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Linda Roorda

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Blog Entries posted by Linda Roorda

  1. Linda Roorda

    Hope

    By Linda Roorda,

    “You have breast cancer.”  Among the scariest words we can hear.  I was in shock.  My mind was racing.  Tears began to trickle down my cheeks.  I was both numb and yet devastated emotionally.  It caught me totally off guard.  Me?  Cancer?  I could not think clearly.  My heart was pounding.  I was in panic mode.  This cannot be happening!  I have so much to do to take care of my husband.  I don’t have time for this interruption in my life!
    October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Diagnosed in 2014, I remain cancer free.  Because a grieving process is normal when diagnosed, I share my story in the hope it helps someone else.  My story was also shared in the past on the Christian Reformed Church Network website, and my cousin’s wife Carol submitted it to the Bradford Co., PA “Daily Review” who plan to publish it this month – all to remind others how important exams for cancer are for both women and men, because…
    I had actually intended to cancel my mammogram.  There was too much on my plate and I simply didn’t want to take the time to go for this exam in my already hectic schedule.  But, my husband (God bless him!) told me to take care of myself for once, and go get that mammogram.  Dutifully, and now thankfully, I listened to him.
    I could not even have my husband with me when I was given the results of my biopsy - he was home with his own health issues, particularly severe constant dizziness when upright, along with extensive muscle and joint pain, recovering from life-threatening pancreatitis, and has not been able to work for several months.  Being blind, he cannot drive me to and from my appointments.  He can’t be with me to give emotional support at my appointments, or even be with me at my surgeries.  He can’t be there to help ask questions, or simply put his strong arm of support around me… until I get home and share my fears with him.  And he’s been so good to me, so loving and supportive, sharing his Godly wisdom to help calm and soothe my anxious thoughts.  God blessed me with the best husband I could possibly have!
    But, I’m afraid.  I don’t know what lies ahead.  Will I get more cancer?  How will I take care of my husband and everything else if I’m incapacitated?  I don’t want to deal with all that I’m being forced to deal with.  I want to be left alone.  I want to be a little girl again without any cares or troubles.  But that’s not reality.  Reality means I will seek answers. 
    And so, as a medical/radiology transcriptionist, I research my diagnosis.  I read the literature from my surgeon’s office, and devour the words which reputable online medical centers or cancer associations have posted to discuss the disease and the best treatment options available.  Objectively, I understand what they’re talking about… I know what the words mean.  But, deep down inside, I don’t want to digest it.  I want to push it all away.  It’s become too personal.
    Yet, I have decisions to make.  Decisions I never thought I’d be making.  I’m more comfortable being on the typing end of the diagnostic language, feeling sorry for “my” patients.  Knowing that others have gone through this diagnosis and treatment before, and survived, is both helpful and unhelpful… mostly because each diagnosis and the dealing and healing is personal.  No one else can go through, or feel, exactly what you do.
    I talk with my husband’s aunt who faced her own cancer diagnosis several years ago.  She made her decisions, and did what needed to be done.  I like her attitude.  She is a true woman of faith, an inspiration to me as she looks to our Lord for his guidance every step of the way.
    And gradually, after making panicked decisions, then rethinking and picking each option apart, I come to a decision I can live with.  A decision my family and closest friends support me in.  And I’m okay… being reassured to know my cancer has been caught at an early stage.  For there are others I’ve known with a cancer diagnosis and prognosis worse than mine – those who have recovered after surgery and treatments and done well, those who have been through extensive treatments only to relapse, and those who have lost their lives from such a devastating disease…  And my heart goes out to every cancer patient and their families for all they have gone through.
    This poem was written in three sections at three different times since my diagnosis.  I was amazed at how the words seemed to flow with only minor adjustments.  But then, I shouldn’t be amazed at a God who has held my whole life in His hands.  And I praise the One who blesses me with the words and thoughts to write.
    And, while contemplating it all, this favorite verse of my late daughter, Jennifer, came to mind.  “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”  (Philippians 4:13)  I had embroidered it into a floral design to hang on the wall when she went to Houghton College, also making embroideries for my other two children, Emily and Dan, with their favorite verses. 
    I also found reassurance in “…know[ing] that in all things God works for the good of those who love him...”  (Romans 8:28)  While reading around this verse, I see, “…hope that is seen is no hope at all.  Who hopes for what he already has?  But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.  In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness.  We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us…in accordance with God’s will.”  (Romans 8:24-27)
    Even as I face my diagnosis head on, not knowing what to do or if I’m making the right decisions, God is there.  He answers my heart’s prayers, which I initially didn’t even know how to express other than “Help me, God!”  Then, as I read Romans 15:13, these comforting words enter my soul with more meaning than ever before, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” 
    Along this journey, I even found laughter… in, of all places, the book “Chicken Soup for the Soul, The Cancer Book, 101 Stories of Courage, Support and Love.” [pp.156-158] It was the kind of hearty laughter that brought tears to my eyes… a rolling-on-the-floor kind of laughter!  It may have been stifled for a while, but laughter is still within me.  And soon, smiles will once again reflect the joy down deep in my heart!
    So, I’m at peace.  I find comfort in knowing God knew this obstacle on my journey before I even came to be.  He knew I would struggle, but He also knew how He would continue to draw me to His side, and provide loving, caring family and friends to support me.  And to know the extent of caring thoughts and prayers from family, friends and neighbors in my community is overwhelming.  As I’ve grappled with life’s changes, I know the Lord has had to carry me at times, but He has also led me through the maze as I’ve slowly learned to accept and deal with what He has allowed to come my way.  And I renew my hope in Him as He leads me forward.
    HOPE
    Linda A. Roorda
    When dark is the way and fear gathers ‘round
    When the road seems long with twists and turns
    The unexpected now comes into view
    Quite unprepared, my course it alters.
     
    The vista ahead fraught with fear and stress.
    How can this be? Can’t happen to me!
    How do I deal with changes to come?
    My plate is too full.  I can’t handle more!
     
    Why, Lord? I ask. I don’t understand!
    As I plunge into the depths of despair.
    I’m at a loss.  Why this obstacle?
    Why me?  But then… Why should it not be?
     
    Some days I’m numb.  Some days I just cry.
    With a loss of hope, and a heavy heart
    Many life changes I don’t want to face
    A grief ensues, a mourning what was.
     
    As sadness descends and stress consumes
    I want to cry.  I want to scream out.
    I haven’t the time.  I just cannot deal.
    Difficult questions now haunt all my thoughts.
     
    When darkness of night seems far too long
    And no answers come to pleading prayers
    Hold me tight Lord, in Your arms of peace
    That without fear a new day I may face.
     
    So I withdraw to an inner retreat
    My haven safe away from the pain
    A place where I rest to gather my fears
    Handing them over, releasing my frets.
     
    For there on the side just waiting for me
    With arms open wide He hears my deep sighs
    The cries of my heart, the fears locked inside
    Taking my burdens and guiding my steps.
     
    Who but you, Lord?  Who else but you?
    Who cares enough to count every tear?
    Who feels the pain, the fear and anguish
    That steals the joy from within my heart?
     
    Hope like a beacon peeks brightly through tears
    With a peace that calms my troubled seas
    Always at my side with a whisper soft
    Drawing me near and holding me close.
     
    Though I’ve felt lost while clinging to faith
    You’re always here embracing with love
    Returning my joy to face each new dawn
    Giving me hope in the peace of Your Light.
    ~~
    May/June 2014
  2. Linda Roorda

    Hope...

    By Linda Roorda,

    “You have cancer.”  Among the scariest words we can hear.  I was in shock.  My mind was racing.  Tears began to trickle down my cheeks.  I was both numb and yet devastated emotionally.  It caught me totally off guard.  Me?  Cancer?  I could not think clearly.  My heart was pounding.  I was in panic mode.  This cannot be happening!  I have so much to do to take care of my husband.  I don’t have time for this interruption in my life!
    October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  Diagnosed in 2014, I remain cancer free. Because a grieving process is normal when diagnosed, I share my story annually in the hope it helps encourage even one woman to make sure she does her own self breast exams and schedules a mammogram, preventing or finding breast cancer early for a good outcome.  And, if facing her own diagnosis, may she know there is a lot of support available. I am so thankful for the support of my cancer team nurse, and surgeon who, on seeing me in the pre-op area for Ed’s surgery two weeks before my own surgery, simply put his arm around my shoulder briefly to offer that silent voice of compassion. 
    My story was also shared in the past on the Christian Reformed Church Network website, and my cousin’s wife Carol submitted it to the Bradford Co., PA “Daily Review” who published it in October 2021 – all to remind others how important those exams are, because…
    I had actually intended to cancel my mammogram.  There was too much on my plate and I simply didn’t want to take the time to go for this exam in my already hectic schedule.  But, my husband (God bless him!) told me to take care of myself for once, and go get that mammogram.  Dutifully, and now thankfully, I listened to him.
    I could not have my husband with me when I was given the results of my biopsy - he was home with his own health issues, particularly severe constant dizziness when upright, along with extensive muscle and joint pain, recovering from life-threatening pancreatitis, multitudinous medical appointments, treatments, even surgery sandwiched between my biopsies and surgery, and he had not been able to work for several months.  Being blind, he cannot drive me to and from my appointments.  He can’t be with me to give his emotional support at my appointments, or even be with me at my surgeries.  He can’t be there to help ask questions, or simply put his strong arm of support around me… until I get home and share my fears with him.  And he’s been so good to me, so loving and supportive, sharing his Godly wisdom to help calm and soothe my anxious thoughts.  God blessed me with the best husband I could possibly have!
    But, I’m afraid.  I don’t know what lies ahead.  Will I get more cancer?  How will I take care of my husband and everything else if I’m incapacitated?  I don’t want to deal with all that I’m being forced to deal with.  I want to be left alone.  I want to be a little girl again without any cares or troubles.  But that’s not reality.  Reality means I will seek answers. 
    And so, as a medical/radiology transcriptionist, I research my diagnosis.  I read the literature from my surgeon’s office, and devour the words which reputable online medical centers or cancer associations have posted to discuss the disease and the best treatment options available.  Objectively, I understand what they’re talking about… I know what the words mean. But, deep down inside, I don’t want to digest it.  I’m overwhelmed.  I want to push it all away.  It’s become too personal.
    Yet, I have decisions to make.  Decisions I never thought I’d be making.  I’m more comfortable being on the typing end of the diagnostic language, feeling sorry for “my” patients.  Knowing that others have gone through this diagnosis and treatment before, and survived, is both helpful and unhelpful… mostly because each diagnosis and the dealing and healing is personal.  No one else can go through, or feel, exactly what you do.
    I talk with my husband’s aunt who faced her own cancer diagnosis several years ago.  She made her decisions, and did what needed to be done.  I like her attitude.  She is a true woman of faith, an inspiration to me as she looks to our Lord for his guidance every step of the way.
    And gradually, after making panicked decisions, then rethinking and picking each option apart, I come to a decision I can live with.  A decision my family and closest friends support me in.  And I’m okay… being reassured to know my cancer has been caught at an early stage.  For there are others I’ve known with a cancer diagnosis and prognosis worse than mine – those who have recovered after surgery and treatments and done well, those who have been through extensive treatments only to relapse, and those who have lost their lives from such a devastating disease…  And my heart goes out to every cancer patient and their families for all they have gone through.
    This poem was written in three sections at three different times after my diagnosis.  I was amazed at how the words seemed to flow with only minor adjustments.  But then, I shouldn’t be amazed at a God who has held my whole life in His hands.  And I praise the God who blesses me with the words and thoughts to write.
    And, while contemplating it all, this favorite verse of my late daughter, Jennifer, came to mind.  “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”  (Philippians 4:13)  I had embroidered it in a floral design to hang on the wall when she went to Houghton College, also making embroideries for my other two children, Emily and Dan, with their favorite verses. 
    I also found reassurance in “…know[ing] that in all things God works for the good of those who love him...”  (Romans 8:28)  While reading around this verse, I see, “…hope that is seen is no hope at all.  Who hopes for what he already has?  But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.  In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness.  We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us…in accordance with God’s will.”  (Romans 8:24-27)
    Even as I face my diagnosis head on, not knowing what to do or if I’m making the right decisions, God is there.  He answers my heart’s prayers, which I initially didn’t even know how to express other than “Help me, God!”  Then, as I read Romans 15:13, these comforting words enter my soul with more meaning than ever before, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” 
    Along this journey, I even found laughter… in, of all places, the book “Chicken Soup for the Soul, The Cancer Book, 101 Stories of Courage, Support and Love.” [pp.156-158] It was the kind of hearty laughter that brought tears to my eyes… a rolling-on-the-floor kind of laughter!  It may have been stifled for a while, but laughter is still within me.  And soon, smiles will once again reflect the joy deep in my heart!
    So, I’m at peace.  I find comfort in knowing God knew this obstacle on my journey before I even came to be.  He knew I would struggle, but He also knew how He would continue to draw me to His side, providing loving, caring family and friends to support me who gladly filled in for Ed by being at my side in the hospital, and bringing meals to us.  To know the extent of love, caring thoughts and prayers from family, friends and neighbors in our community is overwhelming. 
    As I’ve grappled with life’s changes, I know the Lord has had to carry me at times, but He has also led me through the maze as I’ve slowly learned to accept and deal with what He has allowed to come my way.  And I renew my hope in Him as He leads me forward.
    HOPE
    Linda A. Roorda
    When dark is the way and fear gathers ‘round
    When the road seems long with twists and turns
    The unexpected now comes into view
    Quite unprepared, my course it alters.
     
    The vista ahead fraught with fear and stress.
    How can this be? Can’t happen to me!
    How do I deal with changes to come?
    My plate is too full.  I can’t handle more!
     
    Why, Lord? I ask. I don’t understand!
    As I plunge into the depths of despair.
    I’m at a loss.  Why this obstacle?
    Why me?  But then… Why should it not be?
     
    Some days I’m numb.  Some days I just cry.
    With a loss of hope, and a heavy heart
    Many life changes I don’t want to face
    A grief ensues, a mourning what was.
     
    As sadness descends and stress consumes
    I want to cry.  I want to scream out.
    I haven’t the time.  I just cannot deal.
    Difficult questions now haunt all my thoughts.
     
    When darkness of night seems far too long
    And no answers come to pleading prayers
    Hold me tight Lord, in Your arms of peace
    That without fear a new day I may face.
     
    So I withdraw to an inner retreat
    My haven safe away from the pain
    A place where I rest to gather my fears
    Handing them over, releasing my frets.
     
    For there on the side just waiting for me
    With arms open wide He hears my deep sighs
    The cries of my heart, the fears locked inside
    Taking my burdens and guiding my steps.
     
    Who but you, Lord?  Who else but you?
    Who cares enough to count every tear?
    Who feels the pain, the fear and anguish
    That steals the joy from within my heart?
     
    Hope like a beacon peeks brightly through tears
    With a peace that calms my troubled seas
    Always at my side with a whisper soft
    Drawing me near and holding me close.
     
    Though I’ve felt lost while clinging to faith
    You’re always here embracing with love
    Returning my joy to face each new dawn
    Giving me hope in the peace of Your Light.
    ~~
  3. Linda Roorda
    The tomboy that I was growing up, especially in my teens, working and learning beside my Dad, prepared me for later becoming a farmer’s wife.  After all, the love of farming is in the blood of both my parents!  Yet we women fill so many different roles.  Not all of us are wives and mothers.  Some of us remain single.  Some of us are meant to pursue life-time careers.  Some of us work to support our family, when we would prefer to be at home raising our children. Often, our likes and dislikes, and even careers, change throughout our lifetime. 
    Typically, we women are great multi-taskers, but I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad! We come from different walks in life, and we’re very different from each other in feelings, perspectives, and opinions. I’ve had several “big sister” or “surrogate mothers” in my lifetime who added a special dimension to my maturing and learning - my Dad’s mother, Grammy, with whom I wrote letters virtually every week for decades from my teens on, there to help raise me as an infant and toddler, and then there with an ear and advice as I raised my own children; my cousin Howard’s wife, Carol, like a big sister to me and whose four children my sister and I babysat for during their weekend auctions in our teens, and with whom I continue to keep in touch as we share our hearts; and his brother Robert’s wife, Virginia, who was briefly my hunting partner in my teens, who also taught me how to cook certain meals when I lived with their family while working in Ithaca several months before my marriage to Ed, learning to make homemade spaghetti sauce and a down-home delicious goulash, both a favorite on our own supper menu. 
    I remember my Mom for many things… as I grew up, she was a traditional housewife, taking care of the home and growing a large garden.  She continued her mother’s example by canning and freezing the produce every summer except the years we lived in Clifton, NJ.  When we butchered chickens, Dad put them on the chopping block, we sisters were the “dunk-and-pluck” crew, while Mom knew how to properly dress them for the freezer, showing us one hen’s set of graduated eggs sans shells from large to very small!  She was quiet and reserved, did not share much, if anything, about herself or her family as I grew up, but she had a strong faith in God.  She loved the country/farm life, as I do.  And she knew how to cook up the squirrel I shot, or all game and fish my Dad brought home, very deliciously!
    A few things she shared included making fully homemade custard ice cream (no pre-made mix, as we kids clamored for a turn at hand cranking), bottling homemade root beer, and heating up the best hot cocoa with real cocoa powder, sugar and milk on the stove.  She also made a Dutch barley soup with buttermilk and brown sugar that I loved, as well as the most delicious cream puffs in the world using our duck eggs.  She could sew, but it was not her favorite.  She taught me to iron our clothes and Dad’s handkerchiefs before permanent press fabrics hit the market.  I loved her homemade bread and made some a few times after I was married, but it was more work than I really liked.  As a kid, I savored her delicious toasted Velveeta cheese sandwiches with her homemade dill pickle slices tucked between slices of her homemade bread – long before Vlasic ever thought of selling bottled dill pickle slices for that very purpose! 
    My sister and I did a lot of the bean and pea picking, snapping and shelling.  Though we tossed some of those veggies as youngsters when we were tired of our chore, freshly picked and cooked peas remain my favorite.  I loved visiting the farm my Mom grew up on, and later in life enjoyed hearing her tell stories of her younger days.  She shared some of her wisdom, but typical of teens, I wasn’t always listening or accepting.  I did not hear much of her childhood until I began researching and documenting her family’s genealogy decades after I got married.  I treasure the time I drove her around her home town of Carlisle, NY, as she shared and pointed out places connected to her life, and wrote down her childhood stories. But, sadly, I have very few photos of her.
    My only desire had been to be a stay-at-home mother like my Mom, but circumstances beyond our control put me back into the workforce when my children were very young.  Each of my secretarial jobs (beginning part time as a high school senior in an Owego law office), built the foundation and skills for the next job, preparing me for my final medical transcription career before retiring and changing direction once more - subbing for teachers and their TAs, jobs I love, “being there” for the students.  But whether it’s being a mother or having a career, that’s not where all our satisfaction is found.
    It does our heart good to “be there” for someone else, whether to provide emotional support, bring a meal to a shut-in, or lend aid in other ways to someone in need… sometimes even if only to give an ear and a shoulder for their hurts.  And that doesn’t begin to describe the love felt by the recipients of our gifts of love and time.  But, doing good for others is not where we derive all our satisfaction either.
    For several years, a popular women’s Bible study has been the “Proverbs 31 Woman.”  I like this passage of Scripture in Proverbs 31:10-31 (NIV), written by Israel’s King Solomon who had achieved fame as the wisest man in the world.  It speaks about a wife of noble character, and what she does to bring blessing to her husband and children, her family.  She works to care and provide for the needs of her household.  She buys and sells property and goods for a profit.  She respects her husband and brings him good in all she does, whether at home, among her friends, or in the city at large.  She speaks with a wise heart.  She does not sit around in idleness; instead, she demonstrates strength and dignity in all situations.
    As I ponder this passage, I feel like it shows that I clearly don’t measure up.  For I know all too well my own failings.  Yet, there’s no reason why I cannot pursue change within.  So, I shall seek that quiet time to study, meditate, pray, and listen to what the Lord has to say within my heart.  It’s the Lord’s approval I seek… to guide my steps, to change my course, to cover me with forgiveness, peace and contentment, and to find satisfaction in doing what He expects of me even when it’s not the easiest path, nor the one I would choose.
    May you be blessed - whether or not you are called Mom - for all the love you share, and for all the time and effort you put into being there for those around you… Happy Mother’s Day! 
    I Am A Woman
    Linda A. Roorda
    I am a woman.  I am a mother.
    I’m a little girl, deep in my heart.
    I am emotions, raw and revealing.
    I am deep strength when life overwhelms.
    ~
    I’ve carried love within my heart
    For family dear, and friends held close,
    For husband wise, light of my world
    And children young, growing their dreams.
    ~
    I see the needs to be fulfilled.
    I reach to you, a life to touch.
    I shed a tear, and hold your hand
    To ease your pain, and bring a smile.
    ~
    In quiet time, I seek Your will, Lord.
    A time to renew, to calm my fears,
    To savor sweet dreams, my hopes and plans
    As You care for me, and meet all my needs.
    ~
    I fail at times to walk the path
    Yet You, oh Lord, are at my side.
    You pick me up each time I fall
    To gently remind, Your child I am.
    ~
    I’ve harbored pain of losses that wound.
    I’ve weathered storms, battered and scarred.
    My weary soul with peace You fill,
    That I may praise and bless Your name.
    ~
    I hear Your voice and will in Your Word,
    For wisdom I’ve gained upon this road
    Will lead me on to comfort and love
    Others in need with You at my side.
    Photo taken by my Dad of Mom, my sister and me in our one-room cabin in Delta Junction, Alaska
    while my Dad completed his Army service foreign assignment (before Alaskan statehood).
     
  4. Linda Roorda
    “You never think of your parents as much more than parents. It isn’t until you are older yourself that you begin to realize they had their hopes, dreams, ambitions, and secret thoughts. You sort of take them for granted and sometimes you are startled to know they were in love a time or two…. You never stop to think about what they were like until it is too late…” (Louis L’Amour in “Tucker”)  Oh how true!!
    The tomboy that I was while growing up in my teens, working and learning beside my Dad, prepared me for later becoming a farmer’s wife.  After all, the love of farming is in the blood of both my parents! I was not fond of housework, much preferring to be outside or in the barn. Yet we women fill so many different roles.  Not all of us are wives and mothers.  Some of us remain single.  Some of us are meant to pursue life-time careers.  Some of us work to support our family, when we would prefer to be at home raising our children. Often, our likes and dislikes, and even careers, change throughout our lifetime. 
    Typically, we women are great multi-taskers, but I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad! We come from different walks in life, and we’re very different from each other in feelings, perspectives, and opinions. I’ve had several “big sisters” or “surrogate mothers” in my lifetime who added a special dimension to my maturing and learning - my Dad’s mother, Grammy, with whom I wrote letters every other week for decades from my teens on, who helped raise me as an infant and toddler, and was there with an ear and advice as I raised my own children; my cousin Howard’s wife, Carol, like a big sister to me and whose four children my sister and I babysat during their weekend auctions in our teens, and with whom I continue to keep in touch; and his brother Robert’s wife, Virginia, briefly my hunting partner in my teens, also taught me how to cook certain meals when I lived with their family while working in Ithaca several months before my marriage to Ed, learning to make delicious homemade spaghetti sauce and a down-home scrumptious simple goulash, both a favorite in my own family’s supper menu. 
    But I remember my Mom for many things… as I grew up, she was a traditional housewife, taking care of the home and growing a large garden.  She continued her mother’s example by canning and freezing the produce every summer except the years we lived in Clifton, NJ.  When we butchered chickens, Dad put them on the chopping block, we two sisters were the “dunk-and-pluck” crew, while Mom knew how to properly dress them for the freezer, showing us one hen’s set of graduated eggs sans shells from large to very small!  She was quiet and reserved, did not share much, if anything, about herself or her family as I grew up, but she had a strong faith in God.  Her mother died when I was 9 so I have limited memories of her, though eventually my mother shared stories of growing up and of her mother’s busy life raising 12 children, helping on their large chicken and dairy farm. My mom loved the country/farm life, as I do. And she knew how to deliciously cook up the squirrel I shot, or all game and fish my Dad brought home!
    A few things she shared included making true homemade ice cream (no pre-made mix) as we kids clamored for a turn at hand cranking, bottling homemade root beer, and heating up the best hot cocoa with real cocoa powder, sugar and milk on the stove – all things from her childhood.  She also made a Dutch barley soup with buttermilk and brown sugar that I loved, as well as the most delicious cream puffs in the world using our duck eggs.  She could sew, but it was not her favorite.  She taught me to iron clothes and Dad’s handkerchiefs before permanent press fabrics hit the market.  I loved her homemade bread and made some a few times after I was married, but it was not my favorite venture.  As a kid, I savored her delicious toasted-cheese sandwiches with her homemade dill pickle slices tucked between slices of her homemade bread – long before Vlasic ever thought of selling bottled dill pickle slices for that very purpose!  
    My sister and I did a lot of the bean and pea picking, snapping and shelling.  Though we tossed some of those veggies as youngsters when we were tired of our chore, freshly picked and cooked peas remain my favorite.  I loved visiting the farm my Mom grew up on, and later in life enjoyed hearing stories of her younger days.  She shared some of her wisdom, but typical of teens, I wasn’t always listening or accepting.  I did not hear much of her childhood until I began researching and documenting her family’s genealogy decades after I got married. And treasure the time I drove her around her hometown of Carlisle, NY, sharing and pointing out places connected to her life, as I wrote down her childhood stories.
    My only desire had been to be a stay-at-home mother like my Mom, but circumstances beyond our control put me back into the workforce when my children were very young.  Each of my secretarial jobs (beginning part time as a high school senior in an Owego law office), built the foundation and skills for the next job, preparing me for my final medical transcription career before retiring and changing direction once more - subbing for teachers and their TAs, jobs I love, “being there” for “my” students.  But whether it’s being a mother or having a career, that’s not where all our satisfaction is found.  ewing many clothes for myself, husband and children, and canning and freezing a year’s worth of garden produce and fruit while raising my little ones were all reminiscent of the “good ol’ days.”
    It does our heart good to “be there” for someone else, whether to provide emotional support, bring a meal to a shut-in, or lend aid in other ways to someone in need… sometimes even if only to give an ear and a shoulder for their hurts.  And that doesn’t begin to describe the love felt by the recipients of our gifts of love and time.  But doing good for others is not where we derive all our satisfaction either.
    For several years, a popular women’s Bible study has been the “Proverbs 31 Woman.”  I like this passage of Scripture in Proverbs 31:10-31 (NIV), written by Israel’s King Solomon who had achieved fame as the wisest man in the world.  It speaks about a wife of noble character, and what she does to bring blessing to her husband and children, her family.  She works to care and provide for the needs of her household.  She buys and sells property and goods for a profit.  She respects her husband and brings him good in all she does, whether at home, among her friends, or in the city at large.  She speaks with a wise heart.  She does not sit around in idleness; instead, she demonstrates strength and dignity in all situations.  For "a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised." (Proverbs 31:30b)
    As I ponder this passage, I feel like it shows that I clearly don’t measure up.  For I know all too well my own failings.  Yet, there’s no reason why I cannot pursue change within.  So, I seek that quiet time to study, meditate, pray, and listen to what the Lord has to say within my heart.  It’s the Lord’s approval I long for… to guide my steps, to change my course, to cover me with forgiveness, peace and contentment, and to find satisfaction in doing what He expects of me even when it’s not the easiest path, nor the one I would choose.
    May you be blessed - whether or not you are called Mom - for all the love you share, and for all the time and effort you put into being there for those around you… Happy Mother’s Day!
     
    I Am A Woman
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    I am a woman.  I am a mother.
    I’m a little girl, deep in my heart.
    I am emotions, raw and revealing.
    I am deep strength when life overwhelms.
    ~
    I’ve carried love within my heart
    For family dear, and friends held close,
    For husband wise, light of my world
    And children young, growing their dreams.
    ~
    I see the needs to be fulfilled.
    I reach to you, a life to touch.
    I shed a tear, and hold your hand
    To ease your pain, and bring a smile.
    ~
    In quiet time, I seek Your will, Lord.
    A time to renew, to calm my fears,
    To savor sweet dreams, my hopes and plans
    As You care for me, and meet all my needs.
    ~
    I fail at times to walk the path
    Yet You, oh Lord, are at my side.
    You pick me up each time I fall
    To gently remind, Your child I am.
    ~
    I’ve harbored pain of losses that wound.
    I’ve weathered storms, battered and scarred.
    But my weary soul with peace You fill,
    That I may praise and bless Your name.
    ~
    I hear Your voice and will in Your Word,
    For wisdom I’ve gained upon this road
    Will lead me on to comfort and love
    Others in need with You at my side.
    ~~
  5. Linda Roorda

    I Am Not Alone

    By Linda Roorda,

    We awoke to a beautiful layer of pure white snow covering everything this morning!  It looks so peaceful outside, and I love the imagery a fresh snow evokes – especially knowing it won’t last long as spring’s warming temps will soon take over. It’s been a busy week here again, as well as by you I’m sure, so that scene outside evokes a welcome and calming respite from the hustle and bustle of life and all its stressors. And I simply wish each of you a fresh new start to another busy new week with many blessings!
    There are times we feel as though we’re all alone… especially as we face various difficulties in life.  We may not want to burden anyone else with our concerns and troubles thinking they have enough of their own.  Yet, even the best of friends may say, “I wish I had known what you’ve been going through.  Always know that I’m here for you to lean on.”  It’s simply what a friend does… being available, while allowing time and space without demanding time for themselves.
    As I thought about this poem and the various difficulties we all may face in life, memories came back of when our oldest daughter, Jennifer, spent her first month at Houghton College.  Poor girl!  She was so homesick, a bit shy, and feeling very alone.  I had embroidered her favorite Bible verse, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13) within a floral design, framed it, and left the package on top of her pillow… but had also hidden a bag of her favorite candy underneath her pillow as I made up her bed – which became a favorite tradition for all three of our children.  Unfortunately, as much as the gifts meant to her, she cried even harder on finding those treasures… precious reminders of the family she missed so much. 
    She struggled to consider anything fun early on.  Overwhelmed by this new venture, she even struggled initially to make new friends.  We kept in touch with her every day for a week, then every other day for a bit; and, before the month was out, had backed off our contact to Sunday afternoons.  She had found the strength to step out, venture forth, and make new friends in her new environment.  She felt secure, loved, and no longer “alone.”  She knew we were there if she needed us, but she was also surrounded by new friends who supported each other very well.
    Throughout life though, we may think we’re all alone at times, but we never truly are.  We are cared for and loved by our family and friends; and, most of all, we are loved and cared for by our dear Lord.  He’s the one who ultimately provides even those who gather around us in support… just as we read and find comfort in His promise, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.”  (Hebrews 13:5)
    Life is all about learning to live with new challenges and continuous change.  It can unnerve the best of us as we face life’s difficulties, upheavals and rough roads.  We long for comfort and guidance on our journey.  Yet, there are times we must go through those difficulties for our own growth rather than have them removed right away just because we prayed. 
    And often we find that it’s in the storms that a special blessing of comfort and protection comes our way from the Lord, and we personally learn He will not leave us all alone.  For, as Isaiah 41:13 so fittingly says, “I am the Lord, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.”  What comfort! 
    So, not only are we never truly alone, but God takes our hand and walks with us to calm and reassure our anxious heart.  He provides family and friends who come alongside us in visible loving support!
    When our second daughter, Emily, left for Houghton College, I embroidered her favorite verse:  “I lift up my eyes to the hills – where does my help come from?  My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.”  (Psalm 121:1, 2)  Throughout the rest of the psalm, we find even more comfort for “He will not let your foot slip… The Lord watches over you… The Lord will keep you from all harm – he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.”  (Psalm 121: 3-8)
    When it was time for our son, Dan, to make his way to Houghton, his favorite verse was also embroidered and framed:  “Be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power.”  (Ephesians 6:10)
    As the Lord takes hold of our hand He encourages us to “Be strong and courageous.  Do not be afraid or terrified, because…the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6). 
    What peace and comfort in all these verses!  Know that you are not alone… ever!   
    I Am Not Alone
    Linda A. Roorda
     
    I am not alone when the storms rage fierce
    For You are here to comfort and bless
    And lest I forget Your love is boundless
    You said You’ll not leave, You’ll never forsake.
     
    I am not alone when all else has failed
    For in my need I humbly entreat
    From depths of pain I cry out to You
    Come near to me and remove fear’s grasp.
     
    I am not alone when fear envelopes
    In the darkest night when invading thoughts
    Challenge my soul with anxious frets
    It’s then You calm with comforting peace.
     
    I am not alone when I take the reins
    You walk alongside to guide me in truth
    Whenever I think I can handle life
    You gently remind whose child I am.
     
    I am not alone in the joy that whelms
    When raging seas no longer hold fears
    For within the storm Your voice reassures
    You’ll never leave, You’ll never forsake.
    ~~
    2015
  6. Linda Roorda

    I Cannot See

    By Linda Roorda,

    Unless you’ve experienced what someone else has dealt with, you cannot make a valid judgment against them.  We take so much in life for granted… especially in what we can see and do.  But reflect with me for just a few minutes on what it would be like without one, or more, of your senses.  What if you could not smell, taste, hear, speak, or see?  What if you couldn’t walk, or move your arms?  What if the simplest tasks became so much more difficult due to a new disability?
    As I’ve mentioned in other blogs and poems, my husband, Ed, is blind and my mother is paralyzed on the right side from a stroke. Thankfully, my mom is left-handed and propels her wheelchair with left hand and foot to visit her friends – and let me tell you, that left hand and arm of hers is so strong I have had to remind her not to squeeze my arthritic hand so tight when we’d say goodbye!
    This poem was written one day as I contemplated Ed’s dark world of blindness, and the vision I take for granted, even now.  I have to remind myself of his limitations because I’ve become accustomed to how good he is at getting around the familiarity of our home without sight in a world that depends on vision.  Even though he had limited vision in his only usable eye when he farmed with his dad (20/200 with glasses), he managed to make barn and field chores look easy.  In reality, it wasn’t.  He made accommodations and learned to live with very blurry vision.
    As a family, we learned to remember to put something back in its original place so he could find it again, and not to move the furniture without telling him, or leave a door ajar for him to walk into.  Yes, we learned the hard way to make those issues priorities… and sadly, I still forget on a rare occasion.
    I would also put bump dots on digital dials of appliances so he could do minor cooking and laundry, while he uses rubber bands of different sizes to tell his medications apart and to distinguish salt and pepper.  He wants to be as independent as possible, though now his permanent statin-drug muscle damage has taken more of a toll and he’s struggling to get around, very limited in what he can do.  
    But, there once was the day he made his usual big pot of chili… with a twist.  When the kids came home from school, he heard, “Oh Pop! You put fruit cocktail in the chili!”  The can of fruit had gotten too close to the cans of tomatoes and he had had no idea. We ate it anyway.  And, it wasn’t too bad, just a little sweeter than usual.  Who knows… maybe it would be worthy of winning a competition!  But, yes, life has been interesting in learning to accommodate his needs… for all of us.
    When he went to The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, Massachusetts for six months of training in the fall of 1989, we family members were given occluders to cover our eyes for a while.  (Actually, each staff member is required to wear them one day a month.)  At the end of the exercise, the kids and I, and Ed’s parents, could take off our occluders.  But, Ed could not… his vision loss was permanent.  It was a stark reminder to us with sight as to how blessed we really are… and how to better understand his loss and frustration in recovering and learning a new way to function.
    For it’s been hard for Ed to face the world without vision along with his other disabilities.  Our world is not always as understanding as we would like to think.  There are folks who rush past as I guide my husband, and their feet have become entangled in his outstretched cane which feels ahead for obstacles... and I have had to stop unexpectedly because someone cut us off sharply in their hurry, throwing him off balance, nearly falling.  We have found that people will sometimes talk louder to him; he’s blind, but not hard of hearing. 
    Once, when he was hospitalized, the nurse’s aide actually said to him, “Hey! What’s the deal with the sunglasses? Think you’re a movie star?”  Ed calmly replied, “No. I’m blind.” And she stumbled profusely trying to apologize.  Then there are the adult stares, which I hope are due to their being impressed with his ability.  Once during mobility training with his specialist, he was learning to find his way through the mall while she followed from a distance.  A kind gentleman came up to him, grabbed his arm and started walking, i.e. pulling, him along, asking where he wanted to go.  Ed thanked him, but gently explained he was learning to find his own way around.  As for the children who stare and ask their curious questions, we explain why he uses a white cane to help them understand what it’s like to live in a world without sight.
    But, there are so many limitations placed on someone with any disability that we often don’t think about.  Ed simply cannot do whatever he wants.  He cannot get in the car and drive wherever and whenever he wants.  Without sight, there is so much that is missed… in the beauty of a sunny day, of flowers blooming in multitudinous hues, of storm clouds gathering, in watching brilliant flashes of lightning, of seeing a rainbow at the storm’s end, seeing the beauty of a freshly fallen snow… of loved ones’ dear faces… of a newborn’s precious face, never having been seen before to hold onto the memory… of having lost the ability to simply pick up any book or paper to read, or a pen to write, now having to take the time to accomplish those tasks a new and slower way by having them read to him or by listening to books on cassette… and so much more.  And, to be honest, he generally prefers we not describe the beauty around him for the painful reminder of what he’s missing.
    In time, though, an understanding and acceptance is gained by going through the vital grieving process, as for anyone with any loss.  Life is no longer the same, and never will be.  We also learned the hard way that grief over a loss is important.  It’s a key process in learning to deal and grow, and should not be rushed.  Simply be there with support.  For acceptance comes with the change by gaining confidence in the ability to move forward a new way… in learning new processes for what was once familiar and easy.  
    Our faith in the Lord has been our support when we feel overwhelmed… when Ed can’t do what he’d like and I’ve been stretched to the max to pick up the slack.  The Lord has listened to our prayers in the needs of every-day life.  He’s been at our side to see us through this journey we never expected.  Ask how you can pray for the one on the journey.  Don’t assume to know what they might need.
    Take the time to understand life for someone with a disability of any kind.  Take the time to put yourself in their shoes… to walk their path and understand their limitations.  Take the time to love them, to share and question… and then listen between the lines for what they might be hesitant to express.  Encourage them, and laugh with them.  Walk with them, and you will both be blessed on the journey.
    I Cannot See
    Linda A. Roorda
     I cannot see this beautiful day
    And I long to bask in its brilliant glow
    Taking in rays that uncover the dark
    But instead I feel its warmth like flames.
     
    I cannot see tender smiles that beam
    As voices carry the tones of your heart,
    And tears that flow in sadness or joy
    Are a gentle touch felt deep in my soul.
     
    I cannot see love’s beautiful face
    Though I hold you near in image faded.
    I take your hand and with gentle kiss
    Shower affection from memories dear.
     
    I cannot see what your eyes behold
    As the world moves on and leaves me the past,
    So let me borrow your words to describe
    Changes in life without an image.
     
    I cannot see somber cloudy days
    Instead I hear your voice cheer me on.
    You tenderly hold my heart in your hand
    For without your strength I could not go on.
     
    I cannot see the path that we walk
    Yet wisdom shared from the depth of trust
    Embraces our hearts to cover what lacks
    As you guide with love in step at my side.
    ~~
  7. 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.  Though none of us can measure up all the time, there is One who is perfect… who forgives all our failings… our heavenly Father.
    There is so much my Dad, Ralph, taught me and my five siblings, including all about the love of Jesus.   As a small child on the farm, I would say, “Jesus is my best friend!”  But, for a time as a teen, I forgot my childhood friend until my Dad reminded me of those words I used to say as a little girl.  Oops! 
    I loved playing board games on Sunday afternoons with my Dad, especially Scrabble. I love the challenge of this game and tend to play aggressively, perhaps because I was in tough competition with my Dad.  Though I won only one game against him over those several years, it was a sweet victory knowing that I’d accomplished the win without his having given me an edge.
    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 an 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.
    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 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 latter 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, 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 each took a turn 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, and the coffee-making task handed down to my Dad, he 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 he took us fishing to Garret Mountain in Clifton, Lake Hopatcong and Upper Greenwood Lake. 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 hunting.  That love just naturally transferred to enjoying the time spent working alongside my husband out in the barn or in the yard, even growing my own gardens.
    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 even 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.
    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.  Honesty and forgiveness cleared the way for better relationships 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 farming, to driving a grain truck delivering feed to dairy farmers (with top NY State Purina Feed salesman award for 1961 and 1962), to carpentry with his Dad, a general contractor in northeast New Jersey, to driving a tank truck 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 with fond memories of Clifton, NJ.  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 worked 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 small 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.
    But I also learned the hard way that running War Bugg flat out up the road and back could have killed her.  I’d simply clicked my tongue and she took off like a rocket, so I let her run.  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, ran into the house briefly; and on returning, realized she’d pulled on and broken her bridle, standing as if still tied with reins straight down.  And I realized she was Western trained to be “ground tied” and to take off at the click of the tongue, very responsive to touch, the absolute best horse!  I still miss her…
    Soon enough, I got married and began a new life with my new family, while my siblings and parents scattered themselves around the U.S.  Life changes, and we change with it. As a child, I teased my Dad when he turned 30 that he was old, and that when he’d turn 50 he’d be “over the hill!”  Well, Dad, guess what?  Your oldest daughter reached that milestone a 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.
    Listen to my recording of "I Remember A Dad" under my friend's podcast, Balms for the Soul.
  8. Linda Roorda

    I Remember A Dad

    By Linda Roorda,

    Remembering the dad I treasure, who taught us well in the ways of life... I remember a lot about him.  In fact, it would be fair to say that I had put him on a pedestal while growing up… not a wise placement for anyone. But it seems he could do anything and everything, a jack-of-all-trades, almost perfect in my little girl eyes.  Though none of us can measure up all the time, there is One who is perfect… who forgives all our failings… our heavenly Father.
    There is so much my Dad, Ralph, taught me and my five siblings, including all about the love of Jesus.   As a small child on the farm, I would say, “Jesus is my best friend!”  But, for a time as a teen, I forgot my childhood friend until my Dad reminded me of those words I used to say as a little girl.  Oops! 
    I loved playing board games on Sunday afternoons with my Dad, especially Scrabble. I love the challenge of this game and tend to play aggressively, perhaps because I was in tough competition with my Dad.  Though I won only one game against him over those several years, it was a sweet victory knowing that I’d accomplished the win without his having given me an edge… his way of readying us for the world.
    He taught me honesty was the right way such that in 8th grade English class I chose to write an essay entitled “Honesty Is The Best Policy”, receiving a coveted A.  Actually, I think I may have gotten writing and art abilities from him.  Although he was an exceptional storyteller, perfectly imitating voice and mannerisms of various comedians, I speak best through the written word.  He also had a gift for drawing with his talent for art passed on to me and my son.  He loved trains, especially the old steam engines, having grown up next to the tracks in Clifton, NJ.  I loved watching him built a passenger car for his train set, using a tweezers to handle those tiny parts.  I watched him build Packard and Duesenberg model cars, and a German Focke-Wulf plane from W.W.II, taking us with him as he flew it using a remote control system… until an unexpected gust of wind dove and smashed the plane into the ground.
    As we grew up, we loved hearing Dad tell family stories of his and our childhoods.  He had a gift for telling any story in a humorous unique way, and how I long to hear them all again.  I’d ask him to write them down for posterity, but he never did.  When he drove truck in the 1960s through the 1990s (and later huge tractors for an Iowan farmer), he’d come home with stories from the road.  He shared radio routines by Bill Cosby and southern Cajun comedians, recalling their stories and imitating accents perfectly!  That was way better entertainment than TV any day! 
    I recall a few stories of his time in the Army at Fort Greeley, Alaska (1956-1957), a foreign assignment before official statehood.  From 18 months to 2 years of age, I was too young to remember my six months at Delta Junction with my baby sister.  But I do remember having heard how he, his best buddy Roland, and two other friends found a sunken rowboat.  As it lay not far below the surface of a lake, they pulled it up, cleaned it off, and took it out to fish.  It made for an interesting adventure to say the least – while they took turns fishing, the other three worked hard at bailing to keep the boat afloat!  Now that’s dedicated fishermen! 
    Fort Greeley is also where he learned to drive big rigs.  With someone ill, he was asked to take over in the motor pool one night.  Proving he could handle backing up a trailer perfectly, the commanding officer asked where he’d learned to do that since everyone else struggled.  “Backing up a manure spreader, Sir!” was his dutiful reply.  They kept him in the motor pool, where he gained invaluable training for later driving 18-wheelers.
    He also was given a rare promotion because he took the time to thoroughly clean an office coffeepot, a skill learned from his Dutch immigrant mother who had taught him all aspects of housekeeping while growing up, like any good Dutch mother.  With a general visiting Fort Greeley, the coffee-making task was passed off to my Dad as no one wanted to be making coffee for a general!  He didn’t complain but took pains to provide a clean urn for making fresh-brewed coffee… which greatly impressed the general.  When the general asked who made the coffee, the aide who was supposed to have made it quickly “blamed” my Dad.  Instead of the feared reprimand for the typically bad-tasting coffee the office was known for, the general complimented my father on the best cup he’d ever tasted!  Turning to the senior officer, he told him to give my father a promotion!
    When we were younger, he always had time for us. I loved it when we lived in Jersey and he took us fishing at Garret Mountain in Clifton, Lake Hopatcong and Upper Greenwood Lake. It got me out of the city and into nature where I felt at ease.  And, though I could never bring myself to touch those worms (still can’t!), let alone put them on a hook, and never did catch “the big one,” it was the quality time with our Dad that meant so much to us kids.  As a tomboy, I especially enjoyed working outside with my Dad whether it was in the barn learning to care for the animals, in the huge vegetable gardens, or traipsing the fields and woods to hunt rabbit and deer.  That love just naturally transferred to enjoying time spent working alongside my husband in the barn or in the yard, and growing and weeding gardens of my own.
    As we grew older, we teens were often in our own little world yet I still adored my Dad.  He listened and gave sound advice.  I recall the day he didn’t go to work, taking me instead for a drive to discuss a problem I was dealing with.  At times though, I wasn’t ready to listen to him because, as life moved on, his anger took control and he wasn’t always there for us as a family, causing division with his divorce by expecting full support for his side.  No parent in a divorce situation should ever do that their kids.
    But I treasure our renewed relationship later in life.  With apologies for my own errors as a teen, I heard his sadness as I expressed how family dysfunction affected all of us, and he understood my saying I/we all had needed him more than he realized when he was on the road for 2-4 weeks at a time.  I appreciated his compliments on my writing for a local newspaper, my own blogs, publishing genealogy research on my Mom’s ancestry in a highly-respected national journal (The New York Genealogical & Biographical Record), and for how well I raised my family and took care of my Mom, even saying he’d never realized all the difficulties I’d faced in my life. Honesty and forgiveness cleared the way for a better relationship with love expressed to both my parents.  God truly takes our most difficult situations, working them for our good when we love Him, admit our errors, and make amends.
    My Dad’s careers changed from his love of farming, to driving a grain truck delivering feed to dairy farmers (winning top NY State Purina Feed salesman awards for 1961 and 1962), to carpentry with his Dad, a general contractor in northeast New Jersey, to driving an 18-wheeler hauling tanks locally and later OTR (over the road/cross country).  When we lived in Clifton, NJ, he drove chemical tankers locally in northeast Jersey, southern New England, and New York City.  What stories he brought home from his experiences!  I got to ride with him only twice and wish it could have been more.
    I was never so happy as when we moved back to New York in 1969!  Though I hated city life, I can now look back at special memories in Clifton where I was born.  As we settled into “backyard farming,” he taught me how to care for our mare, War Bugg, a granddaughter of Man O’ War, a retired Western working ranch registered Quarter Horse.  One of his trucking buddies also rode the rodeo circuit and put War Bugg through her paces – she did a figure-eight so tight you’d’ve thought she’d fall over!  I helped Dad build her corral and box stall in the barn, along with re-roofing and remodeling the old chicken coop for our flock.  And then came the heavy-duty barn chores of bringing hay down out of the mow, hauling 50-lb bags of grain, mucking out the pens, learning to groom War Bugg and pick up her feet to clean the soft undersides, devouring books on horses and their care, dreaming of being an equine vet.  I saw his deep concern when I stepped on a wasp’s nest in the haymow with 11 stings on my leg, and his gratefulness for my dousing him with a 5-gallon pail of water when a torch threatened to catch him on fire while trying to burn tent caterpillars, chuckling later that I almost drowned him!
    But I also learned the hard way that running War Bugg flat out up the road and back could have killed her.  Not realizing the depth of War Bugg’s Western training, I’d simply clicked my tongue and she took off like a rocket, so I let her run… on the paved road.  I was scolded hard, yet taught to walk her slowly, allowing her to have only small sips of warm water till she cooled down.  After riding her another time, I dismounted, tied her to the backyard light pole, and ran into the house briefly.  On returning, I realized she’d pulled on and broken her bridle, standing as if still tied with reins straight down.  And it was then I realized she was Western trained to be “ground tied” and to take off at the click of the tongue, very responsive to touch, the absolute best horse!  I still miss her…
    Soon enough, I got married and began a new life with my new family, while my siblings and parents scattered themselves around the U.S.  Life changes, and we change with it. As a child, I teased my Dad when he turned 30 that he was old, and that when he’d turn 50 he’d be “over the hill!”  Well, Dad, guess what?  Your oldest daughter reached that milestone a good ways back, and she’s still kickin’!  Giving him this writing in 2014 before he passed away April 17, 2015, his wedding anniversary with my Mom, he knew I felt blessed to have him as my Dad.  Sometimes I wish I could go back and relive the childhood fun of days long ago, but I treasure those memories that linger still... and I love you, Dad!
                                                                                                                                                       I Remember A Dad
    Linda A. Roorda
    I remember a dad who took me fishin’
    And remember a dad who hooked my worms,
    Who took those hooks from fishy mouths,
    And showed me the country way of life.
    ~
    A family of six, two girls and four boys
    Fun and trouble we shared as we grew.
    From farms and fields to paved avenues,
    Walking and biking, exploring we went.
    ~
    I remember a time spent playing games,
    A dad who’d not cheat for us to win.
    Family and friends and holiday dinners,
    Lakes and farms and countryside drives.
    ~
    Weeds were the bane of childhood fun,
    So ‘tween the rows we ran and we played.
    But as I grew and matured in age,
    Weeding was therapy in gardens of mine.
    ~
    I remember a dad who thrived on farming
    Livestock and gardens, and teaching me how.
    I remember a dad who took me huntin’
    Scoutin’ the fields, always alert.
    ~
    I remember a dad who taught us more
    For growing up we learn by example.
    I remember working alongside my dad
    Roofing a barn and building corrals.
    ~
    I remember a dad whose gifts were given
    In fairness to meet each child’s desire.
    I remember a dad whose wisdom we honor
    In memories of caring and love in small ways.
    ~
    I remember a dad who brought us laughter
    With Cajun and Cosby stories retold.
    For blessed with a gift of retelling tales
    Family and childhood events he recalled.
    ~
    I remember a dad whose time was given
    To help his children face life’s turmoils.
    Time spent together are memories treasured
    For things done best put family first.
    ~
    I remember a dad who taught me more
    To treasure my faith in Jesus my friend.
    In looking to Him as Savior and Lord,
    Salvation by Grace, not earned by my deed.
    ~
    As I look back to days long ago,
    I remember the dad I knew so well.
    For I miss the dad who took me fishin’
    And remember the dad who taught me more.
    ~
     
  9. 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.
  10. Linda Roorda

    I Searched...

    By Linda Roorda,

    Even those of us who grew up in a church may go through a time of searching, especially in our younger days.  We search for fun, happiness, joy, peace and love in many places and in many ways… and sometimes we search in vain… for what we don’t know.  Been there… done that!  But did you know that our hearts are born to seek?  All the while we grow up and mature, we’re seeking and learning, trying to find our place in this great big world.
    We wonder if our life makes a difference.  Does anyone care?  What is our value, and how is it measured?  To prove our worth, we may seek wealth, fame, praise, prestige, power… and often think we’ve found it in relationships and possessions.  In reality, our search for true peace and joy has nothing to do with these things.  That’s where the world finds its value. 
    So, we carry on, as our hearts continually seek something better to fill the void in our soul.  In reality, we’re “lookin’ for love in all the wrong places” as the song says.  (“Looking for love” sung by Johnny Lee, written by Wanda Mallette, Patti Ryan and Bob Morrison; 1980 movie “Urban Cowboy.”)
    And we keep searching until we realize the something that’s missing is ultimately only found in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  “But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”  (Matthew 6:33)  For God created us and put within our hearts a longing for Him… because, as our creator, He desires to have a close relationship with us.  He wants us to give up our futile searching.  He wants us to give up the world’s false security, our pride, and our faith in all the petty trinkets which hold no eternal value… to gain something far more valuable when we put Him first in our lives.
    As we search for God and focus on Him and His love for us, we find that the Apostle Paul’s words “…I no longer live, but Christ lives in me,” say it all.  (Galatians 2:20)  For as we seek His will in our lives, we discover that our purpose, our joy and our peace, can come only from God.  Like C. S. Lewis wrote in “The Problem of Pain” … “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains.” 
    In seeking and finding our Lord, it’s then that the void in our heart and soul is filled… with a peace that only God can give.  Our eyes are opened and we see the Lord’s loving hand working through us as we become more like Him… especially, it seems, through the toughest of times.  For so often, that’s when our faith grows deeper as we draw closer to our Lord, and rest in His comforting words of wisdom… His loving embrace.
    After teaching His disciples to pray, Jesus said, "Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” (Luke 11:9)  As I searched… I found.
     
    I Searched
    Linda A. Roorda
    In vain I searched the corners of life
    As my heart yearned for what it did not know
    But might it be the world cannot give
    The depth of peace as You hold my soul.
    ~
    In pleasures I searched for the hint of fun
    The best this world could ever offer
    But disillusioned it caught me up short
    When softly I heard Your voice fill the void.
    ~
    In hope I searched for one to carry
    For I had fallen from heights I had claimed
    Then helped was I by a tender soul
    One filled with grace from mercy’s blest store.
    ~
    In silence I searched away from life’s noise
    Seeking Your voice in solitude’s calm
    Within my prayers Your words then echoed
    As You called to me in a still small voice.
    ~
    In forest I searched midst towering trees
    For there was I enveloped by peace
    And as the sun broke through the dark depths
    It mirrored the Son whose light pierced my soul.
    ~
    In valleys I searched along gentle streams
    Till gazing upward to towering peaks
    Majestic splendor was captured in view
    Of stunning vistas, creation’s glory.
    ~
    In faces I searched Your image to find
    Those with a heart of compassion true
    The humble and meek without prideful boast
    Till one in tatters lent a hand to me.
    ~
    In faith I searched for the living truth
    Of One whose claims have captured my heart
    For my soul was cleansed when You took my place
    Lifting me up to heights of Your love.
    ~
    In children I searched for innocence sweet
    The gift of love not lost in their eyes
    Like arms open wide are their hearts and souls
    Freely they give without asking more.
    ~
    In love I searched for the best in You
    Someone to hold and treasure for life
    To carry my dreams on the wings of time
    As ever I cling to faith, hope and love.
    ~
    With joy I found all this and more
    As my heart sang out its praises of You
    For is it not true that blessings are mine
    From the depth of peace as You hold my soul.
    ~~
  11. 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.
    ~~
  12. Linda Roorda

    I'm Only One

    By Linda Roorda,

    There are so many people, past and present, who have made a difference for others by simply being who they were intended to be… each an individual who stands out in the crowd in their own way… and who have made a difference in my life and your life.  I once took a photo of a single stalk of corn growing in a field of soybeans across the road from us and posted it to Facebook.  It spoke silent volumes of being the one alone, not afraid to stand out and be different. (Since I can't find it, I shared this unique photo of field grass.)
    We have gifts, unique to each of us, enabling us to reach out to be there for others in as many different ways as there are people.  And it’s what we do, or don’t do, with our gifts that makes a difference in this world.  For, as the venerable Ben Franklin once wrote, "He that is good for making excuses is seldom good for anything else."
    When our son was in Boy Scouts of America Troop #17, he learned the association’s motto has always been: “Do a good turn daily.”  And I recall Dan sitting for his Eagle Scout “inquisition,” quizzed about all he’d learned and accomplished over the past several years of badge work, camping, and camaraderie with friends.  The gentleman from Binghamton had a strong bold character while Dan has a quiet, easygoing, humble personality like his Dad.  On being asked what he’d done that day as his good deed, my son was speechless.  He had no idea what “good deed” he might have done. When they took a break, I shared with Dan that he naturally helped others out of the kindness of his heart, consistently every day and often without being asked, just like his Dad.  But I also told him he had helped me that morning without my having to ask him to help with certain household chores.  He doesn’t have to go looking for a good deed.  It’s a gift that comes natural to Dan, without hesitation, and something he continued through college, carried forward in his employment, and still does freely for his wife and children, and others.  Anyone blessed to know Dan knows his gentle loving heart.
    What a great motto - teaching young boys to do a good deed every day by serving others without hesitation!  As the Bible puts it, we should “do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than [ourselves].  Each of [us] should look not only to [our] own interests, but also to the interests of others.” (Philippians 2:3-447)
    And in all of this, I am also reminded of what God said to Jeremiah: “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.” (Jeremiah 1:5) We certainly may not be called to be a prophet like Jeremiah, but the Lord has set each of us apart, given each of us special gifts, unique to who we are meant to be.
    Reminds me of reaching out to others in a welcoming manner whether working as a medical/radiology transcriptionist before retiring or now as a teacher/TA sub in our local schools.  It’s a chance to give back… a time to assist others in understanding… a time to smile and encourage… a time to give praise for a job well done… a time to listen when someone needs an ear to hear where they’re at… a time to simply be there when they need someone on their side… like others have done for me.
    Individually, we may be only one, and we may feel insignificant at that, but we can accomplish so much for those around us… to meet their needs, to put a smile on their face, and joy in their heart.  Be that one! 
    I'm Only One
    Linda A. Roorda 
    I'm only one, but a difference I make
    By touch of hand or the sound of voice
    Soothing the anxious, fearful and hopeless
    Blessing with peace the heart in distress.
     
    I’m only one, but a smile I bring
    A ray of sun to brighten your day
    A sprig of hope that glows eternal
    To cheer you on when all else seems lost.
     
    I'm only one, but humbly I seek
    To amend the wrong I've offended you by
    Forgiveness I ask from your heart to mine
    With grace and mercy to heal the rift caused.
     
    I'm only one, but peace I offer
    With arms that welcome to embrace your heart
    To show I care no matter the pain
    For only with love do we reflect grace.
     
    I'm only one, but courage I ask
    To tackle issues that trouble our days
    Seeking answers to life's woundings deep
    That healing may come to scars of our soul.
     
    I'm only one, but beauty I desire
    Not outward surface but heart's inner glow
    The balm of solace, depth of contentment
    Glitter of joy, and the calm of peace.
     
    I'm only one, but change I effect
    Bringing comfort to the hurting souls
    Sharing laughter, burdens to lighten
    With hands tightly clasped to feel love’s cadence.
     
    I’m only one, but wisdom I crave
    To humbly walk with You as my guide
    Sharing Your truth to brighten the path
    That leads us to Your embracing love.
    ~~
    06/08-11/16
     
  13. Linda Roorda
    If I give all but haven’t got love… then what good is my all that I have given… for what good is the giving without the right intentions?
    The biblical love chapter, I Corinthians 13, says it so well. We can’t perfect on those great words.  But I do enjoy putting my own words to the intent of Scripture… that exercise helps me contemplate the deeper meaning and truth within God’s Holy Word.  And if a poem emerges for us to enjoy, then praise goes to the Lord for helping me find the right words.
    I once saw a poster with the words, “Love isn’t love until you give it away.”  I focused on those words and their meaning.  They burned a path into my thoughts, and became forever embedded… for they were the words that saw me through labor the afternoon that my second daughter, Emily, was born… and I gave my love away to a beautiful precious little girl.
    Love is a meaningless word unless there is meaning behind the word love.  On giving even the least of gifts, if it comes from the heart, the depth of caring is felt and treasured by the receiver.  With faith and hope, we cherish each other from a heart of true love… it’s simply unmistakable.
    But it can also be said that the opposite of love is a rude and self-serving attitude.  Yet, even in this, love can break through.  Though accountability may be necessary to explain and denote the wrongs that were committed, when genuine repentance meets true love and forgiveness they walk hand in hand, and the wrongs are forgotten.  How like the grace-filled love we receive from our Lord!  When we confess and repent our wrongs, He showers us with His all… as mercy and grace flow over us with overwhelming love and forgiveness.
    If I give all with love, how I give will reveal the depth of love in my heart… 
    If I Give All
    Linda A. Roorda
    (based on I Corinthians 13)
    If I give all but haven’t got love
    Where is my heart when the poor I aid,
    For without love nothing will I gain
    When glory I seek in praises of men.
     
    And if I speak in language diverse
    Expounding on life and the meaning thereof,
    And should I teach, mysteries to explain
    But don’t have love, how foolish the sage.
     
    For love is clothed in virtues of truth
    Is patiently kind without envy’s greed
    With modesty’s joy and humility’s garb
    Courteous to all, a generous heart.
     
    An evil heart is not my delight
    In truth alone does wisdom rejoice
    For love that trusts and always protects
    Will always hope and always persevere.
     
    I once was a child in actions and words
    But as I matured, reason spoke wisdom
    As I left behind my childish ways
    To reveal in part imperfections laid bare.
     
    For if I give all with a heart of joy
    Integrity’s voice will lead the way
    As faith, hope and love remain resolute
    Convincing the world the greatest is love.
    ~~
    2015
     
  14. Linda Roorda
    It’s another beautiful sunshine day, with cooler temps down from the mid-90s, thankfully.  Still no rain in our area, as we pray for that blessing.  Yesterday was a successful day at our Spencer-Van Etten community farmers market season opener, and a great time to see friends and meet new folks as we chatted about various topics.
    This week as a sub also went very well, with special hugs from students, helping students stay focused on the classwork in front of them. And that reminded me of this previously unpublished poem and reflection written several years ago. We all struggle to stay focused at times, not just our young ones. But there are also benefits to those wandering thoughts… as ideas for good will pop into our thoughts. And maybe that’s how great inventions happen!  God really can use those wanderings to benefit us and others!
    With these few wandering thoughts and ideas, I hope you have a blessed Sunday and a great week ahead, because...  
    We can all get distracted when we focus on something other than the intended.  Our thoughts wander and stray, and we have to rein them in, retrieve them, and regain our focus.  In fact, as I sat here thinking about writing this reflection a few years back, I recalled a cartoon I’d seen decades ago.  As Garfield’s creator, Jim Davis, put it, “I have a fear of letting my mind wander.  I’m afraid it might not come back.”  How true, how true!  Yet, on the flip side, we may learn or discover something new and of benefit in those wandering thoughts and ideas!
    And I chuckle because I cut that out of the paper back then (and have since lost it)… it’s exactly how I felt!  Truth be told, it was on my mind as an example to use as I sat down to write… but then my mind wandered, and I looked out the window at the cold wintry scene… thinking about spring, and gardens, and planting… and, for the life of me, could not recall the above quote when I brought my focus back to the computer.  So, I told Ed I’d forgotten the quote I’d planned to use about letting my mind wander and asked if he had any idea what I’d been thinking of.  Dear man that he was, he knew the exact quote I’d wanted to use! Ed knew me so well!
    I also thought about an old hymn that’s been one of my favorites since childhood – “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” written by Robert Robinson at about age 22 in 1757.  “Come Thou Fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing Thy grace; streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise… Jesus sought me when a stranger, wandering from the throne of God; He, to rescue me from danger, bought me with His precious blood… Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, prone to leave the God I love; here’s my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for Thy courts above.”
    It’s a common malady…  We all tend to get distracted by what’s going on around us.  And we may find ourselves beset with wandering thoughts and/or wandering feet.  We may even stray from the narrow path and away from our Lord at times. But, with His loving mercy and grace, He faithfully and gently draws us back to His side… back to His word which guides our steps, our thoughts, and our words. 
    With those thoughts bringing me back into focus, I’ll rest in Him and the comforting peace of His word.
     
    In Him I’ll Rest
    Linda A. Roorda
    Oh Lord you know I long to follow
    Your guiding words on this path of life,
    Yet still I stray in my thoughts and words
    Away from truth to follow desires.
     
    What is the draw?  Why do I wander?
    What do I seek?  Is it my will or Yours?
    Help me, I pray, to give up my wants
    That which I hold too tightly in fear.
     
    A fear that grips my heart in its clutch
    From being in charge to loss of control,
    Trying to make this destiny mine
    Grasping tightly the threads of my life.
     
    But what I’ve learned by following self
    Is that I’ve missed the greater blessing
    Of true peace found on giving control
    To the One above who created me.
     
    For He established the me I would be
    And created all for His glory and praise.
    He knew before time the steps I would take
    And how He’d draw my heart to seek His.
     
    My life is not my own to command
    I owe my worth to One far greater
    Giving Him reign o’er all I hold dear
    Bringing praises to His name alone.
     
    Then in Him I’ll rest in comforting peace
    And patiently wait His answer to prayers
    As He envelopes my soul with His love
    And shines His light to glow from my heart.
    ~~
    07/17/15
     
  15. Linda Roorda
    I’m sure we’ve all heard of Johnny Appleseed and those apple seeds he planted “everywhere.”  The 1948 Disney movie, “Melody Time,” and their 2002 version, “American Legends,” both include a short story about him with a simple upbeat song:  “The Lord is good to me, And so I thank the Lord, For giving me the things I need, The sun and rain and an apple seed, Yes, He’s been good to me…” 
    But who was this legendary man?  Not many Americans know the real story behind the myths perpetuated in film, song and verse.  And, since I didn’t know much more about Johnny Appleseed other than the fact that he went around planting apple seeds, I thought it was about time I did a little research.  
    John (not Jonathan, his youngest half-brother’s name, as some websites call him) Chapman was born September 26, 1774 in Leominster, Massachusetts.  But, he died far from his birth home, an apparent pauper, near Fort Wayne, Indiana in mid-March 1845.  He may have died the 11th, or the 18th, or was it the 17th?  Accounts vary, rather indicative of his life, but his obituary was dated March 22, 1845 in the “Fort Wayne Sentinel” of Fort Wayne, Ohio. 

    John Chapman's Birthplace - Leominster, Massachusetts
    He was a simple man, walking virtually everywhere in bare feet, even in inclement weather, wearing baggy pantaloons and a coffee sack from which he’d cut holes for his head and arms.  He often wore one or more hats on his head, including a cooking pot with a handle, and carried his belongings in a satchel on his back. 
    Then, one dreary evening when the precipitation coming down was a bitter cold mixture of rain and snow, he appeared at the door of the William Worth home, friends with whom he’d stayed before.  After satisfying his hunger, he shared his usual news “right fresh from heaven” with the family (Means, p.1) –  the truths within the Bible as seen through his eyes and those in the teachings of Emanuel Swedenborg as was his favorite past time.  He was a faithful disciple of Swedenborg’s religious philosophy, carrying the church’s books and pamphlets with him and eagerly expounding upon his favorite issues to anyone available to listen, for this was “…in many ways, the driving force of his life.”  (Johnny Appleseed:  The Man, the Myth, the American Story, Howard Means, p.6) 
    Chapman apparently awoke the next morning with a fever from an infection which seems to have settled in his lungs.  He died within days, or was it just hours, of what was then called the “winter plague” which could have been anything from pneumonia to influenza.  And, apparently he died with his face the picture of serenity as the Worth family and their physician later pointed out.  (Means, p. 2) 
    Chapman was a simple and gentle man, not one given to drunkenness or fighting.  He was very much at home in the wilderness, preferring the untamed wild country to the inside of a cabin.  But, at times he did appreciate the hearth of those who welcomed him inside their home - that is, when he chose to enter.  Interestingly, he was accepted by virtually everyone with whom he came in contact despite his odd and uncouth appearance - from the Native Americans to the domesticated early settlers and the wilderness frontiersmen.  He was respected as an odd eccentric, a larger-than-life character wherever he went.  He had an uncanny ability to be “here one minute, gone the next.”  (Means, p. 3) 
    The famed Civil War general, William Tecumseh Sherman, born and raised in Lancaster, Ohio, may have known Chapman, or perhaps just knew of him, as Chapman passed through the area while Sherman was still in his teens.  After Chapman’s death, Sherman is purported to have said, “Johnny Appleseed’s name will never be forgotten… We will keep his memory green, and future generations of boys and girls will love him as we, who knew him, have learned to love him.”  (Means, p. 4) 
    Born in 1774 as above, Chapman was the second child of Nathaniel and Elizabeth (Simons) Chapman.  His father was a member of the Minutemen Militia and fought at Bunker Hill.  Both families have ties to the very early New England settlers, with descendants of Chapman’s mother’s extended Simonds/Simons family known to include the George Bush family. 
    While Nathaniel Chapman was off fighting the war for independence that summer of 1776, his wife gave birth to their third son, Nathaniel, on June 26.  On July 16, however, Elizabeth succumbed to an illness already affecting her as she had written in a letter to her husband earlier that month.  Barely two weeks after her death, her tiny infant son also died.  There must have been intense heartbreak felt by the two young siblings left behind.  With their father at war, it has been presumed their mother’s family took them in.
    With very little documentation of their early childhood, we only know that little Johnny and his older sister, Elizabeth, are next found with their father and step-mother in Longmeadow, south of Springfield, Massachusetts by about 1781.  Into a very small house, about 400 square feet, Nathaniel Sr. moved with his new wife, Lucy.  In time, ten more children joined the family.  The assumption can only be that of a home in utter chaos and squalor as the older children helped to care for the newer infants.  From this noise and chaos, it appears John Chapman escaped with his half-brother, Nathaniel, Jr.
    Again, though we know very little of Chapman’s growing up years, he and Nathaniel Jr. are found about 15 years later (about 1796) in far western Pennsylvania.  The western frontier was just beginning to open up with wilderness land ready for settlement by Revolutionary War veterans.  How fortuitous when, in 1792, the Ohio Company of Associates (actually formed in Massachusetts, among other companies with land deals) began to offer one hundred acres of land free to anyone desiring to settle the “Donation Tract.”  This land encompassed about one hundred thousand acres of wilderness beyond Ohio’s first white settlement in Marietta, used to help create a buffer zone between the white settlers and the warring Native Americans.  There was one catch, however, to obtaining this free land:  you had just three years in which to plant 50 apple trees and 20 peach trees as proof of your intention to settle the land.  (Means, p.8-9)
    Chapman, with his uncanny ability to know where frontier settlements were likely to spring up, would trek into the wilderness, often along fertile river bottoms, stake out his claim and clear several acres to plant the apple seeds he had obtained from cider mills.  He usually surrounded his plantings with a brush fence, though that did not always keep the small seedlings from being destroyed by critters and river flooding.  In a few years, a small apple orchard would be waiting the arrival of settlers.  However, he did not profit much from property he sold.  Quite often, he simply used up whatever profits he’d made to buy and care for abused horses he saw on his travels.  He also had a habit of just giving away seeds or young trees to those who couldn’t afford to pay much, if anything, for them.  (Means, p.9)
    Chapman’s eccentricities abound, promoting a mythical aspect to his life story.  Supposedly, he had been kicked in the head by a horse, perhaps in his twenties, suffering a skull fracture that required he be trepanned – that is, he had a portion of skull bone removed to alleviate pressure on his brain from internal hemorrhaging.  Some have contended there might be validity to this story to explain some of Chapman’s oddities.  Again, even this accident cannot be proven beyond that which W. M. Glines of Marietta, Ohio claimed.  (Means, p.13)
    And so, into Pennsylvania, John (23 years) and Nathaniel (about 16) traveled – whether by foot, by horse, or by canoe no one knows for certain. Nor can various authors’ claims of various routes be proven beyond doubt.  Regardless of how they arrived, John and Nathaniel planted apple seeds in the ground which they’d obtained in apple mash at cider mills; their intent was to plant seeds to prove their land throughout the wilderness.

    Their first plantings were made in what later became Warren County of northwest Pennsylvania during 1796 to 1799.  Proof of their travels here is recorded in various journals and records at trading posts along the Allegheny River between Warren and Franklin.  At some point before the turn of the new 19th century, John and his half-brother Nathaniel parted ways for reasons unclear to historians.  John Chapman is recorded in various land deals, buying and leasing, signing promissory notes to family members, and selling land and apple seedlings all through the early part of the 19th century. 
    It should also be noted that, by planting apple seeds, Chapman’s trees would not grow fruit true to the parent apple.  Unless limbs are grafted onto sturdy root stock, apple seeds will revert to growing into one of thousands of varieties from their unique genetic coding, making apple tree propagation by seed totally unreliable.  Among logical explanations for Chapman’s planting of apple seeds for fruit trees have been his desire to quickly establish ownership of the land his seeds were planted upon, knowing that whatever type of apple was produced would simply be pressed into cider.  This beverage was consumed more often as hard cider at a time when liquor, hard cider and wine were used in large quantities by adults and children alike.  Thus, Chapman’s apple trees would be a welcome addition to any homestead on the frontier.  (Means, p.97)
    Another important part of Chapman’s mystique was his religious devotion to Swedenborgianism and the so-called New Church founded in 1787 in Britain after Swedenborg’s death.  In fact, after visiting Ohio settlements in1801, Chapman became a convert and devoted disciple, leaving literature for settlers, often announcing himself with the words, “Here is news right fresh from heaven for you.”  (Means, p.121)  Armed with his own philosophy of not harming anything or anyone, plant, animal or human, Chapman was ready to share his religious beliefs with anyone who would listen… an avid missionary, as noted by the New Church.
    Briefly, Swedenborgianism was founded by the Swedish scientist and philosopher, Emanuel Swedenborg (1688-1772).  In 1768, Swedenborg was tried for heresy.  In 1770, he and his followers were ordered to cease their teachings.  Swedenborg claimed to have psychic gifts, saw visions, and believed he was given special revelations directly from God.  He imputed his own philosophy into the divinely inspired words of Scripture to propagate his own beliefs.  Swedenborg also denied the triune character of God, believed that Christ was born with inherent evil from His mother, denied the personality of Satan, denied that Christ’s death was a substitution or atonement for our sin, and denied that Christ arose from the dead.  (Sanders, p.167)  Thus, he was in opposition to the doctrinal tenets which are the substantive foundational components of the Christian faith.
    Moving over into Ohio not long after the turn of the 19th century, Chapman is found planting his apple seeds from Steubenville and Wellsburg near the eastern border of Pennsylvania to Dexter City north of the Ohio River, Marietta on the Muskingum River to Newark on the Licking River.  He purchased or leased land in several northern counties as well, including Knox, Richland and Ashland.  Later, he also covered ground in Indiana.
    Chapman roamed far and wide in wilderness territory, always with an eye for a good place to put his seeds in the ground, having that keen ability to discern where new settlements were most likely to spring up.  In early September 1812, he began to merge into myth during a period of hostile Indian attacks with counter-attacks by the white settlers.  Chapman apparently ran 26 miles each way, in bare feet, from house to house in the middle of the night through the wilderness to yell out a warning to settlers that the Indians were on the warpath.  He, more than anyone else, knew the trails like the backs of his hands from his own meanderings and plantings.  With this singular feat, he alerted settlers of an impending attack by the Indians; though the Indians lay low for a brief period, they eventually overtook the settlers in a deadly surprise attack.
    Ohio was then a wilderness fraught with an overabundance of wild animals to be on the lookout for, along with murders and scalpings by Indians in retaliation for various events by the whites as they saw the loss of their territory.  It was also a time of hard, back-breaking physical labor for settlers to get their acreage up to par in order to earn a living from the land.  In this lifestyle, men and women both lived, on average, only to about age 35, though occasionally much longer.  In this wilderness, Chapman lived as a modern, unkempt “John the Baptist.”  He was dressed in assorted rags, with long and scraggly hair and beard, with not exactly a pleasant aroma about him, and with dark eyes that seemed to sparkle and glow in the excitement or passion of his conversations.  In the wild, he typically ate “honey, berries, fruit, some cornmeal for mush, [and] milk whenever it was available.”  (Means, p.168) 
    He was seen to walk barefoot in snow and on ice; he stuck pins and needles into his feet without flinching.  In fact, the mid-19th century poet, novelist, and Ohio native, Rosella Rice, wrote that neither she nor her childhood friends made “fun of the man [or had] sport at his expense… No matter how oddly he was dressed or how funny he looked, we children never laughed at him, because our parents all loved and revered him as a good old man, a friend, and a benefactor.”  (Means, pp. 176-177)
    In 1805, Chapman’s father and step-mother moved with several of their younger children from Longmeadow, Massachusetts to Duck Creek on the Muskingum River near Marietta, Ohio.  If they had hoped for it, the welcome mat was not put out by their “long lost” son.  Chapman’s father died only two years after arriving, but there had not been the usual happy family visits one would have expected between father and son.  Instead, Chapman appears to have continued to keep his distance from his family except on rare occasions.  Many thoughts fuel the speculation as to why, including the fact he had signed two promissory notes to family members without any documentation as to whether he paid his debt off or not.  Perhaps he and his step-family did not get along.  No one knows for sure why he kept his distance from them.  Let it be said, however, that being with his family wasn’t anathema to him; rather, his on-the-move personality simply didn’t fit to make him into someone he was not, as in someone who would stay on the homestead, tending to the fields, animals and family. 
    In his later life, Chapman’s work of planting both apple seeds and the New Church’s “fresh news” was considered to be that of an “extraordinary missionary…” by the Swedenborg church hierarchy.  “Having no family, and inured to hardships of every kind, his operations are unceasing.  He is now employed in traversing the district between Detroit and the closer settlements of Ohio…”  (Means, p.192)  In an 1821 letter regarding Chapman’s desire to trade land for religious books of the faith, something the church could not do, a Daniel Thunn called him “the Appleseed man…”  A Reverend Holly wrote in a letter dated November 18, 1822 that Chapman was a man in Ohio “…they call…John Appleseed out there…”  This is considered the first written record of the name given to an eccentric man who gradually evolved into the myth we call Johnny Appleseed.  (Means, pp.192-193)

    As elusive and eccentric as he was in his lifetime, so he was in death.  While the actual circumstances and date surrounding his death are somewhat sketchy, it comes as no surprise that his actual burial plot is also now unknown.  Several witnesses stepped forward and claimed they knew where he was buried, including a self-proclaimed grandson of his half-brother Andrew - until it was determined John Chapman did not have a half-brother by that name.  Not until 1916 did the Indiana Horticultural Society chose an area at the top of a grassy knoll to forever be known as Chapman’s burial site.  Here, in Fort Wayne, an iron fence was erected with a plaque that reads as simple as the man was:
    John Chapman
    Johnny Appleseed
    Died 1845
     Near Dexter City, Ohio is another monument.  It stands seven feet tall, and is built with stones brought from every state in the nation.  This plaque reads:
    “In Memory of John Chapman,
    Famous ‘Johnny Appleseed…’
    Without a Hope of Recompense,
    Without a Thought of Pride,
    John Chapman Planted Apple Trees,
    And Preached, and Lived, and Died.”
    (Means, p.227)
    After his death, his estate was appraised with salable assets including one gray mare, 2000 apple trees in Jay County, 15,000 apple trees in Allen County, and multiple parcels of land.  With the sale of all he had to show for his life, Chapman’s estate was valued at $409 (about $9,300 in 2011), not exactly pittance.  However, every cent of it was eaten up by back taxes along with other unpaid bills owed to family and friends.  Rather symbolic of how Chapman lived his life… with little true income or money in his pocket, living off the land and largesse of friends and strangers, nothing ostentatious about him.
    It is also interesting to note that Howard Means (author of Johnny Appleseed:  The Man, the Myth, the American Story) was able to trace several plots of land on which Chapman had established orchards, but which have now become part and parcel of very modern cities, minus the orchards, of course.
    Many stories of Chapman/Appleseed have been proven false by Means’ extensive research as he ferreted out the details behind the stories.  Various contemporaneous writings have also set forth romanticized versions of Chapman’s life which were then carried on into the 20th century, perpetuating the myths about the man.
    In attempting to explain an element of Chapman’s eccentricity, Means recalled that he had once worked with a psychiatric response team in Washington, D.C.  Here, he found legally insane people often dressed in odd rags and tattered clothing and who smelled terrible – as eyewitnesses claimed of Chapman.  Means found it interesting that the eyes of many seemed to glow as they talked, just as it was said Chapman’s did.  These people clearly heard voices in their heads, often with acting-out behavior in response to the voices.  Chapman also told his listeners he was given revelations directly from God.  Means feels that Chapman meets the modern definition of insanity and shared “the old adage [that] if you talk to God, it’s prayer.  If God talks to you, it’s schizophrenia.”  (Means, p.274)   Whether Chapman/Appleseed was schizophrenic or otherwise insane is not mine to determine, but merely to pass along as explanation.
    This was not the direction I expected Johnny Appleseed’s story to take.  However we look at the life of Johnny Appleseed (aka John Chapman), he was a man who respected everyone he met, who harmed no one, not even a mosquito (putting out at least one fire rather than cause the death of more insects, per one eyewitness).  He was an eccentric man who has loomed larger than life, yet a man about whom we have known very little… with often that little bit being erroneous.
    Among other authors who have worked at fleshing out the myths and stories behind the elusive Chapman/Appleseed, Means has done a remarkable job to give us the clearest picture possible of John Chapman’s life.  While pointing out what is merely conjecture versus documented fact, to prove or disprove various and sundry reports, the colored stories and facts of Chapman’s life come alive.  And therein we discover the enigma of one for whom truth has evolved into romanticized myths regarding a simple man we’ve all admired… Johnny Appleseed.
  16. Linda Roorda

    Lady Wisdom

    By Linda Roorda,

    I’ll admit to enjoying the beauty of yesterday’s snowstorm, and our wind-driven “iced grass” and drift ridges over the deeper snow, while feeling sorry for a bluebird hunkered down with his feathers pluffed out as he braved the buffeting bitter-cold winds on the telephone wire… as it made travel for many difficult on the roads with many accidents.  Yet knowing that this snow won’t last long with the warming temps coming this week helps me deal with winter’s “last gasp” as the robins and blackbirds I’ve seen this past week will also be glad to have the snow melt away.  But the pristine purity of this fresh snow also reminded me of God’s righteousness and His wisdom… a resource we can seek no matter what we do, no matter the weather...
    Wisdom... that value within our heart and soul which helps guide our steps on this path called life.  An entity more precious than gold.  Lady Wisdom’s knowledge often comes from experience, by learning and gaining insight the hard way… you know, those mistakes that can either break or make us.  She brings a common sense, discernment, shrewdness… an innate understanding of what’s best.  But, this sound judgment can be lacking when we become distracted or enticed by what seems so right, yet, in reality, is so wrong when we heed the voice of Folly.
    One of my favorite life verses is “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and he will make straight your paths.” (Proverbs 3:5-6 NIV)  Wisdom is knowledge we apply to every-day life God’s way.  Yet, like I’ve said before, I often think I can take the reins and direct my own steps… only to realize that I erred, once again, and need to grasp His hand, allowing God to guide me as I learn from His infinite wisdom.
    With wisdom comes the ability to discern or judge right from wrong… to think and act appropriately, and to not become enmeshed in folly’s foibles.  As God searches the depth of our heart, His Spirit reaches out to us with a still small voice in our inner being. If we’ve embedded Lady Wisdom’s truth within our heart, we’ll know whose voice to trust and follow… while folly proceeds headlong toward a path of destruction.
    And, as we humbly follow Lady Wisdom’s righteous ways, a calm and peaceful tranquility will envelope our soul.  We’ll know we’ve chosen the right path when we’ve given time and consideration to acting in a way that would receive God’s blessing.  I love the book of Proverbs for the depth of wisdom gleaned as we “Listen to my instruction and be wise; do not ignore it.  Blessed is the man who listens to me… for whoever finds me finds life… but whoever fails to find me harms himself.” (Proverbs 8:33-36 NIV)
    Lady Wisdom… a personification of God’s attributes in the feminine form.  She is not meant to take His holy place, but rather to give a human side to God’s omniscience… for “the fear [awe, respect] of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.” (Proverbs 9:10 NIV) 
    Lady Wisdom
    Linda A. Roorda
    Lady wisdom carries high her torch
    She lights the way with truth on her side.
    Her words bring strength to face life’s trials
    With comfort and peace when the winds blow fierce.
    ~
    Listen and heed her still small voice
    Words to the soul that lead and protect,
    For like a lantern which brightens the way
    So is Wisdom in guiding your life.
    ~
    When lured and tempted by desires for more
    Do not be swayed by enticements sweet.
    For trust is earned with truth and respect
    A higher calling than rebellious ways.
    ~
    Seek out the Lord whose hand will uphold
    Stand firm on His word within your heart.
    Learn at His feet, discerning the right
    His knowledge gain with treasured insight.
    ~
    Be wise in judgment, perceiving the darts
    Trust in the Lord with all your heart.
    Lean not upon your own understanding
    But acknowledge Him, the giver of Wisdom.
    ~~
     
  17. 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…
  18. Linda Roorda
    The tapestry of life… a montage of all that once was to all we’ve become and soon will be, all which occupies our life and dreams, and all which defines who we are in the depth of our heart. 
    Wouldn’t it be neat to see a tapestry of scenes from your life… like the movie we see in our mind’s eye as we reflect back over the years? And from all those experiences in which we learned and grew emotionally and spiritually, what a journey it would tell!
    I’d like to think my tapestry would show a woman who has grown wiser over the years… for I am well aware of my youthful immaturity and inherent failings.  But, woven throughout would also be the golden threads of friends, mentors and teachers who came alongside and taught me with loving encouragement.
    Having made small embroideries, larger crewel embroidered scenes, counted cross-stitch projects, and many quilts over the years, the fronts display their beauty.  The back, however, can be a different story.  Hidden from view are threads that meander in a wayward fashion to the next section, or even hide mistakes – rather like my life!  But I also believe that the ups and downs and errors of life which those threads represent have all happened for a reason.  As one of my favorite authors, Corrie ten Boom, once wrote, “Although the threads of my life have often seemed knotted, I know, by faith, that on the other side of the embroidery… there is a Crown."  (Corrie ten Boom, 1974. “Tramp for the Lord: The Story that Begins Where The Hiding Place Ends”, p.12, CLC Publications)
    It’s so reassuring to know that our life experiences have an intended meaning and purpose… that we might gain a wisdom we could not have learned otherwise.  Nothing can beat the exciting happy times we all enjoy!  But, it’s especially in understanding the depths of pain and sadness through losses suffered or mistakes made that we grow wiser as God guides us through our difficulties. How often we find that from those life experiences the Lord positions us to come alongside someone else who might be struggling and in need of an emotional lift.  For we, too, have tucked away memories of treasured friends who traveled beside us when we were in need.  Though we may not think of it that way, they are, indeed, the gems of our life… just as we are for others. And thank you for being a gem in my life!
    With these thoughts, I was reminded that “...in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28, NIV)  Through our patchwork experiences, we bring our worship of “praise…to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.”  (II Corinthians 1:3-4, NIV) 
    What a cherished thought to know that whatever we go through, God will work it out for our good, our benefit, when our trust is placed in Him.  From the blessings He gives to the difficulties He allows to come our way, may we grow in wisdom and, in turn, be used by our Lord to bless others as life’s gems! 
    Life’s tapestry… that which God has woven as His masterpiece of our life… a testimony to those around us… a visual reminder of how great His love is for each one of us, tarnished and faded though we may be.  We really do have a purpose in this world… in living for and serving our Lord and others with joy in our heart!
    Life’s Tapestry Gems
    Linda A. Roorda
    Woven within the tapestry of life
    Are threads of gold among the diverse.
    These colorful scenes, a journey of years
    Depict a life in memories treasured.
    ~
    Memories like dreams elusive and wary
    Some haunting echoes, some images clear
    Some melancholy, some bursting with joy
    Of all which dwells within my soul.
    ~
    This soul You knew from before my birth
    For You’ve called me Yours since time began.
    You wove the threads in skillful pattern
    Of who I was to who I am now.
    ~
    For I am unique, a special design
    The only version which You created.
    And all of my life with its joys and tears
    Helped weave the me who I have become.
    ~
    These memories dear like gentle footprints
    Bring quiet joy within my heart
    To recall a world of growing wiser
    With scenes that flood the gates of my soul.
    ~
    As memories transport through all that once was
    And draw me in to contemplate
    Emotions run strong and images lie deep
    From another time and another place.
    ~
    Memories thus treasured and savored anew
    Serve their purpose in visions tempered
    By value and worth from sadness and joy
    To understand life as it now presents.
    ~~
    Refining the love within my heart
    Of those who walk among the threads
    In vivid hues of brightly lit scenes
    To bring a warmth and smile in my heart.
    ~
    For the King of Light has woven my life
    In mosaic rich and design unique
    Of a life well lived through blessing and trial
    In treasured scenes on tapestry rare.
    ~
    Thus memories and dreams, threads of a lifetime
    Have woven the fabric of this my life
    While you, my friends and dearest loved ones
    Are interwoven as tapestry gems.
    ~~
    2014
     
  19. Linda Roorda

    Listen To Me

    By Linda Roorda,

    I thought you might enjoy this look back in time to lessons learned while raising animals on our backyard farm. 
    Can you hear wisdom’s call in the depth of your soul?  It’s that still small voice that we often hear, but don’t always heed.  And I’m guilty, too.  I so want to do things my way… but need to heed the reminder that my way is not always the best option.
    I’ve shared before about the animals under my care as I grew up.  After moving to Lounsberry, NY in my mid-teens, we acquired a little over three dozen baby chicks in the mail... extras in case some didn’t survive the trip.  The tiny fluffy chicks were raised briefly under a lamp in a big box in the kitchen corner.  When they were big enough, we put them out in the ca.1930s chicken coop that I’d helped my dad renovate.  And then, from an auction, my dad obtained six adult Muscovy ducks for our menagerie.  My father had raised chickens, ducks and geese under his mother’s tutelage while growing up, while my mother helped her family care for at least 3000 chickens, and knew the importance of having a guard goose – which my youngest brother Ted named Honk!  My Dad had even been a delegate to Boston on a 4-H chicken judging contest!  With my parents’ love of farming, it was only natural that would be part of the legacy passed on to me.
    So, imagine my excitement one day to discover a broody duck setting on eggs. After the first four hatched and were ready to face the world, Mama Duck took her little ones out for a stroll in the fenced-in chicken yard.  Coming home from school, I saw a little straggler left behind, trying to hatch itself.  Not knowing any better, I decided to help what I considered to be a poor little duckling abandoned by its Mama.  After breaking off pieces of the shell to create a wider opening, the little fella slipped out of the shell and lay quietly in the nest.  Sadly, he did not survive… simply because I had taken matters into my own hands and helped him hatch.  Unbeknownst to me at the time was the fact that chicks need to do the work of hatching on their own. 
    There is a natural process that tells the chick when it’s time to escape its shell confinement, notably elevated carbon dioxide.  When this reaches a certain level inside the shell, the chick begins to flex its tiny muscles.  But before it begins to hatch, which can take up to or just over 24 hours, the chick absorbs the yolk and blood vessels inside the shell into its own body.  This will provide nourishment for a few days after the hatching.  Next, pipping begins with the tiny chick using its “egg” or “beak” tooth to make a tiny crack or hole through the membrane and shell so that vital oxygen can enter.  Gradually, it cracks the shell all the way around the large end of the egg.  Then, the little chick stretches until it throws off the protection of the shell and emerges, wet and floppy.  The chick should be left alone to dry as its feathers fluff to keep it naturally warm.  Soon enough it will be up and walking, under Mama’s tender care.
    By feeling sorry for the little duckling left behind as its Mama and siblings went out for a stroll, I took matters into my own hands.  “I did it my way,” to quote Frank Sinatra’s famous song.  By assisting this tiny duckling to hatch, I did not allow it to go through the natural process established by our Creator.  And, sadly, I caused the demise of my littlest duckling.
    From that painful lesson years ago, I realized doing life “my way” is not always the best option.  There’s a better way.  Unfortunately, I haven’t always sought the better way.  But if I learned anything, it’s that seeking wisdom is a life-long learning process.  We definitely don’t know it all in our youth… we need experience to gain knowledge to travel wisely through life.  And experience comes in realizing that we make mistakes because we don’t know everything… and, with humility, seeking advice from others.  Perhaps someone else studied the subject at hand, trained under a worthy teacher, and learned skills which we don’t have.  If only I’d asked my father how to care for my ducklings, I would not have rushed headlong into taking matters in my own hands.  But he was an over-the-road trucker at that time, and not instantly available.
    By giving up “our way” as we seek wisdom from our heavenly Father through His word, we gain knowledge to live life under His guiding hand… a knowledge and love we can then share with others.  “Instruct a wise man and he will be wiser still; teach a righteous man and he will add to his learning.  The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.”  (Proverbs 9:9-10) 
    Listen To Me
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Where is my heart?  Where is my focus?
    Where are my thoughts and my attention?
    In idols that grab, my vision distort
    Or is it heaven with treasures of gold?
     
    Listen to Me and consider blessings
    Focus upon the door of your heart.
    Who has the key to enter therein
    To whom give credence, to whom pay homage?
     
    Hear wisdom’s voice as she calls your name
    Heed her message with a joyful heart.
    Welcome her words that direct your path
    And dwell in peace by her guiding light.
     
    Fear the Lord humbly with reverence and awe
    Become the wiser as knowledge is gained
    With confidence seek His will in your life
    And choose the One who will guide in truth.
     
    For the scales of justice weigh out every deed
    To plumb the depth of my heart and soul
    Balanced by truth from Your word alone
    Will my life show my pride or Your love?
    ~~
    PHOTO CREDIT: My photo taken of my Muscovy ducks 1971.
  20. Linda Roorda

    Lord, Take My Hand

    By Linda Roorda,

    The words of this poem flew quickly from thoughts to paper several years ago, essentially as a prayer, asking the Lord to take me and use me… to guide me on the right path that I may bless others and not ignore a need… asking that He help me to remain faithful, to rely on His word to guide my life…
    With the passing of Queen Elizabeth II of England this past Thursday (September 8, 2022) at age 96, I was surprised and pleased to hear how much she treasured her relationship with Jesus, her Lord… and how much she relied on Him and His wisdom to guide her during her reign of 70 years... an amazing monarch, beloved by so many, including us Americans across the Pond. 
    I cannot imagine the strain she must have felt at a young age when her father became king following the abdication of his brother. She knew she would someday become queen. Yet, as she faced life during and after WWII, with its difficulties then and beyond, Elizabeth was not crushed in spirit.  She had an inner strength, a sense of duty with old fashioned values of grace, elegance, and respect… a beloved “Grannie” to not only her family but others.
    Putting her faith and trust in God to lead her through the many storms of life, as queen she prayed that “God may give me wisdom and strength to carry out the solemn promises I shall be making, and that I may faithfully serve Him and you, all the days of my life.” (Christmas 1952 address) … “For me, the teachings of Christ and my own personal accountability before God provide a framework in which I try to lead my life,” she said in 2000. “I, like so many of you, have drawn great comfort in difficult times from Christ’s words and example.”
    In a similar vein, after writing my poem below, it reminded me of the old hymn, “Take My Life and Let It Be,” another favorite from childhood.  “Take my life and let it be, consecrated, Lord, to thee; take my hands and let them move at the impulse of Thy love, at the impulse of Thy love.”  Written in 1874 by Frances R. Havergal, this hymn began as her own prayer to the Lord that He would use her to reach others.
    Born in 1836 in England, Frances was a gifted child.  She had learned to read before the age of 3, and was writing poetry by age 7.  She was capable of memorizing lengthy sections of Scripture, knew several languages, and was a gifted pianist and singer.  Unfortunately, her mother died when Frances was 11, leaving her with these parting words, “Fanny dear, pray God prepare you for all He is preparing for you.”  And, with those words, her life-long prayer was to reach others with the love of God.
    We are pulled in so many directions every day. There is so much going on around us in life, while we keep all too busy in our own little world.  Preoccupied with our own situations and needs, we often forget the needs of others… I know I do.  As these words came to me, I realized that I need to ask the Lord to take charge of my life... to take my hand, my voice, my eyes, my ears, my feet… essentially all of me, that I would be open to seeing and meeting the needs of others while walking in His will, sharing His love.
    Take my hand, Lord… walk with me, and lead me on… 
    Lord, Take My Hand
    Linda A. Roorda
    Lord, take my hand and walk with me
    Lead me on and show me the way
    And let me know You’re my companion
    You’ll never leave, You’ll always protect.
    ~
    Lord, take my voice that I may yet speak
    Treasures of grace in praise of mercy,
    As I delight in Your wisdom’s depths
    May all my words reflect back to You.
    ~
    Lord, take my eyes and bless my vision
    As I encounter those different from me
    May I now see the world through Your eyes
    That I may seek to reach out in love.
    ~
    Lord, take my ears and grant I may hear
    The pleas for help, the cries from the heart
    May Your tender voice guide all my actions
    That with compassion others I may bless.
    ~
    Lord, take my feet and guide all my steps
    Grant me wisdom on this path of life
    Keep my feet from straying aside
    Hold accountable the way that I take.
    ~
    Lord, take my soul and cover with grace
    That I may rejoice in Your salvation,
    For the cleansing flood that washed over me
    Has created faith that trusts in You.
    ~
    Lord, take my heart and fill me with joy
    Share with me Your endless love
    That I may then to others extend
    Your precious peace with bountiful praise.
    ~~
  21. 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
  22. Linda Roorda
    Something bad happens to you… and you can’t shake it off.  It’s overwhelming… it’s unfair… it’s painful to think about… and you don’t deserve this.  But down the road, you look back and see all the good that came out of such a bad situation.  How can that be?
    While working on her master's degree in school psychology, our daughter, Jenn, was treated rudely by peers.  What did she do to cause this disrespect from her peers?  She declined to go to bars with them after classes, but would simply go home to her husband… while classmates complained to their professors that Jenn would not socialize with them. 
    Confronted by peers and profs, Jenn remained true to herself and gently explained that she had never been to a bar in her life and was not about to start going just to please them.  She further explained she was married, and that her husband came first.  Professors agreed with Jenn and dismissed the complaints.  In turn, Jenn kindly invited her classmates to her home for study groups and team projects, sharing those scrumptious desserts that she was famous for.
    Over time, the hearts of her friends softened under Jenn’s kindness and love.  In fact, they began to respect her even more for standing up for her faith in God and began asking questions.  A month after earning her school psychologist degree, Jenn passed away at age 25 on June 30, 2003.  Alfred University held a memorial service that October, sharing they had created the Jennifer Hale Literacy Lending Library as a lasting legacy in honor of her dedication to helping children.
    During the memorial service, two young women stood up and shared how they had initially been rude to Jenn.  Instead of retaliation, they saw God's love shine through our daughter’s life such that they both said they had accepted Christ as their Savior because of her.  In memory of Jenn’s gentle loving spirit, they read the Beatitudes and other Scripture as their part in Alfred University’s memorial tribute to Jenn.  They couldn’t understand Jenn’s lack of interest in going to the bars with them and brought complaints against her.  Instead, God used it for His purposes and brought good out of the situation. 
    Which reminds me of ancient Israel’s Joseph who was sold into slavery by jealous brothers. From the School of Hard Knocks, Joseph had graduated from a lowly but respected slave to prison and on to being next in command under Pharoah.  It was his reliance on God, and ability to interpret dreams, which led his success.  Meeting his brothers during the great famine, he reassured them he held no animosity, saying “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.”  (Genesis 50:20 NIV)  Similarly, centuries later, the Apostle Paul wrote “we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28 NIV)
    With hindsight’s rearview mirror, we can often see the good that comes out of our bad situations.  Yet, it’s so difficult to understand sometimes how anything positive can come from life’s most painful tragedies.  Instead, when we allow God to work on our behalf, no matter how long it might take, His hand will weave the shattered pieces back together.  And not just to bring about a new beginning, but to bring about something more wonderful than we could ever imagine… as He uses each trial for our betterment, our good. 
    God Meant It For Good
    Linda A. Roorda
     You meant it for ill, God meant it for good
    For all of life has meaning within,
    But it’s how we deal with what comes our way
    When all seems grim or brightly shines clear.
    ~
    You only ask that I would obey
    And heed Your voice when doubts ensnare,
    When storms arrive and the way seems dark
    That to You I turn, Your guidance to seek.
    ~
    When thoughts arise to do life my way
    Let me yet seek Your wisdom as guide.
    Open my ears to the sound of Your voice
    Let me not heed the call of disgrace.
    ~
    May I ever know the path that I take
    Is framed by Your word, a hedge to protect.
    And when my thoughts are prone to wander
    Call me back, Lord, with voice loud and clear.
    ~
    For You meant for good this difficult path
    To test my heart and to try my soul,
    That after all the seeking I’ve done
    Your hand I would see with its purpose good
    ~~
     
  23. Linda Roorda
    With another school year beginning, I was reminded of my own school days a few many years ago.  
    Thinking back to the start of the school season when my kids were young, brings me back to my own childhood.  I attended Public School #15 for kindergarten in Clifton, NJ, and  two small Christian schools for elementary - East Palmyra Christian School for 1st through half of 4th, and then Passaic Christian School for the second half of 4th through 6th grade.
    After my family moved back to Clifton, NJ from East Palmyra, NY when I was in fourth grade, there was a verse which was our prayer at the close of every school day during 5th and 6th grades at Passaic Christian School.  Under Mrs. Marie (Rev. Dick, Sr.) Oostenink, we memorized many Scripture passages, including this prayer: “May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart, be acceptable in Thy sight, O Lord, My strength and my redeemer.”  (Psalm 19:14 KJV) 
    It was a prayer that had settled itself in my mind though, admittedly, I had not always valued its place in my life.  Still, it has often come to my thoughts over the years, reminding me of the few years at that school and the friends I’d made.  But it also reminds me that, just like we as youngsters need training and guidance, so do we as adults need reminders at times.  We often hear of negatives spread by gossip.  Maybe we tell half-truths or outright lies to make ourselves look better to others, think we can hide behind electronic gadgets while taunting, or allow our thoughts to travel beyond the appropriate.
    Owning my own frustrations when overwhelmed, I’ve spoken words in haste, words regretted, words apologized for.  I could have found a better way to express myself, to affirm the right way to handle difficult situations with God’s loving words as guide. 
    In apologizing and asking forgiveness from others, we also go to our Lord in confession, receiving forgiveness from Him.  It doesn’t matter what we’ve done, or where we’ve been.  As we humble ourselves, He accepts our confession and guides us on our path forward… so that our words, our thoughts, and our actions will bless others and bring honor to Him.
    Because, when the words and meditations of our heart contemplate praise and thanksgiving, we bless someone who might be hurting… sharing joy and laughter together from the depths of our heart… even shedding tears for a friend’s loss or difficulty… simply letting them know how much we care. 
    For “…whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything is worthy of praise, dwell on these things.”  (Philippians 4:8 NASB)
    Often, we have no idea how our words and actions affect others now or in the future.  But, as we endeavor to speak and meditate on what is worthy and acceptable to our Lord and Redeemer, we will be a blessing to those around us. 
    Meditations of My Heart
    Linda A. Roorda
    The years have shown me to value Your love
    A love that seems deeper than when I was young.
    But sometimes the trials that life brings to bear
    Cause my heart to tire with weakness exposed.
    ~
    It doesn’t matter who I am now
    From where I’ve been You accept me still
    Your arms open wide with an eternal love
    As I say thank You for blessing my soul.
    ~
    Thank you for guiding my life on this path
    Thank you for saving my soul from sin’s wrath.
    Thank you for words which praise your great name
    Though I am prone to wander away.
    ~
    Thank you for calling me gently back home
    Back to your side with mercy and grace.
    Thank you for blessing my soul with your peace
    With praises to sing for loving me so.
    ~
    For Lord you hold me in the palm of your hand
    Sovereign and loving, protecting and guiding.
    Yet what can I give to the One with all?
    Showers of love to those all around.
    ~
    As I press onward to a higher goal
    Walking Your path to follow Your lead
    With praise and honor for You, my Lord
    In all that I do and all that I say.
    ~
    And “May the words of my mouth
    and the meditations of my heart
    Be acceptable in Thy sight, O Lord,
    My strength and my redeemer.”
    (Psalm 19:14)
    Artwork photo attached sketched by Linda A. Roorda 1986.
  24. Linda Roorda
    It feels so good to feel good again!  As some of my friends know, my blog absence last weekend was due to being bedridden with covid, despite vaccines.  And I’m very thankful to say that tho he continues to deal with daily CHF/congestion/edema struggles, Ed did not get covid… at least not yet.  In fact, we celebrated our anniversary with Sayre/Athens, PA’s Greater Valley EMS giving Ed an IV to help relieve fluid retention. It’s a service thru a government grant to help keep patients from going to the ER or being hospitalized, definitely a beneficial program.
    We are also very thankful to be celebrating 48 years together… a lot of memories have passed thru those years… with our biggest Thank You going to God for always being there, providing the foundation and support on which we have leaned.  
    Anniversaries come and go – with some more special than others. Like bookends, anniversaries hold between them the memories of our lives... of a special deep love, of change and growth, of difficult and painful times, and of joyous days. 
    October 26 marked our 48th anniversary.  In years past, I remembered our anniversary with special poems to celebrate where life had taken us all these years.  This poem, written in 2014, is a more contemplative poem that essentially wrote itself, words pouring out faster than my fingers could type.  The decades have seen a lot of love expressed, and a lot of change within ourselves and our family.  And though the years have witnessed much sadness, the Lord has also blessed us with abundant joy and peace.
    As part of our vows 48 years ago, Edward promised me his deepest love, unselfish devotion and tenderest care.  He promised to direct our lives into a path of faith and hope in Christ as a faithful husband, no matter what lay ahead.  Expressing deepest joy, I came into a new life with him as my husband, loving him, learning from him, and seeking to please him.  As God had prepared me for him, I vowed to strengthen, comfort and encourage him, no matter what lay ahead.  Though imperfect, we’ve sure tried!
    True love cannot remain the same or it will become stagnant, for without growth it ceases to exist.  Yet, how often don’t we find that love grows best facing the difficulties of life… those hard times which can either draw two hearts closer or tear them asunder.  Love must be nurtured and fed, given room to grow… to expand horizons… in order to complement and care for each other.  As my poem attempts to portray, love is much more than dreams… much more than a starry-eyed adoration.  It’s so much more than this. 
    True love is all about teamwork that strengthens the bond.  True love is a choice to remain committed to vows made before God on a joyous and happy wedding day… because the tough times will come.  We’ve been there.  We’ve seen days we thought would never end… when it just might have been easier to give up and walk away.  For those tough times will attempt to tear apart bonds once considered unbreakable… offering an easy way out to a seemingly better life… for little tears can either become permanent scars that irritate, or become scars which heal the inner soul to bring wisdom and understanding with a deeper love.  
    True love is also about making sacrifices… thinking more highly of our spouse than ourself… carrying the one who stumbles or becomes ill long term… opening up with total and complete honesty to each other… extending forgiveness and grace with arms open wide… for true love grows stronger as the foundation is strengthened.  “For neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow.”  (I Cor.3:7 NIV)  
    Which reminds me of the great biblical love chapter: “Love is patient, love is kind.  It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres… And now these three remain:  faith, hope and love.  But the greatest of these is love.”  (I Cor.13:4-7, 13 NIV)
    And I believe true love is a love which draws its strength from the Lord above.  He is the nourishment that love’s growth feeds upon… for “…whatever is true, whatever is noble [honorable], whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about such things… and the peace of God will be with you.”  (Phil.4:8-9 NIV)
    He is the One who walks beside us every day.  In fact, like the poem, “Footsteps in The Sand,” I know the Lord has carried us during those times when we felt utterly overwhelmed by life.  But, praise God, He has helped us overcome what life has tossed our way, and our bonds have become stronger than when we first began our marriage journey 48 years ago! 
    Much More Than Dreams
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Do not wonder we’ve reached this milestone!
    You keep my heart alive and new
    For do you know how much I care
    How much I love you even still?
     
    Yesterday was an easy path.
    It seemed that life was starry dreams,
    An open book with pages to fill,
    Our love alone would cover all.
     
    But hidden deep in years of days
    Between the glowing adoration
    And learning who we would become
    Came heavy cares to weigh us down.
     
    Do not think I’d no longer love.
    Do not think I’d walk away
    To find another fleeting dream
    Just because our life got tough.
     
    Is not love much more than this…
    The starry eyes and glory dreams,
    Romantic notions in the air...
    To keep us on a journey long?
     
    Commitments made are meant to be kept
    Intentions deep with respect and honor
    To carry the one who slips and falls
    For love grows deep with wisdom’s grace.
     
    I love you more than long ago
    For it’s a trust borne out of life
    As hand in hand this road we’ve walked
    To bring a strength to ties that twine.
     
    Was there a time I could not see
    Beyond your heart with all its love
    To tenderly hold you in my soul…
    For is not love much more than dreams?
    ~~
  25. 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 pursued, 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 it has been more often than not an equitable and viable 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 the 12 jurors of peers to discuss the 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 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 very 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, admit 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 whipped, mocked, and nailed to a cross… not for anything He had done.  He was sinless, faultless, perfect.  Yet, 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 brings me to tears.  Someday I will stand before Almighty God, my judge, to give an account of my life, and I will have nothing to say in my defense… except that my advocate, Jesus, will be standing at my side, declaring me guiltless because He already paid for my sins… with His own life. 
    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
    Regret now for words 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 maybe some good done 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 the mountain of debt.
     
    Just then the doors were flung open wide
    And striding forth came a man in white robe
    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.
    ~~
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