I’d walked, the leader of hearts.
    ~
    Did you not warn of what was to come?
    I pledged you my love above all others.
    I’d follow you Lord, even unto death!
    I’d never disown my Savior, my God.
    ~
    But when confronted, my heart shrank in fear.
    I heard my own words deny with alarm.
    Twice more they claimed I was with the condemned,
    When out of my mouth came vicious cursing.
    ~
    I winced in shock to hear the cock crow.
    My heart sank in shame for what I had done.
    My Lord had said deny Him I would,
    Now all I could do was bitterly weep.
    ~
    You gazed thru my heart. You saw my soul’s depth.
    You poured out Your love though faithless was I.
    And now, Lord, you ask, do I truly love?
    Yes, Lord, I do! With heart, soul and mind.
    ~
    Then tenderly care for the sheep of My fold.
    Go to the fields and guide them in truth.
    Feed them my Word, everlasting life.
    Shower with mercy and grace in My name.
    (Published at the Christian Reformed Church online Network here 04/04/0/23)
     
  13. Linda Roorda

    My Advocate

    By Linda Roorda,

    We’ve all heard the old adage that there are two sides to every story, and a classic trial brings that point out vividly.  I’ve served on three juries in the past – one clearly guilty, one given a lesser settlement than desired, and one clearly not guilty.  It’s an honor to be selected to sit with peers to carefully review and ponder the facts of the case as presented by the respective attorneys, and to be responsible for the right verdict.  Certainly, some have abused the trial-by-jury system and condemned truly innocent folks, but more often than not it has been an equitable and fair justice system.
    The legal teams for the defendant and the plaintiff each present salient points to be considered, arguing their case convincingly with evidence and witnesses.  Once the case has been handed over to the jury, it’s up to these 12 peers to discuss evidence presented and determine guilt or innocence.  For the most part, at each trial, we jurors could tell early on where the truth lay.  We also brought along our own life experiences and knowledge which helped weigh the evidence from both sides.  In one trial, for example, the farming background I and another gentleman had made all the difference in helping others understand more fully the veracity of certain aspects which had been presented during the trial.
    But sometimes it seems that a trial with its accusations is like that voice in my head reminding me of how guilty I am.  It’s Satan pointing out all of my sins… one after another, stacked high, like a mountain tall.  The right way to live is spelled out in the Ten Commandments, in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, and scattered all throughout Scripture.  But I’m also well aware that I cannot keep God’s commands and expectations to live a pure and holy life.  I have a serious debt which I can never repay.
    So, what am I to do? Go to the Lord, confess my sins and failures, and accept God’s love and forgiveness, for nothing I could ever do will wash away my guilt.  My favorite verse since childhood has been – “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”  (John 3:16 KJV)  
    Jesus took the punishment I deserved on that fateful day we call Good Friday.  He was put on trial, a one-sided sham of justice.  He was whipped, mocked, and nailed to a cross… not for anything He had done for He was sinless, faultless, perfect… fully human, yet fully God.  But He did that for me.  He willingly took my place, giving His life to purchase my right to join Him in heaven forever.  His mercy and grace bring me to tears.  Someday I will stand before Almighty God, my judge, to give an account of my life.  I will have nothing to say in my defense… except that I put faith in my advocate, Jesus, who will be standing at my side, declaring me guiltless because He has already paid for my sins… with His own life… my Savior. 
    My Advocate
    Linda A. Roorda 
    With accusations I’m now confronted
    No plea have I but guilty as charged
    I hang my head to litany stark
    And with quiet shame my accuser I face.
     
    It once had seemed the world was my own
    I learned the games to lie and to cheat
    I did not care if others were hurt
    As long as my will and goals were achieved.
     
    But in the spiral of downward tumble
    I lost the vision I’d once beheld
    A purer focus, others before self
    Humble respect in tangled webs lost.
     
    And one by one as charges were read
    I clearly recalled the past with deep pain
    Words now regretted, carelessly spoken
    How could I ever repair what I’d done?
     
    In my despair while under scrutiny
    My only hope was to beg for mercy
    That perhaps some deed along the way
    Would balance the book, the ledger of sin.
     
    But, alas, I heard the judge declare
    Guilty as charged; no mercy be shown.
    Like rock upon rock my sins were stacked high
    As I stared upon that mountain of debt.
     
    Just then the doors were flung open wide
    And striding forth came a man in pure white
    Boldly he exclaimed, “This debt has been paid!”
    “I hung on the cross, and took all the shame.”
     
    Slowly I sank to my knees in awe.
    Who was this man who gave all for me?
    How could he give his life for my debt?
    For I can’t repay such a merciful gift.
     
    Reaching out gently he pulled me up straight
    And showed me his scars and nail-pierced hands
    He held out his arms in welcome embrace
    As he dried my tears and declared me free.
     
    I love you my child… I did this for you.
    I carried your shame upon my beaten back.
    I purchased your soul with life-giving blood
    That you might have life with mercy and grace.
     
    Now all I ask is by faith you walk
    Bring to the world compassion and peace
    Carry my light to the corners dark
    Open your heart to love and forgive.
    ~~
  14. Linda Roorda
    Spring is on its way! For real! I saw little white snowdrops and purple crocuses blooming in my gardens on my walk-about Friday. The blackbirds have definitely returned, their huge flocks of black covering the yard and treetops singing their hearts out, along with the lilting songs of my favorite bluebirds and the tweets of robins. And with the slow emergence of spring comes the vagaries of weather, the plummeting highs and lows, yet we didn’t get the sleet and snow with yesterday’s rain, for which I’m thankful.
    But with Saturday’s cold blustery, windy, dreary, rainy day I decided to sew up a new purse – using fabric of fanciful and beautiful dragonflies like iridescent butterflies.  And as I sewed, my mind wandered back in time to the many various items like clothing, quilts, and purses I’ve made over the decades. But, as is typical, I made a few mistakes that needed correcting… like when I made a special quilt for Ed in the past. The center panel and fabrics were gifted to me by three different friends, yet they meshed so well as if purchased together! And yes, I made a mistake in sewing then too… had to rip out and redo an entire side section. But in the process, I realized something special - isn't that how God takes the pieces of our life and fits them all together perfectly?! And that got me thinking about this old blog, The Master Tailor.
    I love to sew!  And it all started in 7th grade Home Ec sewing class in Clifton, NJ.  Making a simple A-line denim skirt using orange thread (to resemble Western clothing) and a beach wrap (displayed on the wall by the teacher) were the simple beginnings of better things to come. 
    With my mom too busy caring for a new baby brother to teach me more, my dad’s mother took me under her wings.  A former professional seamstress of gowns and clothing, Grammy helped me sew a western shirt (see attached photo), not an easy project with those angled points, and taught me well to use the seam ripper.  I learned to rip out my mistakes, start over, and make it right!  Isn't that how God takes the pieces of our life and fits them all together perfectly?  In making life mistakes, it’s how we accept correction or change that makes all the difference.  
    So, when I tried to make a quilt on my own, totally wrong, Grammy taught me the correct way. She gifted me with several fabrics as I made a cardboard template to cut out 6-inch squares.  Laying out the fabric squares on the living room floor, I set them in a pattern, sewed up the long strips, and then sewed each long strip side by side.  With that success, Grammy gifted me with fabric every Christmas over several years for yet more skirts and dresses. 
    After my family moved to Lounsberry, NY in 1969, I bought a c.1900 treadle machine that my auctioneer cousin, Howard, was selling for only $3.  My dad oiled it, fixed the tension, got a new leather belt for the wheels, and my sewing obsession took off.   More skirts, suits and dresses were made on that treadle machine to carry me through high school, including my prom gown and wedding gown. 
    Turning 20 on my first birthday after we married, my husband bought me a new Singer electric sewing machine!  And oh, if it could talk, the miles of thread and fabric it has sewn in clothes for myself, shirts for my husband, clothing for my children, and tiny clothes for their dolls.  And, now, using this same sewing machine, I’ve been making quilts in log cabin and prairie window designs among many other designs, along with simple and more-detailed table runners, and purses.  How I wish Grammy could see them for she taught me well!
    Have you known that feeling of contentment as you worked to create something of value for yourself or others?  Have you known what it feels like to be so engrossed in a project that you lose all sense of time?  Have you known the frustration of having to take the time to rip out a seam, or correct something that just wasn’t right?  And, because you did so, you then felt the satisfaction of seeing your finished project in all its beauty?  Maybe that’s how God views us when we recognize His hand guiding us through life’s ups and downs.  David said it so well, “If the Lord delights in a man’s ways, he makes his steps firm; though he stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand.”  (Psalm 37:23-24)
    This poem was written in a reflective moment, remembering that various mistakes, hardships, and testing over the years have helped define character and create who we are deep in our soul.  At times, I’ve not paid sufficient attention to my sewing, made mistakes, and had to employ that seam ripper.  I’ve also realized what a life lesson that holds… because admitting I’ve made an error is the first step to correcting it, and then learning from it.  I may not want to face the trials which might be coming in the future; but, in looking back, neither can I imagine life without the hardships we have worked through.  They refine our life and shape us for the better… just like the seam ripper’s cutting edge.
    And I also can’t help but realize that the Lord knows what He’s doing as He works His will through those trials which He allows each of us to face.  “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him...” (Romans 8:28, NIV)  For through these difficulties, He shapes and molds us into the unique and special person He intends for us to be. 
    The Master Tailor
    Linda A. Roorda 
    As the seamstress sits and begins to sew
    Her loving care goes into each stitch
    And correlation stirs within her thoughts
    Of the Creator’s design deep in her soul.
     
    In her mind’s eye she sees it take shape
    From simple concept to finished result
    And beams with joy, her dream made complete
    As she holds with pride her creation dear.
     
    But what the world just cannot see
    Are errors which loomed about to destroy
    For outward beauty can never reveal
    The seam ripper’s hand in disciplined cuts.
     
    When I beheld what the seamstress had wrought
    I could not miss the significant key
    Of one who deftly shaped my own soul
    From even before my life came to be.
     
    The Master Tailor gazed into the future
    And pondered the me who I should be.
    He planned and designed each path for my good
    As He cut and sewed the fabric of me.
     
    He carefully stitched and eased the seams
    And reigned in penchants of wayward threads,
    But now and then along the way
    The seam ripper’s edge He gently employed.
     
    For don’t you see, without the hardships
    Life’s burdens and pain cannot reflect
    The greater good down deep in my heart
    As seam ripper cuts shape my will to His.
     
    On a journey I am, a work in progress
    For someday when my time has come
    He’ll gaze upon His workmanship
    And see exactly who He planned me to be.
    ~~
  15. Linda Roorda
    Though spring is right around the corner, winter left behind another remnant with a thin dusting of fresh white powder on a newly greening yard with continued flurries and a temp of 20 this morning. So I can either be distressed or accept winter’s last fling, or two, knowing it won’t last as spring will soon be here… the large influx of noisy blackbirds looking for refreshment testified to that yesterday morning! It’s just one of the things I’ve learned to accept, something I can do nothing about other than to appreciate each day of new life and the joy it brings in a myriad of ways.  Similar to the ways in which we view our individual life setbacks, problems and struggles.  But we know God is still here with us, still caring for us, still guiding us thru each difficulty that we might learn from His wisdom. And I wish you God’s many blessings and abundant love today and always...
    Sometimes I Strive -- I have struggles in life… like everyone else. I don’t like to see the downtrodden victims of society, regardless of the circumstance. Like others, I ask why there is suffering. Why are innocents murdered? Why do some suffer virtually lifelong with chronic health issues while others go their whole life with barely a problem, and live past 100 (like my great-grandmother)? Why do we find inequality in many societal sectors? Why does it so often seem like the rich get richer, and the poor get poorer? But then, those questions beg another and another… like why is there evil in the world? Is there an evil underplay which thwarts God’s good? And, where is God in all the mess?
    There was, and perhaps still is, a religious philosophy called the “prosperity gospel.” If we live and pray a certain way before God, we will be blessed… yes, but it's not just a cause and effect. It often seems to go along with faith healing… as if having enough faith, or praying just the right way, will gain us our desires from God… like health, wealth and happiness. Ours is a society that expects instant gratification. In reality, it’s a dangerous message that twists the true meaning of God’s blessings which aren’t always readily poured out the way we want… and may tend to promote the thinking that the degree of blessings is based on our level of faith and spirituality… a works-based manipulation of God through various methods to meet His favor... like my being asked "have you tried this" to gain a certain response from God... 
    We may hope and pray for years that God will heal us or rectify some problem… yet, we may or may not see the answer in our lifetime. We may hold onto Scripture that seems to promise God’s blessings upon faithful followers. Unfortunately, at times, answers that we hope and pray for never seem to come… or, the answers may not be what we want. Why? What’s wrong with us? What are we doing wrong that our prayers aren’t answered, while others seemingly live an unfettered life of health, wealth and happiness? It’s as though a dissatisfaction builds, and we get caught up in looking over our shoulder at what others have or don’t have. And that should not be... it's wrong.
    So, if we take a step back, we might hear that still small voice in our heart… the voice of God speaking to our soul. As we contemplate Psalm 37, we find the shepherd king David wrote verses rich with meaning, even for us today:
    1) “Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.” [vs.3; the secure care and provision by the Lord, our shepherd]
    2) “Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart.” [vs.4; seek the Lord, study His word, meditate on His truths, and He will give you the desires which mirror HIS will]
    With the wisdom God granted him, King Solomon advised that we “trust in the Lord with all [our] heart and lean not on [our] own understanding; in all [our] ways acknowledge him, and he will make [our] paths straight.” (Proverbs 3:5-6) 
    Even James reminded us in chapter 1, vs.2-5 that we should “consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault…” And yet, how well we know that it’s not easy to be joyful in trials.
    We can find a multitude of examples throughout Scripture of those who loved the Lord yet suffered unjustly, while their faith was strengthened through various trials. Job lost everything, but he learned to trust God’s sovereignty. Joseph, too, suffered unjustly, being sold into slavery by his brothers. It took years before God felt his trials in total had prepared him sufficiently to become second in command under Egypt’s Pharaoh. Our Lord’s disciples were not rewarded with health and wealth for having known Jesus personally. All but John were martyred with their blessing, instead, being a powerful witness to us of Christ’s loving grace which continues today. 
    And, the beloved Apostle Paul shared his own physical struggle in II Corinthians 12:8-10. It was his belief that he was given an irritating “thorn” so that he would not become conceited in his ministry. “Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me… For when I am weak, then I am strong.” Can I say that? No, not always… Paul had tremendous faith, a highly honorable witness of God's love and grace, yet even he was not healed as he desired.
    Even in turning back a few pages to Romans 8:28, we read that Paul reminded us to “…know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”  For “this is the confidence we have in approaching God:  that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us.” (I John 5:14)  Then, as we “…seek first his kingdom and his righteousness…all these things will be given to [us] as well. (Matthew 6:33)  The blessings come with faith and trust in God and His will for my life… not following or pleading for my own desires.
    In the midst of our troubles, as we seek the Lord’s love and guidance, He uses those trials to bring His will to completion in us, causing good to emerge out of what we consider bad… not necessarily health and wealth, but certainly that for which we can bring praise and honor to our loving God as our faith grows through the trial and suffering.  For in the end, He is all we need… not riches and great fame.
    And there I rest my case, putting an end to my own strivings and struggles against what at times seem to be unfair life circumstances… to “be still, and know that [He is] God.” (Psalm 46:10)  For who am I to question what trial God will use to bless and mature me into wisdom… or to draw me closer to Him and His great love… and maybe to bless someone else from what I’ve learned?  As our Lord’s prayer says, “…Thy will be done…”  
    Sometimes I Strive
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Sometimes I strive against You, my God
    Without an answer to desperate pleas.
    How can it be that silence ensues
    From heartfelt prayers and a depth of faith?
     
    Yet no promise was ever uttered
    That a life of ease for asking was ours,
    For at the core of trials and tears
    Lies deeper faith with trust at its heart.
     
    To watch and wonder why suffering exists,
    What is the purpose?  Where is the healing?
    Did you not say, “Take delight in Me
    And I will grant the desires of your heart?”
     
    But that’s only part of truth in blessing
    For when it’s Your will and we bear much fruit
    Will it be said You answered my pleas?
    No, even then answers seem fleeting.
     
    For in the asking You give what is best,
    Not what we want, but what meets our needs.
    As You work for good whatever we face
    Therein lies peace in accepting Your will.
  16. Linda Roorda
    Despair… a lack of hope... a feeling of utter defeat… like you’ve been so beaten down you can’t get back up to face the world.  The loss of something good can be that devastating… whether it’s the loss of a loved one, the disabling of physical abilities, the loss of a job, or perhaps the loss of something greatly treasured.  Maybe one of these difficult issues is what you’re facing right now.
    My poem below was written in 2014, during a very difficult year for us as a couple, found among my cache of unpublished reflections.  Ed faced a life-and-death situation from severe pancreatitis with no known cause, the doctor telling him if he’d waited one more day to come to the ER, he would not have survived.  That recovery was followed by additional health issues, procedures and surgery for Ed, with my own diagnosis of breast cancer with procedures and surgery.  To say we were overwhelmed by life, trying to handle so many health issues one on top of another, would be an understatement… 
    Any loss can be difficult as you slowly wend your way through grief. Your emotions have taken a hit. Yet you may not realize it’s actually healthy to go through the several steps of grief to process a loss… as long as you don’t get stuck in one of the stages.  For it’s important to know that, in the end, you will be ok… you are normal… and you will survive to ultimately smile at the world once again.
    Like many others who have faced losses, my husband and I also faced several major losses which, at the time, seemed utterly overwhelming.  And we fell right in line with the Kubler-Ross stages of grief - denial, anger, the “if only” stage, depression, and acceptance.  Admittedly, it’s not an easy journey.  But in looking back, we can honestly say we overcame the challenges and moved forward in peace knowing the Lord was at our side… every step of the way.
    One of the initial major losses we dealt with began for my husband in 1985.  He had always known poor vision after pure oxygen damaged his eyes as a premature twin in an incubator (then called retrolental fibroplasia, now labeled retinopathy of prematurity).  But, unknown to us as a young couple was the disease’s typical gradual deterioration of the retina in his left eye (the right optic nerve was damaged irreparably by the pure oxygen). 
    Going for a second opinion due to odd shadows in his vision field, he was told he had a major retinal tear that the previous ophthalmologist had overlooked and actually denied to another doctor who felt that was the issue… and Ed needed urgent surgery.  He could not even do barn chores that evening… or ever again… in order to preserve his only viable eye and limited vision for as long as possible. 
    To Ed, it felt as though it were the end of life… the end of farming with his Dad, the only working relationship he had known, a way of life he absolutely loved.  He was only 33, and we had three young ones to care for.  In coming to terms with our situation, I went back to work a month after his surgery, while he stayed home to care for our children.  Unfortunately, he faced further vision loss a few short years later as we returned from a trip to New Jersey to visit my family.  We shared an unforgettable day of fun and laughter when my Dad and step-mother took us to the ocean at Sandy Hook. But on the way home, driving north through the hills of Scranton, PA, his eye began hemorrhaging.  After two surgeries, he was left with limited light and color detection, and the stages of grief set in once again.
    Typically, major loss is also faced with denial and shock that such a thing could happen.  Yes, it was devastating.  How could this happen to us, and why?  He’d lost his farming job and had no idea what else he could do with limited useable vision.  We’d also purchased a new riding mower that spring which he was looking forward to using.  You think things will get better… soon, somehow… they just have to!  You hold out hope that life will return to normal… but the norm we were used to was gone forever.
    And then, anger and frustration took over.  You may go through a time of blaming yourself, or someone else.  Life seems unfair and you find yourself retreating into a world all your own.  If only things were different, if only I’d done things differently…  At this stage, Ed smashed his white cane until broken.  What we learned after seeking professional help for the blind and their families from Binghamton’s AVRE was invaluable.  Later, while Ed was at The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, MA for six months, he again learned this was part of a normal grief process.  Other residents had also taken out their anger and frustration in various ways, with most, if not all, breaking their first cane.  It was hard to learn a new way of doing things… to tackle the simplest of tasks with very limited or no vision… learning to do the things we take for granted.  Out of his training at The Carroll Center, came the blessing of skills for a new office job.
    Then, as the final curtain of darkness closed in around him about 10 years later, a deeper depression settled in.  As he lost the last remnants of vision, Ed would describe dreams in vivid colors to me.  They seemed to taunt him on awakening, and he would be devastated once again to find his world was still dark, totally devoid of all light and color.  I suspect that may also be why he wasn’t overly fond of colorful descriptions of things he could no longer see.  I get it… that was like rubbing salt into an open wound; it was easier for him to just not think about his vision loss.
    Gradually, though, he came to accept his situation as his old self rose to the occasion.  Just like when he grew up with limited vision in school and on the farm (20/200 with glasses, reading with a book very close to his face), he was determined to accomplish whatever seemingly insurmountable task was put in front of him… and succeed he did!  His faith remained strong in God who had given him a kind and gentle heart with a depth of wisdom and sense of humor that once again carried him forward. 
    And remember that new riding mower which Ed never got to use?  Well, we have a photo of him sitting on it, reaching to the front of the mower with his new white cane… positioned to guide his path... just for the fun of it.  He always impressed me with his sense of humor and inner strength, another gift from God, for I truly don’t know that I could have handled all that he had… as well as he had.  Yes, he continued to have occasional difficult days of depression, as anyone does with major loss, but He carried on with strength and courage from the Lord to face each new obstacle.
    With our hope, faith, and trust in God above, we find He’s there for us.  He has promised “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” (Hebrews 12:11)  “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10)
    Our God may have to carry us for a while, but He’s there, helping each of us face the darkest and most difficult days… on our journey to joy.  
    The Journey to Joy
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    I see your hurt and sorrow within
    As you gaze out from a darkened pane
    Where once shone light and humor bright
    Now focus is turned to inward retreat.
    ~
    Not yours to enjoy are bright sunny days
    And seldom is heard laughter’s easy ring.
    Your days often pass in a hazy blur
    With meaning to find in the depth of loss.
    ~
    For you the birds do not sing their songs
    And clouds have covered the light in your heart.
    Each waking moment a reminder grim
    Of all that once was and all that can’t be.
    ~
    But change will come when you least expect
    And so it is with healing’s growth
    With subtle tones your soul will be filled
    As glimmers of hope displace the gloom.
    ~
    For if you allow the dawn’s gentle rays
    To open windows in the heart of your soul
    A breath of fresh joy will encompass you
    Bringing its light on the wings of hope.
    ~
    Then throw open wide shutters of despair
    And let the Son cover you with His peace
    Listen to His voice bring soothing comfort
    Drawing you near in His arms of love.
    ~
    May your heart hear the birds sweetly sing
    And may your soul see the Light of the world
    As grateful song brings praise to His name,
    For He has wrought this journey to joy.
    ~~
  17. Linda Roorda
    I’m very thankful to be celebrating another birthday, and the many blessings within the sadness of these past several months. God has answered my prayers for strength, to “be strong”, our daughter Jenn’s words of Godly wisdom from my vision of her in heaven while praying in my sitting garden the day after her passing… so fitting even now, as God has wrapped His arms of love around me by using each of my friends and family with their gifts of love, hugs, and encouraging kind words – because you each have a gift within your heart to share… reminding me of this blog and poem written several years ago.
    Sometimes, our best inspiration comes from the most unlikely place!  With the admonition to be “in the world, but not of it,” we find ourselves living out our faith foundation in the world around us (Romans 12:2).  After graduating from 6th grade at Passaic (Pine Street) Christian School in New Jersey, my Dad felt it was time to live out my faith by attending public junior high.  Despite the culture shock, I learned invaluable lessons… especially since I think we tend to compartmentalize “church/faith” versus every-day worldly life.
    So yes, sometimes our best faith inspiration comes from the most unlikely place!
    I used to enjoy relaxing in the evenings with Ed by watching reruns of M*A*S*H, though it’s no longer on that cable station.  Though not overly fond of some of the show’s escapades, I especially prefer Corporal Walter (Radar) O’Reilly and the latter years with Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce’s new surgical partners, Captain B.J. Hunnicutt and Major Charles Emerson Winchester, III, as well as their commanding officer, Colonel Sherman T. Potter, and Major Margaret Houlihan.  The show and its characters seemed to have evolved from a certain nonsense to one of moving and memorable themes.  As the varied characters offer a wide array of human egos and emotions, I’ve found the wisdom of humanity expressed well in many of the shows.
    There’s an episode that has always held a special place in my heart, one that I consider the arrogant Major Winchester’s best.  After operating on a wounded soldier, able to save the young man’s leg with his surgical expertise, Winchester tries to encourage his patient further.  Explaining that, although he’ll have permanent nerve damage to three fingers of his right hand, it won’t be too noticeable.  Angry, the soldier is reduced to tears and despondency, telling Winchester that his surgical efforts weren’t good enough.  His hands were his life… he was a concert pianist!  Feeling the pain of failure, Winchester turns away despondent.
    Then, with determination, Major Winchester approaches the 4077th’s company clerk, Corporal Max Klinger, handing him a list of sheet music to pick up in Seoul.  Later, with music in hand, Winchester wheels Private David Sheridan into the Officers’ Club and positions him in front of the piano.  Despite his patient’s disgust, Winchester attempts to encourage the young man’s gift to make music.  Angry and resentful, Sheridan wants none of it.
    Unshaken, Winchester shares the story of a pianist from another time who’d lost the use of one hand. Placing sheet music for a one-handed pianist in front of Sheridan, he asks, “Don't you see?  Your hand may be stilled, but your gift cannot be silenced if you refuse to let it be.”
    Private Sheridan scoffs at his surgeon:  “Gift?  You keep talking about this damn gift.  I had a gift, and I exchanged it for some mortar fragments, remember?”
    With great feeling, Winchester responds:  “Wrong!  Because the gift does not lie in your hands.  I have hands, David.  Hands that can make a scalpel sing.  More than anything in my life I wanted to play, but I do not have the gift.  I can play the notes, but I cannot make the music.  You've performed Liszt, Rachmaninoff, Chopin.  Even if you never do so again, you've already known a joy that I will never know as long as I live.  Because the true gift is in your head and in your heart and in your soul.  Now you can shut it off forever, or you can find new ways to share your gift with the world - through the baton, the classroom, or the pen.  As to these works, they're for you, because you and the piano will always be as one.”  Slowly and hesitantly, Sheridan began playing, gradually finding himself taken over by the emotion as the music in his soul found its voice. (from the TV series M*A*S*H:  "Morale Victory", 1980) 
    Just as Maj. Winchester tried to help Pvt. Sheridan understand, we’ve each been blessed with a special gift, a talent.  We can hide it, misuse it, or use it to benefit others... we have a choice.  Though we may not see our gift as the blessing it is, Jesus’ brother James acknowledged that “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father…” (James 1:17a)  Even the Apostle Peter encouraged us by writing that “Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God’s grace in its various forms.”  (I Peter 4:10 NIV) 
    We can encourage a friend with our words or any of our unique special gifts, like teaching, serving, leadership skills, mercy and compassion, or even simply giving the gift of our time (Romans 12:6-8).  When we make wise use of our talents and training, we truly are blessing the recipients of our gifts.  In faithfully serving others, may we one day hear our Lord say to us, just as he told the young man who grew his financial gift:  “Well done, good and faithful servant!  You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!”  (Matthew 25:21)
    You’ve A Gift Within
    Linda A. Roorda
    You’ve a gift within your heart to be shared
    To love your neighbor as you do yourself
    But much more than this is humble service
    Sharing devotion from depths of true love.
    ~
    Seek out the hurting, the ones bewildered
    In a world of turmoil, in the midst of grief,
    At a loss for words, not knowing where to turn,
    Be an anchor bringing peace to their soul.
    ~
    Be generous with praise, speak truth with wisdom,
    Carry the burden to lift the heavy heart
    Encourage and esteem, strengthen with hope
    Humbly meeting each need on your path.
    ~
    Lift up the oppressed, release from restraints
    Enfold in your arms those wounded by life.
    Show mercy and grace, forgive the offense
    Come alongside to guide the wavering feet.
    ~
    For out of confusion and cries of the soul
    In walking a line tween query and quest,
    Comes peace that calms and joy that rebuilds
    From the gift within your heart that was shared.
    ~~
  18. Linda Roorda

    The Bread of Life

    By Linda Roorda,

    I woke up early one Sunday morning several years ago with the beginning of this differently-phrased poem running through my thoughts… and got up to write it down immediately.  I couldn’t risk losing the thoughts that flowed.  Reading it again, I see how fitting it is for this season of Lent. As our busy days and weeks draw us closer to celebrating Easter, we ponder all that our Lord did for us when He walked upon this earth, especially in His great sacrifice.
    For the picture that came to mind was of Jesus, the Bread of Life, the spotless Lamb of God, leisurely strolling among us, the great sea of humanity, just as we read in the Holy Scriptures.  We touched Him, listened to His words, praised Him for His great love, kindness, healing... and we sat down to dine with Him.  But then, to our amazement, He willingly allowed himself to be taunted and whipped.  Bleeding, his skin in shreds, unrecognizable, He took upon His shoulders a cross, weighed down by all of our sin. 
    The Son of God came to earth so that, as son of man, born of a virgin, He might live among us, His creation.  Though perfect in every way, He was tested, understanding our frailties, our weaknesses.  He came to seek and to serve us, with all humility, that we might learn from His ways.  He taught and ministered with wisdom beyond our finite comprehension.  He healed some and forgave the sins of others, all that we might come to understand His mission more fully.
    He took my place… my shame… my guilt.  My sin left deep stains and wounds upon His body, yet He gently covered me with a garment woven from His Words of Life.  The garment was dipped and washed in His blood, but it emerged pure and spotless… undefiled… and undeserved by me. And humbly I bow, with praise and thanksgiving for Him alone… Jesus, my Savior, my Redeemer, my God… the Bread of Life. 
    The Bread of Life
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    I watched intently
    The Bread of Life
    Walking among
    The sea of humanity
    As He, the gentle
    Perfect and spotless
    Lamb of God
    Willingly
    Took upon His shoulders
    My guilt
    My shame
    My sin
    All that defiles
    And wove for me
    With Words of Life
    A garment
    Pure and spotless
    Cleansed
    By His blood poured out
    Which covered my stains
    As I
    With grateful heart
    Praise the One
    The great I Am
    My Advocate
    Who took my place
    And welcomes me
    With open arms
    And nail-scarred hands
    Forgiven.
    ~~
  19. Linda Roorda

    I See Beauty

    By Linda Roorda,

    My desk calendar has a quote from Victor Hugo – “Winter is on my head, but eternal Spring is in my heart.”  So true, isn’t it?! Even in difficult times, we still have hope, we still look forward, and try not to dwell on the negatives… tho sometimes it’s easier said than done, and something I have to work on at times to keep focusing forward in hope… to hope in the Lord to see me/us through our difficult days.  
    Which reminds me of this blog, for winter can seem so dark, so long… yet even then there is beauty to be found in the simplicity of winter, and the simplicity of our days, if we just open our eyes to truly see the blessings around us.
    Though this poem and blog were written several years ago, reading and updating it led me to be thankful again for the little things, life’s simplicity, God’s blessings.  Enjoy!
    ~~           ~~           ~~
    There’s beauty all around us in even the simplest of things… if we just take the time to truly see. 
    Sometimes when the days were hectic and I’d get overwhelmed, just sitting in my gardens would help to wash away the stress, like a cleansing of the soul. And in the depths of a cold winter, I’d set out sunflower seeds, peanuts in the shell, and suet… to quietly watch the birds descend on the dining bounty.  Whether sitting in a summer garden surrounded by blooming splendor or sitting in the warmth of my house gazing outward at a pristine snowfall, there is so much beauty to enjoy.
    I’ve shared other poems and reflections about the beauty of nature.  Truth be told, outside is where I’d rather be, no matter the season.  Except, having discovered a tick embedded with a resultant bull’s eye rash in early 2015, I’m not as much a frequenter of the outdoor world as previously.
    But when writing this blog in mid-January 2016, winter had finally settled in with her bitter cold, howling winds, and a light snow.  After being spoiled with an extra warm late fall/early winter compliments of El Nino, it was only fitting we returned to more seasonable weather… which prompted me to feed the birds.  Almost immediately, a downy woodpecker settled on the upright peanut-in-the-shell feeder I’d made several years ago.  It’s been frequented by downy, hairy, red-headed and red-bellied woodpeckers, blue jays, nuthatches and chickadees. And that doesn’t even include the wide variety of birds which have flown in to seek a snack in the other feeders.  Some very interesting species during migrations were also drawn in when seeds were set out longer during the season than in the recent few years.
    While watching the birds though, I couldn’t help but notice the stark-naked tree limbs reaching skyward.  There’s a distinct beauty in their coarseness.  Some branches drape downward, others reach beckoning hands out and up, as they twist and turn in various directions.  And they all carry leaf buds that before too much longer will begin to swell with the promise of spring… to once again be clothed in shades of green and dazzling pastels.
    I especially enjoy the warm days of spring that flow into the heat of summer.  I absolutely love to hear the early spring peepers and frogs.  And I love to hear the variety of birds singing as they fly around our yard, swallows swooping to catch bugs on the wing... and the calls of hungry nestlings to their busy parents…  all music to my ears.
    To watch a gorgeous sunrise as the faintest of color pierces the velvet dark sky, or to gaze on a beautiful sunset with rays of sun which slice outward from behind clumps of clouds is heavenly. And, taking a long look at those clouds, notice the different types, forms, and shapes.  Again, there is so much simple beauty to be found anywhere the eye can look.
    Take time to peer a little closer at weeds while taking a walk.  Their delicate flower forms often closely resemble cultivated relatives.  Watch a stream flowing by, water gurgling over the rocks, little fish darting here and there.  Observe a bee or a bug from as close a perspective as you can get.  Study the bloom of a flower.  Appreciate what’s right there in front of you, and drink in the beauty we often and casually walk on by…
    It seems that as we contemplate nature’s beauty around us, life begins to ease into a slower pace.  Allow yourself the chance to slow down… stand still within life’s fast-paced frenzy.  Look around… and truly see the beauty in the tiniest of details.  For as Ecclesiastes 3:11 says, “[God] has made everything beautiful in its time…”  So, take the time to pause and contemplate life in all its delicate beauty …
     
    I See Beauty
    Linda A. Roorda 
    I see beauty in the world around
    Where some see a tree I see living art
    I see God’s hand in the rays of dawn
    The streaks of light that brighten our world.
     
    I hear the chirps of birds in the air
    Tunes of delight as they share their praise
    With grateful hearts for daily blessings
    Their endless singing brings joy to my soul.
     
    I gaze upon a flowing river
    Or gentle stream and watch its passing
    From whence it came to where it will go
    While I at the edge can only look on.
     
    I climb these hills covered in thick wood
    To look on scenes spread out far below
    A miniature world enchanting and calm
    Creation’s beauty forever enjoyed.
     
    It gives me pause to contemplate life
    Reason and meaning for all in this world
    Breeze in the air and sun on my face
    With reassuring peace midst bustling din.
     
    While gazing still away to the west
    This day winds down and shadows lengthen
    The sunset dazzles as it slowly fades
    A perfect ending, its treasure to hold.
    ~~
  20. Linda Roorda

    Maybe...

    By Linda Roorda,

    This is a previously unpublished poem and reflection that I wrote in June 2016. It was written at a time Ed was feeling disheartened by the constant, never-ending difficulties and health issues he faced.  He read it back then, and appreciated these words intended to lift him up.  And if you are facing a difficult season of life, may God bless you through these words, and comfort you with His peace. 
    ~~
    I suspect there are a number of good folks, especially the elderly and the disabled, who may feel as though no one needs them anymore.  They’ve given their life to working and helping others, and now their body has begun to fail them, leaving them to think they’re worthless… maybe even feeling as though they’re a burden to family and friends… or simply feeling down or depressed about their life’s turn of events.  And perhaps this malady affects more of our friends and loved ones than we care to think it does.
    Stop!  You are not worthless!  You have so much value to share with others around you!  If we’re honest, we all struggle at times with whether we’re really needed, or even appreciated for what we do.  I know there were times my husband, Ed, felt discouraged with his disabilities, like he wasn’t a valuable part of our marriage or family team.  But I reassured him how much I really needed him.  I needed his sense of humor, his strength of faith and character, his wise and godly words of wisdom, his comforting hugs with those long arms wrapped around “little tiny me” (our joke), his even-keeled and easy-going personality, with his arms and words bringing comfort and peace when I’d become overwhelmed by life.  And this poem and reflection were written to encourage him during a time when he was feeling down about all his health issues.
    Think of the wisdom you’ve gained over a lifetime of working, learning, and maturing.  Just maybe you have something to contribute that others might find helpful on their life’s journey.  Maybe you have an answer to a perplexing problem that they couldn’t see their way out of.  Maybe you could simply be the ears to hear their story… listen to their cries… and give them the tangible support of a shoulder to lean on.  Be that someone they can vent to… someone to share their heartaches with… someone to share their joys with… while you, in turn, might share your own wisdom and humor.  Help them see their way back out of the Tunnel of Defeat to smile again and become a help to others - “…[to] comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.” (II Corinthians 1:4)
    Each of us has a value and worth far beyond what we can ever imagine.  Share what you see among the positives and strengths in their life.  Open their eyes to the character and person they truly are… the one that others see within.  Let them know how much you need them… that their inner strength, which was once so vibrant, may lie hidden now, and they may have forgotten it exists, but it is still there… just waiting to emerge and be shared with some needy soul.
    For just maybe… you truly are worth more than you ever might think! 
    Maybe
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Maybe you think you’ve nothing to give
    Maybe you wonder where all the years flew
    Maybe you think of what could have been
    Maybe you wonder why life’s valleys are deep…
     
    Maybe you don’t see your gentle heart
    The love and wisdom your words express
    The protection found within your arms
    A restful solace with comforting peace.
     
    Maybe you remember your youthful strength
    Maybe you wonder why health is shattered
    Maybe you think that you’re not needed
    Maybe you wonder what value you have…
     
    Maybe compassion which empathy shares
    From a humble soul which doesn’t praise self
    And humor and smiles that lift heavy burdens
    Bring glowing praise for life’s simple blessings…
     
    For maybe your life is a shining beacon
    That others may know Who guides your heart still
    As the light of wisdom, that humble honor
    Proves faith and trust rests solely in Him.
    ~~
    06/17/16
  21. Linda Roorda

    And He Smiled

    By Linda Roorda,

    None of us knows the impact we can have on those around us.  We live our life as best we can, trusting God, and simply doing what needs to be done with what’s in front of us. We don’t look for adulation. We strive to be there in support of those in need, to do perhaps what they cannot.  Perhaps we give a smile, an encouraging word, praise for a job well done, or humor to lighten their day in the stress of life.
    One of my friends, Sharon, fits that description. She wrote this poem as the words came gushing to her mind in the middle of the night a few days after my husband Ed passed away. I was deeply touched with how perfectly these words flowed with very little editing on her part. And I shed tears, for these words from God so perfectly spoke not only the heart of my friend, but brought comfort and peace into the depths of my family’s loss.
    With permission granted, I share her poem with you. It embodies truth as God knows what we are dealing with and has allowed to touch our lives for His purposes.  He smiles, understands, and lovingly embraces us on those difficult days we all face… while we each become the arms of God extending His loving care to those around us.  
    And He Smiled
    By Sharon Babcock - January 2023 
    A gentle giant of a man
    And a slender doe-like young woman
    Fell in love walking the winter fields.
    God had put them together
    Already knowing the trials they would face.
    And He smiled.
     
    They made a home together,
    And their family grew,
    Even as they grieved for the babies
    They would not see grow up.
    Their love story went on
    And more babies came.
    They trusted God.
    And He smiled.
     
    He worked the farm,
    Driving his favorite tractor in neat, straight rows.
    She worked too, and filled their home
    With things she lovingly made,
    Curtains for the windows
    And clothes for the children.
    They trusted God.
    And He smiled.
     
    His vision faded,
    Blindness finally overtook him,
    And the farming that he loved could no longer be.
    They faced the death of their beloved now-grown little girl.
    The trials that God knew they would face mounted around them.
    His body became a prison of pain and suffering.
    But they trusted God.
    And He smiled.
     
    The life of the gentle giant and the young woman
    Became a lesson for all to see.
    They had trusted God.
    He had been faithful.
    And He smiled.
     
    Now the gentle giant has gone Home,
    Leaving the young woman alone.
    She will mourn for him, longing for his touch,
    His voice, and the way he made her laugh.
    But she knows he clearly sees now,
    And when he first opened his eyes in Heaven
    He saw Jesus, and there was great rejoicing.
    And God smiled.
     
    He has hugged his children, his twin brother, his parents,
    And all the other dear ones who went Home before him.
    He has looked at their faces and seen their smiles.
    His body, no longer wracked with pain,
    Is young and strong once again.
    He rejoices as he hears the words of his Savior,
    “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
    He waits for the young woman to join him once again.
    And God smiled.
     
    In the quiet moments
    When everyone has gone home,
    She knows her life will never again be the same.
    And yet, she is trusting God for everything, as always.
    And thanking Him for a lifetime of love with her gentle giant.
    She can sing, “It is well with my soul.”
    She is trusting God.
    And He is smiling.
    He knew.
    ~~
     
  22. Linda Roorda

    The Broken String

    By Linda Roorda,

    I cannot even begin to say “thank you” enough for all the kindness in the many caring words in cards and in person, the shared tears, meals, memories and laughter, and thoughts and prayers family and friends have showered upon me and my family in the loss of our Ed – husband, Pop, Gramps, brother, cousin, uncle, and friend. Thank you to everyone who came to the calling hours and memorial service yesterday, you deeply touched our hearts - including the surprise to see my niece and her family who traveled from Tennessee, and our friends, our late Jenn’s dear in-laws, who drove down from Maine – we shall never forget their kindness in being here with us. Thanks to my daughter for finding the direct contact person at the newspaper headquarters who so kindly amended Ed’s online obituaries to include our Jenn’s name as having predeceased him, because… in all the upheaval, I forgot to include my own daughter. All the offers of help in so many ways are greatly appreciated. I’m still looking around to find Ed, wondering why he’s not holding onto my arm, but I’ll be ok and know Ed is rejoicing in heaven’s glory with perfect vision!
    Each one of us encounters failures and losses in life.  Each one of us encounters disabilities in ourselves or those around us.  But it’s what we do with, and how we react to, all that comes our way that makes a difference... in our lives and in the lives of others.  We can carry on with selfish pride in what we can do, we can roll over in defeat at failure... or we can face the challenge in humility, asking God to guide us along a broken and difficult path.
    For 27 years (from 1982 to 2009), we burned wood to heat our house.  When my husband, Ed, farmed with his dad, he cut his own firewood with a chainsaw despite very limited vision.  Came the day, though, that Ed lost the balance of his limited vision and was completely blind.  He could no longer use a chainsaw after just a few years, later had to stop using an axe to split wood, and it remained to be seen how he would handle the other obstacles that faced him after becoming totally blind. 
    Initially, he went through a difficult transition and grieving process, common to all with any serious loss.  None of us knew how best to handle the change.  It was a learn-as-you-go process until we found professional guidance specifically for the blind at A.V.R.E. in Binghamton, NY and The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, MA.  And then, his old self rose up to meet the challenges, determined to do whatever he could to face whatever came his way… with a catch.
    As he stacked firewood one day without any remaining fragments of light and color to guide him, the rows kept collapsing.  He simply could not get the pieces of wood to fit together well enough to stay in neat upright rows.  In utter frustration, he sat down and put his head in his hands, feeling like an utter failure.  All of his life he’d had to struggle with limited vision, being classified legally blind from infancy on.  He struggled in the classroom, not being able to see the board, often refusing to ask for help.  He wanted to be just like everyone else.
    Most of us can tackle any activity, job or hobby with ease.  But Ed was denied what he longed to do… he couldn’t play football or basketball with his 6’7” height.  He could swim like a pro, but wasn’t allowed on the team for fear he’d hurt himself or others if he strayed from his lane.  Instead, the coach made him manager of their state division championship team from Warwick, NY.  But, at other times, peers mocked and belittled him.  Why couldn’t he be accepted just for who he was?  Why did everything have to be so hard?  Why couldn’t life be easier and simpler… like it was for everyone else?  It wasn’t fair, he thought.
    Yet, he had accomplished so much with so little for so many years!  He could milk the cows, climb the silos, drive tractor and do all the field work except plant corn, and that was only because he couldn’t see where the last row left off.  With his limitations, he knew to be extra cautious and it always paid off.  But, now it seemed that even this last bit of enjoyment in stacking firewood was being taken from him, too. 
    Except, while sitting there, with the wood he’d stacked falling down, he decided to pray and ask God for help in this seemingly simple, but now very challenging task.  He prayed that God would guide each piece of wood he picked up so it would fit and the rows wouldn’t fall down… so that he could stack the wood himself without having to ask yet again for more help.  As he stood up and once again picked up the firewood, he soon realized that every piece he stacked fit… well, actually, fit perfectly!  When he was done, his rows stood straight and tall without collapsing! 
    And then he began hearing comments from neighbors who marveled at how great his stacked firewood looked.  By a man who couldn’t see, no less!  As Ed told anyone who commented, “It wasn’t me; it was God.”  It was only after he prayed each time before he picked up the first piece of wood that he was able to manage this seemingly impossible task.  But, if he forgot and just delved right in to stacking, the wood invariably collapsed… until he sat down and had a little talk with God.
    My poem below is reminiscent of a story floating around the internet of violinist Itzhak Perlman performing with a broken violin string.  Though that feat was unable to be confirmed by reliable sources, the concept is worthy of illustrating our brokenness in disability.  Another young man, Niccolo` Paganini, was an Italian child prodigy who played mandolin and violin from ages 5 and 7 respectively.  Supposedly, he once played with three broken strings, refusing to allow the handicap to end his serenade.  Paganini excelled in part because of Marfan’s Syndrome which gave him his height and extra long fingers, a genetic syndrome also found in both of our families.  The elasticity of joints and tissues allowed Paganini the flexibility to bend and extend his fingers beyond the norm as he used the disability to his benefit.
    Like Ed and others with disabilities, we can either resent our situation or we can have a little talk with God, asking Him to guide us through whatever we face. 
    The Broken String
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Four strings create beautiful music
    Perfection in pitch, magnificent tone
    All they expect, not asking for more
    Performing with pride just as it should be.
     
    Pulling the bow across the taut strings
    Gently at first, then faster I stroke
    The symphonic sound brings tears to their eyes
    This is my gift to their list’ning ears.
     
    Closing my eyes to the beauty of sound
    Caressing the strings, deep feelings evoked
    From graceful and light to dramatic and rich
    Till one string popped, now what shall I do?
     
    Adversity gives a chance to prove worth
    As now I’ve lost a string that flails free.
    In silence all eyes are riveted on me;
    Would I be angry or would I accede?
     
    Silently I prayed, God give me the strength
    I’ve been disabled, humbled before all.
    Help me I pray to carry on well
    Let them now see You working through me.
     
    Adjusting my bow and fingers for sound
    Quickly I learned to amend my strokes,
    As to my ears a beautiful tune
    Emanates yet while focused on God.
     
    When the finale at last had arrived
    With a soft sigh I played my last note,
    And as it faded they rose to their feet
    With wild applause from their hearts to mine.
     
    Perhaps it was all intended to reach
    This attitude of pride within myself.
    A lesson was learned in how to react,
    Adversity’s gift to sink or to soar.
     
    For without You what does my life mean?
    What value is placed on my outward skills?
    Do You not, Lord, see deep in my heart
    Where my soul reflects my pride or Your grace?
     
    My attitude then a choice I must make
    Embrace gratitude or sink in despair.
    For I cannot change what happens to me
    Instead, I’ll play while focused on You.
     
    Humility grows by resigning pride
    As a broken string reflects trials of life.
    Others I’ll serve as You did for me
    For in You is found the selfless way of life.
    ~~
    05/31/14
    ~
    An abridged version of the following reflection was published in “Breaking Barriers” in March 2016, a publication of the Christian Reformed and Reformed Church in America Disability Concerns Ministries.
     
  23. Linda Roorda

    My Shepherd You Are

    By Linda Roorda,

    I struggle with remembering to take life one day at a time, even though I often reference it in my writings. Maybe you too? It’s a daily learning process to release my cares to God. With my husband's need for nursing home rehab, I’ve panicked and become fearful of the unknown future… will he do well, rebuild muscle to regain strength enough to return home… or will he need long-term skilled nursing care… a frightening unknown future for both of us.
    But then, I remember, trust God – for He has it all under control. He knows the plans He’s already put in motion for me and Ed, individually and as a couple.  “’For I know the plans I have for you,’” declares the Lord, “’plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” (Jeremiah 29:11)  For “He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.” (Isaiah 40:11)
    I’m not alone!  When I wander with frets and worries, He pursues me… He comes seeking and calling me back closer to Himself… as I then look to Him for guidance, comfort, and peace.
    Interestingly, our friend and pastor, Charlie (and Natalie) Hale, from Maine, unknowingly confirmed my choice of this blog by sending us his own words of comfort to me and Ed about Psalm 23 last Thursday.  He wrote, “God knows we can be afraid and He has promised to take care of us through everything that comes our way. Keeping our focus on God who has promised: “Yet in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.  For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:37-39)  We can trust that we are safe in the hands of God come what may because we know we are His and no one is able to snatch us out of His hands. (John 10:29)  Thank you, Charlie, for reminding us of our Lord’s precious care as Shepherd.
    As I wrote back in 2014, Psalm 23 has been a favorite sacred poem to many of us, a calming reassurance, bringing peace to our soul when we face difficult days.  What better way for the psalmist David to have described the loving protection and care of him by our, Lord, than through this Psalm based on what he knew firsthand as a Shepherd!
    My poem below is an interpretative attempt to rephrase David’s work with wording from my heart, and not to take anything away from the original.  My hope is that it still reflects the intent of David’s beautiful words, the thoughts and feelings that he conveyed as he spoke from his own experience as a shepherd before God promoted him as king over Israel. 
    For we need a shepherd, too… because, like sheep, we’re prone to wander off to that which beckons and appeals to us.  Yet, we can be so unaware of the dangers which lie ahead on our path.  With a friend and neighbor who raises sheep, it’s amazed me to learn how “dumb” sheep really can be.  They’re followers, like Mary’s little lamb – where one goes, the rest are sure to follow… even into danger.  Sheep need a shepherd to protect and shelter them from the elements and storms… someone to guide them to the best pasture and water... to pull them back when they start to wander away.  They need a shepherd to prevent dangerous predators from attacking the weakest or those grazing on the outskirts of the flock.  They need someone to assist at early spring lambing to assure all goes well; and to see that when a mother abandons one of her twins or triplets, the little one is adopted by another caring mother or cared for and fed by their loving shepherd.  Simply put, sheep need someone they trust completely to care about their every need.
    In my teens, I raised a lamb, a twin abandoned by her mom.  I fed little “Lambie” with a baby bottle from my baby brother, made sure her water bucket had fresh clean water, brought hay for her to munch on, took her outside to graze on fresh grass in our backyard while keeping an ever-watchful eye out to protect her as she investigated and jumped around, seeing how much her shepherdess cared for and loved her.
    Having cared for a little lamb, I can truly appreciate the imagery of Jesus as my Shepherd, listening for His voice of wisdom, and feeling His love guiding and protecting me.  The hard part for us, though, is being sure to follow Him...
    My Shepherd You Are
    Linda A. Roorda
    (Based on Psalm 23) 
    My Shepherd You are, protector and shield
    Providing my needs for body and soul.
    You cover with peace so I will not fear
    You give my soul rest, contentment to know.
     
    Your Word is my light on this path of life
    That Your love I may show to all those I meet.
    Yet when sorrow comes to wrap in despair
    May I ever know it will not destroy.
     
    Though in the valley, death I may face
    You walk beside me with comfort and peace.
    For calm is my heart when focused on you
    As with me you stay ever at my side.
     
    Whenever I stray enticed by sweet ways
    Your directing words still guide me in love.
    My faith you reward among all my foes
    As blessings pour out, my life overflows.
     
    Your loving goodness with mercy and grace
    Will follow my days of life on this earth.
    For within your house, oh Lord I shall dwell
    To sing your praise now and evermore.
     
    Lover of my soul guiding my steps
    Seeking my heart when wand’ring I stray
    Bringing me joy to follow Your path
    My Shepherd You are, protector and shield.
    ~~
  24. Linda Roorda

    Peace in the Storm

    By Linda Roorda,

    There have been many times when my peace was shattered... in difficult storms, painful wounds, and major losses... and I was in turmoil.  Like December 2019 when my husband was found to be in life-threatening diabetic hyperglycemic hyperosmolar syndrome, a rare complication of diabetes type II.  We were both overwhelmed with the new diagnosis of type II diabetes, and a new treatment regimen on top of his multiple other health issues.  We fully realize countless others have successfully dealt with this diagnosis, but the initial shock left us overwhelmed. 
    This year, Ed was hospitalized twice in July, again at the end of September, in the ER in early December for severe asthma and severe congestive heart failure with pulmonary edema.  Arriving home that night after spending 8-1/2 hours in the ER, I found two “thinking of you” cards in the mailbox from dear friends. What perfect timing! God knew we needed a special reminder of how he uses each of us to bring His love and caring to those who need a cheerful lift.
    And just a few days after Christmas 2022, Ed was hospitalized for 8 days with fluid overload on chronic congestive heart failure. At cardiac catheterization, three stents were placed to open a fully blocked artery, with more near total blockages and damage throughout his heart, and prolonged atrial fibrillation.  Now, he’s been readmitted with Covid, multiple blood clots in his lungs, more difficulty breathing, and major weakness. But the cards mentioned above, and the many kind comments of loving care and prayers to my updates, remind me of the following blog I’d penned based on words written so many centuries ago.  
    Reading our devotions one evening several years ago, my husband quietly asked me to read Psalm 91.  He wasn’t sure what it said, but he had a strong sense God was urging him to have me read this Psalm for a particular difficulty I was facing.
    In reading Psalm 91 aloud, I found these words by King David spoke to my heart:  “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.  I will say to the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust’… He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart… If you make the Most High your dwelling – even the Lord, who is my refuge – then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your tent… ‘Because he loves me, says the Lord, I will rescue him; I will protect him…’ He will call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.”  (vs.1-2, 4, 9-10, 14-15. NIV)
    Despite the tears rolling down while reading the entire Psalm that night, I felt a great sense of comfort and peace… that peace which passes all understanding despite the trial.  (Philippians 4:7)
    None of us is immune to the trials and storms of life.  Though sometimes God graciously allows a storm to pass us by without disturbing our equilibrium, other times He fully heals our difficult storm, while other times we have no choice but to wend our way through the storm… for neither are we promised a life of ease.  As Jesus reminded his followers in John 16:33, “I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world.” 
    The one who is ill may not even look ill.  They remember their busy fulfilling life of the past, replaced by a limited worth or useless feeling that permeates their days.  We’ve learned it is normal to grieve life changes with sadness and frustration, even as my husband’s great sense of humor pops through despite a difficult day to envelope us in therapeutic hearty laughter. 
    But I will also admit to a touch of envy knowing most friends can do anything or go wherever they want, not an option for us to enjoy.  It can be hard to identify with those who deal with chronic illness… facing health issues and concerns other folks don’t ever seem to encounter.  And the grieving process can initially leave you devoid of the joy which James 1:2-3 speaks about as we learn to accept chronic illness.  
    Guilt may even be felt by the chronically ill person and family when prayers for healing seem to go unanswered.  To hear a casual or flippant response, to be told we’re not praying right, or to sense a lack of genuine care can be crushing. As we pray for healing, we especially ask for strength to handle each day… because healing as we want may not be God’s plan.  The Apostle Paul was not healed as he desired, but learned that God’s grace was sufficient with Christ’s power and strength evident through his (Paul’s) weaknesses.  (II Corinthians 12:7-10)   Relying on God for wisdom and strength each day, God’s power shines through.
    I will never forget a hospital chaplain who sat with me when Ed was in the ICU in 2010 for severe life-threatening grand mal (tonic-clonic) seizures.  Gradually pulling out our life story, he listened and cared deeply, saying that in 30 years as a chaplain, he’d never met a family who’d dealt with the many issues we had, and I hadn’t even told him all, praying with me in facing a new major stressor.  Six months later, Ed was back in the ER, hearing his favorite ER physician say, “I’m so glad to see you! Oh, not that you’re ill again, but that you survived those seizures and have no damage!”  Wow!  She truly cared!
    We appreciate the support and prayers of family and friends as we face each new trial.  Take time to hear concerns as a new norm is accepted, leaning on God as He walks beside those in the storm.  Share your heartfelt hugs.  Convey a depth of feeling and understanding in asking “how are you doing.”  Friends and family who ask and truly listen to understand what anyone with chronic illness faces bring much comfort.  Offers of help are gratefully appreciated, even if they cannot be readily accepted.
    While we're inside the storm, though the wind and waves batter our world, we do remember God is still there, still in control.  We know we can trust Him to hold us tightly, to shelter and protect… even though we may lose everything, including life itself, as when we lost our daughter.  Yet, through the difficulty, He will make a way, perhaps close one door to open a better one, and shine His light to guide us as we move forward… one step at a time.
    It’s where we place our trust that peace will be revealed.  And when it’s placed in our Lord’s perfect will, trusting that He has our best interests at heart even in the most difficult times, we see Him help us handle what’s come our way as we grow in faith to become more like Christ.  With such trust, our faith remains unshakable and we find a renewed peace… with a joy that passes understanding.
    There’s a painting I love entitled “Peace in the Midst of the Storm” by Jack E. Dawson.  One story is told that a wealthy benefactor searched for the perfect painting depicting peace.  The first two beautiful tranquil scenes were rejected.  When the artist returned to his easel, frustrated at his work being rejected, his prayer prompted the design of a riveting scene.  On a dark and stormy night, water gushes in torrents over rocky ledges…as a mother bird calmly sits upon her nest tucked under a ledge, protecting her young while the elements rage. Now that’s peace! 

    Studying that painting, I also notice a profile of Christ in the rock formations and a cross created by rocky fissures.  Considering how our heavenly Father gently guides and protects us during the storms of life, however fierce they may be, it’s His canopy of love and peace that shelters and comforts.  And I can be at peace when life is in turmoil knowing that “[He] will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in [Him].  Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord…is the Rock eternal.” (Isaiah 26:3-4 NIV) 
    Peace
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    There is a peace in the depth of my soul
    A joy that only comes from Your love,
    For in the midst of storms and trials
    My heart is steady when focused on You.
    ~
    But peace is fleeting when I fail to heed
    When I take charge and grasp hold the wheel.
    I need to trust that Your ways are best
    When through the darkness I walk gripped by fear.
    ~
    For as the waves relentlessly toss
    Your face I’ll seek for comforting solace.
    I know You’ll guide me safely to shore
    As Your light shines down to brighten my way.
    ~
    For what is peace without Your mercy
    The hand held out to offer refuge,
    An ear to hear burdens of the heart
    Arms to envelope the soul in turmoil?
    ~
    Grace beyond measure You pour over me
    Yet I don’t deserve riches of mercy.
    Prone to wander, to follow my will
    Still You pursue to seek and to save.
    ~
    There is contentment just in the knowing
    Whenever I feel the world crashing down,
    You call my name and draw me with joy
    Out of the chaos and into Your arms.
    ~
    And like a fresh rain washing over me
    Peace like the sun envelopes my soul,
    It covers my life with joy unreserved
    Tranquility found as I rest in You.
    ~~
    07/08/15
  25. Linda Roorda

    Would I?

    By Linda Roorda,

    Christmas is so much more than busy days of shopping, fancy decorations, and Santa.  It’s more than admiring a special baby in the manger with his parents and shepherds.  It’s all about the why of his birth, and the hope he brings to our world.  But I wonder if I take my faith for granted.  I’ve known Jesus and been “in the church” since I was a baby.  I have seen God work in my life in special ways, felt Him draw me to His side as my Savior, and heard Him speak to my heart. Yet, what would I have thought if I had walked where Jesus walked when He lived upon this earth? 
    How would I have reacted when Jesus taught his disciples and the crowds that gathered?  What would I have thought of His combined humanity and deity, His love for sinners, and His great miracles? Would I have accepted Him as my Savior?  Or, would I have turned my back and rejected Him, calling for His death as others did?
    What would I have thought if I had been Mary?  With her pregnancy foretold by an angel, not married to Joseph yet, she was initially troubled.  But, Mary soon felt overjoyed to be chosen as mother of the Son of God as the angel had said (Luke 1:26-38) and glorified her Lord in song! (Luke 1:46-53) Joseph was also visited in a dream by an angel to help him understand Mary’s pregnancy. Yet, what about the attitudes they may have faced among family and friends?  Despite what the angel said, and Mary’s simple faith in God, she could have been stoned to death for her supposed unfaithfulness to Joseph by being pregnant before marriage. (Deuteronomy 22:20) Still, Joseph was a good man, heeding the angel’s message, loving and protecting Mary rather than walking away from her.  And into these humble but loving beginnings was the Son of God, the baby Jesus, set to be born…  (Matthew 1:18-24)
    When it was time, Mary gave birth in a stable full of dirty smelly animals because no one, no one, had even a small room where they could welcome their precious newborn.  As she gently wrapped her baby in swaddling cloths, calmed his tears, snuggled him in her arms and nursed him, I imagine she gazed on him with the tender love and joy in her heart that every new mother feels.  When he’d fallen asleep, she laid him gently on the hay in the manger, as the animals made their own soft chorus of night-time noises. (Luke 2:4-7)
    And what would I have thought if I were a shepherd on the hills protecting my sheep when suddenly a brilliant light appeared?  Imagine hearing an Angel say that a Savior had been born.  A Savior?  Was this the Messiah promised to the world so long ago?  And then the heavens opened as a great host of angels appeared in the brilliantly-lit sky, all singing and praising God!  What an awesome sight and sound!  It must have left them speechless!  (Luke 2:8-13)
    When the angels left, the shepherds rushed to Bethlehem to search for this newborn babe. And they found him exactly as they’d been told, lying in a manger in a stable.  Quietly, the shepherds gazed in awe upon Mary’s little boy.  She was amazed they knew all about him, and he was just born!  She heard about how the angels sang praises of her baby, calling him Christ the Lord.  Now these humble men glorified and praised God for her baby… as Mary treasured and pondered it all in her heart. (Luke 2:15-20)
    And how could Mary ever forget the time she and Joseph couldn’t find Jesus among the crowds as they walked back to Nazareth.  Imagine their consternation on finding him teaching the elder rabbis in the tabernacle.  Her little boy was only 12 years old!  He had even told his parents, “Don’t you understand I must be about my Father’s business?”  (Luke 2:49)  His father’s business?  His father was a carpenter, not a rabbi!  She and Joseph did not understand, but she pondered these things in her heart… how odd it all was, and yet how amazing!  Surely, she remembered what the angel had said about her little boy…
    Mary saw the crowds who followed after her son as a grown man, hanging onto every word he spoke… going from town to town.  How well did she and others understand that Jesus truly was the Son of God, the long-awaited Messiah?  The religious leaders walked away deeply troubled by his teachings.  Yet, there were so many miracles… and no one had ever seen or heard anything like this before!  
    Then there were the 12 men who were called her son’s disciples.  Jesus had chosen them to follow Him, and follow they did, going everywhere with their beloved teacher.  And yet, even they did not truly understand.  Oh, sure, Jesus taught them with authority and an earnestness.  One time he even asked them, “Who do you say I am?”  Peter had answered, “You are the Christ (Messiah), the Son of the living God.”  Then Jesus replied, “Blessed are you, Simon… you are Peter (which means rock)… for this was not revealed to you by man, but by my Father in heaven…” (Matthew 16:13-20)  Peter knew, he understood, and believed; but, just how deep was his faith?  Anyone’s faith at that time?
    Because, sometime later, after the soldiers had taken Jesus from their midst in the Garden of Gethsemane, Peter was questioned by two servant girls and others around a warming fire.  Three times he told them “I don’t know the man!”… and then the cock crowed… and Peter remembered Jesus had said he would deny him. (Matthew 26: 69-74)  “Even if I have to die with you, I never will disown you!”  Peter had exclaimed. (Matthew 26:31-35)  But now he had done just that.  Oh, the shame of it all! 
    Peter walked off by himself, sobbing with a broken heart. (Matthew 26:75)  He had abandoned his best friend, the man who had called him a rock for the firm foundation within him, for the church to be built on this rock, this faith.  He, Peter, who had been nothing more than a humble, dirty, smelly fisherman before Jesus saw something better in him… he, Peter, afraid of people’s reactions, afraid to admit how close a friend he had been to Jesus.  Did Peter really understand that his best friend, Jesus, truly was God?
    All these things Mary pondered in her heart as her son was dying a horrendous death above her on a cross.  Did she understand what her son’s birth and life on earth had been all about?  That he really had been going about His Father’s business?  That His heavenly Father was theirs also?  That her son was born to live among them, yet came with a purpose… to die for their sins and ours, and that He arose and returned to Heaven, that we all might have the gift of salvation and eternal life with Him?  “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him, should not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3:16 KJV)
    Would we have understood the truth Jesus was teaching… without the written Word in our hands?  Would we have followed Him, regardless of the cost?  Would we have shown others what the love of Jesus means?  So much to consider… so much to ponder… that I have to ask, would I?
    May you have a Blessed Christmas! 
    Would I?
    Linda A. Roorda
    Would I know this Child from Heaven sent?
    Would I pause like Mary to ponder?
    Would I grasp His Love meant for me?
    Would I walk the paths that He trod?
    Or, Would I be ashamed to know Him?
    ~
    Would I know the depth of His love?
    Would I feel the sorrow His heart felt?
    Would I stay awake as He prayed?
    Would I take His cross on my back?
    Or, Would I pound the nails in His hands?
    ~
    Would I know Jesus died for me?
    Would I feel His grief for my sin?
    Would I know my Lord in risen glory?
    Would I in joy to God’s Gift be true?
    And, Would I love, forgive, and shine forth His Light?
    ~
    April 2012
     
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