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Linda Roorda

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Blog Entries posted by Linda Roorda

  1. Linda Roorda

    Safe In My Arms

    By Linda Roorda,

    I can’t swim.  Oh, I took lessons… learned to float and doggy paddle at the Clifton, NJ YMCA. And I loved playing in the water with my siblings and cousins at Green Pond, a lake in northwestern New Jersey where my aunt and uncle had a cottage.  Didn’t even mind being in water way over my head.  There, in the safe swimming section, we’d jump off the dock or have our dad toss us over his shoulder into the deep water.  I loved it!  But then… I almost drowned.
    I was either 10 or 11.  Our family had driven out to the lake for a day of fun.  And here I was laying across a ski board tethered by rope to my uncle’s boat.  I was either very brave or very foolish, but found myself being pulled across the water clinging to that board, enjoying the ride! 
    Until the boat took a fast turn… and the wake caught me off guard.  The board flipped over, hit me on the head, and I lost my grip.  Flailing furiously in the water, I tumbled over and over, struggling to hold my breath, trying to break the surface for air when I felt something under my feet… all in a matter of some very long seconds.  Planting my feet down, I stood up, and dared to open my eyes… shocked and absolutely relieved to find I was chest deep in water, standing on a very large rock or a ledge in the “middle” of the lower end of the large lake! 
    I was so sure I would drown while flailing around… instead I was safe!!  Trauma clicked in later.  I cannot float, nor can I swim. I sink. Don’t even try to teach me… Ed tried when we were dating, and he quickly found out my panic was very real when he let go of me in the deep end of the pool.  I still need to wear floaties to enjoy the water. 
    I’ve long realized I was held in the arms of God that day decades ago.  No one dreamed there would possibly be a rock or ledge with shallow water out there.  My father watched from the shore with his heart in his throat, afraid for my life.  But he never told me that until decades later.
    This incident reminds me of how we are loved and held safe in the arms of not only God, but the arms of our family.  As a helpless infant, we are tenderly held and kept safe in our parents’ arms.  As we grow up, their loving arms are still there… ready to protect us and guide us.  Then, all too soon we’re ready to leave the nest and fly off into the world on our own.  At some point between thinking we know it all and realizing we don’t, we bring the wisdom we’ve learned back to our aging parents, understanding what it was they tried to teach us as we now teach our children… and find we’ve come full circle.
    And therein I see the arms of God… holding and caring for us, teaching and guiding us… accepting us for who we are because He created us and knows who we are meant to be. 
    Safe In My Arms
    Linda A. Roorda
     From the very moment that you came to be
    You were held safe, safe in my arms
    A helpless babe, you looked up to me
    Your needs were met with love undivided.
     
    When you fell down and bruised your ego
    You came running to comforting arms
    You looked for me to answer concerns
    Questions of life with wisdom to gain.
     
    But as you grew you looked to yourself
    I wasn’t needed, not so much anymore
    You thought you held the keys to life’s goals
    As facing forward you met the world’s pace.
     
    And then one day you understood all
    The depths of love and sacrificial gifts
    Your arms reached out to hold me secure
    To share with me wisdom you had gained.
     
    Is it not true full circle we’ve come
    From infant small to adult mature
    And is it not true the life we have lived
    Is mirrored within God’s love for us all.
     
    For didn’t His arms hold tightly our life
    That when we fell He gently restored
    And when we stood alone on life’s stage
    We were held safe, safe in His arms.
    ~~
    Photo Credit: Dock at Lower Green Pond, NJ taken by Linda Roorda spring 1974.
    Murky image from old camera used specifically in recalling this event.
  2. Linda Roorda

    Ode to a King

    By Linda Roorda,

    Analogies give us a glimpse of similarities and truths of a story tucked within a story.  Thinking about this concept after my poem below was written brought to mind Mark Twain’s British book, “The Prince and The Pauper,” published first in Canada in 1899 and subsequently in the U.S. in 1882. 
    In Twain’s beloved story, a young prince and a pauper (who happen to look a lot alike and were born on the same day) trade places in life.  The prince experiences the roughness of a lowly life just as his counterpart once did, while the pauper tries to bravely find his way at the top of an unfamiliar kingdom of elites.  Common sense, so crucial to his survival in the real world, comes in quite handy as he makes his way through the upper echelon. Ultimately, the real prince returns to claim his rightful place as heir and is crowned king.  Ever grateful for his real-life experiences as a pauper, the prince now understands life for the poor and hard-working folks beneath him, and is better able to comprehend their needs.  And, then he makes his friend, the pauper, his aide. 
    Having never read Twain’s book, my poem was written without knowledge of the story line, though I had heard of the title.  After research, it’s clear my poem takes a similar albeit slightly different tack to Twain in relating a king who was used to observing the realm from his castle high above the fray of every-day life.  Wanting to experience firsthand what life for his subjects was like, he walks among them dressed as a beggar.  In this guise, he observes that most people continue on their way with their heads held high, seldom stooping to assist someone poorer and perhaps scruffier than they.  Sadly, there are those who live and breathe a self-serving arrogance.
    Recently, I encountered two gentlemen – one, a young man looking a bit shabby, crouching against the building to finish a cigarette before entering our local grocery.  Unsure of whether to smile at this lone man for fear my friendliness would be misinterpreted, I nervously glanced his way as he quickly got up and stepped ahead of me to hold the door open.  Giving a smile and thanking him very much, ever the gentleman, he waited off to the side for me to get settled with a shopping cart, but I told him he could go ahead of me.
    Later that same day, I met an elderly casually-dressed gentleman walking into the pharmacy at the same time.  As I hung back to allow him entrance first, he instead slowed down for me to go ahead. Noticing his cap signifying he was a Navy Vietnam Veteran, I thanked him for his service, mentioning one of my brothers was a 20-year Navy man having served in the Gulf War.  At that point, the gentleman quietly told me he’d served in Korea, Vietnam, Gulf War, and many places in between, a 40-year vet, and we had a nice chat as he thanked me.  And I realized, first impressions do tend to make a difference, don’t they?
    On the other hand, a young woman notices our poor man in his tattered clothing.  Kindly offering to feed him, and not only did she provide nourishing meals, but she repairs his coat to provide warmth against the cold.  He returns often to talk with her, to learn the depths of her heart, and to simply show appreciation and gratefulness for what she has done for him, a beggar.
    He was afraid to share that he had fallen in love with her, but was now in a dilemma for he needs to return from whence he came.  Indeed, he knows that truth must always be told in any situation… and so he set out one day to let her know how much he loved her.  He was willing to give up all he owned just to serve her for the rest of his life.  And it was then that he could see his love was returned in her eyes as he knelt down to propose.  With her “yes,” his heart leapt for joy to know their hearts would soon be united forever, as he then shared with her who he really was.
    Tucked within the depth of my poem’s reflection is the analogy of our Lord’s love for us. Leaving His throne in His beautiful and perfect heavenly home, He came down to dwell among us… in our world of sin and pain.  Once here, He experienced life just as we do with all of its temptations and sadness, but also the joys.  And thus He is able to be our advocate and comforter, knowing from personal experience what our life on earth is all about.
    Yet, our Lord came that He might serve us, not to be served. “…just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." (Matthew 20:28) In His sacrifice, He gave His all for us… His life… that we might accept His awesome priceless gift; and, in so doing, share eternity with Him above.  What joy there will be when we are united with Him, and remain in the presence of His love forever!  What a King! 
    Ode to a King
    Linda A. Roorda
    I gazed from afar while observing my realm
    And found with interest motives in action,
    But often their lives showed merest concern
    Though I could see depths of their anguished souls.
     
    Oh how I loved these people of mine!
    And longed to walk the path to their soul
    A chance to converse, a sharing of hearts
    To bring them peace with comforting words.
     
    So stepping down, I entered their world
    Yearning to serve the rich and the poor
    But they did not know this beggar in rags
    Most never saw needs, just held their head high.
     
    And then I noticed a young woman fair
    Who spoke gentle words to a stranger coarse
    She offered me food and to mend my coat
    While love in my heart had only begun.
     
    A love which grew on the winds of time
    A chance to bond and learn of her heart
    To know the depths of comfort and peace
    Humility’s grace wrapped up in mercy.
     
    Now deeply in love I’d sacrifice all
    Yet she did not know the truth of my garb
    How would I explain that she’d found favor
    That her heart was true, like gold refined.
     
    So I intended my dilemma to share
    To let her know from afar I’d come,
    That all I’d longed for I treasured in her,
    Companionship sweet, a melding of souls.
     
    Expressing my love for her tender heart
    Overwhelmed was she as on knees I bent
    Asking for her hand, with tears she said yes,
    My heart leapt for joy that we’ll become one.
     
    And then I shared my journey in rags
    From a kingdom rich in glory and fame
    To this lowly world of sorrow and pain
    To which I had come, others to serve.
     
    For it was then my eyes did behold
    Analogy of One with far greater love
    Who left His throne to walk on this earth
    To share our burdens and speak to our hearts.
     
    His love ran red as He gave His all
    To purchase with blood and redeem our souls
    That He might draw near, from sin set us free
    To offer His gift of life eternal.
    ~~
    2015
     
  3. Linda Roorda

    The Empty Chair

    By Linda Roorda,

    I am so thankful for family and friends who were able to attend my mother’s graveside memorial service yesterday. I had selected a pastor for the service; but, as it turned out, he was not feeling well enough to attend. Yet in God’s wisdom and plan, the funeral director asked me to give Mom’s eulogy since I knew her best. And though I forgot some important parts I’d wanted to share, it became a much more memorable and special service to me, and to all who attended from comments shared.
    So, I’d like to share a poem and reflection written several years ago which I closed with yesterday, but which is fitting for each one of us with losses of family and friends. For us since the end of May, it’s been the loss of several close friends, a sister-in-law, several cousins, and now my mother. For losses you have suffered, may you feel God’s comforting presence with peace in your heart… for the love you once shared will live on forever in your heart and in treasured memories.
    It seems that at every holiday and family event there’s an empty chair.  We all have one... or more.  It’s where our special loved one(s) always sat.  Actually, we can still visualize them sitting there, sharing our love and laughter.  But, it’s all just a memory now... sometimes hazier than we’d like.
    Memories are good from this perspective, even if tinged with a bit of sadness.  There are memories of fun and happy times... of laughter at the world’s best jokes told only the way they could… and countless days of childhood fun – before technology spoiled the best in our games of imagination.  Memories of when our children were infants… as we moms nursed our precious babies, rocking them to sleep…  And yes, memories of tears shed… as dads cuddled their little one crying from hurts - physical or emotional.  If only that old rocker in the corner could talk… all the stories it would share!
    It also seems that many of our memories of days long ago are laced with the beauty and simplicity we now miss in the busy rush of life.  So, sit quietly in the empty chair, and take time to think about all that once was when our special loved one was here among us… and remember their beautiful life. 
    The Empty Chair
    Linda A. Roorda 
    The empty chair that quietly waits
    Once held a life in arms of love
    A life of joy and busy fun
    But now stands mute in days of silence.

    The one who sat upon its wood
    Once held a wee and precious babe
    To gently rock away the tears
    And soothe aside the anxious fears.

    The empty chair has heard it all
    From shaking sobs to rolling laughs
    And then it listened once again
    To all the stories read aloud.

    The empty chair in silent years
    Will keep its secrets evermore
    Of dreams and hopes and plans and sighs
    Of each who sat upon its lap.

    The empty chair has heard the pleas
    In earnest prayers of burdened hearts
    Like gentle sighs to God above
    For Him to guide those it once held.

    The empty chair now brings to mind
    The love of those who graced our lives
    Who’ve left behind sweet memories
    Tenderly held forever in love.
    ~~
    08/19/13
     
  4. Linda Roorda

    When Breaks the Dawn

    By Linda Roorda,

    Sometimes words seem so utterly inadequate. I awoke this morning to learn a friend lost her beloved sister quite unexpectedly yesterday. Thinking of all the devastation and loss of life Hurricane Ida left behind, and the sadness that has engulfed us all from the debacle in Afghanistan half a world away, our thoughts and prayers and support continue to be with each one so heavily affected by loss.
    And I remember that five years ago tomorrow our world came close to crashing down in a different way, but our great God took control and we praise Him for the blessings with each new dawn.  No, we don't know what the next minute holds for any of us. We've all had our shares of painful losses, within rich blessings that sometimes, it seems, we take so much for granted. May you feel God's arms envelope you with His comforting love and peace amidst the pains of this world. With much love, Linda
    ~~  ~~  ~~                            ~~  ~~ ~~                             
    We often give a prayer of thanksgiving for each new day… as the sun barely begins to peek over the hilltop or horizon, sending its rays to disperse the darkest night… as the twinkling gems scattered upon the black velvet heavens slowly fade from sight… and the sun’s brilliance once again illuminates our world.
    With each new dawn we become aware of the wonders of a new day… another day in which to sing praise and bless someone else along our path.  Having been blessed in so many ways I lose count, I’m afraid I have a tendency to take many of them for granted.  Yet, even the littlest ones seem to just always be there to greet us as we rush by without giving them a second thought… Oh, we have so much to be thankful for, don’t we?! 
    The above reflection was begun in August 2016 with those two simple paragraphs not long after the poem below was written in 2015.  It was just a simple way of saying thanks to God for His blessings and guidance each new day, blessings that I often tend to take for granted… because we never know what tomorrow brings as the saying goes, never mind the next minute. 
    And those words were given new meaning when we were involved in an accident a few weeks later on September 6, 2016.  We were both okay, despite muscle strains.  Actually, we were very thankful to be alive!  It could’ve been so much worse.  With even a second’s worth of difference, it could have been a head-on crash, or at the very least a direct hit into my driver’s side door.
    Even NYS Trooper Leonard told me in the ER, “That was some excellent driving you did there!”  Coming home from my husband’s medical appointment in Sayre, a southbound car on Rt. 34 drove directly into my northbound lane.  As I came over a rise in the road, that car barely missed the SUV ahead of me as I braked and veered to the right shoulder, onto the gravel and grass, running over a 4-ft reflector post which ripped off the rear fender, avoiding going down the steep slope which likely would have rolled our car and very possibly killed my husband.
    Unexpectedly, my car had been rammed hard by the drifting car into my driver’s side rear door and panel.  The impact blew the left rear tire, broke the suspension, ripped the rear bumper off, and whipped my car around into the arc of a 180-degree turn.  Steering to avoid colliding with other southbound cars, I ended up facing southward on the shoulder of the opposite lane.  Later, Ed heard witnesses telling the Trooper, “I don’t know how she missed those cars, but she somehow managed to go between them!”  And no one else got a scratch!
    I’m as impressed as anyone else.  I vaguely recall being in the midst of other cars, afraid we’d take a direct hit on Ed’s door or that I’d hit the car to my left as we spun in that arc, but none of that happened.  I am not hesitant to say that I firmly believe it wasn’t my driving expertise.  In fact, I felt like I wasn’t in control of our car.  I truly believe God’s angels took that wheel and safely wove us between the other cars to prevent a major pileup, one with multiple injuries or even a fatality. 
    So many wonderful people stopped to check on us, called 911, helped stabilize us, and gave us both wonderful loving support.  As my left arm began feeling very heavy and numb, an EMS volunteer held my neck from moving prior to putting a brace on once the ambulance arrived.  The other driver went off the road and into the woods.  She’d been seen to be weaving across the lanes for several miles, with others getting ready to dial 911 for cops to intervene when the accident happened.  She told others she was driving under the influence of her opioid medication.  I do hope she got the help she needed to get off those meds.  Interestingly, she lived a good distance south of the PA border, but had driven quite a ways from her home to Ithaca, NY for her medications.
    I can’t say enough how thankful we are for God’s mighty hand in all of this.  In the space of a second or two, there could have been a completely different result.  Yes, we are so blessed in so many ways… with each new dawn.
    When Breaks the Dawn
    Linda A. Roorda 
    When breaks the dawn my heart rejoices
    For I am blest to see a new sun
    And in my soul a song is stirring
    With praises for this beautiful day.
     
    You open my eyes to the truths of life
    Truths on display in all creation
    A beauty here I marvel to see
    Speaking to me in majestic hue.
     
    Show me each day the way I should walk
    A daily journey with You at my side,
    Let deeper truths from Your holy word
    Speak to my soul and guide all my steps.
     
    May all my steps bring glory to You
    On a path of faith with Your word as guide
    For wisdom’s ways are worth more than gold
    And treasures kept show where the heart lies.
     
    When breaks the dawn let my praise arise
    To You, O Lord, the giver of gifts
    That all may see Your mercy and grace
    Gently bestow a love to be shared.
    ~~ 2015 ~~
  5. Linda Roorda
    Today, I’m celebrating the gift of my mother. When I pulled this together, she was still with us, though terminal. Sadly, she passed away late Monday night, August 23, a month before turning 88. Through her hospitalization and return to the nursing home, I was once again reminded how thankful to be for each new day.  Growing up, we kids heard very little about my Mom’s growing up, though I loved visiting my relatives on The Farm, sleeping in the big feather bed with feather blankets and pillows, admiring all the antiques, waking up to the clinking milk cans put on the truck to go to the creamery, walking through the barn and fields with cousins Sandy and Gary, seeing the opening to a ground cave whose waters came out in Cobleskill, eating my first bowl ever of Life cereal at their huge table, the large kitchen with floor to ceiling cabinets from one end to the other along one wall, and playing inside the big farmhouse where once upon a time my mom and her siblings slid down the long railing on the stairs. This was a place I loved, of which I carry my own special memories. Enjoy this look back to my mother’s childhood, the "good ol' days", a time and place that emanates with images of “home.”   
    My mother, Reba (Tillapaugh) Visscher was born and raised on a farm in Carlisle, NY at the corner of Cemetery Road and Rt. 20, the Great Western Turnpike. Her parents were Leo and Laura (McNeill) Tillapaugh. 
    As #11 of 12 kids, she grew up on a large dairy farm which included pigs and about 3000 chickens, and the ubiquitous draft horses for field work.  They did okay during the depression because their farm and large garden provided food for the family.  Her parents drilled a well for running water after they’d been married about 20 years and had 10 kids.  Though they had an old pump to bring water up in the well, I cannot imagine the work of running a home and farm, and a large family, without running water! 
    Grandma T. cooked large meals every day, made delicious homemade bread in her old-fashioned woodstove oven, made scrumptious cookies (I fondly remember her big tin of molasses cookies in the huge pantry from which she let us get our own cookies, after we asked her of course!), homemade ice cream, plus fed traveling crews at harvest time.  She also found time to tat and embroider, raise a vegetable garden to can for winter, grew gorgeous flowers, visited the sick and shut-ins, and more.
    My mom remembers that the winters were much worse than they are today -  “It seems like it got cold earlier in the fall than now.  We would pick drop apples in the fall and have cider made.  My mother kept a 20-gal. crock by the back door of the farmhouse.  I remember coming home after school and running to that crock, breaking the ice, and drinking some of that tasty cider!  My favorite black farm cat, Skippy, had 7 toes on his front feet; he’d stand on his hind feet, reach up and turn doorknobs with his front paws!!
    I attended the one-room schoolhouse, William Golding, which used a dry cell system for power like my dad did before electric was put in, and the school had an outhouse.  My favorite teacher in the one-room schoolhouse was Miss Santora who went skiing in the fields with us kids!  We had a big woodstove in the center of the schoolhouse, and when it was very cold we would sit around it to keep warm.  I remember the temperature was -25 degrees one morning, but my father was not able to convince the principal to close school that day.  Somehow, we got there, but then it closed at noon.  My sister and I tried to walk home but it was hard to breathe in the bitter cold and wind, so we called my father to pick us up at the Brand Restaurant opposite the school. 
    It was normal to get 2 feet of snow in storms or blizzards.  The wind was so bad in big snowstorms you didn’t know which way you were going.  I’m told that in the Oswego area, people tied a rope around their waist to keep from being lost.  We didn’t think of that, but we always made it. 
    My father had a big wooden scoop pulled by the horses to clear snow out of the driveway.  In 1943, my father bought a Massey-Harris tractor; later he had the steel lug wheels changed to rubber tires, and a plow was rigged on that tractor.  We had an ice storm, I believe in February 1943, and light poles snapped like toothpicks.  The town had an old Lynn Tractor and it was used to plow town roads; for state roads, they had big motorized trucks.  I don’t know what they did to clear the roads before tractors and trucks were available, but I assume horses were used.
    I think it was in 1945 or 1947 when the snow came and the wind blew for three weeks, and we were out of school all that time!  Drifts were so high and hard we could walk the horses on top.  The workers broke all the snowplows in town, but the county had a snow blower which was used to open all the roads.  I heard they had to keep the blower between the light pole wires as they could not tell where the road was.  I don’t know how my dad and other farmers got their milk to the creamery then, but, again, I assume they used horses.
    Rt. 20 was the first to be kept open in snowstorms.  My parents often put people up overnight when the road conditions became terrible.  Before Rt. 20 was widened about 1941, the road was very slippery when raining and was icy in winter.  One time a Greyhound bus went off the road and into the field off Rt. 20, south of our house.  They used a bulldozer to pull it out of the field. 
    A state trooper would ride a big Harley during the summer.  When he arrested someone, my dad, as justice of the peace, would hold court downstairs; we would be in the room above the dining room, listening through a stovepipe hole!
    We had about 3000 chickens in a building west of the main house and we kids helped to water and feed them.  The eggs were weighed, cleaned and crated by hand on Sunday night, and sometimes as many as 7 large crates of eggs went to the hatchery in Albany every Monday morning.  My mother candled hundreds and hundreds of eggs to ensure a quality product was in those crates. 
    We took milk to the creamery every day in traditional milk cans, and supplied wood to heat not only our house but the church and one-room school.  We raised several pigs with my father holding a neighborhood butchering day on our farm in the fall.  After the butchering was done, he cut up meat for the smokehouse, put some in crocks of salt brine, and made homemade sausage, etc.
    As gangs of local farmers traveled from farm to farm to help each other at harvest, my mother fed the crews when our farm was harvested.  She had all her recipes tucked away in her head, and made the most delicious ice cream, hand cranked by us kids clamoring for a turn!  She even shared beautiful flowers from her gardens with local shut-ins.
    About 1938 or 1939, Admiral Byrd’s snowmobile, the Snow Cruiser, was run up Rt. 20 on its way to Antarctica. As a child, age 5 or 6, I was afraid to go inside when it stopped near our farm on Rt.20.  The rubber tires were not appropriate for use in the severe cold, and it was abandoned in Antarctica.  There was an article and photo about it in the July/August 1996 “Reminisce” magazine, pp. 39-40.
    My family made our own maple syrup and sold some, and still do that now, nephews still farming the original family homestead from the very early 1800s.  Even the original house is still used!  Back when I was little, my brothers would tap 300 maple trees (which grew to hundreds more over several decades, now limited numbers again) for sap to be boiled down to syrup, so sugar rationing during World War II was not a problem for us.  We trudged through deep snow in the woods each spring to help. 
    My brothers also cut ice off the ponds in the winter, stacking and packing it in sawdust in the icehouse on the back side of the barn.  Ice was cut from farm to farm the same way summer crops were harvested - by harvesting bees of many farmers working together.  It doesn’t seem like ponds freeze over long enough or thick enough to do this now.  That ice sure helped make my mother’s delicious ice cream – I think hers was the best at the ice cream socials!"
    My Mom shared that growing up in the Great Depression you had to make your own fun.  She and a few sibs took their Little Red Wagon out by the road to pick up the grass mown by the highway dept. They’d pile the wagon high, and pull it back to the barn. Mind you, this was in the days of real horsepower.  So, imitating how their dad and older brothers put hay up into the mow with the huge hayforks on rope pulleys with the horses doing the work (as my mother, and other young sibs, walked the horses back and forth repeatedly), she and her sibs took ice tongs and smaller ropes, slinging the rope up over and above the cow stanchions.  With kids on each side, the ice tongs held bits of hay as the kids on the other side lugged on the rope to pull the hay up and over, and down into the feeding trough for the cows!  Now that’s imagination!  Reminds me how I used to milk cows when I was 4-5.  In the barn with my dad as he milked in Marion, NY, I stood on a bale of hay, moving an old teakettle along on the road-side wall ledge, and stop to “milk a cow” every few inches! 
    There are so many memories my mother has shared of her family who she treasured. She greatly appreciated my extensive genealogy research and documentation of every line in her ancestry back to the 1630s New Netherlands Dutch, English, and French, the 1710 German/Swiss Palatines (Tillapaugh came from the Swiss Dallenbach, each of her parents descending from two brothers in one particular German line), 1720ish New England Scots-Irish.  She was proud my work was accepted for publication in three research delineation articles on her Hutton and McNeill ancestry in the New York Genealogical and Biographical Record. 
    My mother's father was a jack-of-all trades, not just a farmer, but a man before his time, passing away too young, when she was only 16.  I learned from my Mom that it was from him I had inherited green eyes.  He built a top-quality registered Holstein herd with Canadian Holstein-Friesian bulls before most other farmers.  I remember seeing bulls as a kid in their pens as I peered between cracks in their wooden stalls.  Besides a dairy herd and chickens, he raised pigs, and sold extra hay. He took community responsibility seriously as Carlisle town highway superintendent, Carlisle school superintendent, Justice of the Peace, and Cobleskill school board member and president. A highly respected man of the community was my Grandpa Leo, as well as Grandma Laura.
    Photo Credit: Professional photo taken in 1910 of Hutton Family Reunion, Cemetery Road, Carlisle, NY, original farmhouse built in early 1800s, where my Tillapaugh cousins continue to farm today.
     
  6. Linda Roorda

    A Vessel of Worth

    By Linda Roorda,

    I love to sing, always have, since I was a kidlet.  In my childhood, it was the old Hymns of Faith whether in Christian elementary school, church, choirs, in the backseat of the car singing with my sister as our family went for a drive, or as she and I sang an occasional duet in church.  As a teen, I sang along with old country/western and then rock songs of the early ‘70s on 99.1, the WAAL.  Yet, I’ve always enjoyed the old hymns, simply for the truth of the words and the joy of singing, though I also appreciate the upbeat contemporary praise and worship songs on Family Life Network, 88.5-FM.  As I age, I still love to sing though my voice is not always as crisp and clear, nor even as loud as it once was.  With pulmonary sarcoidosis, I just don’t have the volume or depth of air in my lungs anymore.
    As a retired member/leader of a church Praise Team, it was a humbling honor to select music for the worship service - hymns, country gospel songs, or contemporary praise songs.  Each week we brought a different set of songs, usually chosen in an attempt to mesh with the Scripture readings.  Our hearts were touched when we chose music not knowing the Scriptures to be read and the songs fit perfectly, knowing God worked through us!  Occasionally, we felt moved to change a song, or for some reason we unexpectedly needed “Plan B” with a different option.  Time after time, we saw what could be looked at as a failure of our plans but which instead was intended by God for His purpose… to touch someone’s heart in a way we could not have foreseen.
    For there’s something about singing that lifts the heart up… from utter despair… from a difficult day… from the trials and wounds of life… from pains and losses in life that scar… like a cleansing of the soul, bringing a renewed sense of worth.  God takes our brokenness and makes something of beauty from it.  If only those who complain about musical choices could understand that perspective, what a joyful difference it would make!
    Because singing also lifts the heart up in praise to God for all the goodness He’s blessed us with… for His taking us through those difficult times to better days… for His working through our wounds and scars to refine us and use us for His purpose, for His glory… so that, with praise and joy for all He has done for us, we might then touch another life along the way.
    After I wrote the poem below, its message reminded me of the old hymn, “Have Thine Own Way, Lord” by Adelaide A. Pollard (1902), put to music by George C. Stebbins.  This worshipful song has been a favorite since my childhood.  “Have Thine own way, Lord!  Have Thine own way!  Thou art the Potter, I am the clay.  Mold me and make me after Thy will, while I am waiting yielded and still.”
    And the Scriptures from which both the above hymn and my poem’s messages are drawn reflect the Master Potter’s work in us: “So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel.  But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands, so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him.” (Jeremiah 18:3-4 NIV)  Another prophet felt the same way as he praised our heavenly Father by writing, “Oh Lord, you are our Father.  We are the clay, you are the potter; we are the work of your hand.” (Isaiah 64:8 NIV)
    Our life is a continual process of growth and refinement through the years.  As we stay focused on our God and His love, He refines our rough edges… our failures, mistakes, and sins… and works through them to bring out our best, just like the Potter, almost without our realizing it… 
    Then, one day, we take a look back.  As we ponder the path we’ve been on, we realize how our Lord took us through difficult times to clear away the pain of wounds… to draw us closer to Him… to cleanse us from our sin… to refine and change our attitudes from within… to renew our life’s direction… and to bring joy to our heart… as we become a vessel of worth, more like Christ.  And that’s something worth singing about! 
    A Vessel of Worth
    Linda A. Roorda 
    I’m like a clay pot, a plain earthen vessel
    Scarred and fragile, bruised and broken.
    What can I offer in this condition?
    What is my value, and what am I worth?
     
    So I watched the Potter as he took raw clay
    Gray bland in color, an undefined block.
    Throwing the clay with fingers easing
    All the rough edges, the lump he refined.
     
    Faster he pedaled, wheel turning smooth
    Humming a tune, his hands deftly worked.
    His vision emerged through design taking shape
    While gently he scraped imperfections aside.
     
    Yet there in the clay for all to see clear
    Lay fissures and cracks now being exposed.
    Some faults ran deep, others lay shallow
    All marred perfection, casting doubt as to worth.
     
    Swiftly he worked to shape and refine
    As beauty beneath was slowly brought forth.
    Heat up the furnace! the potter exclaimed.
    It’s only through fire refinement is made.
     
    Purging the defects, molding and shaping
    Tempering through fire, perfection to find.
    For hidden from view in mind’s eye alone
    Lay His creation, a vessel of worth.
     
    As I stood aside observing the skill
    Which molded and shaped a plain lump of clay,
    I thought of the One who had created me
    A vessel of value, made worthy by Him.
    ~~
    2014
  7. Linda Roorda

    Sometimes...

    By Linda Roorda,

    Knowing someone we love is facing the journey to her heavenly home soon, and thinking of those who have recently lost their loved ones, I wanted to share this poem and reflective thoughts today. 
    Sometimes… the pain that life hands out is just too much to bear.  You’ve lost a dear loved one, perhaps a beloved pet, or an awesome job which was an extension of yourself, maybe you live with chronic illness, or perhaps an incurable disease…
    And in those difficult times, isn’t it a wonderful feeling to have someone who truly cares come alongside you… someone willing to listen to your heart, to help ease the grief, to share your tears, to speak a few words of wisdom, to help you deal with a particular hurdle, or just to be there to hold your hand while sitting quietly with you?
    This poem was written several years ago as we continued to face my husband’s chronic illnesses.  It all began in the fall of 2008 with statin drug muscle damage and rhabdomyolysis (excretion of blood from muscles), polymyalgia rheumatica, and constant dizziness - with numerous diagnoses (comorbidities) added to the list since then with multiple hospitalizations, and near-death situations too many times.  This is a new way of life for both of us... certainly not the life we dreamed of when we got married.
    Gone are the easier and somewhat carefree days.  Gone is the freedom for Ed do what he enjoyed doing, like stacking his own firewood, being able to take care of our yard and other household chores with ease, or going for evening walks up the road… all the things we used to take for granted. 
     No longer are we able to travel as a couple beyond doctor appointments, or enjoy an evening out to dinner.  We enjoyed going to Cooperstown, New York for our 20th anniversary and later with our kids – to the Baseball Hall of Fame and The Farmers’ Museum.  We’d hoped to take a dinner cruise on the Erie Canal some day.  We long to just get in the car and go visit our children and their families; but, sitting in the car, even for doctor appointments, takes a toll on Ed with increased pain, stiffness, and a generalized sick feeling. So much of what the rest of us can do and take for granted takes great effort on his part due to various limitations.
    Yet, we both know very well we are not alone in this journey.  You, too, are likely facing your own difficult struggles… and our hearts and prayers go out to each and every one of you.  For God never promised that this journey called life would be easy just because we put our faith in Him… and may we know He is still in control no matter the circumstances. 
    A few verses come to mind that we cling to during the hard days and which give us a sense of peace (all Scripture from the New International Version):
    1)      “But he said to me [the Apostle Paul], ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”  Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”  2 Corinthians 12:9
    2)      “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him…”  Romans 8:28
    3)      “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”  Isaiah 41:10
    4)      For “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world.”  John 16.33
    In your most difficult times, may you feel the comforting presence of loved ones helping to ease your pain, just as you feel the presence of our Lord wrapping His arms around you in love… as He covers each one of us with His peace amidst the turmoil…  
    Sometimes…
    Linda A. Roorda
     Sometimes…
    The hurt just cuts too deep
    As you watch your loved one
    Face endless days of pain.
     Sometimes…
    You feel abandoned
    When prayers seem unanswered
    As waves of despair set in.
    Sometimes…
    You stand alone along the side
    Holding their hand in love
    Helpless to assuage the hurt.
     Sometimes…
    Tears that flow from out the soul
    Tenderly touch the heart
    When words cannot even convey.
     Sometimes…
    A hand that reaches out
    To hold, to steady, to calm
    Brings precious comfort to the weary.
     Sometimes…
    The voice of wisdom
    Gently whispers in your ear
    As the love of God gently enfolds.
     Sometimes…
    To understand the trial
    Is simply to accept
    God’s hand is still in control.
    ~~  09/09/15 ~~
  8. Linda Roorda
    Ever have visions and hear voices? Ever have a hunch, a sixth sense about something? Seems like it guides us to do something positive, or maybe helps us make a decision. I’ve had many instances. Most times I paid attention to the message; but, I’m ashamed to say, sometimes I did not heed the voices. Deeply touched by my friend Ann’s blog about her visions and voices, she encouraged me to share my own.
    Twice I sensed something bad was going to happen and couldn’t shake that feeling for weeks, until…
    Another time I had the strong sense a friend was very sad as I sat down at my work computer, but didn’t write her a note then…
    Many times, I’ve heard a loud voice speak as though someone was right next to me…
    And one time I had a heavenly vision…
    When I finally shared about my vision, it was a few weeks later. I’d worried what people would think. It’s not normal to see visions or hear God speaking to us, right? Well, wait a minute… not so fast. Let’s back up a bit. I should have known better…
    One of the clearest voices I’ve heard was after leaving an abusive employment situation. I’d resigned from the new job because of an unexpected inability to function and make decisions… I was hearing my former boss yelling and belittling me in my mind, and felt like an absolute and total failure. I literally could not think how to address an envelope!! Driving home, contemplating ending my life by crashing my car into just the right tree, I passed the home of my Dad’s friend and former Army buddy. I’d known him since I was a 2-yr-old toddler when my family lived in Alaska as my Dad finished his Army foreign assignment, before statehood. Roland lived out his strong faith in God, and now, driving past his house, I clearly heard the voice of God say, “I’m here for you. Your family needs you. You will be okay.”
    Nightmares and flashbacks then began of abuse from my teens and by my former employer, while also having very real property and car damage, but the cops did nothing to find the perpetrator. Yet, like David wrote in Psalm 91:2, “I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust’”, God was there for me in many ways during this extremely difficult time… as I took encouragement from His spoken words to me in the car that day. Seeking professional help, I was diagnosed with PTSD which had actually started after verbal rape in junior high. God knew why He allowed me to go through all these circumstances to get counseling, and my healing process began…
    Another time, I had the strong sense that something bad was going to happen. It was a few weeks before Christmas when our kids were little, and I couldn’t shake the feeling. Ed didn’t think there was anything to it, saying I was just being overly pessimistic. That heavy feeling stayed with me until Christmas Eve when he was taken to the hospital with severe chest pain. The doctors found he had a pulmonary embolism. A blood clot from his leg had passed into his lung, but he was going to be okay. I’d sensed something bad was going to happen…
    One morning as I sat down at my work computer, I had an overwhelming sense that Mary Jane, my friend since junior high in New Jersey, was very, very sad. Thinking about sending her an email, I decided my negative feelings were inappropriate and did not write. The next day, Mary Jane emailed me that her mother had passed away… a few hours before my premonition. I felt so badly about not writing her… if only I’d written a note of love and compassion when prompted…
    I also had a strong sense I needed to visit my Uncle Pete and years later an elderly friend, Edna. It was the last time I saw my uncle before his passing. Edna was in the hospital, more serious than I knew. Taking her last breath while I was there, my simple presence meant a lot to her family…
    Then came the spring of 2003. I had an overwhelming sense that something ominous was going to happen. The thought that the world was going to end that summer kept coming to mind, but just as quickly I’d push it away. It was too dark a thought, until…
    We awoke on June 11, 2003 to a hot and humid morning. I considered canceling the trip to the Watkins Glen Gorge with my girls, Jenn and Em, but we decided to go anyway. Anticipating a great time, we climbed the winding steps hewn out of rock in the entrance tunnel, rounded a curve, and stood at the top… gazing out at a downpour! How’d that happen so fast? We looked at each other and laughed – there had only been a few scattered rain drops when we entered the tunnel… someone had turned the faucet on! As it slowed to a drizzle, we walked on, enjoying the scenery of waterfalls and pools, plants and flowers.
    “We walked along, taking a few photos, as I held my umbrella over the cameras to protect them from getting soaked. I noticed the plants, telling the girls what they were, absorbed in the many varieties of ferns, flowering plants, and greenery. The girls were chatting together, enjoying the gorge, usually walking behind me, sometimes in front. As I enjoyed the plants, rock formations, and waterfalls, several times I clearly heard the words spoken loudly as if someone stood next to me, “Watch them.” Each time, I’d pay attention to my girls for a bit, but then drift back to observe the plants or the beauty of the gorge. I felt uncomfortable hearing those words, paying more attention to my girls for a while; but, the pull of nature was too strong and my focus would shift again. How could I have known that God was prompting me, and I didn’t heed His prodding better to “watch them…” Why didn’t I listen and watch them more closely?” (from Watch Them… A Mother’s Memories, by Linda A. Roorda)
    About 2-1/2 weeks later, Jenn collapsed at home in Alfred, suffering heart failure as blood clots passed through to her lungs, disrupting heart and brain function. Life support was removed two days later on the afternoon of June 30, 2003, and our precious daughter, wife of Matt, entered the joys of Heaven. Having asked God, “Why? I don’t understand?”, He provided Scripture in the Rochester International Airport! Waiting for our other daughter Emily’s arrival from California that morning, above us and to our left hung a plaque with Psalm 139:13-16: “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful; I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”
    “The morning after Jenn passed away, I sat on the bench in my flower garden in the eastern corner of our back yard. It was sunny, but still cool. This was my favorite spot, enjoying our yard from that perspective. I could look back at the house and think about my family. I could admire God’s creation in peace and quiet, listening to the chattering of the birds fluttering all around. As I prayed, thanking the Lord for Jenn’s life, praying for peace and comfort in our loss, I had a vision of Jennifer. She was at the base of a hill, in a sunlit field of beautiful flowers, standing near a tree, surrounded by children, and indescribably happy. I heard Jenn say, “Be Strong.” And then she was gone as quickly as she’d appeared… leaving me with an overwhelming sense of peace…” (Watch Them… pg.11)
    Even Ed had a vision of Jenn with long hair, describing how she sat on the sofa in a manner he had never seen due to his blindness. But I knew it was for real because that’s exactly how Jenn “sat” – stretched out, feet and legs curled “under” her, while she cupped her chin in her left hand with that elbow leaning on the arm of the sofa!
    I’ve had more premonitions, though I cannot recall the details. And, on two occasions, I clearly heard a voice with a message. In one, I was told to get out of a friendship, and the other time told not to reply to someone’s inappropriate words… but, thinking I knew how to handle both situations, I did not heed the words heard… later confessing to God how wrong I was not to trust the validity of the messages… learning the hard way to always be attentive to His voice, His messages…
    God shows His love to each of us in many different ways, ways that are as individual as we are, and in ways we may not always recognize as coming from Him. Yet, even when we don’t give Him our full attention, He continues to reach out to us, drawing us closer to His side. Both Psalm 139:13-16 and the words “Be Strong” have continued to be precious words from the Lord that I’ve clung to. With visions and voices from our awesome God, He has held me in His hands, wrapped His love around me and blessed me with His peace, a peace beyond understanding…
    My friend, Carla Cain, had asked me late last year if I’d join her podcast, Balms for the Soul, as a guest speaker with my poetry and reflective blogs. I’ve really enjoyed this project to record them. Click to listen to this podcast here. Sharing some serious difficulties I’ve faced in life, you’ll hear how God used them to work in my life as I recovered from traumas and abuses, in the hopes of reaching others who might need encouragement in their own difficulties.
    I’ve also expressed to Ed that sometimes poems burst forth faster than I can write them down. And, also expressed discouragement in wondering why God gives me words that express storms of life instead of love poems. We both feel strongly these are the words God is bringing out of the depths of my soul, healing my wounds, giving voice to what others might be feeling, while also sharing the depths of God’s loving care in all we face… confirmed in hearing how deeply some poems have touched the hearts of others.
    There’s just something of a personal touch in hearing the spoken words, so I encourage you to take a few minutes of your time to listen to this as a podcast. And God bless you in knowing He walks beside you, including on those most difficult days, as He leads and guides us along the way. With much love and hugs...
    The Hollow of Your Hands
    Linda A. Roorda
    In the hollow of Your nail-scarred hands
    You gently hold my fragile life.
    You carry me and protect me
    And whisper words of wisdom’s wealth.
    ~
    You wrap me in your calming presence
    You shelter me in the raging storms.
    Your comfort brings a gentle peace
    With endless joy that overflows.
    ~
    Your arms of strength enfold the weary
    My faltering steps you gently guide.
    You lift my face when tears rain down
    And give more grace when You I seek.
    ~
    Your voice of wisdom sustains my soul
    With lamp held high You lead the way.
    When You I trust, forsaking folly,
    The winding path for me You straighten.
    ~
    In the hollow of your loving hands
    You gently hold my fragile life.
    You keep my soul in perfect peace
    When all my heart abides in You.
    ~~
    Listen to this Poetic Devotions podcast by clicking here:  Visions and Voices
  9. 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
     
  10. 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
     
  11. Linda Roorda
    Are we contented yet?  It’s just an accumulation of trinkets and stuff, an assemblage that needs to be fed every so often.  I should know, because I have my own collections from the past.  But, in the long run, none of it will go with us when life’s earthly journey comes to an end.  We should be content with what we have and who we are… not seeking to satisfy our appetite with more of everything life has to offer.  Be at peace, rest in who we are meant to be… don’t compare or judge ourselves to others.
    In contemplating that accumulation, I’m reminded of a song by the rock group U2 from their Joshua Tree album – “But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for…”  A fitting comment to an endless search for just the right thing.  Theodore Roosevelt was even noted to say, “Comparison is the thief of joy.”  How truthful and fitting both sentiments are for all of us at times!
    So, what is contentment?  How do we find it?  And when is enough… enough?  The dictionary on my desk tells me contentment is where the heart is at… perhaps rested and satisfied, at peace, with a quiet and calm joy.  Contentment is an attitude of the heart… being thankful and grateful for what we do have, serving others out of a joyful appreciation.  Because, believe me, contentment is not found in eyeing what someone else has… of being jealous or envious of what’s on their plate… as if we didn’t have enough to take care of on our own.
    In Philippians 4:11, the Apostle Paul wrote “…for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.”  Hmm… so how could he say that with all the many difficulties he faced? 
    There’s an old hymn I’ve loved since childhood, coming to treasure the words even more after our daughter, Jennifer, died.  Horatio G. Spafford wrote a poem put to music after he and his wife lost their 2-year-old son, their property in the 1871 Great Chicago fire, suffered further economic losses in 1873, and then lost their remaining four daughters at sea - “When peace like a river, attendeth my way. When sorrows like sea billows roll.  Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well, with my soul…” …well-known words of comfort.  Having three more children, losing a second son at age 4 in 1880, he resettled in Jerusalem with his wife and remaining two daughters.  There, he founded the American Colony, a Christian group providing humanitarian relief to the disadvantaged of any faith.  He’d learned the secret to contentment.
    The Apostle Paul, writing to a dear young friend, stated in I Timothy 6:6-7: “But godliness with contentment is great gain.  For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it.”  Don’t get me wrong… it’s not about denying ourselves the ability to succeed in our careers or home life and to have nice things.  Instead, it’s all about the depth of our heart, our faith, our attitude… the intangibles… the spiritual treasures.
    Life really isn’t about gathering as much stuff as we can hoard for ourselves.  Life was never meant to be like that old saying attributed to Malcolm Forbes, “He who dies with the most toys wins.”   It’s not about God ensuring that we have a wealthy and happy life.  It’s not His plan to make us “rich and famous” in a life of ease without pain.  Instead, contentment is a learning process… learning to be who God intends us to be… learning to be gracious and loving when our life is full of pain, disappointments, illness and setbacks.  And, in learning to give thanks and appreciate what we do have, we find ourselves gladly serving others around us with a heart of joy and peace… as contentment flows from our soul. 
    Contentment Flows
    Linda A. Roorda
    Contentment flows from the soul at peace
    Not easily grasped though deeply pondered
    How quick am I to follow my will
    While yielding to trust finds Your truth with grace…
    ~
    Grace to understand blessings of mercy
    In wending my way through waves of turmoil
    Seeking shelter from storms that threaten
    As Your calming spirit brings showers of peace…
    ~
    Peace that envelopes my very being
    From the depth of stress that oft overwhelms
    Which tugs and strains the restful repose
    To humility meek with a heart of joy…
    ~
    Joy that shines bright in the face of woe
    Amidst the sadness of sorrow’s dark tears
    As rays of hope through shutters burst forth
    To flood my soul with serenity’s rest…
    ~
    Serenity’s rest within the world’s din
    Marks peace of mind when focused on You
    Grant me, I pray, a heart full of love
    One filled with thanks as contentment flows…
    ~~
     
  12. Linda Roorda
    It’s a fact that we Americans love our 4th of July celebrations!  We especially enjoy family gatherings and picnics, and big parades with lots of floats and marching bands.  We look forward to fireworks with their beautiful colors and designs exploding in the night sky.  We decorate our homes with flags and bunting.  We salute, or respectfully place our hand over our heart, as our nation’s flag is carried past us by military veterans in parades.  And, we recall the two important founding documents of our nation: 
    1)      Preamble to the Declaration of Independence:  “…We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness…” 
    2)      Preamble to the U.S. Constitution:  “We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America…”
    What precious meaning these words have held as we take time to gaze backward to their origins, something I never tire learning about.
    As I contemplated our nation’s celebrations, I thought about the effort and sacrifice it took from many to give us the freedoms we so often take for granted.  I am so thankful for all we have in America which many around the world do not enjoy.  But I also wondered if perhaps we have forgotten all that took place a long time ago, and if this day has simply become a traditional fun holiday.  Though no nation or government has been perfect as far back as the beginning of time, the early days of a young nation’s beginnings provide perspective for today’s America, this bastion of freedom.  So, it’s fitting that we ponder what part our ancestors played in the making of our great America some 240 years ago.  And, I might add, one of the best parts of researching my ancestors was the great lasting friendships I’ve made with other descendants.
    Several of my ancestors served in the Revolutionary War in various capacities, some of whom I researched more extensively than others.  Originally, I did not plan to bring them into this article.  But then it occurred to me that would be fitting.  Knowledge of personal service and sacrifice often provides us with a greater understanding of the historical era and what our collective ancestors experienced. 
    Numerous events, political acts, and taxes over many years led to the First Continental Congress meeting from September 5 through October 2, 1774 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.  It was held to counteract the British Parliament’s Coercive Acts (commonly called the Intolerable Acts by the colonists) which were intended to punish the colonists for their Tea Party held in Boston’s harbor.  
    But, among the early precipitators of the American Revolution was the import ban in 1774 against firearms and gunpowder enacted by the British government.  Next came the order to confiscate all guns and gunpowder.  The aptly named “Powder Alarm” took place on September 1, 1774 when Redcoats sailed up the Mystic River to capture hundreds of powder barrels stored in Charlestown.  Taking the event seriously, 20,000 militiamen turned out and marched to Boston.  Battle was avoided at that time, but ultimately took place the following spring at Lexington and Concord on April 19, 1775.  Within these events lie the foundation of our Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution as written by Thomas Jefferson in 1791: “A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.”
    The Second Continental Congress began meeting in Philadelphia on May 10, 1775.  That very same day, Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys seized New York’s Fort Ticonderoga from the British after traveling west from Vermont.
    On June 14, 1775, delegates from the Second Continental Congress created the Continental Army from colonial militia near Boston.  The next day, they appointed an esteemed and experienced military and civic leader as commanding general of their new army, a humble man by the name of George Washington, congressman of Virginia.  Nearly a month later, Washington arrived in Boston to take command on July 3rd.  The Continental Congress then approved a Declaration of Causes on July 6th.  This proclamation outlined why the thirteen colonies should stand united against Great Britain’s political clout and military force.
    Through these early years, and with pressing urgency, the great minds of the day began formulating a bold statement of the burdens the colonists bore from an overbearing government an ocean away.  Initially, the colonists were not looking to start a war; they simply wanted their concerns heard and addressed.  But, revolt would be a relevant term regarding that which was festering.  They felt the heavy hand of tyranny over them like a smothering umbrella with their king and his government’s over-reaching philosophy of “taxation without representation.”   
    It did not take much for congressional delegates to think back and recall the Boston Massacre of March 5, 1770.  Several colonials had taunted the ever-present British soldiers.  Reinforcement soldiers shot into the crowd killing five civilians, injuring six others.  Three years later, the Tea Act in May 1773 was followed by the Boston Tea Party on December 16th.  The year 1775 began with several new tax acts put in place; labeled collectively as the Intolerable Acts, they were Britain’s answer to their colonists’ unrest.  And then an auspicious delegation met in Virginia on March 23, 1775. Those present never forgot Patrick Henry’s speech and resounding words, “Give me liberty or give me death!”
    Paul Revere’s midnight ride came the night of April 18/19, 1775 to warn of British ships arriving at Boston’s shores.  [From the interstate, I have seen Boston’s diminutive North Church tucked beneath the shadows of modern “skyscrapers,” and walked the upper and lower decks of the U.S.S. Constitution from the subsequent War of 1812 – with a sailor in period dress uniform talking on a telephone!]  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem, “Paul Revere’s Ride” (“Listen my children and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere…”) has been said to contain many inaccuracies; in reality, it was written 80 years after Revere rode out with several others on horseback, quietly alerting other Patriots, but it may also be that Longfellow simply wrote a flowing ode to Revere with embellishments as any poet is wont to do. 
    The British government was again intent on confiscating all weapons held by the colonists.  Bands of British troops were sent to confiscate ammunition stores in Salem, Massachusetts and part of New Hampshire.  Both times, Paul Revere, a silversmith, was among members of the Sons of Liberty who alerted townsfolk in advance of enemy troops, giving them sufficient time to hide weapons and frustrate the British military.
    Desiring to alert citizens, Revere garnered assistance from Robert Newman, sexton at Boston’s North Church.  To warn that the Redcoats were coming from the shorter water route across Boston’s inner harbor, Newman hung two lanterns from the steeple window.  These lanterns were clearly seen by those in Charlestown, including the British, unfortunately.  Newman must have felt tremendous fear as the Brits attempted to break into the church while he was still there.  Reportedly, he managed to escape capture by quietly sneaking out a window near the altar moments before enemy soldiers entered the church to begin their search.  And the very next day, April 19, 1775, the Minutemen and British redcoats clashed at Lexington and Concord with “the shot heard ‘round the world.’” 
    Two months later, June 17, 1775 saw the Battle of Bunker Hill (actually Breed’s Hill) on the Charlestown Peninsula overlooking Boston.  Per military records, my ancestor John Caldwell McNeill was present as part of the Hampshire Line.  As British columns advanced toward American redoubts, the colonists were reportedly told by their commander, “Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes!”  The British were shot virtually pointblank and hastily retreated – twice.  It was not until the third advance by the British that the inexperienced colonists lost to a superior military force.  As the colonists’ limited ammunition ran out, hand-to-hand combat took place on that third advance.  The redcoats took control with greater troop numbers despite their loss of over 1000 men, while the colonists counted over 200 killed and more than 800 wounded.  Yet, the inexperienced Americans realized their dedication and determination could overcome the superior British military which, in turn, realized this little uprising was going to bring a long and costly war to the Crown.  
    With pressure mounting, the congressional delegation met the next year in the City of Brotherly Love.  Here, they commenced to hammering out wording for what would henceforth be termed a declaration of independence. 
    “Monday, July 1, 1776, [was] a hot and steamy [day] in Philadelphia.”  In a letter to the new president of Georgia, Archibald Bulloch, John Adams wrote, “This morning is assigned the greatest debate of all.  A declaration, that these colonies are free and independent states… and this day or tomorrow is to determine its fate.  May heaven prosper the newborn republic.” (John Adams, David McCullough, Simon & Schuster Paperbacks, New York, NY, 2001, p.125.)  The delegates felt the tension amongst themselves in the debates and wording of their declaration, and the voting at the end of the day was not unanimous.  Their tension was heightened that evening as news reached the city that one hundred British ships had been sighted off New York, with eventually more than 300 joining the initial fleet.  The seriousness of what they were undertaking was felt by every man in the delegation for they knew their very lives were on the line.
    July 2nd saw an overcast day with cloudbursts letting loose as the delegates met.  The New York delegates abstained from voting while others joined the majority to make a unanimous decision.  Thus, on July 2, 1776, twelve colonies voted to declare independence from Britain.  More than anyone else, John Adams made it happen.  His elation showed in writing home about the proceedings to his wife, Abigail.  “The second day of July 1776 will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America.  I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival.  It ought to be commemorated as the Day of Deliverance by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty.  It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations from one end of this continent to the other from this time forward forever more.”  (McCullough, pp. 129-130)
    News spread like wildfire throughout Philadelphia.  A young artist, Charles Willson Peale, journaled that “This day the Continental Congress declared the United Colonies Free and Independent States.”  (McCullough, p.130)   But, Congress still had to review what the delegation had written before an official statement could be made.
    July 3rd blessed the city with a drop of 10 degrees following cloudbursts the day before.  Tensions had even begun to ease among the men, but still there was much work to be done.  More discussion and deliberation ensued as they reviewed the language of their declaration.  (McCullough, pp. 130-135)  Much had to be cut and reworded to make it a more concise document which then boldly declared, “The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America.  When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.” 
    Benjamin Franklin offered encouraging and comforting words to the now-silent Thomas Jefferson whose many words were debated and cut.  When their work was finished, it was still Thomas Jefferson’s words, however, which have held a firm and tender spot in the hearts of Americans ever since.  To Jefferson goes the credit for writing “…We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.  That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed…”  (McCullough, p.130-136)  
    Thursday, July 4, 1776, dawned cool and comfortable.  The tension was gone from the weather just as it was now from among the men of the delegation.  Discussions were again held through late morning when a final vote was taken.  New York still abstained, but the other twelve colonies voted unanimously to support the hard work they had wrought in this Declaration of Independence.  Ultimately, the delegates from all thirteen colonies, including New York, signed the document in solidarity. (McCullough, p. 136)
    Celebrations began on the 8th when the published Declaration was read to the public.  Thirteen cannon blasts reverberated throughout Philadelphia, bells rang day and night, bonfires were lit everywhere, and candles shone bright in windows.  The news reached Washington and his troops in New York City the next day where the Declaration was read.  More celebrations sprang up as the crowds pulled down the equestrian statue of King George III.  (McCullough, p.136-137)  But, their elation was not long in lasting.
    In reality, it would be several more years before celebrations of this magnitude would again be held.  In reality, though the hard work of writing such a declaration was finally completed, even harder efforts and sacrifices of thousands of men and boys on battlefields were about to begin.  In reality, the conflict about to begin would affect every man, woman and child living within the thirteen colonies in ways they could never have imagined.  And, ultimately, their great sacrifices gave rise to the freedoms which we enjoy and tend to take for granted today.
    The lives of the men who signed this declaration were also forever affected.  If the new America lost its war for independence, every signer of said document faced charges of treason and death by hanging for actions against their king.  In signing, they gave “support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, [as] we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.” 
    There were 56 representatives from all thirteen colonies who signed, ranging in age from 26 to 70 (the oldest being the esteemed Benjamin Franklin).  Over half were lawyers, but the men included planters, merchants and shippers.  Most of them were wealthy men who had much to lose should Britain win.  Though none of them died at the hand of the enemy, four men were taken captive during the war by the British, with one-third of the signers being military officers during the war.  And, nearly all of them were poorer when the war ended than when it began. 
    There was much at stake in the days and years ahead after the Declaration of Independence was signed and the war began in earnest.  Some men abandoned the battle lines, their friends, and what once seemed like worthy ideals, and simply walked home.  Many suffered untold pain and suffering as prisoners of war.  Many suffered deprivations of food and clothing along with disease and death within their own military camps.  Many fought family and friends in the same community as Patriot was pitted against Tory, i.e. Loyalist.  Schoharie County, New York, considered by historians to be “The Breadbasket of the Revolution,” provided an abundance of food for Washington’s northern troops.  To frustrate the colonists’ efforts, the British and their Loyalist supporters, including many Native Americans, destroyed and burned crops and buildings as they captured, killed and scalped settlers throughout the Mohawk and Schoharie Valley and along the western frontier during the war. 
    In reality, however, we likely would not have won our independence if it were not for Washington’s spies.  Barely two months after the Declaration was signed, a 21-year-old Yale graduate by the name of Nathan Hale from Massachusetts eagerly volunteered to spy for Washington.  He intended to go behind enemy lines on Long Island and in New York City to infiltrate the British strongholds.  Instead, not being sufficiently familiar with the area and its people, and likely having a New England accent, he was caught and found to have sketches of fortifications and memos about troop placements on him.  Without benefit of legal trial, he was sentenced to death.  His requests for a clergyman and a Bible were refused.  Just before being hung on September 22, 1776 in the area of 66th Street and Third Avenue in Manhattan, Hale was heard to say with dignity, “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.”  (George Washington’s Secret Six, Brian Kilmeade and Don Yaeger, Penguin Group, New York, NY, 2013, p.1.)
    George Washington knew that he desperately needed spies, but he needed them to work in such a way that they would not be discovered.  His tender heart for his fellow countrymen deplored that even one should die for the cause of freedom.  Yet, he also knew that such loss was inevitable.  And, thus was born Washington’s spies so aptly named, “The Secret Six.”
    Out of the realization that Gen. George Washington desperately needed spies, and hating to lose even one more life after the hanging of Nathan Hale, a ring of trustworthy spies was gradually pulled together.  Washington’s “Secret Six” included five men and one woman embedded within and around New York City and Long Island, each familiar with the land and its people.  They reported to Washington on British movements and military plans in a timely fashion. 
    Because they knew the area, and were known by the people, they were readily accepted as they maneuvered amongst the enemy.  That is not to say, however, that they didn’t come close to being found out.  They lived in constant fear of such, not to mention the fear of losing their own lives and destroying their families in the process.  At times they were emotionally frail, depressed and despondent.  But, because of their passion for the freedom movement afoot, they came together for the greater benefit of all.
    At one point, Washington’s army was entirely surrounded by the British in New York City.  With tips from his spies, and being a man given to much time and prayer with God, his troops managed to quietly evacuate the city under the cover of night at an area not under guard.  With dawn, however, came the realization that a large contingent still remained behind and would be very visible to the enemy.  An answer to prayer was soon forthcoming to allow the balance of his men and equipment to leave the city – an unexpected and extremely dense morning fog enveloped the area, allowing them to continue crossing safely over into Jersey with the British unable to do anything about the Continental Army’s escape from their clutches. 
    Because of the work of Washington’s spies and the “important memos” he managed to have planted with false information behind enemy lines, the Americans were able to surprise the enemy at Trenton, New Jersey on Christmas Day night 1776 after the British had relaxed their guard and celebrated the day in style.  Needless to say, the Americans enjoyed a vital and rousing victory.
    Because of the spies and their efforts, accomplished with great fear for their own lives and that of their families, warning was given to Washington of 400 ships arriving from England.  The spies’ insider knowledge that the British were planning to attack and scuttle the French ships and troops coming to Washington’s aid allowed him to turn the tide in a timely manner.  He was able to fool the British into thinking he was readying an imminent attack on New York City, causing them to leave Long Island Sound, thus allowing the French time to land and move inland to safety in Connecticut without battling the British at sea before they even disembarked.
    Because of the spy who owned a print shop which seemingly supported King George, important plans were heard and passed on to Washington.  Other spies were privy to the upper level of command amongst the British military at parties in a particular merchandise shop and a certain coffeehouse.  A circuitous route was set up for their messenger across Long Island to Setauket where packets with concealed or innocuous-looking papers written in invisible ink and code were rowed to the Connecticut shore in a whale boat (while being pursued by the British) where another member took the seemingly innocent packet of merchandise and rode his horse overland to Washington’s camp in New Jersey.  At times, someone simply traveled out of New York City to visit relatives in northern New Jersey and met up with another dependable link to pass the information along to Washington’s headquarters.
    Because of their courage and resolve, the spies assisted in uncovering the Crown’s Major John Andre` (who, himself, ran a British spy ring) as he worked with Brigadier General Benedict Arnold, American commander at West Point.  Despite a prior stellar military record, but due to personal bitterness, Arnold was in the process of handing West Point over to Andre` and the British.  Through a series of blundering mistakes, because of the spies’ knowledge given to Washington at just the right moment, and because of the quick thinking of a couple of patriotic guards on a bridge leading back into New York City, Andre` was captured and later executed.  Arnold’s hand-over was thus thwarted, although Arnold managed to escape behind enemy lines and ultimately fled to England.
    Because of the supposed loyal British support by the owner of said print shop, a little book was obtained through his work as an undercover spy.  This inconspicuous little book contained key information on British troop movements at Yorktown, Virginia.  With important knowledge gained of the enemy’s military plans, Washington was able to redirect appropriate troops and ships to Yorktown.  General Cornwallis surrendered for the British on October 19, 1781 in an American victory where total defeat for the Americans would have otherwise taken place. 
    Because they swore themselves to secrecy, no one knew the full involvement of all six spies, nor all of their names.  Only gradually over the last few hundred years has their identities become known, the fifth not confirmed until recently.  All five men are now known, but the woman’s identity is not; she is simply known as Agent 355.  It is believed she was captured and became a prisoner; but, there is no hard evidence by research even to prove that conjecture. 
    The efforts of the six spies as they secretly obtained information and passed it along (devising their own specialty codes, using a unique invisible ink, and more) enabled them to maintain total secrecy.  Nor did they ever seek accolades for their work after the war was over.  The secrets to their successful accomplishments have been among the methods still taught and used successfully by our CIA today.
    In the interest of sharing the spies’ courage which undoubtedly helped us win the Revolutionary War, their story (as briefly described above) has been extensively researched and written by Brian Kilmeade and Don Yaeger in George Washington’s Secret Six, The Spy Ring That Saved the American Revolution.  It was one of my Christmas gifts from my husband a few years ago, and I highly recommend it to other history buffs.  It’s a read you’ll find difficult to set down!
    While researching my ancestry over 20 years ago, I purchased Revolutionary War pension application files of several ancestors who had served.  For those whose government files I did not purchase, their data was obtained from Schoharie County Historical Society, various Revolutionary War books, CDs, and documents proving their service.  Hoping that my family research might provide us a closer glimpse of the war through their experiences, I share their legacy.
    1) Frantz/Francis Becraft/Beacraft, bp. 06/12/1761, Claverack, Columbia Co., NY - Private, 3rd Comp., 3rd Regiment, 1st Rensselaerswyck Battalion, Albany County New York Militia, on muster roll from Berne in 1782, 1790 census at Berne.  In an 1839 affidavit, Francis Becraft of Berne stated that he “served as a Private in a company commanded by Capt. Adam Dietz in the County of Albany...” Frantz/Francis married Catherine Dietz (sister of said Capt. Adam Dietz), my g-g-g-g-grandparents.
    In researching my ancestors, I discovered an apparent familial tie to the notorious Tory Becraft/Beacraft.  This man felt no remorse in aligning himself with Joseph Brant’s Indians to capture, kill and scalp Patriots throughout Schoharie County, known to have brutally killed and scalped a young boy in the Vrooman family who managed to escape the house after his family had been murdered.  After the war ended, Becraft/Beacraft had the audacity to return from Canada to Schoharie County where he was immediately captured by ten men.  In meting out a punishment of 50 lashes by whip, the men supposedly reminded him of his infamous acts against the community, his former neighbors.  Roscoe notes that death did not linger for him after the final lash, and his ashes were buried on the spot.  Of the ten men who swore themselves to secrecy, apparently only five are known.  (History of Schoharie County, William E. Roscoe, pub. D. Mason & Comp., 1882, pp.250-251.)  
    However, in "Families (to 1825) of Herkimer, Montgomery, & Schoharie, N.Y.," a genealogical source on many early families by William V. H. Barker, it is noted that the Tory Becraft/Beacraft was Benjamin, born about 1759, brother of my ancestor noted above, Frantz/Francis Becraft.  If this is accurate and they are indeed brothers, they were both sons of Willem/William and Mareitje (Bond) Becraft.  Another source, “The Life of Joseph Brant – Thayendanegea…” notes Becraft survived his whipping and left the area (pg. 64), just as other undocumented sources indicate he survived and returned to Canada to live with his family.  So, I am uncertain as to whether Tory [Benjamin] Becraft actually died from his whippings or survived and left the area.
    2) Johannes/John Berlet/Berlett/Barlet, b. 05/08/1748, Schoharie, Schoharie Co., NY – Private, Tryon County Militia, 3rd Reg’t, Mohawk District.  He married Maria Gardinier, b. about 1751; their daughter Eva/Eveline Barlett married Martin Tillapaugh, b. 1778, my g-g-g-grandparents.
    3) Johann Hendrich/John Henry Dietz, bp 05/10/1722, Nordhofen, Vielbach, Germany – served in Lt. John Veeder’s Company, Rensselaerswyck, later under Capt. Sternberger’s Company at Schoharie.  He married Maria Elisabetha Ecker, bp. 1725; their daughter Catherine Dietz, b. 1761, married Frantz/Francis Beacraft above, my g-g-g-g-grandparents.
    As per my research article on Chemung County’s Newtown Battle, the Indian/Loyalist raids and massacres also touched my ancestral families in New York.  In Beaverdam (now Berne), New York near the Switzkill River on September 1, 1781, the Johannes Dietz family was attacked.  Johannes’ son, Capt. William Dietz was captured and forced to watch his elderly parents, wife, four young children and a Scottish maid be killed and scalped.  (see “Old Hellebergh,” Arthur B. Gregg, The Altamont Enterprise Publishers, Altamont, N.Y., 1936, p. 24; signed by Gregg, in Roorda’s collection from her father.)  Capt. William Dietz’s father, Johannes, was an older brother of my ancestor noted above, Johann Hendrich/John Henry Dietz. 
    4) Johan Dietrich Dallenbach/John Richard Dillenbach, b. 1733 per cemetery records, Stone Arabia, NY; father Jorg Martin Dallenbach born Lauperswil, Bern, Switzerland, emigrated with 1710 German Palatines.  John Richard Dillenbach married Maria Mynard; their son Martinus took name of Martin Tillapaugh (my lineage), married Eva/Eveline Barlett as above.  Dillenbach reported for duty March 20, 1757 when Sir William Johnson called local militia out to protect Fort William Henry on Lake George for the British.  The Seven Years’ War, or the French and Indian War, began in 1754 and ended with the European peace treaties of 1763 during which year Dillenbach again reported to defend Herkimer with the Palatine District Regiment.
    James Fennimore Cooper wrote The Last of the Mohicans about the siege of Fort William Henry.  Roughly 2300 colonial troops were protecting the British fort when the French arrived with about 8000 troops in August 1763 and heavily bombarded the fort.  With additional supporting troops not found to be on their way, the garrison was forced to surrender.  The men were to be protected as they retreated by generous treaty terms.  However, as the Indians entered the fort, they plundered, looted, scalped and killed about 200 colonials, many of them too sick to leave.  In desecrating graves of those who had died before the siege, the Indians exposed themselves to smallpox, taking the germs back to their homes.  The French destroyed the fort before returning to Canada.  Fort William Henry was reconstructed in the 1950s.  Visiting this fort in 1972 with the Lounsberry Methodist Church youth group, I was unaware at the time that my Dallenbach/Tillapaugh ancestor had walked that ground, having been involved in the siege and survived. 
    5) Timothy Hutton, b.11/24/1746, New York City.  He married 2nd) Elizabeth Deline b.1760.  Their son George b.1787 married Sarah Wyckoff b.1793, my g-g-g-grandparents.  Timothy served as Ensign in Philip Schuyler’s Regiment of Albany County Militia, at defeat of Gen. Burgoyne in Saratoga October 17, 1777; appointed Lieutenant in New York Levies under Col. Marinus Willett; defended Schoharie County from burnings and killings by British, Loyalists and Indians.  This Timothy is not to be confused with a nephew of same name and rank, b. 1764, which many have done, including an erroneous grave marker in Carlisle, New York.  Sorting their military service out was part of my extensive thesis and documentation in researching and publishing two lengthy articles on the origins and descendants of this Hutton family in the New York Genealogical & Biographical Record in 2004-2005. 
    My Timothy’s nephew William Hutton served extensively in the Revolutionary War throughout New York City, Long Island, and the Hudson Valley.  My Timothy’s nephew Christopher Hutton of Troy, NY served as Ensign, promoted to Lieutenant, member of the elite Society of the Cincinnati.  My Timothy’s nephew, Timothy Hutton b.1764, served as Lieutenant in New York Levies under Col. Willett, enlisting 1780 at age 16 in the Albany militia.  My Timothy’s nephews, Isaac and George (brothers of Christopher and the younger Timothy, all sons of George Hutton, the older brother of my ancestor Timothy Hutton), were well-known influential silversmiths during the Federal period in the late 18th/early 19th centuries in Albany.  Hutton silver is on display at museums in Albany, New York.
    6) Johannes Leenderse (John Leonardson), b.06/18/63, Fonda, Montgomery Co., NY - enlisted as private in 1779 at age 16, Tryon County Militia, 3rd Reg’t; Corporal in 1781; served on many expeditions in the Mohawk Valley and at forts; joined Col. Willett’s company on march to Johnstown October 1781 in successful battle against enemy who had burned and killed throughout Mohawk Valley; re-enlisted 1782.  Married Sarah Putman b.1773.  Their son Aaron Leonardson b.1796 married 3rd) Lana Gross, parents of Mary Eliza Leonardson b. about 1732 who married William Henry Ottman, my g-g-grandparents.
    7) John Caldwell McNeill, b. 1755, Londonderry, Rockingham Co., NH - at Bunker Hill (actually Breed’s Hill) on Charlestown June 17, 1775.  As Sergeant under Col. Timothy Bedel of the New Hampshire Line, John bought beef to pasture and butcher as needed for the troops.  Bedel’s regiment joined “Corp.1, Co. 1, New York Reg’t” on mission to Canada against British; taken captive with his cousins and friends at The Cedars near Montreal, an island in the St. Lawrence; soldiers were stripped of clothing, belongings and food, and released in cartel negotiated by Gen. Benedict Arnold before he became a traitor.  John served at and discharged at Saratoga, NY.  He married Hannah Caldwell b.1762; removed to Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York ca. 1794; their son Jesse McNeill m. Elizabeth Ostrom, my g-g-g-grandparents.
    😎 George Richtmyer, bp 04/23/1738, Albany Co., NY – Captain from 1775 through end of war in 15th Reg’t of Albany Militia, defending Cobleskill and Middleburg, Schoharie Co., NY.  Married Anna Hommel; their son Henrich/Henry married Maria Beacraft (see above), my g-g-g-grandparents.
    9) Hendrick/Henry Vonck/Vunck, b. 03/06/1757, Freehold, Monmouth Co., NJ - served as private and Corporal in New Jersey and New York City; carried papers for American Gen. Charles Lee; joined units marching to same area of Canada as John C. McNeill; on return became ill with smallpox with others at Lake George when news of the Declaration of Independence was made; honorably discharged; called to serve again at Sandy Hook, NJ; captured by the British at Sandy Hook, taken to a prison ship, then to the [Livingston] stone sugar house in Manhattan, then another prison ship, the Good___  (writing illegible on the early 1800s pension document, possibly Good Hope).  After “one year and one month” as prisoner, he was exchanged and released.  “Having suffered while a prisoner great privations and disease and in poor clothing and severely unwholesome provisions many prisoners died in consequence of their treatment.” (Per 1832 affidavit of military service for pension.)  Conditions suffered as a prisoner left Henry in poor health the rest of his life; removing later to Montgomery County, NY.  Married Chestinah Hagaman; their daughter Jane Vunck married James Dingman, my g-g-g-grandparents.
    From 1776 to 1783 the British made use of decommissioned ships (those incapable of going to sea) as floating prisons.  At least 16 rotting hulks were moored in Wallabout Bay, the inner harbor along the northwest shore of Brooklyn, now part of the Brooklyn Navy Yard.  Among the ships were the Good Hope, Whitby, The Prince of Wales, Falmouth, Scorpion, Stromboli, Hunter, and the most infamous HMS Jersey, nicknamed Hell by the men. (see websites below.)  Over 10,000 men, perhaps at least 11,500, died on these ships due to the deliberate deplorable conditions.  Men were crammed below decks with no windows for lighting or fresh air.  There was a lack of food and clothing, with vermin and insects running rampant, and a lack of other humane efforts to aid the ill, all leading to the death of thousands.
    Prisoners died virtually every day, reportedly as many as fifteen a day.  Some were not found right away, their bodies not disposed of until days later.  Often, those who died were sewn into their blankets (if they had one) to await pick up by cart the next morning.  Many were buried in shallow graves along the shore (unearthed during major storms) or were simply tossed overboard, later washing ashore.  With development of Walloon Bay area over the last two centuries has come the discovery of their bones and parts of ships.  To commemorate these soldiers’ lives and what they gave in the fight for independence, the Prison Ship Martyrs’ Monument was built.  Located in Fort Greene Park, Brooklyn, it was dedicated on April 6, 1808 with improvements made to it several times since.  
    At least another 5-6000 men died in the sugar houses, bringing the total who died as prisoners to more than 17,500 in the sugar houses and ships, more than double the battlefield losses.  Sugar houses were buildings meant to store sugar and molasses.  Affidavits by my ancestor, Henry Vunck, and friends note he was held for a few months in the “stone sugar house.”  This could only mean the Livingston Sugar House, a six-story stone building built in 1754 by the Livingston family on Crown (now Liberty) Street in Manhattan.  Demolished in 1846, buildings No. 34 and 36 are now on the site.  
    A second sugar house, the Rhinelander, a five-story brick warehouse, was built in 1763 at Rose (now William) Street and Duane Street.  This building was eventually replaced and is now the headquarters of the New York City Police Department.  A third, Van Cortlandt’s sugar house, was built about 1755 by the early Dutch family of this name at the northwest corner of the Trinity Church in Manhattan.  It was demolished in 1852.  
    10) Hans Georg Jacob Dubendorffer (George Jacob Diefendorf), b. 01/23/1729, Basserstorff, Switzerland – a Loyalist during Rev War, he left Mohawk Valley for Philadelphia and New York City, returned to a daughter’s home in Canajoharie, NY after the war rather than remove to Canada.  A patriotic son disowned his father, taking his middle name (his mother’s maiden name) as his new surname, removing to Virginia.  George Jacob married Catharine Hendree; their son Jacob Diefendorf married Susanna Hess, my g-g-g-g-grandparents.
    On February 3, 1783, the British government acknowledged the independence of the American colonies.  The next day, they formally agreed to halt all military operations.  A preliminary peace treaty was ratified in April, and Canada offered free land that summer to Loyalists who sought a new life.  Still, the British military maintained a presence in Manhattan.  When Britain signed the Treaty of Paris September 3, 1783 to end the war, the hated Redcoats finally and slowly began to abandon their New York City stronghold. 
    Next would begin the task of establishing the government and president of this new nation, the United States of America.  George Washington rode into Manhattan on November 25, 1783 with his officers and troops, eight horses abreast.  At the same time Washington’s parade began, British soldiers and ships were setting sail for their homeland. 
    Flags were joyfully waved, church bells rang in celebration, and cannons were fired in honor of those who had fought and for those who had given their lives, all for the independence of this fledgling nation.  The war had definitely taken its toll; but, on this day, great joy was felt in every heart for what had been accomplished.  And that is why we continue to celebrate our 4th of July heritage in style – as we remember and commemorate those who gave so much that we might enjoy so much.  And, may we will never forget what their efforts wrought for us.
    (Data sources available upon request.)
  13. 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.
  14. Linda Roorda
    I love taking walks in the fields and through the woods, and miss those walks from years ago.  Actually, for our first date on Christmas Day 1973, Ed took me for a walk up the hill on what used to be his family’s farm, now the Hollybrook Country Club golf course.  We followed a steep path upward that once upon a time was used to access a hayfield, presumably by a team of draft horses.  From the top, standing in a grove of white pines planted in defined rows, we looked back down on the farm.  I took a few photos - without a zoom lens, they did not come out well.  But, our view out over the snow-covered valley was awesome!  And, it was the first of many long walks to come.
    Years later, we took our three children, and close friends, Kathy and Hugh with their two children, for walks up the new logging trails.  We even found two trees with a straight “bar” of wood growing between them.  I have no idea what formed this oddity; but it was completely covered in bark, joining the two trees like a friendly handshake between them.
    We also took our three children for walks through the fields even though, admittedly, it wasn’t a favorite hike for all of them – though they did enjoy taking turns riding on their Daddy’s shoulders!  One of the worst moments, though, was when our daughter, Emily, got the toe of her sneaker caught in a small-animal trap as we entered the main logging trail into the woods.  Let me tell you, I was furious!  Ed and his father had not been notified by anyone that traps had been set out there.  Thankfully, we were able to get the trap off Em’s sneaker.  Thankfully, it had only latched onto the front of her sneaker where a thick band of heavy rubber protected her toes.  And, thankfully, she suffered no damage other than bruising to her toes. 
    Making no apologies for my anger, I took a rock and smashed the trap into several pieces, tossing them into the underbrush.  A day or so later I saw two young men walk across the back of the fields, looking for a trap that was no longer there.  Unfortunately, we never knew who they were to have asked them about their not having had permission to trap on our land, let alone not giving us knowledge where said trap lay covered up in the middle of the trail, and the fact that it could have caused much worse damage to Em’s foot.  Though I did not know it at that time, it is illegal to touch someone else’s trap; but, it is also unethical not to ask for permission to trap on property that is not yours, not to mention unethical to lack the courtesy to inform the land owner of where your traps are placed.
    Another time, we saw a gorgeous buck with an awesome large rack off in the distance in what Ed and his father called the “21-acre piece.”  It was a very rocky field.  After they moved on the farm in 1968, they picked 80 loads of rocks before deciding that was beyond enough and they just dealt with the rest.  They always said they didn’t know how crops grew with all those rocks which seemed to birth new ones every spring, but that field grew the absolute best alfalfa! 
    But, back to that buck.  He gazed at us as he stood proud and tall, and began pawing the ground.  Then he stomped and snorted, trotted toward us a bit, and pawed and snorted again.  Soon enough, he quickly and gracefully bounded off as he disappeared back into the woods.  What an awesome sight that had been!
    I remember taking walks a few years later with our son, Dan, like when we spent time identifying as many plants in a pasture that we could for one of his Boy Scout badges on his way to becoming an Eagle Scout.  Another time we followed turkey tracks into the woods.  Taking walks in the winter months, we saw many animal trails though we didn’t always know what footprints belonged to which animal. 
    Dan and I even got lucky to find deer beds in the snow!  Tucked under gnarled and weathered ancient apple trees in the meadow pasture (below the ridge that runs behind our property), they provided the deer a well-used cozy hideaway.  This old apple orchard was located below where a saw mill had been situated above the creek in the 1800s.  On the south side of the creek, and along the side of that field, was the old dam remnant which had backed up the creek to provide sufficient water flow for the mill.  The images of farm life from another century scroll through my mind, as I think about those who used to enjoy walking these fields so long ago.
    Thankful for another day and God’s beauty in creation on display all around us… from the gardens we cultivate to the natural wild beauty I/we too often take for granted. This past Friday, I attended the Memorial Service for my late cousin Robert’s wife, Virginia, at His Tabernacle in Horseheads. I lived with their family for 6 months in 1974 before my marriage to Ed that October. Virginia shared her advice, wisdom, humor, and recipes for her spaghetti sauce and goulash which I made for decades and miss on my limited diet. Posted to FB yesterday, one of her sons and his wife shared photos of the beauty and sounds of nature on their walk in the peace of God’s love surrounding them.  In a previous reflection for my poem “Creation’s Glory,” I shared my enjoyment of taking walks in the fields and woods of my cousin Howard’s farm in Nichols, NY.  I love the solitude and beauty of nature, God’s creation.  May we enjoy the generous blessings God has showered on us in so many ways... as we go for a walk, taking in His love enveloping us... even as you enjoy visualizing your own walk among nature’s beauty with this poem. 
    Come Take A Walk
    Linda A. Roorda
    Come take a walk upon a path
    That stretches out beside a creek
    And wanders past the arching trees
    As through the fields and woods we stroll.
     
    While sun above shines brightly down
    Casting shadows of dappled grays,
    Fluffy white clouds roam bright blue skies
    Lending a glow along our way.
     
    Tuffets of grass, castles for mice
    Who part the strands to peak between
    And gaze in wonder as giants pass
    Eyes open wide, they take it all in.
     
    Minnows darting between the rocks
    Slightly hidden among the reeds
    Peeking around to catch a glimpse
    Of who’ll they be when they have grown.
     
    For swimming here are bass and trout
    Catfish and snakes and pollywogs
    The creek is teeming with life beneath
    A surface smooth and lightly rippled.
     
    Moving along we gaze on sights
    Only few see to take delight
    For there are ducks and geese with young
    Plying waters, enjoying a swim.
     
    High above us and all around
    Squirrels jumping, tails a’bobble
    Seeking berries, seeds and leaf buds
    Keeping an eye on strangers below.
     
    There’s an eagle!  King of the sky!
    High in a tree with eyes that pierce
    Seeking a meal to take back home
    He swoops down quick as talons grip tight.
     
    Turkeys strutting, feathers fanned wide
    Toms keeping guard, hens grazing with ease
    Moving steadily across the field
    A beautiful sight though rarely seen.
     
    A rabbit hops along the trail
    I never saw nor heard a sound
    But there he goes darting among
    The brambles wild, his home beneath.
     
    A tiny fawn cautiously peeks
    Beside his mom as she stands tall
    Gazing about to check the air
    Strangers like us cause her to fear.
     
    With quickest turn she bounds away
    As tawny fawn brings up the rear
    White tails held high they dart through brush
    To hidden home in forest deep.
     
    The sights beheld have not begun
    To share that seen in walking past
    Ferns and flowers, trees in full leaf
    Grass growing green, birds on the wing.
     
    The beauty here in nature’s bounty
    That holds the eye and touches the ear
    Savor the treat, hold onto treasures
    Blessings from above for us to enjoy.
    Photo: Lake McDonald, Glacier National Park, by Linda A. Roorda, 2004
     
  15. Linda Roorda
    As we conclude our discussion on how and where to begin your ancestry research with suggestions based on my experience, I thought it would be helpful to collect the online resources in one place.  The following is a list of some of the many online sources which I found most helpful. 
    I also continue to stress that not all submitted family records on any given site are totally accurate.  Unintentional errors and misspellings in data do creep in.  It is up to you to seek out and prove the accuracy of whatever data you find online about your ancestors.  Unless you know a book is truly accurate and can prove the author had sound documentation, do not take a published book as fact “just because it says so.”  That’s how I proved errors that had been accepted as fact for decades as I noted previously.  The extra footwork involved can be extensive, but it’s worth every effort put forth to have solid documentation for your family’s ancestral heritage.
    Click on each website you wish to visit entitled in bold black and underlined:
    Ancestry.com – free 1880 census record; but, for an annual subscription fee, you get in-depth census records from 1790-1930, military records, city and national records, land records, international records, family trees, baptisms, marriages, death index records, and so much more.
    Family Search - free website with 1880 census records, baptism, marriage records, death records, and submitted family data.  Books and documents on microfilm can be ordered and viewed at a Family History Center of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, locally in Owego or Elmira.  They also have a free down-loadable Personal Ancestral File, PAF, which I have used, though I prefer the Family Tree Maker.
    My Heritage – discover your roots in a free trial to a subscription-based genealogy compilation.  I have not used this site.
    Olive Tree Genealogy - free old church/cemetery records, 1600s ships’ lists, records for New Netherland, Palatines, Mennonites, Loyalists, Native American, Military, and Canadian data, etc.  I found this website to be very helpful in my early research nearly 20 years ago.
    RootsWeb – free source of records, county genweb sites, surname lists, e-mail lists, posted documentation for cemeteries, church records, family websites and more. Recently underwent a full-site rebuilding, so I am not as familiar with its changes, but it's well worth checking out for valuable resources under various sections.
    CyndisList - free listing of American and International records and resources – a great resource.
    Vital Records – U.S. birth certificates, death records, and marriage licenses for a fee.
    U.S. GenWeb – free County GenWeb sites with a lot of data to aid your research.
    Three Rivers – free source for middle-eastern New York families in the Hudson, Mohawk, Schoharie river regions, family genealogies, books, etc. 
    Sampubco - Wills from several states, but not all wills.  Fee for copies.  I purchased several wills from this website and was very pleased with the service.
    National Archives and Records Administration –  Click on Veterans’ Service Records section to begin searching.  You will find military service records, pension records of veterans’ claims, draft registration records, and bounty land warrant application files and records available. Order forms are free, but you pay a fee to order copies of records. Well worth the cost.
    NARA contact/forms – see various forms listed for National Archives Records Administration, government war records.  Obtain free forms from which to order military records including pre-Civil War full service records or pension application files (on NATF Form 85 and/or 86; forms are free).  Some list family members, others do not.  You will find a good amount of information in files re: a soldier’s service, enlistment, capture, discharge, death, etc.,; these records provide valuable documentation.
    Soldiers and Sailors Database - Civil War Soldiers and Sailors Database for military records.
    Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island Foundation - search passenger and ship manifest records free, or order quality record copies for a fee.  Ship manifest records are also found at Ancestry.com, a subscription resource.
    New York Biographical and Genealogical Society – very trustworthy site with many online articles/records; they are working to put more records online; however, most are limited to membership in the Society.  The Steele Library in Elmira has the full set of the New York Genealogical and Biographical Record and the New England Genealogical Journal.  I can attest to the high quality of published research and records in both journals.  I used these journals in my research, with my documented research articles published in the NYGBR.  Search my name and you will find my published articles.   In order to publish, you must prove all of your statements with solid documentation.
    Making of America, Cornell University – old books, magazines, newspapers online in searchable/readable format – worth wading through this free resource.
    Higginson Book Company, Salem, Mass. - old maps, family surname genealogies, county/state historical books, published cemetery and church records, etc. Contact for free catalog; copies books/records obtained for a fee but worth it, from which I purchased a few books.
    Olin Uris Library, Cornell University - Cornell University’s guide to research in their extensive holdings.  They note that, unfortunately, not all their genealogical books are kept in one section. 
    Find-A-Grave - free resource of many gravestones around the United States.  Be careful of family notes – I found errors in a family of my close relatives; when I contacted the contributor who added notes tying my family to theirs by error, there was no response, no correction.
    Tri-Counties Genealogy & History by Joyce M. Tice - A local website for genealogy research and local history in Bradford Co., PA, Chemung Co., NY, and Tioga Co., PA.
    TIPS ON FRAUDULENT LINEAGES:
    Family Search Fraudulent Genealogies
    Genealogy Today: Good Researcher Gone Bad
    Gustav Anjou, Fraudulent Genealogist
    Genealogy.com, locating published genealogies
    Genealogy Bank:  Researching your Pilgrim Ancestry from the Mayflower
    Again, locally, the Steele Library in Elmira has an excellent genealogy section on the second floor to aid your research.  I spent many a Saturday morning searching through their collection for documentation on my ancestry data and can highly recommend it.  Cornell University also has a major genealogy library collection, but I was afraid to go on campus for a personal visit. 
    I purchased several books for my personal library of my family ancestry with records of the Early Palatine Families of New York 1710 by Henry Z. Jones, Jr., history of settlement and families of Montgomery and Fulton Counties, NY and Schoharie County, NY, CDs of the New York Genealogical & Biographical Record articles, early Schenectady families by Pearson, and so much more if anyone is interested in a lookup.
    And, last but not least, your local library can order books through the interlibrary loan system.  This was a tremendously helpful resource to me for out-of-county and out-of-state historical/genealogical books, including those in Cornell University's repository.  I could not have done it without these resources. 
    I must also give credit to the many friends I made along my genealogical journey, some of whom proved to be distant cousins and have remained close friends, and from whom I learned.  We shared data, books, and a love for our ancestral families.
    And now, I wish you every success as you search for your ancestors.  Enjoy your journey!
  16. Linda Roorda
    There are many free genealogy websites which are a great resource for records and helpful family data, including RootsWeb.  This free site, part of the ancestry.com family, includes a RootsWeb Family History Wiki section with their guide to searching your family trees. Along with Hosted Web Sites, you will find great tips and websites on how to begin searching, a list of sources and where to find various records, and a list of various countries/ethnic groups.  Clicking on any of their hi-lited items will provide information on beginning your research. 
    The RootsWeb page has been updated since I first used it 20 years ago, taken down the past few years while it was under re-construction.  Feel free to check them out for their usable functions, like the Message Boards.  Sadly, I think it's not as comprehensive as it once was.
    You can search surname listings under RootsWeb's “Connect to Family Trees” section to see what might be out there, though this page does not appear to be complete in its listings.  But, entering a name in the search tab might garner some valuable family information for you.  My favorite section years ago was the “U.S. Town/County Database.”  Here, I have found a wealth of information for vital records from churches and cemeteries, biographies, family lineages, and more.  Researching my Mom’s early New York families often brought me to the New Amsterdam/New York City, and the Albany, Schenectady and Schoharie county genweb sites. 
    Under the section labeled “Message Boards,” you can search your surname of interest, read other posts, and post your own query for information which I have done.  Folks on these message boards have been very helpful.  This has also been a resource to meet extended relatives in various lines, which I have also done.  We shared our own research and documented data with each other.  Several friendships were made this way, and they continue to be counted among my close friends today.
    I did find errors in submitted family trees on RootsWeb (or other online family websites) when I began my ancestry search, prompting my own research to document, write and publish my family articles in the highly recommended and accurate New York Genealogical and Biographical Journal.  For that reason, I tend to stay away from submitted family trees when seeking information on my ancestors, though you can certainly get answers to questions here.  I prefer to do as much footwork as I can on my own, albeit with guidance from friends who taught me as I learned along the way.  Submitted trees certainly can be entirely accurate; however, if used as a starting point with other online records, you can then seek sources to provide solid documentation and corroborative proof, i.e. church and cemetery records in reputable books or journals, census records, wills, etc.
    The next section is “Mailing Lists.”  These lists were also invaluable to me years ago, but it is no longer usable as noted on the updated website.  I was formerly on an email list which provided discussions on various topics relating to the early settlers and records of the 1600s and 1700s in New Netherlands/New York. It was a rewarding experience to reply to someone’s query by contributing data I have in a book of ancient Albany’s city and county records that was helpful to others. 
    From RootsWeb, I subscribed years ago to the Schoharie County email list.  That resource was where I saw the notice by a professor from Long Island who found an old photo in a Washington, D.C. antique shop.  The pencil writing on the back of the matting read, “First Tillapaugh Reunion July 1910…”  I replied that my mother’s two oldest brothers inherited that farm, and their sons continue to farm it today. A reproduction of the photo is in the Dallenbach book of descendants which I own, so I was well aware of what the professor had found.  In fact, the house in the photo, built in the 1830s, is still very much in use today.  I was offered the opportunity to purchase the photo which, of course, I did, thus beginning my genealogy research in earnest in the late 1990s.
    Other sections like “Quick Links” have important site listings including Find-A-Grave.  These options may include national and international websites, other tools and resources such as blank forms and charts, and hosted volunteer projects.  The latter includes books owned by folks who are willing to research them for information you might need from a particular book.  Your search may also find volunteers who are able to do local lookups at either cemeteries or historical societies for you.  When volunteers have helped by doing research footwork for me, I felt it appropriate to pay their expenses, a much-appreciated gift. 
    You can also submit your FamilyTreeMaker data to RootsWeb.  Instead, of doing that, I submitted a McNeill descendancy outline I wrote up with names and dates of birth to the Schoharie County Genweb site where it would be more likely to be of value for descendants.  It is also common courtesy not to submit names of any living relatives, or those born within the past 100 years out of respect for privacy.  I included no one born from 1900 through the 20th century.
    Another free online source of cross-referenced data is the comprehensive site called CyndisList.  The Categories section provides a list of resources, including American state and government as well as international resources.  There is an Adoption section to help find orphans and living people, message boards, and volunteers to assist your search.  A section entitled Free Stuff includes charts and forms, translation tools, online databases to search, volunteer lookups, surname family associations and newsletters, etc. 
    Sections you might not have thought about are included at CyndisList:  1) Migration Routes, Roads and Trails, 2) Canals, Rivers and Waterways, and 3) Immigration and Naturalization.  There are sections entitled Heraldry, Hit a Brick Wall?, and Ships & Passenger Lists.  The Mailing Lists are great for asking questions when you’re stumped, and for connecting with researchers working on the same lines.  There are also sites to purchase items, and free trials to search various genealogy websites before paying their site subscription fee.
    Ancestry.com has some free data, like the 1880 Federal Census records, but the best records are obtained using subscription-based entrance.  Here, you will find tabs for Home, Trees, Search, DNA, Help, and Extras.  It is an invaluable resource.
    Perhaps your ancestors came through Ellis Island.  Search The Statue of Liberty-Ellis Island Foundation to find your ancestors and the ship on which they sailed.  A ship’s manifest lists the passengers, their age, name of the ship, port, date of departure, occupation, nearest relative in their country of origin, and their sponsor in the U.S.  I found information for my husband’s paternal grandfather’s family when they emigrated from Holland in the early 1920s.  Some went first to North Dakota before settling in northern New Jersey as dairy farmers while others settled right away in northern New Jersey and Massachusetts to work in the textile mills. 
    I also found records at the Ellis Island website for my father’s families which emigrated from the Netherlands.  Like many families, both of my father’s grandfathers came through Ellis Island, each with their oldest son – my dad’s paternal grandfather in November 1922, and his maternal grandfather in September 1923.  They settled in and around Kalamazoo, Michigan among other Dutch.  When they earned enough money, they sent for the rest of their family.  My paternal grandfather emigrated from Uithuizermeeden in the province of Groningen at age 15 on July 1923 with his mother and siblings through Ellis Island. 
    However, my dad’s maternal grandfather was determined his wife and children would not go through the rigors of steerage and Ellis Island.  Instead, he sent money back home to them in Rotterdam for second-class tickets.  Decades ago, my grandmother told me only a little about their sailing on the S. S. Rotterdam to Hoboken, New Jersey.  Research showed the ship came into a New York City port in January 1926, with the ship’s manifest listing my grandmother’s family.  Unfortunately, I didn’t ask more questions.  She told me that a Dutchman, who made a living helping immigrants, met my great-grandmother and her children (my grandmother was age 15), and took them to his home in Hoboken, New Jersey.  He fed them, put them up overnight, and the next morning put them on the right train to Michigan with lunches in hand.  There, my great-grandmother was reunited with her husband, and my grandmother and her siblings with their father and oldest brother.  How exciting that must have been!
    My grandparents married in 1931 and lived in Kalamazoo, Michigan.  With the Great Depression, my grandfather and his father lost everything as building contractors.  They removed to another Dutch enclave in Clifton, New Jersey where my grandfather became a door-to-door salesman before later becoming a successful general contractor, with many a beautiful house or remodeling project to his credit.
    You can purchase quality photo documentation of the ships your ancestors sailed on.  However, I simply printed the free online photo of the ships on which my ancestors sailed, along with each respective ship’s manifest for documentation.  I used both Ancestry.com and the Ellis Island websites to obtain records.
    For steerage immigrants, the Ellis Island experience included passing a medical and legal inspection.  If your papers were in order, and you were in reasonably good health, the inspection process typically lasted 3-5 hours.  The ship’s manifest log was used by inspectors to cross-examine each immigrant during the primary inspection.  Though Ellis Island has been called the “Island of Tears,” the vast majority of immigrants were treated respectfully and allowed to enter America to begin their new life.  However, about two percent of immigrants were denied entry.  Typically, if you were suspected of having a contagious illness, or if the inspector thought you might become a public burden, entrance to the U.S. was denied.  I can only imagine the pain it must have caused when one or more family members were told they had to go back to their native country. 
    I am very appreciative of the efforts my many ancestors made to emigrate from their home country, to which none ever returned, of becoming American citizens, and of their hard work to provide a better way of life for their family.  By sharing bits of my ancestral heritage, of who they were and whence they came, I hope it has encouraged you to search for your ancestors, to find their place in the building of our great America, and thus to know the gift of your family heritage.
    FINAL COLUMN NEXT:  Genealogy Website Resource List
  17. Linda Roorda
    I'm sharing something a little different today.  Yesterday would have been our Jenn’s 43rd birthday, now celebrated in her heavenly home. As family and friends, we never forget a loved one who has left us, especially sooner than we expect.  Yet, we can remember and celebrate their life with joy as a blessing from God. Today, rather than a poetry reflection, I’d like to share memories in Jenn’s own words from psychology class at Houghton College.  It gave me insight into her thoughts, experiences, understanding of her family, and thoughts on her future.  This is what I longed for after she died – something in her own writing, her perceptive memories, providing a window into the heart and soul of who she had become.
    With a double major of elementary education and psychology at Houghton College, she earned her Master’s degree as a School Psychologist from Alfred University a month before she left this world the end of June 2003 at age 25.  I found comfort and peace in writing about her life that summer and fall, a healing catharsis, and appreciated reading her college papers, like the one below, and learning more about who she was as a young adult. May you be blessed in your own memories of loved ones who have left this world before "their time."
    UNIT ONE:  Childhood Recollections and Experiences:
    Jenn drew a floor plan of our house, and was asked to “sit quietly and try to recapture the sights and sounds and smells of each room,” and “the experiences and feelings [she] associated with each.”
    A – Who lived in this house with you?  When we first moved into this house, my family consisted of my mom, dad, sister & myself.  However, the house was built while my mom was pregnant w/ my little brother.  He joined our family two months after we moved into this house.
    B – What was your favorite place?  Why?  My favorite place was the basement because a section of it was set up as a playroom.  I spent hrs. playing here w/ my sister & brother.
    C – Where were your secret places?  I don’t remember having any secret places.  Mom kept pretty good track of me & my siblings.
    D – What room or area of the house do you remember as the most unpleasant or uncomfortable for you?  Why?  I didn’t like having to go to the basement at night when it was dark.  I wouldn’t leave the safety of the stairs until I had turned on the lights.  I disliked having to retrieve something from the garage the most.  This was because it was dark, damp, cold & quite (sic, quiet).  I was afraid something would get me when I opened the door.  I also remember us having a slight problem w/ a mouse in the basement when we first moved in.  That may have contributed to [my] fear.
    E – What was the prevailing atmosphere or mood in your house?  Before I was nine, I remember the mood being fairly cheerful.  Afterwards, the atmosphere was filled with some tension, worry, & yet also a lot love & caring.
    F – What was your most significant experience during the time you lived in this house?  How was this experience significant?  When I was in 2nd grade, my grandparents had to sell the family farm b/c my dad could no longer help his father.  My dad’s eyesight was deteriorating.  Over the years. he continued to lose what little sight he had & he eventually was declared blind.  This experience put a lot of stress on my family, especially my parents’ marriage.  But our faith in God held us together & pulled us through this difficult time.  As a family unit, we are much closer now.  Family is very important to me.  I learned important lessons about being supportive to others & persevering through hard times.  I also had to mature quicker as the oldest child & take responsibility for my sister & brother.  Note:  My dad now works as a customer service manager for a local company.
    G. Think about your early experiences with your family at mealtime.  Family mealtime (supper) was my favorite part of the day. We would all get a chance to discuss our day of school or work, sharing disappointments, as well as exciting news. It was also a time filled w/ humor & laughter.  My Dad, sister, & brother were gifted w/ a sense of humor, & always had my mom & [me] laughing so hard it hurt! I know we also had conflict w/ one another at the table, but all the good experiences dominate my memory overwhelmingly. After eating we almost always had family devotions.  These have changed as my siblings & I have grown up.  First my parents read Bible stories to us.  Then once we learned to read, we all took turns reading the stories.  Now we read the “Daily Bread” booklet.  These experiences really pulled us together.  I believe this is one activity that helped us through my dad’s blindness.  I will forever be thankful for these good times &hope to continue the tradition when I marry & have children.
    I have learned how much I value my family.  They are so important to me.  They are my support, my source of encouragement & of love.  The exercise on mealtime was the most valuable exercise as it made clear the importance I place on family.
    UNIT THREE:  Alfred Adler and Individual Psychology:
    I - Early Recollections:  “To understand a man we must know his memories.”  --Ancient Chinese Proverb
    A.  Beginning with your first recollection, identify your earliest specific memories.
    1 – My earliest memories begin in the trailer my family lived in from the time I was born until I was 4.  I remember that when I was about 2-1/2, I would crawl into my sister’s crib in the morning.  I was really proud of my baby sister.  I liked talking to her & playing w/ stuffed animals with her until mom got us up.
    2 – Another memory from the trailer that I have is when my family got a dishwasher.  However, my sister & I were more interested in the box that it came in than the dishwasher itself.  My mom put the box in the backroom & my sister & I would often play in it.  Our favorite game was to put a larger than normal beanbag on a small cart that some wooden letter blocks normally set on & place that cart on top of the box.  Then we would crawl inside and shake the box until the cart fell off.  Then we would repeat the process.  It was simple but great fun.
    3 – I remember moving in August from our trailer into our newly built house.  I remember going from room to room, checking everything out. The coolest part was the stairs.  For some reason my sister & I were absolutely fascinated by them.  Once we were fully moved in, we would pretend to have picnics on them.  Once again, it was simple but great fun.
    4 – In October, my brother was born.  I don’t remember a whole lot about this.  However, I do remember my dad dropping my sister & [me] off at my aunt’s house and picking us up at night for about 2 days or so.  I remember being excited about getting a new brother, but I also missed my mom & couldn’t wait for her to come home to play & read books again.
    5 – I remember going to the family farm & spending time in the barn w/ my dad & my grandfather.  I liked to sit on top of the feed cart w/ my own little scoop so I could “help” feed the cows. I also liked playing w/ the barn cats, & mixing up the formula for the calves.  I felt grown up when my dad would let me carry the flashlight as we walked home at night or allow me to help carry the milk pail.  I also liked riding on the tractors w/ my dad.  The only bad experience that I remember from the barn was a time that I was following my dad & was running to keep up.  I cut a corner too tight & ended up face down in the gutter of manure.  My dad picked me up and carried me home so mom could clean me off.
    II.  Reflect upon your early memories. My memories seem to be focused on experiences primarily w/ my sister (i.e. memories 1-3). We did everything together as kids & even today I feel close to her.  I am also close to my brother.  Overall, I think my memories reveal my strong attachment to family.  My memories reveal a happy environment in which I received love & had enjoyable times.  My family is very close-knit.  I think this has helped us in our times of trouble, b/c we knew we could lean on one another.
    As for explaining my present personality, I think the closeness & the trust that I built w/ my sister & my family as a whole has led to my tendency to trust others. I also think the pride I mention in memories about my siblings reveals my tendency to act “motherish” at times, specifically w/ my siblings.  My early experiences in the barn represent an early introduction to responsibility & my dedication to getting a job done on time.
    B.  Inferiority Feelings:  Adler believed inferiority feelings form the basis for all human motivation and striving. 
    Once my sister & I were both in school, I began to have feelings of inferiority. She always wanted to do what I could do, and once she learned it, she often performed better than I did.  I felt threatened; as the oldest child, I wanted to maintain my “superior” position.  I didn’t have an inferior organ, nor did anyone receive excessive indulgence & pampering, & I wasn’t rejected or neglected by anyone.  My parents consistently worked to temper any competition, & establish the fact that we each have our own individual qualities & strengths.
    E.  Style of Life: Adler believed basic life-style patterns and structures of personality are established early in life… 
    I value friendship.  I think it may come from the close companionship that developed b/t my sister & I as children.  I also don’t like conflict.  My mom deterred my siblings & I from fighting.  I remember having to sit on the couch & hold hands for several minutes after having arguments w/ them.  I also didn’t like seeing my parents fight during a stressful time in our home & try to steer away from it myself.  I’ve also been a very quiet & compliant child.  I allow other people to dominate conversation & I go along w/ the majority consensus – typically.  There are of course exceptions.
    I think I am a combination of the avoiding type and the socially useful type.  I like to avoid conflict. I know how to get around issues & how to choose my words wisely to keep from causing a problem.  However, when a problem does arise that requires attention, I do face reality & attempt to solve it.
    I also admit that I am shy & do not talk a lot.  But, those people who know me well, realize I am very interested in social activity. I care about others and wish to help them out as needed.  I also enjoy being involved in committees and other extra-curricular activities.  I was quite involved while in high school.  However, since entering college, I have found myself having to concentrate more time on studies & have not been able to do a lot of other things.
    G.  What are some of the important things you have learned about yourself?
    This entire unit on Adler’s theory of personality was very interesting & helped me learn a lot about myself.  I discovered how oriented I am around achieving excellence & wanting to be the best I can be in all areas of life. Working with children also seems to be a highly important thing for me.  I have a genuine concern for children who don’t have the same opportunities to succeed that I had.
    UNIT SIX:  Psychosocial Theory:
    1.a.  Think back to your early years in school.  Was this a discouraging time for you, or were you able to achieve success in learning and developing the skills necessary? I don’t remember a concentrated time of frustration although I did struggle with learning some things as any child does.  For example, in 1st grade I had a hard time learning to read.  With extra help from my parents at home, I soon caught on & excelled. However, I had already been molded into a stereotype at school and could not move out of the lower reading groups because of it.  So my parents stimulated my reading interests at home.  I think their efforts kept me from giving up.  In other subjects I tended to succeed & overall I enjoyed school.
    1b. My parents helped me a great deal with reading & I grew to enjoy it & excel at it.  I also remember participating in 4H.  A neighbor lady held meetings in her home once a week.  I enjoyed this & did well at cooking contests.  
    2.  In efforts to establish a stable ego identity, has your quest for an occupational identity been a major concern?  Maybe, to a certain extent.  I know that I want to work with children in some way, shape or form.  But I haven’t been able to fully identify what it is I want to do. I have thought about teaching elementary school and thus, I am an El. Ed. major.   I also have considered some kind of counseling, or maybe even a school psychologist. Thus I am also a double major in psychology.  I am slightly confused about which way to turn, but I haven’t totally panicked yet.  But my identity has not been solely based on my future occupation. There is more to who I am than the job will hold after school.  I trust God in that area of my life and have tried to develop my other characteristics.
    3.  We are living in a time of changing sex roles and patterns, and there is much sex-role confusion in our society.  Have these social changes contributed to your personal difficulties in achieving a stable ego identity?  No, this has not influenced me at all.  I come from a “non-traditional” home in some sense, because my dad is blind and I’m used to him being a house-husband.  He, of course, does have a regular job now, but he continues to help my mom out with laundry and grocery lists and cooking, etc.  I believe both males and females can share in household duties.  I also see nothing wrong with a woman choosing to be a housewife. If I ever have children, it is in fact my desire to stay home to simply be a mom and a wife.
    As far as occupations go, I think each person should do something that will best use their skills and talents and will make them happy.  I, however, am against any legislation that will make it mandatory for men and women to be absolutely equal.
    5.  Discuss the strengths you have developed and the tasks yet to be completed.  I think I have established a stable ego identity.  The values I have formed are ones I hold to quite strictly.  I am capable of handling responsibility given to me by others.   I have set goals for myself and am considering various options for my future beyond Houghton.  I know I am shy, yet able to voice my opinion when necessary.  I have established preferences for what I like to do in my free time, food I like to eat, etc.   I generally know who I am and am satisfied with the roles that I play in the relationships I have with family, friends, etc.   
    6.  Am I strong enough in my identity to fuse myself with another without fear of losing my own identity, autonomy, and integrity?  I think I am ready and have been ready to be in a close relationship with another person.  I know who I am as a person.  I have confidence in my special skills and abilities and I am able to respect others for who they are and am willing to help as needed. I began my first ever relationship almost exactly a year ago.  It has been a very healthy and satisfying relationship.  We get along very well.  We are both mature individuals and are able to discuss our differences (when they occur) in an appropriate manner.  We have also had to deal with our relationship being long distance.  We have very open communication lines with a “no secrets” policy. We also allow each other to continue the development of our varying interests.  We are both interested in learning about what the other person does or likes.  Lastly, we build each other up and encourage one another in our individual pursuits.  We complement each other well and I am grateful for him being a part of my life.
    7.  How are your mother and father each expressing and developing ego maturity through generativity?  I remember when I first left home to come to Houghton and the difficulty my mom had with “losing” her first born.  She cried a bit.  However, it has gradually gotten easier.  She recently made a comment that she and my dad will like having the house to themselves after having a weekend of no kids.  I had to smile.  My mom is also becoming engrossed in a genealogy project of my dad’s family and would like to do one of her own family. It’s a little harder for my dad since he’s blind.  He can’t just choose to do something.  He doesn’t appear to be bothered, but I can’t really judge for sure.
    F.  Old age – integrity versus despair with old age, the final psychosocial stage of ego development and maturity. 
    (Note: I am talking about my dad’s parents since I see them more often.)  I think my grandparents are developing integrity as they are now in the final stage of ego affirmation.  They are both still very much in love with each other.  They also have an excellent sense of humor.  Laughter can be expected when we visit them.  I also enjoy hearing about the past – including experiences that were good and others that were bad.  No matter how a situation turned out, they’ve accepted it and have moved on with life.  They are also very willing to help others and to give advice.  Before my sister and I got a car this semester, my grandparents helped my mom with the task of driving us back to Houghton after breaks.  They do, of course, have problems, but generally I think they are quite well adjusted into their last stage of development.
    G.  Summary - What are some of the important things you have learned about yourself after doing these exercises?
    I have learned that the environment my parents provided me as a child and as a teen has facilitated a healthy outcome at all of Erikson’s stages.  I also think my faith in God has been an asset in my development.  It helps with things like careers to know that God is in control and He will guide you.  He has been a source of strength through all sort of problems and trials, and a blessing in times of happiness.  In addition, I’ve learned how important healthy relationships with others are in developing yourself.
    The entire unit was quite informative and I found it interesting to reflect on the issues that were raised.
    Professor:  Great – A wonderful job overall!  Thanks Jennifer!
  18. Linda Roorda

    Colors of Spring

    By Linda Roorda,

    Ahhh, spring!  My favorite season!  And isn’t it beginning to look beautiful outdoors?  I love to see the signs of new life emerging slowly, almost imperceptibly, after earth’s long wintry sleep.  To smell the fresh earthy aroma that follows a gentle spring rain is refreshing, to see the grass almost immediately turning from shades of crisp tan and brown to verdant greens, and to watch the daintiest leaf or flower bud begin to emerge brings joy to my heart. 
    With a bright sun’s nourishing warmth, those leaf buds soon swell and burst open, bringing many more shades of green to life.  Then, as flowers burst open to brighten the landscape, it’s as though all of creation rejoices with an endless bounty of color.  “For behold, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone.  The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.” (Song of Solomon 2:11-12)
    I’ve often thought about the joy and pleasure it must have given our God as He created every aspect of this world, every plant and creature… each uniquely designed!  After His work of creating separate aspects of this world each day of the week, “God saw all that He had made, and it was very good.” (Genesis 1:31 NIV)  Wouldn’t it have been wonderful to have been a witness as this marvelous creation came to be?  I’ve also imagined that the first week of creation was spring with vivid colors bursting forth in blooms from every kind of plant and flower imaginable! 
    When God created man and woman in His image to tend and care for the beautiful Garden of Eden, ultimately to be caretakers of the new world at large… they were each uniquely created and loved by God… just as we are in our own time.  And to know that all this beauty was created for our pleasure, to treasure and nourish… what an awesome responsibility and beautiful gift we were given! 
    Enjoy the beauty of spring in all its glory as it bursts forth anew to revive and color our every-day world with exhilarating joy!
    Colors of Spring
    Linda A. Roorda
    From brilliant yellow of forsythia arched
    To burgundy red on trees standing tall
    The colors of spring emerge in great beauty
    To brighten our days from winter’s dark sleep.
     
    From chartreuse shades as leaf buds burst forth
    To pink and white flowers in cloud-like halos
    Hovering on branches in glowing full bloom
    Swaying above carpets of undulating green.
     
    From rich azure sky with puffs of white-gray
    To pale blue horizon at forested hills
    With sun-streaked rays like fingers of God
    To lengthening shadows as light slowly fades.
     
    From velvet black night as moon rises full
    To glittering diamonds twinkling bright
    Up over hills on a path through the sky
    Gliding above trees with limbs reaching out.
     
    From earth’s colorful palette awakening clear
    To the crisp and bold and shades of pastels
    Shimmering and dancing to brighten our day
    Created by God, our pleasure to behold.

    Photos by Linda A. Roorda
  19. Linda Roorda

    The Nail

    By Linda Roorda,

    Easter… I remember one year when I was a little girl getting a special new dress, white bonnet, and pretty black patent leather shoes to wear to church, and, of course, chocolate candy.  I also remember fun when my Mom helped us dye hard-boiled eggs. But what youngster doesn’t get excited about also getting a basket dressed up in pretty pastels, filled with sweet treats, stuffed bunnies, and other toys. And don’t forget the ever-popular Easter egg hunt with more candy or toys tucked inside plastic-colored eggs… the makings of childhood fun!  And this year, enjoyed making a chalk-art drawing on our sidewalk for others to enjoy on this beautiful day.

    But, all my life, I’ve struggled with the dichotomy of our holiday celebrations… holding close the deeper faith-based, heart-felt meanings versus the popular fun and whimsical traditions.  Sometimes it seems we take our Christian celebrations for granted.  We do appreciate them for their remembrance of all Jesus did for us, but we have not always contemplated the intimate details in a more personal way.  Focusing on Scripture and Jesus’ words, His sacrifice, and self-contemplation a few years back, my thoughts prompted this poem and contemplative reflection.
    Have you ever seen or held an old-fashioned iron nail? I'm sure many of you have, just as I have. Researching the history of nails, it’s a rather fascinating subject, and I learned that not until the latter 19th century did we begin producing round cut nails by machine.   Bronze nails have been dated back to about 3000 b.c., with the Romans the first to eventually use harder iron for their nails. Since the earliest nail was first made, each hand-forged nail has been  out individually by a blacksmith from iron heated in the fire.  The nails were typically square, flat on four sides, tapering to a point at the other end.  An online search brings up images of such nails from a hundred plus years ago all the way back to include Roman crucifixion nails.  Those old Roman nails were ominous-looking objects about 5-7 inches long and half an inch wide at the top… and doubt I’d be wrong to call them spikes.
    So, it makes me shudder to think of the damage one of those Roman nails could do to a person’s flesh and bone.  It also seems like a heart hardened to the cruelty inflicted was required for the job.  And that was after the condemned criminal had been flogged mercilessly with the flesh torn and stripped from his back until he was hardly recognizable.  I did not go to see Mel Gibson‘s movie, “The Passion of the Christ.”  I know I could not have watched it for those very painful reasons.  There’s a movie playing in my mind from reading the passages in our Holy Bible, and I prefer that personal familiarity.
    The above-referenced images are those which typically come to mind as we contemplate Jesus’s crucifixion during the Passover.  Condemned under trumped-up false blasphemy charges by Jerusalem’s synagogue leaders, yet found guiltless by Rome’s representative, the crowd defiantly yelled, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”  As the leaders promoted the release of Barabbas, a rightfully jailed and sentenced criminal, the crowd demanded that Jesus take his place on the cross instead.
    Thinking “Oh, the shame of it all!”, we also wonder how the Jews could condemn an innocent man to such a horrid death, one of their own who healed their sick and who spoke wisdom into their lives.  But they did not understand His life’s purpose.  As they condemned Jesus, little did they know they were actually fulfilling prophecy about God’s only begotten Son whose very life was a sacrifice for even them. So here I stand, holding tight that nail and pounding it in deeper with every sin I’ve ever committed… and will commit… unless I confess, repent, and accept His gift of salvation.
    And it humbles us even more to know Jesus went to that cross willingly.  The Son of God willingly died for me… for you!  He took our place… and bore our shame… to redeem us from all of our petty and monumental sins, in the past and in the future.  For “we all, like sheep, have all gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.”  (Isaiah 53:6 NIV)  
    Yes, we have each gone astray, perhaps in only minor and seemingly insignificant ways, but our perfect God still calls sin what it is - “sin”.  To know that God deeply loved you and me before we even came to be, and that He sent His only Son out from a perfect heavenly home to this fallen world for our salvation is simply overwhelming.  “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”  (John 3:16)  I am forever grateful for such a gift of love… and that He came to shower you and me with His limitless forgiveness, mercy and grace.
     And as we celebrate the death and triumphant resurrection of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, let us never forget the sacrifice He made for each of us.  Have a Blessed Easter!
     
    The Nail
    Linda A. Roorda
    Gripping the iron between my fingers
    I feel its cold and lifeless form,
    And it’s at this point my wandering thoughts
    Flash back in time to another day.
     
    Would I have taken that nail in my hand
    When before me lay a man condemned,
    Bruised and beaten, battered and bloody
    A man despised, forsaken and worn?
     
    But, in fact, I did.  I did take that nail.
    With hammer in hand I raised my arm,
    To pound that nail into flesh and bone
    And heard its ring bring pain and anguish.
     
    Deep in my heart, I knew it was wrong.
    He’d done no crime, no offense or harm.
    But with every strike my sins came to mind
    For I’m the one who nailed him to the cross.
     
    And yet with each pound his face was serene
    No anger or hate… but a tender deep love.
    With tears I confessed, “My sin nailed You there!”
    While He replied, “It’s for you I died.”
     
    “It’s for you I came.  For you I suffered.
    For your very soul I gave my all…”
    Death will not gain the heart of faith,
    The heart that to Him forever is pledged.
    ~~
    2017
    A version of this poem and personal reflection was initially posted on The Network, an online resource of the Christian Reformed Church.  
     
  20. Linda Roorda
    Treasures – we all have them… they’re what our hearts hold dear.  Treasures are often found within the important things of life – our family, friends, hobbies, and even little trinkets. Yet, what value do we give them?  Are they all encompassing, devouring our time and energy… or are they like gifts in the backdrop of a life rich and full from serving others?
    One of my favorite verses from childhood has been, “But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal.  For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”  (Matthew 6:20-21)  In all honesty, though, I have not always looked at life from that perspective.  But God never fails to bring something to mind which helps us remember His great and awesome treasure.
    I have many treasures, things I hold dear.  One special treasure is a small collection of Delftware.  Since both my husband and I are second-generation Americans of Dutch immigrants, I want to preserve our heritage.  Though patriotic American, I also value the Dutch as my most prominent ancestry.  My dad was full Dutch, while my mom is a mixture of many German/Swiss Palatines, a few Scots-Irish, English and French, and many early-17th century New Netherlands’ Dutch.  
    Yet, as much as I treasure my family and its heritage, this is not where my greatest treasure is found.  Instead, I have learned to “seek…first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness...”  (Matthew 6:33)  Storing up treasures through the gift of Christ’s love and sacrifice leaves me to understand everything else is simply an accumulation of stuff.  I can’t take any of it with me when I pass away from this earth. 
    By trusting, believing in, and accepting Jesus’ death and resurrection, we affirm His assertion to all the world that “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life.  No one comes to the Father except through me.”  (John 14:6)   Nor can we escape the simple truth that, as Jesus told his followers, “where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”  (Matthew 6:21, Luke 12:34)  That treasure I can take with me!  And may we always hold the greatest treasure this world has ever known close to our heart.
    Heaven’s Treasures
    Linda A. Roorda
     Treasures are in the heart’s secret things
    The special thoughts, the riches valued
    But whence the source a difference makes
    For what the heart seeks, there lies its treasure.
     
    What do I value above all the rest?
    What would I give for my heart to follow?
    What is the worth of a sacrifice
    Among life’s stuff that draws me away?
     
    Is it my self, an ego to fulfill,
    Or is the choice of eternal value?
    Do I hold tight trinkets of this world,
    Or release them all for greater reward?
     
    Within this life are choices to make
    Whom shall I follow, to whom give my heart?
    To that which I seek will loyalty go
    Whether in pleasure or by wisdom’s light.
     
    For what my heart seeks there is my treasure
    Hidden in depths of awe-filled wonder
    As I gaze upon heaven’s great glory
    The shining home where faith has been placed.
    ~~
     
  21. Linda Roorda
    (Originally published as front-page article in the local newspaper, Broader View Weekly, March 21, 2013. )
    My family’s memories: 
    Sharing about the old ways of collecting sap and making syrup brought to mind the stories my mother has shared over the years.  The Tillapaugh family of 12 children in Carlisle, New York made and sold maple syrup for several generations, and my cousins continue the annual tradition today.  My mother, Reba, and her younger sister, Lois, readily recall the childhood fun, albeit hard work, of helping their dad and older siblings during the 1930s and 1940s.  Lois shared with me, “As the youngest I did look forward to maple syrup time.  A lot of hard work, but worth it, with memories forever.” 
    Their dad and older brothers used a hand-turned brace to drill holes in about 300-plus trees.  They’d pound in the spiles from which buckets were hung, with lids placed by the younger girls.  When the sap ran, besides regular dairy farm chores and caring for a few thousand chickens, they had daily sap gathering.  This involved dumping each bucket’s worth into a holding tank on a large bobsled pulled by a team of black Shires (Dick and Daisy) or Belgians (Bunny, Nell, and Tub) on a trail through the woods.  My mother said that if rain got into the buckets it turned the sap brown, and they threw that out.  And, they often trekked the woods to gather sap with two or more feet of snow on the ground.
    Carlisle’s woods are not like those in our south-central finger lakes region.  Carlisle has rolling hills with limestone boulder outcroppings, many crevices and mini-caves.  With Howe’s Cavern near Cobleskill, the town of Carlisle and the Tillapaugh farm also have small caves with nooks and crannies throughout the woods.  There was a defined trail for the horses through the woods, but everyone had to walk carefully among the trees.  I remember as a child seeing a good-sized cave opening in the ground in the woodlot next to one of the farm pastures, so I can attest to their having had an interesting trek among the rocky outcroppings to collect sap.
    With a love for horses since my childhood when my father farmed with Belgians (and Clydesdales before marrying my mom), I can visualize the Tillapaugh’s harnessing their black Shires with flowing white “feathers” on the lower legs, listening to them clop along, stepping high in unison.  I can imagine the creaking harness and traces, maybe bells tinkling, the big sled’s runners scraping along a gravel road or gliding atop the snow. 
    At this point, my mother chuckled to recall a day she rode out on the sled carrying the sap tank with an older brother, Maynard.  When he jumped off as they went up a hill, the sap tank tilted and she fell off, the sled nearly running over her but Maynard stopped the horses just in time.  Another time, she got a tiny piece of metal in her eye from a bucket lid.  The doctor had a large magnet to draw the speck out, but she refused to let him, petrified it would pull her eye out!  She has no idea how the metal ever did get out of her eye, but there was no damage.
    When the holding tank was full, it was taken to the sap hut, and sap drained into one of two 4x8-10 foot evaporator pans over a wood fire.  I questioned her about the size of those pans, but she was adamant about the very large size.  Considering her memory has not failed her for other details, I saw online there were, indeed, evaporator pans this large.  The oldest brothers stayed at the sap hut boiling all night, often around the clock, watching the temperatures carefully with thermometers.  Lois also recalls their mother made lunches which the girls took out to their brothers.  
    My mother agreed with my aunt who said that “when the partially cooked syrup was ready, it was brought to the house in milk cans.  Mom would finish boiling it to the correct temperature over a kerosene stove in the summer kitchen, and strain it through felt into gallon glass jugs, mostly for home use, some to sell.”  My mom added, “Some syrup was boiled down more to make maple candy, or poured over the snow for a delicious sweet chewy treat.”
    Maple syrup helped their family deal with sugar shortages and rationing during the Great Depression and World War II.  At the end of the season came the hard work of cleaning all the equipment, repeated when the season started.
    After the youngest Tillapaugh brothers, Winfred and Floyd, retired and sold the family dairy herd in 1974, they built a modern and efficient sap hut closer to home.  Using both pails and plastic tubing, Floyd’s son, Duane, recalls other cousins helping them tap a few hundred trees in a venture which eventually grew to around 1000 trees.  “Back then, we put a pill in the drilled hole [to kill] bacteria.  I believe that’s illegal now.  We burned wood, but Dad rigged up a thing that would blow old motor oil in when it was close to syrup [stage] to make the fire hotter to push it to syrup.”  They sold syrup from home in pint, quart, half-gallon and gallon containers, also making maple cream and candy.  Their peak years produced about 200-250 gallons of syrup annually.  That was, indeed, a sizeable maple syrup operation!
    I researched online articles about the use of paraformaldehyde pills/tablets in the tap hole years ago.  Controversy has surrounded its benefits of cutting bacteria and helping the tapped tree heal versus the pills leading to fungi setting in with increased decay versus the fact that formaldehyde was making its way into food for human consumption.  Therefore, its use became illegal in the 1980s.
    Knowing that Native Americans made maple syrup centuries ago, I delved into their sugaring process.  They would make a slash in a sugar maple tree, collecting the sap as it dripped out.  Hollowed out logs were filled with fresh sap, and white-hot field stones were added to bring the sap to boil.  The Indians repeated this process until syrup stage was reached, or until they had crystallized sugar.  When the first Europeans arrived, the Indians traded maple sugar for other products, and taught their sugaring secrets to the new settlers.  
    Referred by my cousin, Bruce Tillapaugh, a retired Cooperative Extension agent, I contacted Stephen Childs, the New York Maple Specialist at Cornell University.  Childs said, “Cornell has a number of resources for backyarders and beginning maple producers.  Much of the information is available online at Cornell Maple.  We have a Beginner DVD and Cornell Maple Videos.  We hold many Beginner Workshops in the fall and winter.  A maple camp is held in June that is three full days of instruction for new commercial producers or small producers planning to expand.  There are recorded webinar programs online that interested persons can watch.”
    I also found a brochure online for the beginner written by a local resident:  “Maple Syrup Production for the Beginner” by Anni L. Davenport, School of Forest Resources, The Pennsylvania State University; Lewis Staats, Dept. of Natural Resources, Cornell University, Cornell Cooperative Extension, 1998.
    Maple syrup not only tastes good, but with a little more research, I learned it’s good for you!  It is a natural source of manganese and zinc, important for our immune defense systems.  Zinc is an antioxidant which protects our heart by decreasing atherosclerosis and helping prevent damage to the inner lining of blood vessels.  It is also known that a zinc deficiency can lead to a higher risk of prostate cancer.  Zinc supplementation is used by healthcare practitioners to help reduce prostate enlargement.  Studies have also found that adults with a deficiency in manganese have decreased levels of HDL, the good cholesterol.  Manganese helps lessen inflammation, key to healing.  Just one ounce of maple syrup holds 22% of the daily requirement of this key trace mineral. 
    Syrup also contains iron, calcium and potassium which help repair damaged muscle and cells.  It can settle digestive problems.  It can help keep bones strong and blood sugar levels normal, help keep white blood cell counts up to protect against colds and viruses, and maple syrup is not a common allergen.
    With all the goodness going for itself, 100% pure maple syrup is truly worth all that hard work!  Enjoy!
  22. Linda Roorda
    Cemetery records are another invaluable resource for your ancestry research.  Historical societies also retain cemetery records, or transcriptions, of virtually all old gravestones for every cemetery, large or small, within any given county.  Unfortunately, I have typically found this work to have been done several decades ago (often from early to mid-20th century), and desperately in need of updating.  However, with our modern technology, a great resource not available when I first began my research journey in the late 1990s is the Find-A-Grave website. 
    Cemetery associations maintain each cemetery, retaining records for all burials.  They can often provide more information from their records on the deceased than that which is on a headstone, including full dates of birth and death, and family relationships with parents’ names and/or name of the spouse.  On the other hand, I’ve also seen where my trip to a specific cemetery gave me more data on a gravestone than was written in the historical society’s record.  
    It is also well worth making a trip to the actual cemetery whenever possible.  On one trip, I walked up and down virtually every row of a very old, but still used, cemetery north of Cobleskill.  Frustrated at not finding specific ancestors, I decided to give it one last try and got out of the car, facing a short steep slope.  Climbing to the top of the little knoll, I walked directly into an unusual circular plot.  Peering closely at the stones, I had that “aha” moment – I’d found exactly what I was looking for!  For there were my mother’s grandparents and great-grandparents!  As a teen, my Mom would drive her mother to this spot to place flowers on family graves, but she was unable to recall exactly where to find the plot.
    While researching, it is helpful to know that a.e. (i.e. anno aetatis suae) on a gravestone is Latin for in the__  year of life versus age meaning year of age.  For example, you may see a stone with a date of death and age as follows:  Jan 10, 1834, a.e. 16y.  This indicates the deceased was in the 16th year of life; but, in reality, was 15 years old on the previous birthday before death.  You may also see the deceased’s date of death with age as follows:  d. June 15, 1827, 10y 3m 5d.  From this date, you can count backwards to the date of birth, i.e. b. March 10, 1817.  Take photos of gravestones for documentation, along with proof of the location of the stone(s) and exact cemetery of burial.
    In the case of very old stones from the 1700s and 1800s, I have done rubbings - either with washable chalk to make the eroding chiseled letters stand out, or by pencil rubbing on paper lain atop the sunken lettering when nothing else was available.  The latter gave me data on my ancestor, John Caldwell McNeill, that was not in the cemetery records.  I knew he was a sergeant in the New Hampshire Line, serving at Bunker Hill as per his pension file; but, a separate gravestone revealed these barely discernable words etched in stone by doing a pencil rubbing on paper:  “Corp.1, Co.1, N.Y. Regt. Rev War.”  Questioning what he was doing in a New York regiment, I spent the money to purchase his full  Revolutionary War pension application file. 
    I then read historical books about the Revolutionary War for their collateral documentation of the era.  Reading “The Spirit of Seventy-Six,” author Morris Commager confirmed that the New Hampshire unit was asked to join the above-noted New York regiment on a mission to Canada.  Records researched by Commager detailed how the men were captured, stripped of all clothes and possessions, and imprisoned on an island in the St. Lawrence with many soldiers dying.  The remaining soldiers were bought back in a cartel by Benedict Arnold and released to serve out their enlistment, confirmed by other reputable sources, including “Benedict Arnold’s Navy” by James L. Nelson – a really great read!  This all substantiated affidavits in John C.’s pension file and the story in a New Hampshire county historical book about the capture and release as celebrated annually by John C.’s friends and relatives who remained in Londonderry, NH after the Revolutionary War when he removed to Carlisle, Schoharie County, NY. 
    Although rare, cemetery records and gravestones do occasionally contain conflicting dates or errors.  A death certificate, if available, would be the more accurate record, along with collateral records.
    I have personally seen few errors in gravestone data, but one stands out as part of my documented and published research thesis.  My ancestor, Lt. Timothy Hutton (b. 1746) had a nephew Lt. Timothy Hutton (b. 1764), both serving in military units in New York.  A monument to my Lt. Timothy Hutton at Carlisle Rural Cemetery in Carlisle, Schoharie Co., NY credits his service under Capt. Gross of Willett’s Regiment in the Revolutionary War. 
    On checking roster records, two Lt. Timothy Huttons are listed in Col. Marinus Willett’s Regiment at the same time – one in Capt. Gross’s company, the other in Capt. Livingston’s.  Purchasing military records of my ancestor, with my editor supplying a copy of affidavits for the younger Hutton, provides our proof.  This documentation notes both Lt. Timothy Huttons served in Willett’s NY Regiment.  But, Lt. Hutton b. 1764 stated in affidavits he served under Capt. Gross, with other documentation noting he died in New Jersey, while his uncle, my ancestor, Lt. Hutton b. 1746, though not stating which captain he served under, is thus presumed to have served under Capt. Livingston as per the unit’s roster records.  My Timothy Hutton (b. 1764) was documented serving in Schoharie County, NY, settling and dying in Carlisle, my mother’s home town.  And so, I proved my Lt. Timothy Hutton did not serve under Capt. Gross as per his cemetery monument, but rather his nephew of the same name did.  With both men sharing the same name, it's no wonder the kind folks who put up his monument were confused!  
    There has also been a concerted effort over the last several years to put cemetery records online, a great aid in research, but you should still document and prove data accuracy because, again, I have seen errors.  As the years pass, more and more data is making its way online than was available before 2000 when I began my research.  Again, check out the Find-A-Grave website.  Through the kindness of many people, photos are taken of gravestones, and, along with data written on the monuments, are placed online.
    Obviously, not every grave is to be found, nor is all information and family data accurate as I recently discovered from someone’s erroneous tie to my paternal family which I personally knew to be absolutely false.  I emailed the contact person and did not receive a reply back; I don’t know if it was ever corrected online as I’ve not gone back.  But, admittedly, it is very rewarding to find a photo of just the grave you’ve been searching for!
    COMING NEXT:  Census Records.
  23. Linda Roorda

    The Adulteress

    By Linda Roorda,

    Forgiven!  Can you imagine how she must have felt?  So close to being condemned to death, now free to go… forgiven a heavy burden of sin… free to overcome her past… and free to share the love of her Savior with everyone she comes in contact with!
    “The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery… ‘In the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women.  Now what do you say?’  They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him.  But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger.  When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, ‘If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.’ Again, he stooped down and wrote on the ground.  At this, those who heard began to go away, one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there…”  (John 8:3-9)
    We’ve all done something in our past we’d just as soon forget.  We may still feel the sting of shame.  I can think of many public figures who disgraced themselves including President Nixon, Lance Armstrong, Pete Rose, Bill Cosby, Ravi Zacharias, and now New York’s Gov. Andrew Cuomo.  But, how much better that they and we face our wrongs… our sins… head on.  Admit them and repent, ask for forgiveness, stop blaming others, walk away from wrongful behaviors, and feel the loving grace of our Lord.
    So, what about the men who brought the adulteress woman to court?  Well… they simply walked away and left her standing alone with Jesus.  I’ve always wondered if Jesus was writing a list of their sins in the sand.  If so, that would have made them more than a little uneasy.  They would have stood in amazement, and perhaps felt shame as their secret thoughts and sins were written in the sand, available for all to read.  How did this man know so much about them?
    They had brought this woman to condemn her for adultery, a sin punishable by stoning to death.  And yet, where was the man from the tryst?  Didn’t his sin matter to them, too?  Or, was he among her accusers, blaming her?  Rather than face the depth of hypocrisy in their own heart, each man turned and simply walked away.  They didn’t want others to learn the weight of their own brokenness.  But, as they silently walked away, no contrite heart or apology was expressed.  Did they not realize that God sees and knows the truth?
    What a mockery they made of justice… fingers pointing at another while being guilty themselves.  So typical of abusers who hide behind their mask of piety.  They were so focused on trying to get Jesus to incriminate himself with a response, they didn’t understand the depth of their own sin.  They walked away from seeing who Jesus truly was, and their own need of grace. 
    Both civic and religious leaders fail us then as now.  Leaders who call themselves gifted exude an arrogance with pride. (Proverbs 16:18)  Leaders who fail to hold themselves and others around them accountable lack integrity and humility.  Often, they can be classified narcissistic, being more than simply self-centered.  They feel entitled to praise or special treatment.  They lack empathy, are abusive, liars who do not take responsibility for their own behavior, take advantage of others, lash out at criticism or perceive they’re not getting the attention they deserve with a behind-the-scenes retaliation and perpetual blame shifting.  Underneath the egotistic façade, they are usually deeply insecure and use a faux cover to present themselves as more worthy than they really are.
    Yet, what a powerful picture of mercy and grace Jesus gave us all as He forgave the woman.  All she had to do was repent.  In doing so, leaving her old life behind to follow the Teacher, our Lord, she would gladly share with others what He had done for her.
    Because she now had a future!  A life to look forward to!  She’d lived her past under whispered labels.  She’d heard the mocking voices deep in her soul… stupid, worthless, trash, adulteress, prostitute.  Yes, she’d lived a life of ill repute.  But, the Teacher… He respected her!  So, what did He see in her?  He saw someone who’d been taken advantage of to benefit others… someone weighed down by a heart of sorrow and shame… someone willing to openly shoulder responsibility for all of her own wrongs.
    This Teacher, the man named Jesus… He saw what she could be when cleansed of her past.  He saw her broken heart longing to be made whole.  He stood her up tall so she could start anew.  Just like our Lord does for us.  He forgives the heart that repents, no matter the charge… that longs to make amends… that longs for a closeness with God.  He holds out His hands to draw us near… setting us back up on our feet as He guides our path with flawless wisdom…  Forgiven!
     
    The Adulteress
    By Linda A. Roorda
     
    I met him today, the greatest Teacher!
    My life was a mess, but He picked me up.
    He gave me hope... He gave me vision.
    He freed my soul from sin’s dark snare.
     
    Dragging to court they brought me up front,
    My accusers smug turning to the crowd.
    With taunting words they scoffed and accused
    Revealing my life, my sin and my shame.
     
    How could I have reached such fallen depths?
    He told me he cared.  I believed his lies.
    His words were glib with flattery smooth
    But now I was caught, ensnared in a trap.
     
    Stating that stoning was punishment fit
    They asked the Teacher his thoughts on the law.
    Instead He stooped and commenced to write
    Words hid from others, known only to them.
     
    Yet, as they questioned, He continued to write.
    On standing tall, He peered in their eyes.
    “If any one of you lives without sin,
    Let him be the one who casts the first stone.”
     
    Slowly the elders and then the younger
    Quietly fled until only two,
    The Teacher and I, we alone stood still.
    From silence He spoke, my soul deeply touched…
     
    “Woman, where are they?  Have any condemned?”
    Glancing around, “No one,” said I.
    “Then neither do I.  I condemn you not.
    Go, and leave your sin.  Forgiven are you.”
    ~~
    08/05/17
  24. Linda Roorda
    Many communities in states above the Mason-Dixon line had safe homes to assist slaves fleeing north to freedom, like Portland, Maine.  A center of activity, the city was important to blacks fleeing slavery for not only safe homes enroute to Canada, but also employment in the rail and shipping industries.
    Recently, I learned from friends near Portland, Maine that the city’s Underground Railroad Abyssinian Meeting House/Church, built during 1828-1831, is undergoing restoration.  Noted to be “Maine’s oldest African-American church building and third oldest [standing African-American meeting house] in the nation”, it held worship services, abolition and temperance meetings, Portland Union Anti-Slavery Society, a school for blacks from 1846 until the 1856, and much more.  Recognized as Maine’s only Underground Railroad site by the National Park Service, it is also on the National Register of Historic Places.  (Wikipedia)
    The Abyssinian church was dealt a devastating blow, however, when the SS Portland sank off Cape Ann in 1898, taking 17 male parishioners.  One of New England’s largest ocean steamers with side-mount paddlewheels, she provided a luxury service for passengers between Boston, MA and Portland, ME.  When the powerful “Portland Gale” blizzard struck the New England coast November 26-27, 1898, more than 400 people and 150 vessels were lost.  (Wikipedia)
    Locally, Tioga County, New York can also claim involvement in the Underground Railroad.  But, as historian, Ed Nizalowski, noted online, “…as is the case in so many other parts of the country, actual documentation and credible evidence for involvement can be very difficult to verify.”  According to Nizalowski, Hammon Phinney of the Baptist Church in Owego, NY was a strong leader among local abolitionists.  Meetings in Owego, as elsewhere, throughout the 1830s and 1840s were rife with “wild confusion and violence.”  Frederick Douglass was forced to cancel speaking engagements “for fear of his physical safety” in 1840, though he did return in 1857, and Garret/Gerrit Smith was hit with eggs. 
    Nizalowski’s research uncovered four homes on Front Street in Owego which are known to have been involved in the Underground Railroad – Nos. 100, 294, 313, and 351.  “At 294 Front Street, a building once owned by the Eagles Club, a brick lined tunnel had been found running along the north wall.”  He also stated that No. 351 Main Street “has the best evidence for being a station for fugitive slaves.”  It was owned previously by Judge Farrington, “a prominent Abolitionist,” and by Hammon Phinney, with the house having “a hidden space in the cellar.”  Nizalowski avers that Phinney’s work as a stationmaster was learned primarily when the property was sold.  “In 1867 when the Hastings family bought the property from Frederick Phinney, Hammon's son, the new owners were told that the home had served as a station for fugitive slaves.  This story was passed on for over 100 years.  The best evidence for Hammon being a stationmaster comes from his obituary that appeared on March 3, 1898 where it also states that his home served as a station.  This is one of the few written references from the 19th century identifying a specific individual.” 
    Tioga County homes in Newark Valley, Berkshire and Richford may well have been involved in the Underground Railroad as Nizalowski pointed out.  There may have been additional safe houses in local communities. Though I have heard of homes used for the Underground Railroad in our town of Spencer, NY, I have no personal knowledge.  I do know the McQuigg house built in 1830s where our house stands today had servants’ quarters; whether they were whites or free blacks I have no knowledge.  At the far eastern corner of the kitchen was a staircase with a door. Taking the stairs up, there was an open area with two separate rooms and a small sitting area, closed off from the other rooms by a different type of door with a different type of latch. Sadly, since the house foundation beams had dry rot, and the structure itself was caving in, the house was not deemed appropriate for renovation by our bank.
    Typically, local history is only gained through stories passed down within families which attest to involvement in the underground.  But there was definitely assistance and support for abolition work throughout our region of New York state, both financially and physically.
    Writing in 2002 for Elmira’s “The Jones Museum” website, Barbara S. Ramsdell quoted Arch Merrill’s book, “The Underground, Freedom’s Road, and Other Upstate Tales.”  “Jones quietly took command of the Underground in Elmira, a gateway between the South and the North.  It became the principal station on the ‘railroad’ between Philadelphia and the Canadian border.  Jones worked closely with William Still, the chief Underground agent in Philadelphia, who forwarded parties of from six to 10 fugitives at a time to Elmira...  The station master concealed as many as 30 slaves at one time in his home, exactly where he never told.  He carried on his operations so secretly that only the inner circle of abolitionists knew that in a decade he dispatched nearly 800 slaves to Canada.”  
    As noted in Part III, I had discovered while researching and reading various books and websites that the Abolitionist Movement and the Underground Railroad are intertwined with the beginnings of the Women’s Rights Movement.  It was a time in history when many good people of faith were not inclined to confront the evils of slavery; it was just the normal way of life, or so they believed.  And, for the most part, it was felt that the place of women was in the home or in limited occupations, often not even given as good an education as their brothers.  It was an era when those opposed to owning another human clashed definitively with those opposed to slavery’s demise. 
    Though slavery has been around since early historical times, even in Biblical history, how thankful we are that some felt a calling in their heart to honor God’s love for all by working tirelessly to free those in slavery.  Were it not for the ardent religious beliefs, persistence and sacrifices of the abolitionists, men and women, white and black, who carried on their work despite great opposition, slavery might have lasted far longer in this nation than it actually did… and thank God it did come to an end.
    Yet, as stated in my preface, slavery is still a lucrative venture around the world, including in our own America.  Under various guises, slavery flourishes in over 100 countries with India, China, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Uzbekistan, and North Korea topping the lists… all for the financial profits gained.  Adult and child sex trafficking (especially of women and young girls), drug trafficking, forced child labor, debt bondage, unlawful recruitment of children for war, and domestic service slavery, are just  a few of the repulsive categories.
    I began this series by noting Martin Luther King, Jr. had said, “We are determined to work and fight until justice rains down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream.”  Paraphrasing Amos 5:24, King did just that with God at his side to challenge us to seek justice.  May we do the same.  Never forgetting, we do not erase history.  Without the knowledge and ability to learn from injustice, we are destined to repeat.
    Knowing slavery continues in our world today, may we have hearts that care enough to help in some way.  One avenue we can take to help stop enslavement is by donating to a charity of our choice which specifically works to educate the public and free those held in bondage.  For example, our charity of choice is Samaritan’s Purse, begun by Franklin Graham, son of the Rev. Billy Graham.
    Among the innumerable famous and little-known Blacks who have brought betterment to our world are the following few:
    1. George Washington Carver (1864-1943) – born into slavery, an artist, botanist, teacher, agricultural scientist and inventor with extensive research on over 300 uses for peanuts; created Tuskegee Institute Movable School to teach modern agricultural techniques and tools to farmers in Alabama and around the world.
    2. Edward Bouchet (1852-1918) - son of former enslaved parent, removed to New Haven, CT; accepted at Yale, first African American to earn a Ph.D., 6th American to earn this degree in physics.
    3. Jean Baptiste Point du Sable (1745?-1818) – from Haiti, first to establish a permanent settlement at Chicago, a man of great reputable character and business acumen.
    4. Matthew Alexander Henson (1866-1955) - son of free-born tenant farmers; ran away from abusive home at 11; traveled with Robert Peary in 1891 on first of several trips to Greenland; Peary and Henson took their final trip in 1909; Henson set foot on North Pole first; returning home, Peary took all credit with Henson’s achievements ignored as a Black man.
    5. Bessie Coleman (1892 -1926) - one of 13 children born to Indigenous father and African American mother; educating herself, graduated from high school; not accepted at flight school being black and female, saved money for training in France; first Black woman to earn her pilot’s license in the world.
    6. Lewis Latimer (1848-1928) - son of self-liberated parents, Chelsea, MA; served in U.S. Navy during Civil War; a draftsman with numerous inventions, including filament system to keep carbon filament in lightbulbs lasting longer, only Black member of Thomas Edison’s elite team; improved design of railroad car bathroom and early air conditioning unit.
    7. Jane Bolin (1908-2007) - first Black woman graduate of Yale Law School; first Black woman judge in 1939; with Eleanor Roosevelt, created intervention program to keep young boys from committing crimes.
    8. Alice Allison Dunnigan (1906-1983) – first African-American female White House correspondent; first Black female in Senate and House of Representatives press corps; chief of Associated Negro Press in 1947; served under Pres. John F. Kennedy as education consultant for President’s Committee on Equal Employment Opportunity until 1965.
    9. Wangari Maathai (1940-2011) - first Black woman to win 2004 Nobel Peace Prize for environmental work in Kenya; social, environmental and political activist; founded Green Belt Movement, planting trees.
    10. Irene Morgan Kirkaldy (1907-2007) – July 1944 arrested for refusing to give up bus seat in Virginia; convicted in County Circuit Court, appealed decision to Virginia Supreme Court; Supreme Court ruled in her favor June 3, 1946 aided by Thurgood Marshall and the NAACP.
    11. Claudette Colvin (1939-) - 15-year-old who refused to give up bus seat March 2, 1955, arrested 9 months before Rosa Parks; main witness in federal suit, Browder v. Gayle, ending public transportation segregation in Alabama.
    12. Amelia Boynton Robinson (1911-2015) - tireless advocate for civil rights; first African-American woman in Alabama to run for Congress in 1964; worked with Martin Luther King, Jr. to plan march from Selma to Montgomery on March 7, 1965, severely injured; received Martin Luther King Jr. Freedom Medal in 1990.
    13. Rebecca Lee Crumpler (1831-1895) - earned MD in 1864, first African-American woman physician in U.S.; wrote and published “Book of Medical Discourses in Two Parts”, first medical text authored by African-American.
    14. Otis Boykin (1920-1982) – with 26 patents, developed IBM computers, and circuitry improvements for pacemakers.
    15. Charles Drew (1904-1950) – physician, surgeon, medical researcher with discoveries in blood transfusions, developed large-scale blood banks, blood plasma programs, and bloodmobiles for Red Cross.
    16. Jesse Ernest Wilkins, Jr. (1923-2011) – a genius, youngest student ever at age 13 to enter University of Chicago, earning bachelor, master, and doctorate degree in math at age 19; nuclear scientist, mechanical engineer and mathematician; published papers in mathematics, optics, and nuclear engineering; perfected lens design in microscopes and ophthalmologic uses; involved in Manhattan Project with future Nobel laureate Eugene Wigner with significant contributions to nuclear-reactor physics.
    17.“Hidden Figures: The American Dream and the Untold Story of the Black Women Who Helped Win the Space Race” is a 2016 nonfiction book by Margot Lee Shetterly. It tells about the lives of Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, and Mary Jackson, three mathematicians who worked as computers (then a job description) at NASA during the space race. They overcame discrimination to solve problems for engineers and others at NASA. For the first years of their careers, the workplace was segregated and women were kept in the background as human computers. Author Shetterly's father was a research scientist at NASA who worked with many of the book's main characters. These three historical women overcame discrimination and racial segregation to become American achievers in mathematics, scientific and engineering history. The main character, Katherine Johnson, calculated rocket trajectories for the Mercury and Apollo missions. Johnson successfully "took matters into her own hands" by being assertive with her supervisor; when her mathematical abilities were recognized, Katherine Johnson was allowed into all male meetings at NASA.  (Wikipedia)
    BOOKS I’VE READ:
    *Abide With Me, A Photographic Journey Through Great British Hymns, by John H. Parker, New Leaf Press, Green Forest, AR, 2009.
    *Bound for Canaan, The Epic Story of the Underground Railroad, America’s First Civil Rights Movement, by Fergus M. Bordewich, HarperCollins Publishers, New York, NY, 2005.
    *Gateway to Freedom, by Eric Foner, W. W. Norton & Company, New York, NY, 2015.
    *Harriet Tubman, Conductor on the Underground Railroad, by Ann Petry, Harper Trophy of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc., New York, NY, 1955.
    *The Island at the Center of the World, by Russell Shorto, Vintage Books Edition, New York, NY, 2005.
    A FEW OF MY WEBSITE SOURCES:
    *“Absence of Malice” (Adapted from “Lincoln’s Greatest Speech:  The Second Inaugural” by Ronald C. White, Jr.) in Smithsonian, April 2002, p.119.
    *“The Underground Railroad in Tioga County, A Piece of History With Many Gaps to Fill” by Ed Nizalowski.
    *John W. Jones Museum, Elmira, NY - “Our purpose is to preserve… related artifacts in memory of his role and the roles of others in the Southern Tier involved in the Underground Railroad and the American Civil War.”
    *Freedom Quilts – “The History of The American Quilt: Part One (Early African American Quilts) - Pattern Observer. History of the American quilt” by Molly Williams.
  25. Linda Roorda
    Each one of us encounters failures and losses in life.  Each one of us encounters disabilities in ourselves or those around us.  But it’s what we do with, and how we react to, all that comes our way that makes a difference... in our lives and in the lives of others.  We can carry on with selfish pride in what we can do, we can roll over in defeat at failure... or we can face the challenge in humility, asking God to guide us along a broken and difficult path.
    For 27 years (from 1982 to 2009), we burned wood to heat our house.  When my gentle giant husband, Ed, farmed with his dad, he cut his own firewood with a chainsaw despite limited vision of 2/200 with correction in only one viable eye.  Came the day, though, that Ed lost the balance of his limited vision, and was completely blind.  He could no longer use a chainsaw after the first several years, and later had to stop using an axe to split wood, and it remained to be seen how he would handle the other obstacles that faced him being totally blind. 
    Initially, he went through a difficult transition and grieving process, common to all with any serious loss.  None of us knew how best to handle the change.  It was a learn-as-you-go process until we found professional guidance specifically for the blind at A.V.R.E. in Binghamton, NY and The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, MA.  And then, his old self rose up to meet the challenges, determined to do whatever he could to face whatever came his way… with a catch.
    As he stacked firewood one day without any remaining fragments of light and color to guide him, the rows kept collapsing.  He simply could not get the pieces of wood to fit together well enough to stay in neat upright rows.  In utter frustration, he sat down and put his head in his hands, feeling like an utter failure.  All of his life he’d had to struggle with limited vision, being classified legally blind from infancy on.  He struggled in the classroom, not being able to see the board, often refusing to ask for help.  He wanted to be just like everyone else.
    Most of us can tackle any activity, job or hobby with ease.  But my Ed was denied what he longed to do… he couldn’t play football or basketball with his 6’7” height.  He could swim like a pro, but wasn’t allowed on the team for fear he’d hurt himself or others if he strayed from his lane.  Instead, the coach made him manager of their state division championship team from Warwick, NY.  But, at other times, peers mocked and belittled him.  Why couldn’t he be accepted just for who he was?  Why did everything have to be so hard?  Why couldn’t life be easier and simpler… like it was for everyone else?  It wasn’t fair, he thought.
    Yet, he had accomplished so much with so little for so many years!  He could milk the cows, climb the silos, drive tractor and do all the field work except plant corn, and that was only because he couldn’t see where the last row left off.  With his limitations, he knew to be extra cautious and it always paid off.  But, now it seemed that even this last bit of enjoyment in stacking firewood was being taken from him, too. 
    Except, while sitting there, with the wood he’d stacked falling down, he decided to pray and ask God for help in this seemingly simple, but now very challenging task.  He prayed that God would guide each piece of wood he picked up so it would fit and the rows wouldn’t fall down… so that he could stack the wood himself without having to ask yet again for more help.  As he stood up and once again picked up the firewood, he soon realized that every piece he stacked fit… well, actually, fit perfectly!  When he was done, his rows stood straight and tall without collapsing! 

    And then he began hearing comments from neighbors who marveled at how great his stacked firewood looked.  By a man who couldn’t see, no less!  As Ed told anyone who commented, “It wasn’t me; it was God.”  It was only after he prayed each time before he picked up the first piece of wood that he was able to manage this seemingly impossible task.  But, if he forgot and just delved right in to stacking, the wood invariably collapsed… until he sat down and had a little talk with God.
    My poem below is reminiscent of a story floating around the internet of violinist Itzhak Perlman performing with a broken violin string.  Though that feat was unable to be confirmed by reliable sources, the concept is worthy of illustrating our brokenness in disability.  Another young man, Niccolo` Paganini, was an Italian child prodigy who played mandolin and violin from ages 5 and 7 respectively.  Supposedly, he once played with three broken strings, refusing to allow the handicap to end his serenade.  Paganini excelled in part because of Marfan’s Syndrome which gave him his height and extra long fingers, a genetic syndrome also found in our families.  The elasticity of joints and tissues allowed Paganini the flexibility to bend and extend his fingers beyond the norm as he used the disability to his benefit.
    Like Ed and others with disabilities, we can either resent our situation or we can have a little talk with God, asking Him to guide us through whatever we face. 
    The Broken String
    Linda A. Roorda
     
    Four strings create beautiful music
    Perfection in pitch, magnificent tone
    All they expect, not asking for more
    Performing with pride just as it should be.
     
    Pulling the bow across the taut strings
    Gently at first, then faster I stroke
    The symphonic sound brings tears to their eyes
    This is my gift to their list’ning ears.
     
    Closing my eyes to the beauty of sound
    Caressing the strings, deep feelings evoked
    From graceful and light to dramatic and rich
    Till one string popped, now what shall I do?
     
    Adversity gives a chance to prove worth
    As now I’ve lost a string that flails free.
    In silence all eyes are riveted on me;
    Would I be angry or would I accede?
     
    Silently I prayed, God give me the strength
    I’ve been disabled, humbled before all.
    Help me I pray to carry on well
    Let them now see You working through me.
     
    Adjusting my bow and fingers for sound
    Quickly I learned to amend my strokes,
    As to my ears a beautiful tune
    Emanates yet while focused on God.
     
    When the finale at last had arrived
    With a soft sigh I played my last note,
    And as it faded they rose to their feet
    With wild applause from their hearts to mine.
     
    Perhaps it was all intended to reach
    This attitude of pride within myself.
    A lesson was learned in how to react,
    Adversity’s gift to sink or to soar.
     
    For without You what does my life mean?
    What value is placed on my outward skills?
    Do You not, Lord, see deep in my heart
    Where my soul reflects my pride or Your grace?
     
    My attitude then a choice I must make
    Embrace gratitude or sink in despair.
    For I cannot change what happens to me
    Instead I’ll play while focused on You.
     
    Humility grows by resigning pride
    As a broken string reflects trials of life.
    Others I’ll serve as You did for me
    For in You is found the selfless way of life.
    ~~
    First published as a shorter version in the Spring issue of “Breaking Barriers”, March 2016,
    for the Christian Reformed Church newsletter and online Network website.
     
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