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Linda Roorda

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  1. Linda Roorda

    My Advocate

    By Linda Roorda,

    We’ve all heard the old adage that there are two sides to every story, and a classic trial brings that point out vividly.  I’ve served on three juries in the past – one clearly guilty, one given a lesser settlement than desired, and one clearly not guilty.  It’s an honor to be selected to sit with peers to carefully review and ponder the facts of the case as presented by the respective attorneys, and to be responsible for the right verdict.  Certainly, some have abused the trial-by-jury system and condemned truly innocent folks, but more often than not it has been an equitable and fair justice system.
    The legal teams for the defendant and the plaintiff each present salient points to be considered, arguing their case convincingly with evidence and witnesses.  Once the case has been handed over to the jury, it’s up to these 12 peers to discuss evidence presented and determine guilt or innocence.  For the most part, at each trial, we jurors could tell early on where the truth lay.  We also brought along our own life experiences and knowledge which helped weigh the evidence from both sides.  In one trial, for example, the farming background I and another gentleman had made all the difference in helping others understand more fully the veracity of certain aspects which had been presented during the trial.
    But sometimes it seems that a trial with its accusations is like that voice in my head reminding me of how guilty I am.  It’s Satan pointing out all of my sins… one after another, stacked high, like a mountain tall.  The right way to live is spelled out in the Ten Commandments, in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, and scattered all throughout Scripture.  But I’m also well aware that I cannot keep God’s commands and expectations to live a pure and holy life.  I have a serious debt which I can never repay.
    So, what am I to do? Go to the Lord, confess my sins and failures, and accept God’s love and forgiveness, for nothing I could ever do will wash away my guilt.  My favorite verse since childhood has been – “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”  (John 3:16 KJV)  
    Jesus took the punishment I deserved on that fateful day we call Good Friday.  He was put on trial, a one-sided sham of justice.  He was whipped, mocked, and nailed to a cross… not for anything He had done for He was sinless, faultless, perfect… fully human, yet fully God.  But He did that for me.  He willingly took my place, giving His life to purchase my right to join Him in heaven forever.  His mercy and grace bring me to tears.  Someday I will stand before Almighty God, my judge, to give an account of my life.  I will have nothing to say in my defense… except that I put faith in my advocate, Jesus, who will be standing at my side, declaring me guiltless because He has already paid for my sins… with His own life… my Savior. 
    My Advocate
    Linda A. Roorda 
    With accusations I’m now confronted
    No plea have I but guilty as charged
    I hang my head to litany stark
    And with quiet shame my accuser I face.
     
    It once had seemed the world was my own
    I learned the games to lie and to cheat
    I did not care if others were hurt
    As long as my will and goals were achieved.
     
    But in the spiral of downward tumble
    I lost the vision I’d once beheld
    A purer focus, others before self
    Humble respect in tangled webs lost.
     
    And one by one as charges were read
    I clearly recalled the past with deep pain
    Words now regretted, carelessly spoken
    How could I ever repair what I’d done?
     
    In my despair while under scrutiny
    My only hope was to beg for mercy
    That perhaps some deed along the way
    Would balance the book, the ledger of sin.
     
    But, alas, I heard the judge declare
    Guilty as charged; no mercy be shown.
    Like rock upon rock my sins were stacked high
    As I stared upon that mountain of debt.
     
    Just then the doors were flung open wide
    And striding forth came a man in pure white
    Boldly he exclaimed, “This debt has been paid!”
    “I hung on the cross, and took all the shame.”
     
    Slowly I sank to my knees in awe.
    Who was this man who gave all for me?
    How could he give his life for my debt?
    For I can’t repay such a merciful gift.
     
    Reaching out gently he pulled me up straight
    And showed me his scars and nail-pierced hands
    He held out his arms in welcome embrace
    As he dried my tears and declared me free.
     
    I love you my child… I did this for you.
    I carried your shame upon my beaten back.
    I purchased your soul with life-giving blood
    That you might have life with mercy and grace.
     
    Now all I ask is by faith you walk
    Bring to the world compassion and peace
    Carry my light to the corners dark
    Open your heart to love and forgive.
    ~~
  2. Linda Roorda
    I’ve had Tourette’s since age 10-11, starting within a year after my family moved from farms in upstate New York to city life in Clifton, New Jersey… the city where I was born and my dad grew up.  It was an extremely emotional, disruptive time in my life to leave behind my close friends and the country life I loved and preferred.
    I’ve shared my story before, but it bears repeating because I am not alone and I wish to encourage others. And actually, I have been contacted privately by a few with Tourette's, sharing their story.  Tourette Syndrome Awareness Month is from May 15 to June 15, with the annual Tourette Syndrome Awareness Day on June 7, 2023.  Tourette Syndrome was named for a French neurologist, Dr. Georges Gilles de la Tourette.  He was the first to describe children and adults with specific tic movements in 1884, publishing his study about this syndrome in 1885.
    I’d always believed it was the stress from moving to city life which precipitated my tics. I now understand there is often a genetic component, though I have no idea who may have had it in any older generation.  Most of my life I’ve been embarrassed and ashamed to admit I had Tourette’s.  Nor did my parents know what to do about it.  I was initially mocked, and quickly learned to hide or camouflage the tics with movements that wouldn’t be as readily obvious.  I am constantly “on alert”.  Though I can generally successfully “hide” the tics (or so I think), they have to have an out and are worse when I’m away from the public eye or under stress.
    I’ve called the tics “my habit”, but never had a diagnosis until reading a letter in a Dear Abby column in my early 20s.  Self-diagnosing from the apt description in that letter and response by the columnist, I felt such a relief to know my affliction had a name!  Still, I only shared this information with my husband and closest family. Though embarrassed and ashamed to see myself with tic movements in a family video, I have not let Tourette’s control my life or employment.  I was also afraid of passing it on to my children, but I wanted and was blessed with a family.  I’m aware of the tics, and am able to control them… but only somewhat.  And I’m also thankful they are considered “simple” tics. 
    Just as I’ve been ashamed of my movements, so my late husband was ashamed of being legally blind growing up.  (He read and approved this when I initially wrote it.)  He couldn’t see the school blackboard with his limited vision, even sitting in the front row, and would not ask for the help he needed.  Kids don’t want to be different from their peers.  When they have a noticeable difference, they are too often teased or mocked like my husband was, and become ashamed of who they are… sometimes with devastating effects, like suicide.  It’s up to us as adults, and even children, to be aware of the issues that others around us are dealing with.  If we provide support, acceptance, and encouragement, we will see ourselves for who we truly are - uniquely created in the image of God, and very loved.
    While subbing one day, I was surprised by a young student who kindly asked, “Do you have Tourette’s?”  Seeing no point in denying the obvious to those sweet innocent eyes, I replied, “Yes, I do.  But how do you know about Tourette’s?”  She’d watched a show.  As kids do, they talked amongst themselves and others began asking me questions.  This led to their teacher setting aside time so I could share what I knew about living with Tourette’s.  I answered their many questions as several added they knew someone with Tourette’s, too!  It was an informative session, endearing these students to me for their kindness and understanding.  They simply accepted me for who I am, just as I accept each of them.
    Tourette Syndrome is one type of tic disorder, meeting certain medical criteria of involuntary, repetitive movements and vocalizations, lasting for specific lengths of time.  My “simple” tics include, but are not limited to, sudden brief, repetitive movements of certain muscle groups like hard eye blinking or scrunching (the first symptom for most, including myself), facial, mouth, and head movements, shoulder shrugging, arm, hand and finger movements, head and shoulder jerking, leg and foot movements, throat clearing, repeating words or phrases verbally (or in my mind), and more.  I have an arthritic bony prominence of my collarbone from decades-long shoulder shrugs, and thoracic spine pain/arthritis from prior movements.  Tics wax and wane, change muscle groups at whim, and become worse under stress.
    Though the tics have never gone away, they often subside, albeit briefly, when I’m fully absorbed in hobbies like singing, sleeping or painting.  Totally absorbed while playing intently with my toddler son years ago, my step-mother commented that my tics had totally stopped during that brief window of time.  That was the first time I realized there really were times when “my habit” stopped!
    Tourette Syndrome is a neurodevelopmental disorder with typical onset in childhood or adolescence.  Chemical imbalances in the brain, environmental factors, or genetics are considered causative factors.  There is no cure, but there are some treatment options.  About 35 years ago, I was officially diagnosed by a neurologist and prescribed medication.  Unfortunately, taking just half a pill of the smallest dose, the dopey side effect for me was much worse than dealing with the tics, so I declined further medication.
    I do not have “complex” tics which include distinct patterns with multiple muscles and movements, hopping and twirling, head banging, and more.  Vocal tics can include sniffing, throat clearing, shouting, saying words or phrases, and repeating what was heard.  Though swearing and unacceptable language are found in a small percentage of Tourette cases, the media often describes coprolalia as a more common symptom.  My heart goes out to those with this more severe and disruptive range of tics, some of whom may qualify for disability benefits.  Many with Tourette’s also have other diagnoses including obsessive-compulsive disorder, hyperactivity (possibly me), attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder, and learning disabilities. 
    Guidepost magazine once featured contemporary Christian music singer, Jamie Grace, sharing her diagnosis of Tourette’s.  Reading the article about her, I burst into tears just to know that someone else has it but has not let it stop her from living a full life either.  I always felt so alone, never knowing anyone else with Tourette’s until I opened up about it a few years ago here on Facebook.
    Looking at this from God’s perspective, I find it comforting to know He sees me for who I am, Tourette’s and all.  He has a greater purpose for our lives as we bring honor and glory to Him in all that we do, even with our limitations.  Often, as we go through the trials of life, that’s when we learn how to trust and rely on the Lord the best.  In overcoming our own problems, God uses us and our difficult circumstances to reach others who may be dealing with similar issues, bringing love and comfort to them in a way that is as unique as we are each gifted individually.
    Sharing my brief story on the Tourette Association’s website to encourage others, you can check it out here, and read about the road others have traveled and learn more information at the Tourette Syndrome website tourette.org.
  3. 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.
     
  4. Linda Roorda

    My Shepherd You Are

    By Linda Roorda,

    I struggle with remembering to take life one day at a time, even though I often reference it in my writings. Maybe you too? It’s a daily learning process to release my cares to God. With my husband's need for nursing home rehab, I’ve panicked and become fearful of the unknown future… will he do well, rebuild muscle to regain strength enough to return home… or will he need long-term skilled nursing care… a frightening unknown future for both of us.
    But then, I remember, trust God – for He has it all under control. He knows the plans He’s already put in motion for me and Ed, individually and as a couple.  “’For I know the plans I have for you,’” declares the Lord, “’plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” (Jeremiah 29:11)  For “He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.” (Isaiah 40:11)
    I’m not alone!  When I wander with frets and worries, He pursues me… He comes seeking and calling me back closer to Himself… as I then look to Him for guidance, comfort, and peace.
    Interestingly, our friend and pastor, Charlie (and Natalie) Hale, from Maine, unknowingly confirmed my choice of this blog by sending us his own words of comfort to me and Ed about Psalm 23 last Thursday.  He wrote, “God knows we can be afraid and He has promised to take care of us through everything that comes our way. Keeping our focus on God who has promised: “Yet in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.  For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:37-39)  We can trust that we are safe in the hands of God come what may because we know we are His and no one is able to snatch us out of His hands. (John 10:29)  Thank you, Charlie, for reminding us of our Lord’s precious care as Shepherd.
    As I wrote back in 2014, Psalm 23 has been a favorite sacred poem to many of us, a calming reassurance, bringing peace to our soul when we face difficult days.  What better way for the psalmist David to have described the loving protection and care of him by our, Lord, than through this Psalm based on what he knew firsthand as a Shepherd!
    My poem below is an interpretative attempt to rephrase David’s work with wording from my heart, and not to take anything away from the original.  My hope is that it still reflects the intent of David’s beautiful words, the thoughts and feelings that he conveyed as he spoke from his own experience as a shepherd before God promoted him as king over Israel. 
    For we need a shepherd, too… because, like sheep, we’re prone to wander off to that which beckons and appeals to us.  Yet, we can be so unaware of the dangers which lie ahead on our path.  With a friend and neighbor who raises sheep, it’s amazed me to learn how “dumb” sheep really can be.  They’re followers, like Mary’s little lamb – where one goes, the rest are sure to follow… even into danger.  Sheep need a shepherd to protect and shelter them from the elements and storms… someone to guide them to the best pasture and water... to pull them back when they start to wander away.  They need a shepherd to prevent dangerous predators from attacking the weakest or those grazing on the outskirts of the flock.  They need someone to assist at early spring lambing to assure all goes well; and to see that when a mother abandons one of her twins or triplets, the little one is adopted by another caring mother or cared for and fed by their loving shepherd.  Simply put, sheep need someone they trust completely to care about their every need.
    In my teens, I raised a lamb, a twin abandoned by her mom.  I fed little “Lambie” with a baby bottle from my baby brother, made sure her water bucket had fresh clean water, brought hay for her to munch on, took her outside to graze on fresh grass in our backyard while keeping an ever-watchful eye out to protect her as she investigated and jumped around, seeing how much her shepherdess cared for and loved her.
    Having cared for a little lamb, I can truly appreciate the imagery of Jesus as my Shepherd, listening for His voice of wisdom, and feeling His love guiding and protecting me.  The hard part for us, though, is being sure to follow Him...
    My Shepherd You Are
    Linda A. Roorda
    (Based on Psalm 23) 
    My Shepherd You are, protector and shield
    Providing my needs for body and soul.
    You cover with peace so I will not fear
    You give my soul rest, contentment to know.
     
    Your Word is my light on this path of life
    That Your love I may show to all those I meet.
    Yet when sorrow comes to wrap in despair
    May I ever know it will not destroy.
     
    Though in the valley, death I may face
    You walk beside me with comfort and peace.
    For calm is my heart when focused on you
    As with me you stay ever at my side.
     
    Whenever I stray enticed by sweet ways
    Your directing words still guide me in love.
    My faith you reward among all my foes
    As blessings pour out, my life overflows.
     
    Your loving goodness with mercy and grace
    Will follow my days of life on this earth.
    For within your house, oh Lord I shall dwell
    To sing your praise now and evermore.
     
    Lover of my soul guiding my steps
    Seeking my heart when wand’ring I stray
    Bringing me joy to follow Your path
    My Shepherd You are, protector and shield.
    ~~
  5. Linda Roorda
    Today, I’d like to share something close to my heart.  Tourette Syndrome Awareness Month is May 15 to June 15, with the annual Tourette Syndrome Awareness Day on June 12, 2022.  Tourette Syndrome was named for a French neurologist, Dr. Georges Gilles de la Tourette, the first to describe children and adults with specific tic movements in 1884, publishing his study about this syndrome in 1885.
    I’ve had Tourette’s since age 10-11, starting within a year after my family moved from farms in upstate New York to city life in Clifton, New Jersey… the city where I was born and my dad grew up, and where his family lived.  It was an extremely emotional, disruptive time in my life to leave behind my close friends and the country life I loved.
    I’ve always believed it was that stress which precipitated my tics, but now understand there is a genetic component, though I have no idea who had it in an older generation.  Most of my life I’ve been embarrassed and ashamed to admit I have Tourette’s. Nor did my parents know what to do about it. I was initially mocked, and quickly learned to hide or camouflage the tics with movements that wouldn’t be recognized as readily.  I am constantly “on alert”.  Though I can generally successfully “hide” the tics, or so I think, they have to have an out and are worse when I’m away from the public eye. 
    I’ve called the tics my “habit”, but never had a diagnosis until reading a letter in either Dear Abby or Ann Landers’ column in my early-20s.  Diagnosing myself from the description in that letter and response by the columnist, I felt such a relief to give my affliction a name!  Still, I only shared this information with my husband and closest family.  Though embarrassed and ashamed to see myself with tic movements in a family video, I have not let Tourette’s control my life or employment.  I was afraid of passing it on to my children, but I wanted and was blessed with a family.  I’m aware of the tics, and am able to control them - only somewhat.  But, I’m also thankful they are considered “simple” tics.
    Just as I’ve been ashamed of my movements, so my husband was ashamed of being legally blind growing up. He couldn’t see the school blackboard with his limited vision, even sitting in the front row, and would not ask for the help he needed.  Kids don’t want to be different from their peers.  When they have a noticeable difference, they are too often teased or mocked like my husband was, and become ashamed of who they are… with too often devastating effects, like suicide.  It’s up to us as adults, and even children, to be aware of the issues that others around us are dealing with.  If we provide support, acceptance and encouragement, we will each see ourselves for who we truly are - uniquely created in the image of God.
    Last year, subbing with 5th graders, I was surprised one day to be asked by a student if I had Tourette’s.  Seeing no point in denying the obvious to those sweet innocent eyes, I replied, “Yes, I do.  But how do you know about Tourette’s?”  As kids do, they apparently talked amongst themselves and others began asking me questions.  This led to their teacher setting aside time for me to share what I knew about living with Tourette’s and answering their many questions.  It was an informative session, endearing these students to me for their kindness and lack of mocking or belittling – they simply accepted me for who I am, just as I accept each of them.
    Tourette Syndrome is one type of tic disorder, meeting certain medical criteria of involuntary, repetitive movements and vocalizations, lasting for specific lengths of time.  My “simple” tics include, but are not limited to, sudden brief, repetitive movements of certain muscle groups like hard eye blinking or scrunching (the first symptom for most, including myself), facial, mouth, and head movements, shoulder shrugging, arm, hand and finger movements, head and shoulder jerking, leg and foot movements, throat clearing, repeating words or phrases verbally (or in my mind), and more.  I have an arthritic bony prominence of my collarbone from decades-long shoulder shrugs, and thoracic spine pain/arthritis from prior movements.  The tics wax and wane, change muscle groups at whim, and become much worse under stress.
    Though the tics have never gone away, they often subside, albeit briefly, when I’m fully absorbed in something like singing, sleeping or designing paintings.  Totally absorbed while playing intently with my toddler son years ago, my step-mother commented that my tics had totally stopped during that brief window of time.  That was the first time I realized there really were times when “my habit” stopped!
    Tourette Syndrome is a neurodevelopmental disorder with typical onset in childhood or adolescence.  Chemical imbalances in the brain, environmental factors, or genetics are considered causative factors.  There is no cure, but there are some treatment options.  About 30 years ago, I was officially diagnosed by a neurologist and prescribed medication.  Unfortunately, even at the smallest dose, and taking half a pill, the dopey side effect for me was worse than dealing with the tics, so I declined further medication.
    I do not have “complex” tics which include distinct patterns with multiple muscles and movements, hopping and twirling, head banging, and more.  Vocal tics can include sniffing, throat clearing, shouting, saying words or phrases, and repeating what was heard.  Though swearing and unacceptable language are found in a small percentage of Tourette cases, the media often describes coprolalia as a more common symptom.  My heart goes out to those with this more severe and disruptive range of tics, some of whom may qualify for disability benefits.  Many with Tourette’s also have other diagnoses including obsessive-compulsive disorder, hyperactivity (undiagnosed in me!), attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder, and learning disabilities. 
    Guidepost magazine once featured contemporary Christian music singer, Jamie Grace, sharing her diagnosis of Tourette’s.  Reading the article about her, I burst into tears just to know that someone else has it and has overcome it, too.  I always felt so alone, never knowing anyone else with Tourette’s until I opened up about it a few years ago on Facebook.
    Looking at this from God’s perspective, I find it comforting to know He sees me for who I am, Tourette’s and all.  He has a greater purpose for our lives as we bring honor and glory to Him in all that we do, even with our limitations.  More often than not, as we go through the trials of life, that’s when we learn how to trust and rely on the Lord the best.  For He uses us and our difficult circumstances to reach others who may be dealing with similar issues, bringing love and comfort to them in a way that’s as unique as we each are gifted individually.
    To learn more about Tourette Syndrome and how to handle the emotional and physical challenges, go to their website:  https://tourette.org/  Read shared personal stories at: Home | Mytourette
  6. Linda Roorda
    I heard this after my flights to visit family - “How can you not see God in every little thing, in every little moment?” It was a meaningful phrase in a great song by Leanna Crawford that I heard last Monday while picking up some groceries. I’d just gotten home after a 12-hour delayed flight, and thought, how fitting… especially after my trip to see some of my family the end of June.
    I was nervous about going through the airports... 1) Elmira to Detroit to Nashville, 2) Nashville to Minneapolis, and 3) Minneapolis to Detroit to Elmira... and sure enough, we had a hitch, or should I echo a friend calling it a hiccup. I'd prayed before leaving home that God would guide me through the maze of huge terminals, cities unto themselves, and He answered my prayer way better than I could have dreamed!
    Friday, June 23 – As a sub, was invited to attend a breakfast staff meeting at the middle school.  I heard the principal speak kind words about someone… which turned out to be me… greatly surprised, I promptly forgot everything she’d said, next congratulating a friend and fellow sub sitting next to me for her own award.  Then it was home to recheck my backpack, with my sister-in-law Diane and her husband Mark driving me to the airport. Elmira/Corning Regional Airport is small, updated a few years back, easy to get around in, but there was still an underlying nervousness about flying.  Yes, I’ve flown before… alone in 2004 to CA to help Emily move to SD, with Ed in 2006 to Sioux Falls, SD for Em’s graduation with her master’s, and in 1980 we took toddler Jenn to visit my family in Texas, but, still… I was very nervous about getting lost in the big city airports.
    Enter a nice couple who sat near me as we exchanged smiles and greetings.  They chose to sit near me again after we ran the gauntlet of x-rays filming our bodies and belongings.  Striking up a conversation, I learned they were flying from their home on Keuka Lake to Texas to visit a daughter.  Long story short, our words tipped each other off that we were all Christians. They knew Spencer well as their grandson works at Renovation House rehabilitation center!  They eagerly gave advice on what to do, where to go, and how to get help in the huge terminals… very welcome advice that I put to good use! My seatmate to Detroit was a young man heading off to study bio-engineering in England.
    Safely arriving at Nashville late on the 23rd, got help from those in uniform for where to exit the building to find my niece Nina who easily found me!  It was awesome to see her and Chris and their three children, Teagan, Kinley and Nadiya, and to visit with my brother Charlie and wife Monica, both with recent health issues, keeping them in my prayers. Chris and Nina’s coffee shop in Lebanon, TN, Split Bean Roasting Company (website sells their different flavors), has a welcoming, down-home atmosphere. Their menu includes delicious coffee made with Chris’s coffee-grinding expertise, soft drinks, sweet treats, soups, and breakfast fare, wishing I could eat and drink from their specialties to give a 5-star rating. And then we learned they were just ranked 4th in the top 10 best coffee shops in the entire state of Tennessee! Congratulations and way to go, Chris and Nina!!
    On the 25th, I was returned to the Nashville airport for my flight to Minneapolis, another major hub. As the seats at the gate filled up, a young man sat near me. He struck up a conversation, learning he’d been in Lebanon to visit his sister, where I’d visited Nina and her family, returning home to his wife and kids in Minneapolis. He was involved in his church’s prison ministry, bringing the Gospel to prisoners, assisting those being released in learning to support themselves on re-entering society.
    At the airport, Nick and Emily picked me up in the 3rd of 4 lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic, driving 1-1/2 hours home to Sauk Rapids. We took day trips, like walking through Munsinger & Clemens Gardens, home to beautiful floral gardens spread out over 20 acres along the Mississippi River in St. Cloud, across the river from the university where Nick is a math professor. You know I want to go back and admire the amazing beauty again, thinking maybe I could transplant a few ideas to my own gardens!
    I also visited a distant McNeill cousin, Marjorie and her husband John. They gave me a tour of Northfield’s St. Olaf and Carleton Colleges, beautiful campuses from which Marjorie retired as librarian. They showed me the bank, now museum, in Northfield where the James/Younger Gang and compatriots attempted to rob the safe in 1876. Jesse and Frank James fled while others were either killed or later captured, bullet holes still visible in the outside bank walls. Inside the museum, sharing with staff that I was from Upstate New York, south of Ithaca, a gentleman overheard me, saying he has family at Cornell University, and has driven through my town of Spencer!  Marjorie and John’s home is beautifully arrayed with family antiques (a living museum), and a unique dumbwaiter John (an engineer) had made between the kitchen and lower patio, all while showing me their welcoming friendship.
    Home with Em again, we walked around the pond behind their property, seeing ducks, a pair of Sandhill cranes, played games with my Grands, and watched special National Park shows. We walked along the Mississippi, and toured Sauk Rapids’ Benton County Museum. It was the only house in the large community to survive the F4 tornado on April 14-15, 1886 which destroyed every building, bridge and railroad track, leaving the city stranded with no way in and no way out for a time. Killing 72 people in its path, it’s the deadliest tornado on record in Minnesota. That house survived due to its uniquely-built granite walls with an air space between two adjacent walls of solid granite stones. We visited the small but well-kept Pine Grove Zoo in Little Falls, thoroughly enjoying the variety of animals. After a relaxing picnic lunch in the primeval pine grove next to the zoo, we drove to Charles Lindbergh’s home/museum also in Little Falls, his favorite place growing up, set on the banks overlooking the Mississippi, watching newsreels about him and his solo flight across the Atlantic to Paris, learning more than I had previously known about him and his family.
    Saying goodbye… I spent over 18 hours in the Detroit airport for my flight home to Elmira with delay after delay, finally getting home late Monday morning instead of Sunday evening. But in the waiting, I met a sweet lady. Sitting next to me, I learned Joy was from California, flying east to visit her daughter who lives 5 minutes from the Elmira airport!  We shared stories of our lives, finding we had much in common, also sharing our Christian faith.  Her family and home had survived the 2018 Carr Fire in northern California, as they helped others in the neighborhood who lost everything, including some who lost loved ones.
    Another lady walked past me who looked very familiar, but I just couldn’t place her, so I decided to just go ask. Connie recognized me, told me who she was, and it was an aha moment!  I knew her years ago as Ed’s mom’s hairdresser who lived locally, was widowed, remarried, now living in North Carolina, on the same flight to visit her daughter here who I also know! And then we met a young man and his wife with 2 kids from Newfield whose dad drove bus with my Aunt Lois for many years! Trust me, we all had a great time chatting and laughing together!  Small world indeed! 
    Remember I said God blessed me more than I could have imagined on this trip?  Not only with special family time, and getting to sit in “my” old saddle from years ago when riding War Bugg, but spending the night together, we 3 ladies shared stories of how God blessed our lives despite major difficulties we had each dealt with. We chose to ignore the negativity of a lady who emphasized we’d have a lot of trouble trying to get flights out, while I and others instead thanked the one crew member and desk clerk for their helpful kindnesses.  We three supported each other and spent the night at Gate 35, keeping each other awake overnight, charging our phones, chatting about our families and life in general.
    Though our Monday 8 a.m. flight to Elmira was delayed for an hour, boarding and lift-off went smoothly, and we were all very thankful to be heading home.  Now it’s hard to believe my trip was ending just a week ago, the reward I’d looked forward to as the school year drew to a close. 
    I was so impressed and thankful for the many ways God blessed me with just the right person at just the right time… and for the blessings of visiting with family!  After getting home, picking up some groceries, I took a much-needed nap… not something I’m fond of doing. Sleeping for 4-1/2 hours, I woke up with a start at 5:30 p.m., wondering whose room this was and where I was! Interesting tricks your mind can play when sleep has eluded you for too many hours… and home life resumed its normal routine, finishing two purse orders, baking for our local farmer’s market, enjoying each simple day back home. God bless you this week in all you do, too!
  7. Linda Roorda
    August 29, 1779, 244 years ago, a battle near present-day Elmira in Chemung County, New York was significant to the Revolutionary War.  It played a crucial, though seldom discussed, key role.  It was not a bloody battle, but it was instrumental in breaking up the power of the Six Nation Iroquois Federation, thus allowing westward frontier expansion for colonials.
    For centuries the Iroquois Nation included the Mohawk, Oneida, Onondaga, Cayuga and Seneca tribes.  In the early 18th century, the Tuscarora joined their ranks by heading north from what is now North Carolina.  As the Revolutionary War commenced, the Iroquois Federation tried to stay neutral.  In time, however, most of the Iroquois gave their loyalty to Great Britain while the Oneida and Tuscarora tribes chose to align themselves with the colonists who were seeking independence from the British Crown. 
    Under Thayendanegea (commonly known as Joseph Brant), the Native Americans (referred to by the Colonists as Indians) joined forces with Loyalists and attacked western frontier settlements just as they did those further east in the Mohawk and Schoharie Valleys.  They carried away prisoners, ruthlessly murdered and scalped adults as well as children, and burned and destroyed the crops and homes of Patriots in both outlying and established settlements.  And a cycle of retaliation ensued.
    I am not here to open a discussion or pass judgment on the negatives and positives of the why, wherefore, and how regarding what was or was not done 200 to 400 years ago in our nation’s history by either the Native Americans or the white European settlers.  May I say, however, that conflict and conquering of other lands and peoples has been taking place since world history began.  Their times are not ours.  
    The Chemung River valley basin and its surrounding hills near present-day Elmira were home to Indians for centuries, but by the 18th century the Iroquois were in consistent residence.  Here they had ample room to grow crops along the fertile river bottoms.  Easy access to virgin forests filled with wildlife supplied them with meat and valuable pelts as they hunted and trapped.  The rivers and streams provided them not only with an ideal means of transportation, but an abundance of fish.  A healthy way of life for sure!
    Atop a steep hill which overlooks the Chemung River and the Southern Tier Expressway (formerly State Route 17, now Interstate 86) is the Newtown Battlefield Reservation State Park, once part of the Iroquois’ territory.  The 100th anniversary of the Battle of Newtown was celebrated August 29, 1879 with the dedication of a monument on top of Sullivan Hill.  The area was designated a national historic landmark in 1965, with battle re-enactments held annually in the park.  I’ve wanted to observe the re-enactments to learn more about the battle, but have never managed to make my way there.  So, come along with me and we’ll learn together what took place all those years ago.
    To understand what took place, though, is to know the precipitating chain of events which led to the small but important battle at Newtown.  In the early days of the Revolutionary War, both the British and the Colonists attempted to gain the loyalty of the Native Americans as noted above.  The ultimate decisions caused division among the great Iroquois Federation when the tribes split their loyalties.  The famed Iroquois’ leader, Joseph Brant, worked closely with the British stationed at Fort Niagara.  He frequently took to the warpath against the white settlers on the western frontier, as well as back east in the Mohawk and Schoharie Valleys.  But the question begs to be asked, why?
    Along with the vital convergence of the Hudson and Mohawk rivers, the greater Albany region was of key importance in the Revolutionary War to both sides.  Schoharie County, part of western Albany County prior to 1795, has historically been considered “The Breadbasket of the Revolution.”  With its fertile lands, the area produced an abundance of crops which kept Washington’s armies fed.  Thus, the area’s assets, the rivers for transportation and the productive land, became a root of contention among the Loyalists and Tories, or supporters of the Crown.  Their loyalties festered and erupted into violence and destruction against their neighbors and kin, the supporters of independence. 
    In the early stages of war, the Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army, General George Washington, preferred that these vulnerable settlements use their own local militia to guard and protect against attack.  And repeated attacking was the game plan of marauding bands of Indian-Loyalist troops.  Often, “forts” of refuge for Patriots were established to escape these bands of Indians and Tories.  Among such forts is the old Dutch Reformed Church, now called the Old Stone Fort, home to the Schoharie County Historical Society in the town of Schoharie, New York which I have visited several times to research my maternal family.  Its stone walls still exhibit a hole from the direct hit of a cannonball. 
    In May 1778, Joseph Brant set out on raids in Cobleskill (near my mother’s home town of Carlisle) and the neighboring frontier settlements.  Soon after, on July 3, 1778, Col. John Butler and his Loyalist Rangers joined Chief Sayenqueraghta’s Seneca and Cayuga Indians in an attack of Pennsylvania’s Wyoming Valley.  Settlers from Connecticut had established homes and farms along the Susquehanna River in this fertile valley, an area which also produced an abundance of grain for the Continental armies.  Here, at Forty Fort (a few miles north of the fort at Wilkes-Barre, but on the opposite side of the Susquehanna River), about 360 local Patriot militiamen were killed with over 200 scalped in the Wyoming Massacre.
    That September, Patriot soldiers under Col. Thomas Hartley took their wrath out on the Seneca, Delaware and Mingo Indians by burning and destroying nearly a dozen towns on the Susquehanna, including Tioga (now Athens, PA) and Chemung (NY).  At the same time, Butler’s Rangers destroyed Patriot houses and crops on the German Flats up north in the Mohawk Valley.  This brought the Patriot militia back out to attack and destroy the Indian settlements at Unadilla and Onaquaga (now Windsor) along the Susquehanna River in New York.
    To read William E. Roscoe’s “History of Schoharie County, New York” and other related books about the killing and destruction throughout the region is to gain a better understanding of the larger picture.  Indians were known among settlers, including my ancestors; some were liked, others were feared.  The war cast a pall of deadly fear among residents of the Mohawk and Schoharie Valleys - one’s loyalties were usually known, whether for the Crown or Independence, and often one’s life depended upon that knowledge.  Neighbor was pitted against neighbor, even against one’s own blood relatives.  My various direct ancestral families were Patriots with one Loyalist, while some extended relatives were killed or taken captive by the Indian-Loyalist bands.   I have also dined with friends (Cheryl being a distant maternal cousin) at the George Mann Tory Tavern north of the town of Schoharie, beautifully restored to its colonial elegance, Mann having been a well-known supporter of the Crown during the War.
    In November 1778, Butler’s Rangers, 320 Iroquois under Chief Cornplanter, and 30 Indians under Joseph Brant attacked Cherry Valley, northeast of Oneonta in Otsego County and northwest of Cobleskill in Schoharie County.  Encompassing the fort to ensure soldiers could not escape, the Indians began their massacre.  They killed and scalped 30 or 32 residents (numbers vary in reports, mostly women and children) and 16 soldiers.  An additional 70 to 80 adults and children (again, numbers vary in reports) were taken captive into Indian territory after the homes and crops had been completely destroyed. More retributions followed from both sides with further loss of life, but the Cherry Valley Massacre was a devastating blow.  Something had to be done to stop this slaughter of innocents.  (Cherry Valley lies south of the Mohawk River and east of the northern end of Lake Otsego.  Unadilla is southwest, near where the Unadilla River joins the Susquehanna.  Onaquaga lies a short way further southwest on the Susquehanna.)
    Gen. Washington was now convinced of the need for an offensive campaign against the British, Loyalists and Indians who held Forts Niagara and Oswego.  Settling on Maj. Gen. John Sullivan as commanding officer, Washington wrote Sullivan on May 31, 1779:  “The Expedition you are appointed to command is to be directed against the hostile tribes of the Six Nations of the Indians, with their associates and adherents.  The immediate objects are the total destruction and devastation of their settlements, and the capture of as many prisoners…as possible.  It will be essential to ruin their crops now in the ground and prevent their planting more…  You will not by any means listen to any overture of peace before the total ruinment of their settlements is effected.  Our future security will be in their inability to injure us…”   Essentially, a “scorched earth” policy was to be executed.
    Thus, in August 1779, Washington sent Major General John Sullivan and his troops up the Susquehanna River from Easton, PA while Brigadier General James Clinton and his army traveled southwest from Canajoharie in New York’s Mohawk Valley down to Otsego Lake and to the Susquehanna River flowing west.  Known as the Sullivan-Clinton Campaign (or, Expedition), Washington’s goal was to destroy Indian ties to the British by decimating the Indian towns and supplies of corn, vegetables and fruit at their source.  It was this produce which not only kept the Indians well fed, but also the British army. Sullivan and Clinton were ordered to then continue northward with their armies to capture the British forts at Oswego and Niagara in order to disrupt their military hold on the region.
    On August 22, 1779, Sullivan and Clinton met at Tioga Point along the Susquehanna River (present-day Athens, PA).  With combined troops numbering at least 2300 to under 4000 (accounts I’ve read vary as to numbers), they traveled northwest along the Chemung River.  On Sunday, August 29, advance scouts found hidden horseshoe-shaped breastworks/earthworks about half a mile long.  Roughly 150 feet up the southeast slope of a mile-long hill (now called Sullivan Hill), these earthworks were within shooting range of the road and near the Iroquois village of New Town.  From this vantage point, those approaching the hill could be observed or ambushed before reaching the Cayuga Indian towns of Nanticoke and Kanawaholla where Elmira was later established. 
    Newtown Battlefield military placements discussed here.
    At that time, the slope was densely covered in virgin forest.  At its base and to the east was a marsh, Hoffman Hollow, thickly covered with grass and trees.  Baldwin Creek ran through this marsh and emptied into the Chemung River (called the Cayuga Branch by Sullivan in his reports).  My online search of Google maps shows what is likely Baldwin Creek to be, surprisingly and confusingly, labeled the Chemung River as it flows under I-86 and empties into the main Chemung River.  What was then called Baldwin Creek runs near to and west of Lowman Road within the area still labeled Hoffman Hollow.
    Manning the breastworks were 15 British troops, 250 Loyalist Rangers, and about 1000 Indian warriors.  The initial intent of Loyalist Major John Butler and the Iroquois chief, Joseph Brant, was to harass the Continental troops.  Sayenqueraghta and other Indian chiefs rejected that proposal, favoring instead attempts at luring the Continentals into a full ambush. 
    One of the forward scouts for the Sullivan-Clinton Campaign, Lt. Col. Adam Hubley, recorded the discovery of these breastworks that morning.  “On our arrival near the ridge on which the action of the 13th commenced with light corps, our van discovered several Indians in front, one of whom gave them fire, and then fled.  We continued…[and] the rifle corps entered a low marshy ground which seemed well calculated for forming ambuscades; they advanced with great precaution, when several more Indians were discovered who fired and retreated.  Major Parr… judged it rather dangerous to proceed any further without taking every caution to reconnoiter almost every foot of ground, and ordered one of his men to mount a tree and see if he could make any discoveries; … [and] he discovered the movements of several Indians… as they were laying behind an extensive breastwork. “ 
    Learning of the breastworks’ locations through Lt. Col. Hubley’s findings, the Continental commanders knew there was an attempt in the offing to lure them into an ambush.  Moving cautiously forward into position, an initial attack on the breastworks came late that morning when Brig. Gen. Edward Hand put his infantry on the far side of Baldwin Creek.  From that position, they could easily fire into the enemy’s defense works. 
    In early afternoon, Gen. Sullivan met with commanders under him to plan their next move.  Essentially, Sullivan’s men were to attack the fortified works of the enemy from the south and east with artillery and troops, while the men under Gen. Clinton were to attack the fortifications from the northeast. 
    The 1st New Jersey Regiment under Col. Matthias Ogden, detached from Brig. Gen. William Maxwell’s New Jersey Brigade, slipped south and west along the Chemung River to come around to the right and rear of the Loyalist-Indian forces.  The New York Brigade under Brig. Gen. James Clinton and New Hampshire’s Brigade under Brig. Gen. Enoch Poor marched northwest through Hoffman Hollow toward the hill’s eastern slope where they turned to flank the British left.  At the same time, Sullivan’s Pennsylvania and New Jersey brigades stayed behind with the remaining light infantry companies.  Brig. Gen. William Maxwell’s 1st Brigade was to take aim at the center or face of the British breastworks.
    Ten guns from the light infantry were placed near the road, ready to open fire on the defense positions and the land in between.  Once these guns began firing, Gen. Hand was to fake an attack on the center of the horseshoe breastworks while the brigades from the east were to turn inward, take the summit of the hill, and then turn to attack the left and rear section of the breastworks.  All together, with Maxwell’s artillery support, the goal of their three-pronged attack was to surround the defenseworks on the hill in a complete crossfire.
    It was a detailed plan which was put together quickly, but one in which the troops readily proved their mettle.  The brief battle resulted in a significant defeat for the British Loyalists and Iroquois; however, it could have been much worse for them had it not been for unavoidable delays by the Sullivan-Clinton armies.  In maneuvering through the swampy ground of Hoffman Hollow, Poor’s and Clinton’s troops got bogged down.  This put the timing of the plan off, and caused enough of a delay that the Loyalist-Iroquois men escaped full encirclement and thus slipped the noose of an utter and complete defeat. 
    In the meantime, Lt. Col. George Reid’s 2nd New Hampshire Regiment was to position itself to the left of Poor’s troops.  Unfortunately, with Reid’s men climbing the steepest part of the slope, they lagged behind the rest of the troops.  Joseph Brant took advantage of this opportunity to lead a counterattack with fellow Indians, almost completely encircling Reid.  Seeing this, the next regiment in line, the 3rd New Hampshire Regiment under Lt. Col. Henry Dearborn, turned around abruptly to fire into the enemy who were positioned downhill.  Clinton and his brigade, climbing up the hill from below and off to the right of Poor, saw these events unfold and sent his 3rd and 5th New York Regiments to Reid’s aid, further thwarting Brant’s attack.  [Above military placements discussed here.] 
    See also: JOURNALS OF THE MILITARY EXPEDITION OF MAJOR GENERAL JOHN SULLIVAN AGAINST THE SIX NATIONS OF INDIANS IN 1779 WITH RECORDS OF CENTENNIAL CELEBRATIONS.  
    For a few hours, the peaceful valley and hills echoed with the blasting of cannons (ranging in size up to six-inch field howitzers), the resounding shots of a few thousand muskets, and the strong acrid smell of gun powder with its residual smoky haze.  The sounds of gunfire combined with the hair-raising battle cries of Indian warriors must have reached a deafening pitch at its peak.  Naturally, there were losses and injuries on both sides.  But, with the realization that they were overpowered, Loyalist Major John Butler, Capt. Walter Butler, and the Iroquois chief Joseph Brant wisely cut their losses and withdrew.  With their troops, they retreated towards Newtown and crossed the river with the Continentals in pursuit, but without additional losses on either side. 
    After the battle, the Sullivan-Clinton Campaign continued on their way north through the finger lakes region, burning and destroying at least 40 Indian villages, reportedly destroying 160,000 bushels of corn and a significant quantity of vegetables and fruit which the Indians had set aside for winter.  By the end of September, the armies were returning to Morristown, New Jersey for the winter.
    From Gen. Sullivan’s journal notes:
    “Teaogo [Tioga], Sept, 30, 1779.
    SIR:—In mine of the 30th ultimo to His Excellency George Washington, and by him transmitted to Congress, I gave an account of the victory obtained by this army over the enemy at Newtown, on the 29th August. I now do myself the honor to inform Congress of the progress of this army... The time taking up in destroying the corn, in the neighborhood of Newtown, employing the army near two days… I sent back all my heavy artillery on the night of the 30th, retaining only four brass three pounders, and a small howitzer; loaded the necessary ammunition on horseback, and marched early on the 31st for Catherine's Town. On our way we destroyed a small settlement of eight houses, and town called Konowhola, of about twenty houses, situated on a peninsula at the conflux of the Teaogo and Cayuga branches. We also destroyed several fields of corn. From this point Colonel Dayton was detached with his regiment and the rifle corps up the Teaogo about six miles, who destroyed several large fields of corn. The army resumed their march, and encamped within thirteen miles and a half of Catherine's Town, where we arrived the next day, although we had a road to open for the artillery, through a swamp nine miles in extent, and almost impervious. We arrived near Catherine's Town in the night, and moved on, in hopes to surprise it, but found it forsaken. On the next morning an old woman belonging to the Cayuga nation was found in the woods. She informed me that on the night after the battle of Newtown, the enemy, having fled the whole night, arrived there in great confusion early the next day; that she heard the warriors tell their women they were conquered and must fly; that they had a great many killed and vast numbers wounded…” 
    The Iroquois, who had supported the British by attacking settlements, killing and taking captives, and feeding the British military, were now forced further west to Niagara and northwest into Canada.  Under protection of the British forts, but without their winter food supply, many died from starvation, disease and the winter’s cold.  Yet, even John Butler, in correspondence that previous May, had referred to the fact that the Indians were not doing well, lacking in production of their own food supplies.
    Although successful at Newtown, the Sullivan-Clinton Campaign has often been referred to as a “well-executed failure.”  Congress congratulated them for what they had accomplished, but they were essentially not looked upon in a favorable light for their failure to take the British forts on Lake Ontario.  True, their armies destroyed the Indians settlements and crops throughout the finger lakes region, but Major General Sullivan stopped short of completing General Washington’s orders.  They had been ordered, and expected, to continue north to Lake Ontario and capture the British forts at Oswego and Niagara.
    However, knowing their field artillery was limited to lighter guns, Sullivan and Clinton returned instead to headquarters in Morristown, New Jersey by the end of September.  In fairness to Sullivan, he realized he was not equipped with big enough artillery to take on the well-defended British forts; he and his troops would likely have been annihilated.  Also, in worsening health, Sullivan resigned command in November 1779 and returned to his home in New Hampshire.
    With Sullivan not completing the balance of his campaign orders, Joseph Brant and his Indians returned to rejoin forces with the Loyalists in 1780.  Once again, they viciously attacked western settlements and the established communities back in the Mohawk and Schoharie Valley regions. 
    These raids and massacres touched my ancestral families in that part of New York.  At Beaverdam (now Berne) near the Switzkill River on September 1, 1781, a British soldier led Loyalists and Indians in an attack on the Johannes Dietz family.  Johannes’ son, Capt. William Dietz, commanded the local Patriot militia, and was, therefore, a target of the Loyalists who engaged the Indians to make Dietz an example and put fear into the hearts of all other Patriot settlers.  After capture, William Dietz was forced to watch his elderly parents, wife, four young children and Scottish maid be killed and scalped.  Two young brothers who happened to be visiting from another family were also taken captive.  At Fort Niagara, Dietz died of a broken heart not long after arrival as witnessed by another captive from Schoharie County.  Capt. Dietz’s father, Johannes, was an older brother of my ancestor, John Hendrich/John Henry Dietz (referenced in my Independence Day article at my blog, Homespun Ancestors.  (see also “Old Hellebergh,” by Arthur B. Gregg, The Altamont Enterprise Publishers, Altamont, N.Y., 1936, p. 24; signed by Gregg, in my personal library from my father’s collection)
    (See Painting of Dietz Massacre by Jacob Dietz, son of Johannes, Courtesy of the Greater Oneonta Historical Society)
    The final and most devastating attack was in the lower Mohawk Valley in October 1781 where everything over a distance of 20 miles was utterly destroyed. 
    When the war was over and the colonists had won, Joseph Brant and other Iroquois settled land given to them by the British Crown on the Grand River in Quebec (now Ontario).  The area of Brant’s river crossing became known as Brant’s ford, later simplified to Brantford.  Other Indians moved on to the Ohio River Valley region, or joined the Cherokee in the southern states.
    Ultimately, the Newtown Battle, or Battle of Chemung, opened the narrow southern gate to settlers who had been forbidden from traveling through this part of Indian territory on their way to settling the western frontier.  For American soldiers who had fought in the Revolutionary War, the Chemung Valley drew many men back who had taken part in the Sullivan-Clinton Campaign. 
    Certain to have admired the beautiful countryside in both Pennsylvania and New York while detailed there on campaigns, it was only natural former soldiers would seek its fertile land as their bounty award for service to their new government.  New England and eastern New York were considered heavily populated, with many regions too rocky for good farming.  Western New York was the perfect place to homestead with wide-open fertile land available to establish a new life.  With the soldiers settling this area, we can assume their descendants walk among us today, perhaps even unaware of their family’s history.
  8. Linda Roorda

    October Whispers

    By Linda Roorda,

    I puttered around the kitchen yesterday, an early October morning, baking Ed’s favorite chocolate chip cookies and my hearty squash.  Every now and then I glanced out the windows.  I love the scenery of our backyard… the gardens, bushes and trees… all planted by us once upon a golden time.  And the creek, fields and hills beyond, all formerly part of Ed’s family’s farm, now filled with cart paths and well-kept green grass circles that swallow up dimpled golf balls… with a few that manage to find their way into our yard by some awesome force behind them! But, instead of a summery sun, I glanced out to see a dreary day…
    I know many of my friends say fall is their favorite season.  And rightly so, I suppose – for the cooling temps are welcome relief from summer’s intense heat and humidity, and the typical brilliant leaf colors reflect different types of trees framed against the backdrop of a bright crisp azure blue sky with puffy clouds which all make for a gorgeous display of nature’s beauty.  But this year, without a hard frost yet, our leaves are rather dull, devoid of those bright colors. 
    I do enjoy the aromas of baked spiced apple and pumpkin pies, the odor of wood smoke wafting on the air (at times Ed can able to tell just what wood is being burned), familiar barn smells carried by a gentle breeze down the valley with a hint of well-cured silage, along with enjoying colorful fall flower arrangements, and the countrified pumpkin and gourd displays with corn stalks and hay bales some folks set up by their front door.
    But, truth be told, I find autumn to be the harbinger of a gray cold world with dying leaves that bequeath us with stark-naked tree limbs.  Yet, when studied, those limbs have a distinctive roughened beauty all their own etched against the sky of any shade.  And, though there are gray drizzly skies, and cold, damp days that chill to the bone… they do have a plus side with lots of delicious homemade baked goods, stews, soups and chili with cornbread!
    I much prefer spring and its promised return of new life and summer’s golden rays.  So, as this poem began to form several years ago, I tried to focus on the whispered secrets of fall – in its colorful beauty pointing to winter’s pristine white splendor, and the resurgence of life in the future that can only be hinted at now.
    October Whispers
    Linda A. Roorda
    The lonely parade
    of falling colors
    a silent drizzle
    and cocooning fog
    consuming
    dampening
    turn thoughts inward
    melancholy
    bereaved
    for the joy of summer
    basking
    in bright warmth
    now shrouded
    by hazy sheen
    forcing hearts to gaze
    ahead
    and to leave
    the past to fall
    behind
    etched in time
    yet even now
    renewed
    in visions of white
    and whispers soft
    of secrets hidden
    for the way it is
    and soon shall become.
    ~~
    Photo taken by author in 2019.
  9. 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
     
  10. 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 book, “The Prince and The Pauper,” published 1881 initially in Canada, and subsequently in 1882 in the U.S.
    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 makes his friend, the pauper, his aide. 

    Not having 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 still those who live and breathe a self-serving arrogance.
    A few years ago, I encountered two gentlemen one day – 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, he, ever the gentleman, waited off to the side for me to get settled with a shopping cart as I told him to 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 and motioned 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 who’d 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, 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 and 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 knowing their hearts would soon be united forever, sharing 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, Jesus experienced life just as we do with all of its temptations and sadness, but also the joys. He wants to have a relationship with each of us. He wants to share conversations in prayer as we listen for his nudging and messages in our heart from His Words of Life in Holy Scripture.  And in this way, He is able to be our advocate and comforter, knowing from personal experience what our life on earth is all about.  For as Jesus once said, “’Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’” (Matthew 25:40 NIV) 
    During this season of Lent, as we think more closely about Jesus, our Savior, we remember what our Lord accomplished as a servant while He lived among us, even to washing His disciples’ dirty feet: “…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 through His death on the cross… that we might accept His priceless gift of mercy and forgiveness of our sins, becoming our Lord and Savior.  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 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
    And offer His gift of life eternal.
    ~~
  11. Linda Roorda
    There is a way that often seems best to us.  It’s characterized by a life of fun as we grab all the gusto this world has to offer.  We deserve it!  After all, we only go ‘round once!  Right?  Except… there’s another way.  It follows our Lord’s path, different from a worldly perspective.  And how often don’t we see the two worlds on a collision course between absolute values and whatever goes… whatever feels right… at any given time.
    Just a thief on a cross, one of two who hung on either side of Jesus.  It’s possible that the thief speaking among us from the cross had spent a lifetime of going his own way, doing his own thing, robbing others, and, with hate and anger, killing those in his way.  His life was spent doing what he wanted, when he wanted… to see what he could get away with… to take his schemes as far as possible… just because he could… for he had lived the darker side of life.
    Until… our thief was apprehended and sentenced for his crimes because there are consequences to all of our actions - for haven’t we read or heard “…be sure your sin will find you out.” (Numbers 32:42, NIV) and “Do not be deceived:  God is not mocked.  A man reaps what he sows.” (Gal.6:7, NIV)  One way or another, God will deal with us.  If we go against His word, our wrongs will either own us and harden our heart, causing us to blame others for our own sins, or will fester and eat away at us until we acknowledge what we have done, repent, ask for forgiveness, and share the peace of God… with a renewed purpose in life.
    Even as Jesus was being crucified between two criminals, He humbly expressed what we so often have trouble doing:  "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." (Luke 23:34 NIV)  And, with these simple words, the Son of God forgave those whose intent it was to destroy Him.  Out of a heart of love for every one of us, He simply forgave. Instead, with mocking hearts, our thief and his companion hanging on crosses to each side of Jesus, along with others, railed at Jesus and taunted Him by shouting: “Save yourself…if you are the Son of God!” (Matthew 27:39 NIV)
    But it wasn’t long before our criminal on one of the crosses began to contemplate who the man was that hung next to him.  He had heard about him, after all.  He was amazed that this man didn’t fight back… he’d been mocked and spat upon, had a crown of thorns painfully pushed down upon his head, had been brutally whipped until the flesh tore open across his ribs and back, and had been forced to carry his own cross when he could barely put one foot in front of the other... until the soldiers commanded another man to carry it after he fell.  This beaten man simply accepted what was happening to him even though He had committed no crime.  And it was then our thief truly understood that the man next to him really was the Son of God, just as He had claimed.
    He also realized that there was nothing he could hide from God… the One who knows the thoughts and depths of our heart, even before we say a word or commit an act.  This he recalled from the Holy Word he had heard in his youth:  “O Lord, you have searched me and you know me.  You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar… Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O Lord… Where can I flee from your presence?  If I go up to the heavens [or] if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.”  (Psalm 139:1-8, NIV) 
    And his heart and soul were pierced for all he had done with nary a thought as to how his actions would affect others.  He had never understood the pain and anguish he had caused in the lives of those he had taken advantage of for his own pleasure.  And he hung there overwhelmed with guilt for his lies and deception… for a selfish attitude… for arrogant pride… for flattering words used to get his way… for having lied and violated the trust of friends and loved ones … for even using Scripture to get his way… and for blaming others when his schemes failed…  After all, he couldn’t let anyone know how wounded, vulnerable, insecure and ashamed he really felt deep inside his heart. 
    Our thief also recalled hearing how this man had amazed the Pharisees in the temple by saying, “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”  (John 3:16 NIV)  He never understood what others saw in this man, but now it all became clear… and there was nothing left for him to do but to bow his head, confess his sins, and humbly ask for forgiveness… from God and from others… as Jesus accepted him into His heavenly kingdom that very moment.  Oh the joy this former thief must have known!!
    Though I have taken a few liberties in writing up the criminal’s portrayal, this story has features which sound all too familiar to us.  I know I stand guilty of sins.  We each have a choice to make.  We can either remain unrepentant… or bow our head in sorrow and seek forgiveness.  For there is nothing, absolutely nothing, we can ever do that would be too horrible to be forgiven by our loving God. 
    And, if we confess and seek forgiveness from our heavenly Father, and those we have offended, we can be assured of forgiveness with open arms that welcome. We can then move forward in life with a renewed sense of purpose as we serve our Lord and those around us with joy.
    Isn’t this what Easter is all about - the death of Jesus on that horrible cross, followed by His resurrection from the dead. He paid the ultimate sacrifice for my sin and yours… the completion of old Jewish prophecies, proving He is, indeed, the Son of God, our Savior! 
    A Happy and Blessed Easter to all!
     Ode To A Thief
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~ 
    There is a way that seems best to me
    A wider path of pleasant facades,
    A feast for the eyes, the senses to soothe,
    That seems to fill deep needs in my soul.
    ~
    To my own eyes I do what is right
    No disciplined hand can correct my ways.
    Life is for pleasure, the best I can find
    Whatever suits me and gives me a thrill.
    ~
    To take what is yours just because I can
    Excitement and dares are games to be played.
    What do I care if objections are made
    Pushing the limits I will not be stopped.
    ~
    It gives me pleasure to watch your unease
    My life is my own, don’t think I will change.
    Fear in your eyes gives challenge to me
    Warnings I heed not, temptation’s too great.
    ~
    But then I listened one day to a man
    They called him Teacher, the great Son of God.
    Perfect was He, no sin harbored there
    With words of wisdom my soul He did pierce.
    ~
    He understood fears, the depth of my heart
    And tears that I cried in lonely deep pain.
    He reached out to me, and held me so tight
    I felt his love envelope my soul.
    ~
    He gazed intently to depths of my heart
    I felt deep shame for all I had done.
    I bowed in anguish, repenting of sins
    As mercy’s grace washed over my soul.
    ~
    Beaten and hung with no fault in Him,
    We thieves nearby, sentences deserved,
    But with His great love accepted within
    Came the gift of life, an eternal reward.
    ~
    It’s never too late to cry out to God
    Unburden your soul and forgiveness receive.
    Accept His grace, salvation’s free gift
    And live a new life to glorify Him.
    ~
    For there’s a way that seems best to me
    As His Word now guides the path that I walk.
    Not the wide lane, but narrow and straight
    As daily I choose to honor my Lord.
    ~
    And, oh! what a peace he’s blessed me with now
    As His light shines forth from depths of my soul.
    His words I’ll share for others to know
    His saving grace so freely given.
    ~~
  12. Linda Roorda

    Ode To A Wayward Son

    By Linda Roorda,

    This morning, we’re thankful to say that for “right now”, Ed is feeling “maybe a little better” as he put it after we increased his night-time oxygen from 2L to 2-1/2 and then to 3L last night and he slept fitfully until his usual 2 am awakening from his usual intense pain.  He was in the ER again this week with multiple arrhythmias causing havoc with his heart, ultimately causing more fluid retention and congestion, worsening CHF symptoms, with virtually no further medication options.  Tomorrow his pacemaker will be reprogrammed to counter these other arrhythmias.
    We often build a rapport with folks such that they feel comfortable opening up to share their life story with us. We then see that our life experiences combined to give us a compassion and understanding for what they’re going through, and we can offer support and empathy. And, in that, I understand how God has been gracious in accepting me despite all my faults and failures. He loves us as we in turn bring love and comfort to others… our purpose!
    May you find a purpose and be blessed this week in all you do. 
    Remember the Byrds’ song from the 1960s?  “To everything turn, turn, turn. There is a season turn, turn, turn.  And a time to every purpose under heaven…”  I suspect it’s a perennial favorite, based on Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, NIV:
    “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:
    a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot,
    a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build,
    a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,
    a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
    a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away,
    a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak,
    a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.”
    The Parable of the Prodigal or Lost Son makes quite an impact, leaving an indelible impression… for how great is the father’s love for his wayward son during "a time for everything".  And what a treasured image of our heavenly Father toward us!
    So often we think we can do life our way, on our own terms… with a time for everything we want… and for a while we may succeed quite well at it.  We can become so enamored with the world’s vision that we are “lost” to family and our parents’ “old-fashioned” ways… “lost” to godly values that seem so out of touch with today’s modern society at large.  There’s so much more fun to be found out there than to adhere to a stricter life, or so we think.
    But ultimately, the question needs to be asked… is that all there is to life?  The fun and the pleasure, the drinking and partying … at what and whose expense?
    Like the young man from Jesus’ story in Luke 15:11-31, when we’ve exhausted ourselves and stare face to face at where life has taken us, and realize that life truly has meaning and an ending on this earth, we begin to understand that there really is so much more to life than seeking our own will and our own way through this maze of seasons.  We don’t have to claw our way over others to get to the top. 
    God created us each unique.  All of our life’s experiences, the good and the bad, have been woven into a beautiful compilation… our life’s tapestry.  We have a purpose.  What we do actually does affect others.  We can influence and encourage those who are feeling defeated.  There really is a time for everything we go through, “a season for every activity”.  Learning through our experiences, we can then bring comfort, reassurance, and hope to others because we’ve “been there.”  (II Corinthians 1:4)  And eventually, in looking back over our tapestry, the important things begin to stand out… and we know how loved we are. 
    And if it’s that comforting to know how much our own earthly father loves us, despite our biggest and stupidest mistakes… as he welcomes us back home with unconditional love and forgiveness... then how much greater is the love that our heavenly Father shows through His best gift to us… the life of His Son given to cover our sins.  “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whoever believes on Him should not perish but have everlasting life.”  (John 3:16, NIV)
    And I’m not alone to stand overwhelmed at such a free gift as I take hold of my Lord’s nail-scarred hands and accept His love and forgiveness for my sins as He welcomes me home.
    Ode To A Wayward Son
    Linda A. Roorda
    Based on the Parable of the Prodigal Son
    Luke 15:11-31, NIV
    Two sons and their dad lived a life of ease
    A family of wealth and lords over much
    The world at their door to serve every need
    A life of luxury, no wants did they know.
     
    Said the son to his dad, Give me my share!
    On my own terms my life I will live.
    Entitled I am, this world to explore,
    At my fingertips are pleasures deserved.
     
    Inheritance split between the two sons
    Elder with more, yet faithful and content.
    The younger took leave with all that he owned
    Cares tossed aside with dreams in his eyes.
     
    City life beckoned, its thrills enticing
    All that glittered midst clinking of coins,
    The drinking of wine and debauchery’s flame,
    The finest was had that money could buy.
     
    New friends abound when money flows free
    Their love is fleeting, honesty unknown.
    And when all is gone with nothing else left
    To whom do you turn?  To whom do you flee?
     
    To feed my hunger any job will do
    Slopping the pigs the lowest of low
    Food in their trough mocks my drooling mouth
    The pigs eat better than I even now.
     
    How can this be?  What’s happened to me?
    Even Dad’s servants fare better than this!
    What have I done?  How far did I fall?
    I feel a deep pain and shame for my sins.
     
    Oh that I was home, admission to make
    For I have sinned against my dear Dad
    I now understand what I never saw
    How much he loved, how much he did care.
     
    Homeward I’m bound, my steps screaming loser
    Guilty am I for squandering my share
    If I could but work as a servant to him
    I will repay all I have taken.
     
    But what do I see as a distant blur
    Running like wind, my Father alone!
    With tears and kisses he welcomes me home
    While I confess all I’ve done wrong.
     
    Oh, son!  You are loved!  Forgiven of all!
    I prayed and hoped for this day to come.
    Return to your home, your family awaits,
    We’ll celebrate now for you have returned!
     
    The older brother with jealousy rife,
    Should we yet party for one who ran off?
    He squandered it all, every cent is gone!
    And still he’s welcomed and given a feast!
     
    Oh, my dear son!  Don’t you understand?
    Your brother was lost in sin and deep shame.
    He’s learned from his sin, confessed all to Me
    With arms open wide I forgive him all.
     
    How like our Lord who welcomes us home
    Always waiting, with mercy and grace
    He knows our weakness, yet forgives in love
    With arms open wide He gave all for us.
    ~~
  13. Linda Roorda
    More than just the popular Christmas evergreen to celebrate the holiday, the Christmas tree has a storied background. Holding treasured memories for each of us, it’s been said to represent strength, perhaps to resist temptations or to remain strong in harsh times.  We often consider it a symbol of our Christian faith, a reminder of Christ’s birth and everlasting life, but it has also been an ancient symbol of wisdom and longevity.  President John F. Kennedy referred to the durable evergreen as a symbol of character by saying, “Only in winter can you tell which trees are truly green.  Only when the winds of adversity blow can you tell whether an individual or a country has courage and steadfastness.”
    Martin Luther, credited with starting the Protestant Reformation in 1517, is said to have begun putting lit candles on his family’s tree to represent twinkling stars. Along with the beauty of candles or lightbulbs, various types of homemade decorations have been strung on trees, including popcorn, cranberries, and fancy ornaments from paper to glass.  To serve their many customers, trees were brought to the cities by traditional means of delivery via teamsters with horse-drawn wagons and the popular steam locomotive.  
    But, of especial interest among old-time city clientele, were the roughly 60 Christmas tree schooners which plied the waters of Lake Michigan between 1868 and 1914.  They were among the nearly 2000 or so beautiful three-masted schooners carrying cargo like tractor trailers on today’s highways.  Sailing south from northern Lake Michigan with loads of evergreens in late November, these hardy mariners risked their lives in stormy weather to bring great joy to their customers.  Far from summer’s calm, late season sailing often became a ride on roiling and dangerous waters described as “hellish death traps [in] violent hurricane-force storms.” 
    Many of us recall Gordon Lightfoot’s song, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”, a haunting tale of loss on Lake Superior on November 10, 1975 – “…The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down, of the big lake they called 'Gitche Gumee'.  The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead, when the gales of November come early…”  This last phrase was oft quoted by long-forgotten mariners on the Great Lakes who knew stormy tragedy; and, I’m sure, are among the fears of those who ply the late-season waters even now.  Yet, not many of us know about the tragic loss of the three-masted schooner, “Rouse Simmons”, the famed and fabled Christmas Tree Ship.
    Born after the American Civil War’s conclusion in 1865, Capt. Herman Schuenemann, the son of German immigrants, knew Lake Michigan like the back of his hand. Sailing since his youth, he knew how storms could blow up in an instant, causing havoc with sailing vessels, just as he knew about storms which took ships down to their dark and bitter-cold watery graves.  After all, he lost his brother, August, in the severe gale of November 9-10, 1898.  His ship, the two-masted “S. Thal”, also held Christmas trees bound for Chicago when she sank in a violent storm. 

    Loyal to folks of Chicago, Capt. Herman Schuenemann faithfully brought in his schooner loaded with Christmas trees every year.  While not the only Christmas tree ship on the Great Lakes, the good captain was extremely popular at Chicago’s Clark Street Dock.  The annual arrival of Capt. Santa’s ship was made more popular by the reciprocal love of his many friends and neighbors.  He couldn’t think of disappointing the faithful who hoped to buy his trees for their homes, nor the poor families, orphanages, and churches which welcomed his free gift of a tree.  It simply gave him great pleasure to sail into the Chicago harbor with his cargo of evergreen joy.  
    Yet, some would later claim Schuenemann had overloaded his schooner that year, making her top heavy.  At least one sailor, possibly several, refused to get on board when it was claimed rats were seen deserting while she was docked.  Sailors can be a superstitious lot.  Still, it’s long been known by old sea hands that if rats desert a ship, they know something’s amiss in what the inexperienced or unconcerned observer may overlook. 
    Even so, Capt. Schuenemann set sail on a nearly 300-mile journey from Thompson’s Pier at Manistique, Michigan the week before Thanksgiving… November 22, 1912, a Friday, another bad omen.  To the old mariners, you never set sail on a Friday… just past midnight into Saturday, but never Friday.  Knowing a storm was brewin’, Schuenemann wanted to get ahead of it, ignoring advice from friends in the Northwoods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.  “The people of Chicago have to have their trees for Christmas.”  (See film clip of Classicsailboats.org, “Herman Schuenemann, Captain Santa”) 
    In the captain’s defense, though, even the official weather forecast on the day he sailed was not one that would have given rise to grave concern.  “Washington, D.C., November 22, 1912 – For Wisconsin: Local rains or snow Saturday; colder at night; variable winds becoming northwest and brisk; Sunday fair.  For Upper Michigan: Local snow or rains Saturday; variable winds, becoming northwest and west and brisk; Sunday fair.  This would not be the kind of weather which a recreational yachtsman would relish, but it was hardly cause to stop the merchantmen.”  (“Anchor News”, publication of the Wisconsin Maritime Museum, January/February 1990, by Fred Neuschel; p. 87, Pennington.)
    And so, undeterred, Schuenemann sailed out into the lake with his cargo of roughly 5000 trees… until the 50-60+ mph winds caught up with him.  The gale-force winds laden with snow and ice took their toll on the hardy old ship built 44 years earlier.  She was seen by a steamer about 2 p.m. on November 23, 1912, the car ferry “Ann Arbor No.5.”  Noted to be riding low and listing badly, the captain of “Ann Arbor No.5” later claimed the “Simmons” was not running distress signals.  He didn’t attempt to get closer to offer aid thinking she could make it safely to shore, later taking blame for his decision.  
    Less than two hours after that sighting, however, the U.S. Lifesaving Station had received notice and sent a rescue motorboat out from Two-Rivers, Wisconsin during the fierce storm to find the “Simmons”.  The rescuers briefly saw her riding low and listing with distress flags flying, reporting that “…she was completely iced over, with most of her rigging and sails tattered or gone.”  As they drew within an eighth of a mile of the schooner, a sudden snow squall overwhelmed and “blinded them.  By the time the squall blew itself out, the ‘Rouse Simmons’ was gone… There was no Christmas Tree Ship, no Captain Santa, and no trees for many needy families’”. (p.135, Pennington, quoting U.S. Coast Guard Magazine, Dec 2000) 
    The late-season cold and stormy Great Lakes does not bring a pleasure sail.  High winds angrily whip the lake into a mountainous frenzy, sending waves crashing over ship decks.  The captain and his crew would fight the elements as their ship was tossed to and fro.  Though all hands knew what to do in riding out such storms, surely they must have also realized they could go down at any moment.  Realistically, there was only so much they could do.  “Freezing temperatures would sheet rigging, sails and spars with heavy coats of ice.  The accumulating weight of ice on the ship could ominously drag her deeper into the water, changing the center of gravity and making her prone to a sudden roll, from which she would never recover.  Running any cargo on the old schooners was especially dangerous in the late season.”  (“Went Missing II”, Frederick Stonehouse, Copyright 1984; pg.87, Pennington)
    Actually, four ships with all hands sank in that horrendous storm of 1912 – “South Shore,” “Three Sisters,” “Two Brothers,” and the “Rouse Simmons.”  Having lost sight of the “Simmons” despite an extensive search which risked their own lives, the unsuccessful Two Rivers Point men returned to the rescue house.  When the “Rouse Simmons” failed to appear at any dock after ten days, let alone her destination of Chicago’s Clark Street dock, it was determined she must have gone to the bottom of Lake Michigan.  She was believed to have sunk on November 23, 1912, possibly somewhere between the Two Rivers Point light and Kewaunee along the Wisconsin shore. 

    The Rouse Simmons
    Surprisingly, there were numerous conflicting reports of sightings and stories of her final hours, including supposed sightings that she had braved the storm just fine, confusion on the number of crew aboard, and even confusion as to why she had gone down. 
    For years afterwards, evergreen trees and their remnants, including a few ship artifacts and skulls, were caught up in numerous fishing nets.  Not until October 30, 1971, however, did diver, Kent Bellrichard, accidentally discover the “Rouse Simmons.”  While searching for another ship with his sonar, he dove down into the depths to investigate his target at the bottom.  Quite sure he had found the “Rouse Simmons”, Bellrichard returned a week later for another dive.  This time, with better lighting, he found the schooner’s name and hundreds of Christmas trees in her hold, some tucked deep inside with needles still intact.  (pg. 232-237, Pennington)  
    Many more years passed before a fishing trawler netted a captain’s wheel in 1999.  Determined to be from the “Rouse Simmons” by the year 1868 etched into the wheel’s metal, it was found in an area dubbed the ship graveyard for the many ships which have sunk in storms over the numerous past decades.  It is now believed the “Simmons” did not break apart from age as had been initially surmised.  With her wheel found a mile and a half north of where the schooner rested on the bottom, and noting the specific type of damage to the wheel, there seemed to be sufficient evidence as to why the good Capt. Schuenemann was unable to bring her safely in to shore.  Judging from the damage to the wheel, it most likely broke off and sank when the massive mizzenmast driver boom, which supported the ship’s main sails, broke loose.  Without the vital wheel to guide the ship’s direction, and with her larger-than-usual load of evergreens, being heavily coated with ice, her sails in tatters from gale-force winds, riding low and listing badly, she all too quickly sank below the surface with a total loss of life in the worst storm folks of that day could remember ever hitting their great lake.  (pg. 214-215, Pennington)
    Despite the family’s loss, the captain’s wife, Barbara, was determined to continue her husband’s tradition.  She and her daughters, Elsie, and twins Pearl and Hazel, began their annual trek in 1913 to the Northwoods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.  They cut down and loaded a schooner full of Christmas trees for the good folks of Chicago, sending more by train. Over time, fewer schooners brought Christmas trees into ports as the safer railroads took over.  But, for now, Elsie, age 20, the Captain’s oldest daughter, a very capable trained mariner under her father’s tutelage, sailed the lake on a new Christmas Tree Ship to bring home the greens. Bringing shiploads of trees and green boughs to Chicago’s Clark Street dock at least until 1925 before sending all evergreens by rail, Barbara and her three daughters continued to bring the joy of the season to town just as the good Captain Santa had done.  The family was beloved for their kindness and generosity in many ways, but especially during their own time of deepest grief when they thought of others.

    Hazel and Pearl Scheunemann, 1917
    Yet, one little girl clearly remembered waiting for Capt. Scheunemann’s Christmas Tree Ship to sail into the Chicago harbor back in 1912.  At age 5, Ruthie Erickson held her father’s hand as they waited at the dock for hours only to have her father finally say, “Ruthie, everybody is gone.  It’s cold.  The wind is blowing.  We should go home now.”  “But Daddy,” she replied, “it isn’t Christmas without a Christmas tree!”  (p.316, Pennington)  
    Decades later, 83-year-old Ruth (Erickson) Flesvig attended a play in 1990 about the beloved Captain Santa and his Christmas Tree Ship.  As the play concluded, her presence unknown to anyone, the real “little Ruthie” walked up onto the stage to say that she had been there at the docks waiting and waiting for the good captain and his trees.  Portraying Capt. Scheunemann was Capt. Dave Truitt, former Chairman of the Christmas Ship Committee who, in conjunction with the U.S. Coast Guard, helped restore the annual Christmas Tree Ship event in 2000.  (p.304-305, Pennington).  With tears in his eyes and everyone else’s, Capt. Truitt took one of the Christmas trees on stage and handed it to Ruth.  With these words, he spoke for Capt. Scheunemann by saying, “I couldn’t give you a Christmas tree in 1912 when you were five because of reasons you now know, but I give this tree to you today.  Merry Christmas, Ruthie!” (p.316-137, Pennington)  
    Donating free trees to Chicago’s needy, the U.S. Coast Guard’s annual Christmas Tree Ship continues Capt. Schuenemann’s beloved tradition.  Since 2000, the U. S. Coast Guard Cutter Mackinaw, an imposing icebreaker, arrives at Grand Avenue’s Navy Pier bearing a banner proclaiming her “Chicago’s Christmas Ship”.  As large crowds gather, a memorial ceremony pays tribute to the “Rouse Simmons,” the lives lost when she sank, and others in the merchant marine trade who have lost their lives over the decades on Lake Michigan.  Then, a large number of volunteers help deliver free Christmas trees to needy families throughout the city of Chicago in honor of Capt. Santa, their dear Capt. Herman Schuenemann. 
    As author Rochelle Pennington concluded, “Captain Herman Schuenemann touched the lives of people he would never know, and the volunteers of Chicago’s Christmas Ship are doing the same… dispelling some of the darkness in this ‘weary world’ that there may be rejoicing in The Season of Miracles…  [For] the strength of humanity lies herein:  in the willingness for each of us to leave the walls of our own hearts, and our own lives, and connect with the hearts and lives of others.  A Babe born in Bethlehem told us so.  The Life born in the hay had come to say, ‘Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, serve one another in love, and share.  And do unto others, for it is more blessed to give than it is to receive.” (p.317, Pennington)
    Merry Christmas and blessings to all!
    From the larger article, Of Christmas Trees and Christmas Tree Ships, on my blogsite, Homespun Ancestors, 12/14/2018.
    Painting used for featured image is by Charles Vickery
     
  14. Linda Roorda
    Though my poem and blog below were written over a year ago, it seems fitting for what we are all facing today in the war that Russia has brought to Ukraine, threatening to bring to other nations. Knowing that Ed’s and my niece, Rebecca and family, had been missionaries to Kyiv for several years in the past, with their dear friends among the entire nation now in harm’s way, we are, like everyone else, brought closer to the dire situation as we watch and hear the news updates… continuing our prayers for the entire nation of Ukraine, for their success in pushing back and defeating this evil and irrational enemy.
    There’s so much sadness around us… so many tragedies with loss of life to accidents, disease, natural disasters, wars and rumors of wars… so many murders of innocents, and abuse of innocence… so much canceling, injustice, poverty, and despair… and so much loss during this Covid-19 world-wide pandemic.
    We grieve and we mourn.  As the lives of so many are turned upside down and come to a screeching halt, life goes merrily on its way for others. Yet, while we share the heavy burdens in our hearts, and assist in any way we can to restore the broken, the demands of our busy lives simply move us forward through the unrelenting sands of time… in our protected havens, safe from disaster.
    Oh, that I would see through the eyes of the Lord to be a blessing and bring comfort to those around me!  “Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.” (I Corinthians 14:5)  Since we each have unique and individual abilities, we are able to reach out in our own special way… as we become God’s emissaries to a world in need. 
    Not all of us sense the call to go to the ends of the world to help the hurting.  Instead, there are many ways we can help our neighbors, locally and around the world… physically, emotionally, or financially.  We can each ask ourselves what can I do…  how can I help… as we respond to the gentle nudging in our heart from our loving God.
    Which reminds me of Jesus’ words in Matthew 25:35-40:  “35 ‘For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
    37 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’
    40 “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’” 
    Oh, That I Would See…
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Oh, that I would see the world through Your eyes
    This broken world with its tears and fears
    Tears for the pain unleashed by life…
    Yet tears of joy when love conquers all.
     
    Tears for injustice, unfairness in life
    Cries for lost souls in depths of despair
    Tears for the hurting as storms rip apart
    The ties that once knit loving hearts as one.
     
    Tears for the needy, the shamed and the shunned
    Cries for the lost walking streets of filth
    Tears for the lonely, peering out in fear
    And those without hope, whose tears no longer flow.
     
    Tears for the hungry, the bullied and abused
    Those dying alone who long for our touch,
    As those who offer selfless acts to assist
    Are those for whom there is greater reward.
     
    For within our hearts compassion yet stirs
    As we become His hands and feet
    To carry the love of the Servant of all
    And wipe away tears we see through His eyes.
    ~~
     
  15. Linda Roorda
    Anniversaries…I like to think of them as brackets that hold our special memories marking the ever-flowing years.  October 26th is our wedding anniversary, and goodness, but how the years have flown!  There’s a lot of life lived within those years, a lot of water under that bridge… years that took a young bride and a little older and wiser groom through many stages of growth… years that saw carefree and happy days, but also years which saw many losses and changes that left their marks.  Truth is, some days were harder than we ever could have imagined possible when we first became a team and dreamed of living together happily ever after. 
    For me and Ed it has been learning to listen to each other (sometimes to what isn’t being verbalized), to make time to work out hard life issues, to accept each other, faults and all, to apologize and forgive, and to choose to love and remain committed to the vows we took on our wedding day. 
    Whether we faced the happy days of easy love, the normal day-to-day mundane aspects of life, the difficult challenges with Ed no longer being able to farm with his dad as he lost the last vestiges of vision, the acceptance of a new way of life while he spent six months learning new skills at The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, MA, the joy and excitement our children brought into our lives by just being who they are, love for the spouses they married and the Grandchildren they blessed us with, staring at unbelievable sorrow and pain when our oldest daughter unexpectedly passed away at age 25, or the changes which multiple difficult health issues and disabilities have brought us, there is One who has walked beside us every step of the way…
    In fact, like the poem, “Footsteps In The Sand,” I know the Lord has carried us during those times when we were utterly overwhelmed by life.  And, praise God, we have overcome what life has tossed our way, and our bonds have become stronger than when we first began our married journey 47 years ago! 
    Once There Was A Time
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Once there was a time
    I gazed into your eyes serene
    And there beheld the depths of your soul
    With all the love entwined in your heart…
    I miss the twinkle and the wink
    I miss the many tones of your gaze
    For your eyes spoke tender volumes
    Of adoration and undying love.
     
    Once there was a time
    Of holding hands on carefree walks
    Cherishing how you protected and led
    And lifted me gently over the fence…
    You shared your music, humor and wisdom
    As we walked and talked, laughed and pondered
    Sweet dreams and plans for our life ahead
    O’er paths unknown but bright with love.
     
    Once there was a time
    I breathed in deep the ambience
    Of fresh-baled hay and farming life
    And snuggled close, safe in your arms…
    I loved it best to work with you
    A shadow beside your every move
    Watching with pride my farmer’s hands
    Caring for cattle and crops and fields.
     
    Once there was a time
    Three precious babes arrived
    To bring us joy and share our love
    As we watched them grow and learn at our side…
    Then changes came, sudden and unbidden
    For life doesn’t always go as we plan
    You lost your vision, you lost your dream,
    We lost ourselves to a new way of life.
     
    Once there was a time
    Of joyous blessings and bittersweet days
    When dreams took root and on wings did fly
    From a nest that emptied all too soon…
    Then just as surely as rejoicing came
    The agony of death descended dark
    Yet hidden deep within the walls
    Lay healing and peace only God could give.
     
    Once there was a time
    We watched each other struggle
    Overwhelmed by cares and concerns of life
    From darkened doors to windows of light…
    For sometimes wisdom can best be learned
    By facing trials of hardship and pain
    In Faith, Hope and Love we persevere
    As we walk a path covered by prayer.
     
    Once there was a time
    When life seemed just an empty slate
    Waiting to be filled and made complete
    O’er paths now trod and bright with love…
    Yet in gazing back upon our days
    Never did we walk alone
    For gently guiding and lighting our way
    Were the grace-filled loving hands of our Lord
     
    ~~
  16. Linda Roorda

    Once Upon A Day

    By Linda Roorda,

    Sitting in my East Garden yesterday, I absorbed the warm sunny rays while viewing the garden’s fading beauty, enjoying the colorful zinnias now more beautiful with recent cooler days and refreshing rain, gazing out beyond the garden proper to encompass the yard, our house, and the road beyond… listening to the golfers’ chatter and excited shouts of joy... spying birds flutter among the hidden branches above, hearing their gentle twitters – tuhweet, tuhweet… watching a gentle breeze stir the branches and leaves above me and beyond… remembering the many years that have passed us by, 40 to be exact, since we moved into our new house… thinking of all the good times and the difficult days that entered our lives… and so very thankful for the blessings of home and family.
    Like the tiny seed in my poem that was once upon a day planted with so much hope held within the task, to the joy it brings on seeing and touching the beauty in full array as it reaches its zenith… so it has been in our lives.  Among blessings more than we take the time to count, our precious little ones have grown up from being nestled in our arms, absorbing our love and attention, building the foundation on which to stand while testing their wings, flying all too soon out into the great big world to find their own way…
    And that growth, that wisdom, which they eagerly absorbed into their hearts and minds, came into their lives as we parents tried to follow the wisdom from our creator, our Lord God above.  “Train up a child in the way he should go, And even when he is old he will not depart from it.” (Proverbs 22:6) 
    It is He who has established and numbered our days.  “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (Psalm 139:13-16)
    It is God who has blessed us with our many talents and wisdom. James, the brother of Jesus, describes such wisdom from God as, "the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere." (James 3:17)
    It is the same God who guides us as we seek our way along this life’s journey... though sometimes we take the reins until we recognize God’s greater wisdom is really the wiser portion, for “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.” (Psalm 119:105)
    Our pathway might be smooth or it may be rocky, strewn with one obstruction or hurdle after another… all part of what matures and teaches us, giving us a deeper understanding of life, empathy and insight to support others facing a similar storm… as we turn for peace and comfort in God lest we become arrogant, thinking we alone know best.  King Solomon reminded us so long ago to “Trust in the Lord with all your heart; and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and he will make your paths straight.” (Proverbs 3:5, 6 NIV)  Or, as the King James Version says, …”and He shall direct thy paths.”
    But we so easily forget and take charge of those reins… only to realize later that we need to return to the true source of wisdom once again. Though Solomon wrote down his profoundly wise words centuries ago, granted to him by God through prayer on becoming king when his father died, he encourages us in our walk of life today.  “The proverbs of Solomon son of David, king of Israel: for gaining wisdom and instruction; for understanding words of insight; for receiving instruction in prudent behavior, doing what is right and just and fair; for giving prudence to those who are simple, knowledge and discretion to the young -- let the wise listen and add to their learning, and let the discerning get guidance -- for understanding proverbs and parables, the sayings and riddles of the wise. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and instruction. (Proverbs 1:1-7)
    And thus we see how blessed we’ve been when looking back…acknowledging how God has led us all the days of our lives… guiding us when we didn’t even realize it… using the difficulties to teach us wisdom for the future… making our paths straight for His purpose…  What an awesome God we serve!! 
    Once Upon A Day
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Once upon a day a seed was planted
    Just a tiny seed, held gently in hand
    The soil was tilled and the seed tucked in
    Patiently waiting its growth to begin.
     
    As the rains commenced and the sun shone warm
    The seed emerged from protective shell,
    And with firm foundation of sturdy roots
    Its tender leaves burst into the light.
     
    While storms blew fierce it held on firm
    Tightly gripping its feet in the soil
    Its tender stem and each tiny leaf
    Were gently swaying, dancing to the tune.
     
    Despite the tempest our plant stood tall
    It weathered the storm for its roots went deep
    Our plant knew its purpose, the unswerving truth
    And humbly displayed character unbent.
     
    And so with us as we arrive at birth
    Helpless and feeble, but eager to grow
    Nourished in love with foundation deep
    We mature to face the storms of life.
     
    Though we might break without firm support
    And may wander down destruction’s lane
     Yet often it’s from our mistakes that we learn
    The wisdom of God planted deep in our soul.
    ~~
  17. Linda Roorda
    What does an old broken antique rocking chair have in common with Christmas? Read on... 
    Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year!  We all have special memories wrapped up like treasures from holidays past - the smell of fresh pine when just the right tree is brought in and set up, strands of beautiful colored or pure white lights, decorations from gorgeous and fancy to simple and elegant in an array of colors and styles, scrumptious cookies and candy being made with their aromas wafting through the house, busy days of shopping, and either making or looking for just the right gift for each loved one on our list, the stores beautifully decorated like no other time of the year, gifts wrapped and topped with beautiful bows and placed gently beneath the tree, Christmas music filling the air as we sing favorite carols, a fresh layer of snow to reward us with the white Christmas we’ve been dreaming of, as children (and adults) wait in eager anticipation of Santa’s arrival…  Ahh... memories!  Aren’t they wonderful?
    But, in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, I long for quiet time to pause and reflect on why we celebrate Christmas.  It’s too cold to sit out in one of my gardens to contemplate, so thoughts run through my mind as I sit in an old rocking chair.  
    My antique wooden rocker reminds me of when my dad brought it home from one of his cousin Howard’s auctions in Nichols 50-some years ago.  It was broken.  Needed one of its rockers replaced.  So, he fashioned a new rocker to make the chair whole again.  Then, my mom lovingly restored the dark mahogany wood to its natural shining luster.  There’s a second rocking chair I often sit in to be near my husband in his recliner.  Outwardly, it looks like new; nothing broken - but it squeaks if I rock too slowly.  My in-laws knew how much I liked to sit in it over the years in their home, so they blessed me with it.  
     But, why am I talking about rocking chairs, and a broken one at that?  And at Christmas time no less!  Because they remind me that that’s why Jesus left His heavenly home and came to this earth as a wee tiny precious baby to live among us.  Our lives are broken… though perhaps not outwardly evident.  We need someone to lovingly restore us… back to the luster and shine that we were intended to have, just like that old rocking chair.  There is Someone willing to come alongside us, to forgive us on our repentance, to walk with us… gently calling us to Himself… a Savior ready to tenderly restore us with His gift of love…  
     I have often wondered what it was like to have been Mary and Joseph, traveling from Nazareth to Bethlehem, their first baby due soon.  It was census time, and Bethlehem was Joseph’s home town.  Caesar Augustus had decreed that every citizen should be counted in the entire Roman world.  And so they went.  I cannot imagine Mary riding a donkey all that distance, heavy with child, only to learn that they had arrived too late to get a clean, warm room.  Ever have that experience?  Traveling on the spur of the moment without making reservations ahead of time for your hotel of choice, only to find some convention has slipped into town, filling every room available?  Now what do you do?  Where do you go?  Well, just maybe the next hotel will have a room…
    But, Joseph kept getting turned away, again and again, from every inn where he stopped.  He must have felt so frustrated.  He couldn’t even provide a warm, clean room for his dear wife, who was likely in labor by then.  Finally, an innkeeper took compassion on the young couple and told them they could find shelter in his stable out back.  Oh great!  This was not exactly what they had hoped for, especially for the birth of their first child.  But, at least it was warm, dry and quiet.  Well, sort of…  There were all those animals they’d have to share the smelly stable with – donkeys, sheep, oxen, a few cats chasing mice hither and yon, maybe even a few roosting chickens – and animals at night are not exactly that quiet.  But, it was warm and dry.  And, at least there weren’t hordes of people rushing around, talking loudly and keeping everyone else up all night long while they partied.  Yes, a lowly stable would have to be good enough.  Now, they could finally get some rest for the night and find a little peace and quiet…  
     And then, in the dark of night, with only a small torch for light, Mary gave birth to her first-born son.  She wrapped him in swaddling cloths and snuggled him close.  After he fell asleep, she kissed his precious little face and lay him gently on the hay in a manger.  And then came the visitors, some local shepherds, who told them how they’d heard about their baby’s birth.   
     The shepherds told Mary and Joseph that while they were out in the fields, watching over their flocks for the night, they saw the angel of the Lord in all His glory.  He shone so brightly that he lit up the world all around them!  And they even admitted to Joseph and Mary how afraid they had been.  Nothing like this had ever happened out on the hills before!  What could it mean?  But then they told how the angel had spoken gently to them saying, “Fear not!  For behold, I bring you tidings of great joy which will be to all people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.  And this shall be a sign unto you.  You shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling cloths lying in the manger.’”  Then, all of a sudden, a multitude of bright angels appeared in the heavens, surrounding them, praising God and saying, “‘Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men.’”  [Luke 2:8-14] 
    Mary pondered all that had happened in her heart and soul during the days and years ahead.  If we could only know what she was thinking as she watched her precious baby boy grow up, as she wondered about the life her Son would live… and ultimately give… for her… for us…  just to make us whole again.
    ONE HOLY SILENT NIGHT
    Linda A. Roorda - 12/11/10
     One bustling and boist’rous night
    A man sought a room,
    A special room for his wife
    About to give birth.
     
    No room! No room at the inn!
    Joseph kept hearing,
    But go look for your shelter
    With cattle o’er yon.
     
    A warm and pungent stable
    Mangers filled with hay,
    Peaceful, serene, inviting,
    Cattle mooing low.
     
    A cry pierces the darkness
    Mary tenderly smiles,
    A precious baby is born
    Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us.
     
    Shepherds gaze up astonished
    As angels descend
    Amid dazzling-lit heavens
    Singing, Peace on earth!
     
    To Bethlehem town they run
    Lowly stable to find,
    Promised Messiah to see,
    Savior of the world.
     
    Would I have recognized Him,
    This new baby boy?
    Would I have known His purpose,
    My Savior, My Lord?
     
    One holy and silent night
    God came down to man.
    In humility He served,
    His grace-filled plan to redeem.
  18. Linda Roorda
    As many know, my husband was readmitted to the hospital Thursday.  Overlapping congestive heart failure, diabetes, and kidney failure walk a fine line together. Not sure of the immediate future, as none of us do, we watch the world go merrily on its way as we grapple with life’s unknowns, frustrations and limitations, all the while knowing God is here with us and has a plan. His will may not be the plan we want, but as we go to Him, He gently wraps his arms around us, holding us up, giving us strength to face what is meant to be, with His love… I actually needed to be reminded of that and found this poem and blog I’d written in 2017, unpublished previously, so fitting for so many of us today… especially in the heartache of sudden losses like those who are suffering amidst Kentucky’s devastating flash flooding, as we collectively mourn with the families who lost loved ones and everything they owned.  May you each be blessed and comforted today with our God’s great love within your own difficulties.   
    Life can be so hard and painful, difficult and unfair.  We may face debilitating fears of the unknown on hearing a difficult medical diagnosis.  I remember the shock of hearing I had breast cancer.  My mind shut down.  I did not hear much of what else my doctor had to say.  The fears of the unknown were very real, as were my tears.  And I know many of you, my dear friends and readers, have faced similar situations.
    You may feel deep pain and grief in the loss of a loved one before their time… like the losses of our first two preborn infants - Heather at 6 months, believed to be twins who did not separate, followed by a second baby at 3-1/2 months, and then the loss of our daughter Jennifer at 25 years, a month after she graduated with her Master’s in school psychology, leaving behind her husband of 3 years. 
    You may carry the heart wounds of betrayal and abuse, suffer the destruction of a family home or business, or the loss of everything around you in devastating natural disasters, and more.  You know all too well your own trials…  There is so much we don’t understand in this life.
    Yet, amidst all the pain and grief we endure, we can rise from the ashes of devastating losses to a joyous new beginning.  For God is with us, even on those days when we feel abandoned and alone, like no one cares.  Even then, He is there.  He never leaves us.  Perhaps He seems silent, but He is truly never far away.  His arms are always open, ready to hold us, perhaps even to carry us for a while.  But He never leaves us nor abandons us.
    We may not understand the why of our pain while walking the difficult road… but the Lord has His reasons for allowing us to take that journey.  Perhaps this is what it takes to draw us back to His side, to understand His love, to know forgiveness with His lavish gift of mercy and grace through Jesus’ sacrifice, and to know His love and peace beyond understanding. 
    In John 16:33, Jesus told his disciples, and us, that “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.”  Yet even the strongest among us faces difficult days with doubts about so many things… and we contemplate…
    Joshua was told by God as he prepared the Israelites to enter the promised land:  “6. Be strong and courageous, because you will lead these people to inherit the land I swore to their forefathers to give them… 9. Have I not commanded you?  Be strong and courageous.  Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”  They had lived for so many years and generations as slaves to the Egyptians and their brutality.  Now, after 40 years of wandering in the wilderness under Moses, after facing many difficulties where God showed His loving hand in providing and caring for them, there was still fear of the unknown among the people.
    Again, hundreds of years later, the prophet Isaiah also shared God’s words with the Israelites, “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 41:10-13 NIV)  Words we can also hold onto in our hearts in this every-day journey of life.
    One of my favorite verses is Peter’s words reminding us to “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” (I Peter 5:7 NIV)  And yet, I fall short in bringing ALL my cares and concerns to God, and I stand guilty of fretting and fearing.
    Again, Isaiah wrote down precious words God gave him to encourage us all during trials:  “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.” (Isaiah 43:2 ESV)
    Finally, as the writer of Hebrews 13:5 reminds us, “Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, ‘Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.’” 
    Yes, I have to keep reminding myself of the words of God written well before our time.  These verses show what great love our Lord has for us.  He knows and understands the daily trials of life we face… the losses and pains we suffer…  Though we may consider our losses to be ashes of our treasures, ultimately God will give us joy and peace through the difficulties we face when our hearts are secure in Him… as we hold onto Jesus’ nail-scarred hands and bask in His great love… for "[He will] provide for those who grieve...to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes."  (Isaiah 61:3) 
    What rejoicing we share when blessed with His peace!  Never will He leave us, never will He forsake us! 
    Out of the Ashes
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Out of the ashes comes a healing heart
    And from the shattered comes broken beauty
    A miracle born midst languishing hope
    Comes shining light that glows from within.
     
    Though all I can give is a heart of love
    The simplest of gifts with no strings attached
    I give it to you with hands held out
    As You lift me up to stand rejoicing.
     
    From heavenly throne to servant of all
    You humbly came to seek and to save
    Bringing compassion, discerning my heart
    You gazed on my soul to see the real me.
     
    If all my riches were piled up high
    They‘d account for naught when put through the fire
    But where I have stored the Light of the world
    Is where the treasures of my heart are held.
     
    For out of the ashes comes a heart at peace
    Broken and shattered in sorrow and shame
    But born anew by Your sacrifice
    Your love covers all with mercy and grace.
    ~~
    12/06-09/17 
  19. Linda Roorda

    Peace in the Storm

    By Linda Roorda,

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

    Studying that painting, I also notice a profile of Christ in the rock formations and a cross created by rocky fissures.  Considering how our heavenly Father gently guides and protects us during the storms of life, however fierce they may be, it’s His canopy of love and peace that shelters and comforts.  And I can be at peace when life is in turmoil knowing that “[He] will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in [Him].  Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord…is the Rock eternal.” (Isaiah 26:3-4 NIV) 
    Peace
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    There is a peace in the depth of my soul
    A joy that only comes from Your love,
    For in the midst of storms and trials
    My heart is steady when focused on You.
    ~
    But peace is fleeting when I fail to heed
    When I take charge and grasp hold the wheel.
    I need to trust that Your ways are best
    When through the darkness I walk gripped by fear.
    ~
    For as the waves relentlessly toss
    Your face I’ll seek for comforting solace.
    I know You’ll guide me safely to shore
    As Your light shines down to brighten my way.
    ~
    For what is peace without Your mercy
    The hand held out to offer refuge,
    An ear to hear burdens of the heart
    Arms to envelope the soul in turmoil?
    ~
    Grace beyond measure You pour over me
    Yet I don’t deserve riches of mercy.
    Prone to wander, to follow my will
    Still You pursue to seek and to save.
    ~
    There is contentment just in the knowing
    Whenever I feel the world crashing down,
    You call my name and draw me with joy
    Out of the chaos and into Your arms.
    ~
    And like a fresh rain washing over me
    Peace like the sun envelopes my soul,
    It covers my life with joy unreserved
    Tranquility found as I rest in You.
    ~~
    07/08/15
  20. Linda Roorda
    It’s hard to realize a full year has gone by since my husband passed away January 25th. It’s been a year of learning to live more independently while seeking God’s guidance, relying on wise counsel from others, a year of missing Ed’s wit and wisdom and his big hugs which left me feeling so loved and protected… yet times of missing him so much, shedding a few tears, while savoring precious memories of our 49 years together, thankful for the many blessings through the years and now… and it’s also been a year of knowing contentment and peace realizing Ed is fully restored, able to see, to walk and run without pain or dizziness, absolutely enjoying his heavenly home with our Lord.
    Yet, in the past, there were many times when my peace was shattered... difficult storms, painful wounds, major losses... and I was in turmoil. Like December 2019 when Ed was found to be in severe life-threatening diabetic hyperglycemic hyperosmolar syndrome, a rare complication of diabetes type II.  We were both overwhelmed with the new diagnosis of type II diabetes, and a new treatment regimen on top of his multiple other health issues. We fully realize countless others have successfully dealt with this diagnosis, but the initial shock left us overwhelmed.  
    In 2022, Ed was hospitalized twice in July, again at the end of September, in the ER several times in early December for difficulty breathing with severe congestive heart failure and pulmonary edema.  Arriving home that night after spending 8-1/2 hours in the ER, I found two “thinking of you” cards in the mailbox from dear friends. What perfect timing!  God knew we needed a special reminder of how he uses each of us to bring His love and care to those who need a cheerful lift.
    Then just two days after Christmas 2022, Ed was hospitalized for 8 days with fluid overload on chronic congestive heart failure. At cardiac catheterization, three stents were placed to open a fully blocked artery, with more near total blockages and damage throughout his heart with 9 days’ worth of atrial fibrillation.  In January 2023, he was readmitted with Covid, multiple pulmonary embolisms (blood clots in his lungs), more difficulty breathing, and major weakness.  But the cards mentioned above, the visit of dear friends leading to a special inspiring visit by their friend, pastor and chaplain at Robert Packer Hospital, and the many kind comments of loving care and prayers to my Facebook updates at that time, remind me of the following blog I’d penned based on words written so many centuries ago. 
    Reading our devotions one evening several years ago, Ed quietly asked me to read Psalm 91.  He wasn’t sure what it said, but he had a strong sense God was urging him to have me read this Psalm for a particular difficulty I was facing.
    In reading Psalm 91 aloud, I found these words by King David spoke to my heart:  “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.  I will say to the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust’… He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart… If you make the Most High your dwelling – even the Lord, who is my refuge – then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your tent… ‘Because he loves me, says the Lord, I will rescue him; I will protect him…’ He will call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.”  (vs.1-2, 4, 9-10, 14-15. NIV)
    Despite tears rolling down while reading the entire Psalm that night, I felt a great sense of comfort and peace… that peace which passes all understanding despite the trial.  (Philippians 4:7)
    None of us is immune to the trials and storms of life, or the feelings of sadness that overtake us at times.  Sometimes God graciously allows a storm to pass us by without disturbing our equilibrium, other times He fully heals us in our difficult storm, while other times we have no choice but to wend our way through the storm to understand why we had to walk a difficult path… for neither are we promised a life of ease.  As Jesus reminded His followers in John 16:33, “I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world.” 
    The one who is ill may not even look ill.  They remember their busy fulfilling life of the past, replaced by a limited worth or useless feeling that permeates their days.  We’ve learned it is normal to grieve life changes with sadness and frustration, even as Ed’s great sense of humor would pop through despite a difficult day to envelope us in therapeutic hearty laughter. 
    But I will also admit to a touch of envy knowing most friends can do anything or go wherever they want, not an option for us to enjoy.  It can be hard to identify with those who deal with chronic illness… facing health issues and concerns other folks don’t ever seem to encounter.  And the grieving process can initially leave you devoid of the joy which James 1:2-3 speaks about as we learn to accept chronic illness. 
    Guilt may even be felt by the chronically ill person and family when prayers for healing seem to go unanswered.  To hear a casual or flippant response, to be told we’re not praying right, or to sense a lack of genuine care can be crushing. As we pray for healing, we especially ask for strength to handle each day… because healing as we want may not be God’s plan.  The Apostle Paul was not healed as he desired, but learned that God’s grace was sufficient with Christ’s power and strength evident through his (Paul’s) weaknesses.  (II Corinthians 12:7-10)   Relying on God for wisdom and strength each day, God’s power shines through us.
    I will never forget another hospital chaplain who sat with me when Ed was in the ICU in 2010 for severe life-threatening grand mal (tonic-clonic) seizures.  Gradually pulling out our life story, he listened and cared deeply, saying that in 30 years as a chaplain, he’d never met a family who’d dealt with so many difficult issues as we had, and I hadn’t even told him all, as he prayed with me in facing a new major stressor.  Six months later, Ed was back in the ER, hearing his favorite ER physician say, “I’m so glad to see you! Not that you’re ill again, but that you survived those seizures and have no damage!”  Wow!  She truly cared!
    We appreciated the support and prayers of family and friends as we faced each new trial.  Take time to hear concerns as a new norm is accepted, leaning on God as He walks beside you in the storm.  Share your heartfelt hugs.  Convey a depth of feeling and understanding in asking “how are you doing.”  Friends and family who ask and truly listen to understand what anyone with chronic illness faces bring much comfort.  Offers of help are gratefully appreciated, even if they cannot be readily accepted.
    While we're inside the storm, though the wind and waves batter our world, we do remember God is still there, still in control.  We know we can trust Him to hold us tightly, to shelter and protect… even though we may lose everything, including life itself, as when we lost our daughter, Jennifer, and last year my husband.  Yet, through the difficulty, He will make a way, perhaps close one door to open a better one, and shine His light to guide us as we move forward… one step at a time.
    It’s where we place our trust that peace will be revealed.  And when it’s placed in our Lord’s perfect will, trusting that He has our best interests at heart even in the most difficult times, we see Him help us handle what comes our way as we grow in faith to become more like Christ, our life’s purpose.  With such trust, our faith remains unshakeable, and we find a renewed peace… with a joy that passes understanding.
    There’s a painting I love entitled “Peace in the Midst of the Storm” by Jack E. Dawson.  One story is told that a wealthy benefactor searched for the perfect painting depicting peace.  The first two beautiful tranquil scenes were rejected.  When the artist returned to his easel, frustrated at his work being rejected, his prayer prompted the design of a riveting scene.  On a dark and stormy night, water gushes in torrents over rocky ledges…as a mother bird calmly sits upon her nest tucked under a ledge, protecting her young while the elements rage. Now that’s peace!  https://jackdawsontour.com/peace-in-the-midst-of-the-storm/

    Studying that painting, I also notice a profile of Christ in the rock formations and a cross created by rocky fissures.  Considering how our heavenly Father gently guides and protects us during the storms of life, however fierce they may be, it’s His canopy of love and peace that shelters and comforts us.  And I can be at peace when life is in turmoil knowing that “[He] will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in [Him].  Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord…is the Rock eternal.” (Isaiah 26:3-4 NIV) 
    Peace
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    There is a peace in the depth of my soul
    A joy that comes from Your love alone,
    For in the midst of storms and trials
    My heart is steady when focused on You.
    ~
    But peace is fleeting when I fail to heed
    When I take charge and grasp hold the wheel.
    I need to trust that Your ways are best
    When through the darkness I walk gripped by fear.
    ~
    For as the waves relentlessly toss
    Your face I’ll seek for comforting solace.
    I know You’ll guide me safely to shore
    As Your light shines down to brighten my way.
    ~
    For what is peace without Your mercy
    The hand held out to offer refuge,
    An ear to hear burdens of the heart
    Arms to envelope the soul in turmoil?
    ~
    Grace beyond measure You pour over me
    Yet I don’t deserve riches of mercy.
    Prone to wander, to follow my will
    Still You pursue to seek and to save.
    ~
    There is contentment just in the knowing
    Whenever I feel the world crashing down,
    You call my name and draw me with joy
    Out of the chaos and into Your arms.
    ~
    And like a fresh rain washing over me now
    Peace like the sun envelopes my soul,
    It covers my life with joy unreserved
    Tranquility found as I rest in You.
    ~~
     
  21. Linda Roorda
    As we travel life’s path, we all manage to lose a few things… like special trinkets, and perhaps a few friends from another time and another place as life moves on.  We even lose our patience a few more times than we care to admit.  Though losing something special can be painful, it’s different from giving it away… releasing that treasure on our own is a whole other story, a gift of love.  In this season of graduations, my thoughts began to travel in the direction of releasing our treasured youth with love.
    Letting go of what we hold dear can be difficult, perhaps even bittersweet, yet the release can leave us with a warm glow in our heart.  It’s a process that takes time.  As Corrie ten Boom, one of my favorite authors and evangelists, once said, “I have learned to hold all things loosely, so God will not have to pry them out of my hands.”  Like a mother hen, we lovingly protect and keep our little ones safe, and try to impart some of our hard-earned wisdom over time before letting them take off on their own.  After all, we truly want the best for them! 
    But, as our little ones grow up, they mature with a wisdom found only by taking some of life’s most difficult steps.  Learning to walk, falling down is a frequent occurrence as they learn how to get back up and try again.  Then, as they continue to grow and mature, they also benefit by failing a few times, learning how to pick themselves up to try again.  At times, though, I was over protective of my children, a hover-mother, not wanting them to face some of the difficulties I did… not my best parenting idea.  I loved my children and wanted to be involved in every aspect of their little lives, encouraging them to be all they could be.
    We all know parenting has its challenges, and every so often I’d say, “It’s hard to raise a mother!”  Raising our children was a joint learning venture, especially since they managed to arrive without an individual instruction manual in hand.  But, now we have the pleasure of watching our children raise their children.  And hearing their stories holds extra special meaning.  Like when our daughter, Emily, was trying to put her middle son down for a nap.  He had every excuse in the book as he fussed around.  Finally, she let him know how frustrated she was getting with him.  Patting her arm, 3-year-old Sam gently said, “It’s ok, Mom.  You’ll get used to it!”  And Em had to tuck her face into his blanket so he wouldn’t see her laughing.  There’s more wisdom in those words than little Sam could have ever known!  For out of the mouths of babes comes wisdom sweet.
    Should we hold too tightly to our children and their childhood, we may not allow them the freedom they need to grow with life’s changes.  They may not become the well-adjusted mature adults they are meant to be.  And, if we fail to help them discipline their own actions, they won’t know the rewards of self-control.  Each child is a unique individual, a most precious gift from God to be treasured and loved as we guide them in starting their journey of life. 
    My friend, Mimi, once shared a quote from her stitchery with me – “There are two lasting gifts we can give to our children – one is roots, the other is wings.”  How true!  May we love our children enough to provide them with the deep roots of a sturdy foundation, laughing and crying alongside them, while giving them wings and freedom to fly out into the great big world on their own.  And may we learn the gift of releasing with love… allowing us all to see the beauty deep within their heart. 
    Releasing With Love
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Along life’s journey we lose a few things
    Like fancy trinkets and friends of the heart
    Even some time, and patience, too
    All that holds meaning through our hands will slip.
    ~
    Losing possessions with meaning attached
    Shows how futile to retain our grip
    As respected wisdom gives true perspective
    That where grace abounds we hold but loosely.
    ~
    When losing our self for a greater good
    We follow a path of godly wisdom
    And in giving thought to what holds our heart
    Is found the key essential to life.
    ~
    For the years of youth build up to the time
    When wisdom is gained and freedom earned,
    We’ve gently led and helped them to know
    It’s time to fly on wings of their own.
    ~
    By clutching firmly life’s fleeting passage
    We cannot grasp the beauty within
    For in the act of releasing with love
    We’ll come to treasure each moment’s sweet gift.
    ~~
     
  22. Linda Roorda
    44 years ago today, a precious little girl named Jennifer Arleen was welcomed into our arms. I praise God that we were blessed to have her in our lives for 25 years… just as she blessed others around her.  She was Miss Spencer 1993, Spencer-Van Etten Valedictorian 1996, graduating from Houghton College in 2000 with degrees in elementary education and psychology, earning her master’s as a school psychologist from Alfred University in 2003. She was good, gifted actually, in this field.  Even in high school, friends sought her out for advice.
    We loved our three kids and tried to do a lot together – like going for walks, playing board games or outdoor games, watching our son’s baseball games as a family, stacking firewood together, eating supper together with time to talk about our day, and listening to classic rock and Christian contemporary music.  But life is short.  All too quickly our kids grow up and move on in life, leaving us to wonder where all those busy years went.  Now I understand why older relatives would say to me as a child, “Don't wish to grow up so fast.  You’ll get there soon enough.”  They were right… time sneaks by all too quickly… and Jenn passed away on June 30, 2003 after an unexpected collapse two days earlier.
    When words cannot begin to speak… a mother's heart never forgets. How blessed we've been, and how blessed we are, with God's gift of our children, each especially precious and dear. It's a time to remember, not in sadness of heart, but joy for the blessing, of a life once lived, a gift of memories, a legacy of peace.
    I grieved, and grieved hard for a life well lived and well loved. But that time has passed, and I now celebrate the joy of remembering a beautiful life and all who were touched by her life and love. I miss Jenn, but praise God for the memories of her life well lived and love freely given as we take forward with us the joy from a precious gift.
    Jennifer was our firstborn, an answer to prayer after two miscarriages.  She was born at 3:03 on Monday morning, April 24, 1978.  And, I always remembered it snowed about two inches that morning, after having been in the 80s the week before! As excited as I was that we had our precious little one, I remember thinking after we brought Jennifer home – now what do I do?  I had a baby to care for, and even though I’d shared the care of four younger brothers, and babysat every other day with my sister all thru high school for 4 kids next door, and for many others as a teen, this was different – this was my own baby, 24 hours a day!  I carried her into our trailer and snuggled her into her bassinette, a precious little bundle.  Like all new mothers, I learned day by day as she grew up.
    Jennifer took her time learning to talk.  Maybe, being the first and only child for a while, her Mom knew just what she wanted so she really didn’t have to speak much. One night, looking out the window of the backroom door waiting for Ed to come home from the barn, I purposely did not pick Jenny up to see what she would do.  Very clearly she said, “Pick…me…up.”  Her first sentence!  So, of course I picked her up! 
    As she grew older, Jenny loved being by her Daddy in the barn, riding in the grain cart, “helping” to feed the cows and mixing up the calf replacer milk formula with her Daddy.
    And then along came Emily.  Ed had knee surgery in late October 1980 for torn cartilage from squatting under the cows and tractors on the farm.  The day after he came home, we went back to the hospital as he hobbled around on crutches. Emily had decided she was ready to arrive nine days early on Sunday, November 2nd. That was typical of Emily, ready to face the world and eager for the next adventure.  Another beautiful little girl, with a lot of pretty black hair, though she’s definitely blonde now.
    Jenny was given a twin bed before Emily was born, which made her feel like a big girl!  She loved her baby sister Emily dearly, and I think fancied she was “her” baby.  She often climbed into the crib to sleep with Emily overnight.  
    We now had two busy, growing toddlers to care for, good little girls who loved to play together and make their own fun. We built our house in the summer of 1982 while expecting Dan, and moved in on August 18th.  Though active throughout the summer with the usual gardening, canning and freezing vegetables and fruit, the move took much more out of me than expected, and I was utterly exhausted. The girls loved all the steps in the house, and often played with their dolls or had a tea party there!  The free space in the basement provided room to ride their tricycles around.  In preparation for the new baby, Emi was moved from the crib into the bottom of a bunkbed – she was a big girl now! And Jennifer and Emily became big sisters to their brother, Daniel, on October 28th.
    Nearly two years later, our county Pennysaver held an art contest for the annual community brochure.  It was to include something specific to Tioga County with a $50 prize.  I entered the contest with the hope that, if I won, I could buy a swing set that I longed to give my children.  God knew my heart’s desire and, amazingly, I won!  I had not had time to refine my collage sketches of Tioga County life, but my kids got their first swing set! 
    We enjoyed playing games, taking walks in the back fields or on the hill, played badminton, volleyball, card games, and board games; and, in the winter, snow forts and life-sized snowmen were made, with sledding down the slope behind our property.  We invented a few games of our own – like floor hockey in the kitchen while waiting for supper to cook.  We used a small ball and attempted to kick it with bare feet past the other person to score.  The kids also played bowling in the hall by setting up empty 2-liter soda bottles, using a tennis ball or similar-sized ball to roll down the hall, knocking over as many bottles as possible. 
    I sewed a lot when they were younger, making clothes for the kids, Ed and myself – shirts, pants, dresses, nightgowns, bathrobes, and even doll clothes.  I loved playing with my little ones, even on my hands and knees on the floor or outside on the ground.  Saturday evening was always homemade pizza night since we got married.  The kids loved it, and as a teen Jenn made tapioca pudding with layered blueberries for dessert - a delicious way to top off dinner!  She loved to fuss over meals and make delicious treats, a natural at cooking like her Daddy’s Mom.
    Jenn also had a favorite joke, “Hollow Statue,” which she told with a terrific “old European” accent.  One day, a very wealthy businessman decided to build a new home with the finest materials money could buy.  As he discussed the house with the contractor, he told the man what he wanted.  “Over here, I want a curved staircase, made of the best wood with fancy railings.  Here, I want a beautiful fireplace, made with the finest marble you can find.  And, over here, I want a ‘hollow statue.’”  “Not a problem; we can do all of this,” said the contractor.  “But, there’s one thing I don’t understand.  You want a ‘hollow statue?’”  “Oh yes; I want the very best ‘hollow statue.’”  “Ok, that’s what we’ll do.”  Not able to be around during the construction, the owner told the contractor that no expense should be spared for the best items.  When the mansion was finally completed, the contractor showed the owner all of the fine details.  “Oh, this is beautiful!  It’s just what I wanted.  It’s perfect!  I like it very much!” exclaimed the owner. “But, wait… what’s this?”  The contractor replied, “Why, that’s what you asked for – a hollow statue.”  “No, no, no.  That’s not what I want. You know – ‘Rrrring! Rrrring! Hollow! Statue?”  I loved to hear her tell this story with an “old-world” accent and her graceful, feminine hand gestures. 
    As we look back with 20/20 hindsight, we tend think of our loved ones who have left us as virtually perfect.  I find myself doing that with Jenn, but I know she had her faults too.  It was said by their band teacher that Jenn was a special person who was kind, loving, thoughtful and sweet. She was a quiet person, who never said a bad word about anyone.  Jenn truly had a sweet, gentle spirit.  She cared about others and gave of herself in helping them.  She always had time to listen to her friends or family, to listen to those who sought her advice, or to those who just needed an ear. But…
    As a child, Jenn liked to take chocolate chips to her room, hiding them in her desk drawer.  One time, this concept went too far.  Their dad was at The Carroll Center for the Blind in Massachusetts, and I was grocery shopping with all three kids.  As I turned around, Jenn was slowly taking her hands out of her pocket with an odd look on her face.  I knew…I just knew what had happened.  Sure enough, she’d slipped a candy bar into her pocket.  I made her put it back, telling her that the store manager had literally just walked past us.  If he had seen her, he would have charged her with shoplifting, I said.  And, people who do that get sent to jail.  Maybe that was harsh to tell an 11-year-old, but this was going to be stopped.  On the way home, I even drove past the county jail. I’m sure the message was received, and Jenn never attempted to steal anything again.
    Our children – each a unique individual, a most precious gift from God to be treasured and loved as we guide them on their journey through life.  My late friend and distant cousin, Mimi, shared a quote from her stitchery – “There are two lasting gifts we can give to our children – one is roots, the other is wings.” May we love our children enough to provide them with the deep roots of a sturdy foundation, and yet love them enough to discipline them, giving them wings and freedom to fly out into the great big world on their own.
     
    Song of the Soul
    For Jenn
    Linda A. Roorda  
    Music expresses the song of the soul,
    From out the depth of pain and despair,
    To upward heights of love and joy…
     
    When words cannot express,
    music brings forth its lilting song
    to comfort and soothe with healing touch…
     
    Remember with me a tender time
    colored by loss and deepest grief
    yet filled with hope and contented peace…
     
    A peace beyond all understanding,
    in the flight Home of a precious soul
    to glory and joy beyond compare…
  23. Linda Roorda

    Respect

    By Linda Roorda,

    Oh, that we lived in a perfect world! … but we don’t.  Not everything goes our way, but our response can make a difference.  So, why am I hesitant to express my opinion?  There's a place for respectful disagreements, including of each other's faith, or lack thereof as espoused a few years back by Joy Behar of “The View” and those who admire her. They mocked former Vice President Mike Pence for his Christian faith and talking to Jesus, even calling a “mental illness” his listening to Jesus’ voice.  I, too, have heard the "voice" of God... sometimes loud and clear as if someone stood next to me uttering the words, other times nothing more than a gentle nudge in my soul. 
    But, in re: school and public mass shootings, Ed and I have long felt there's something eating away at society, like a cancer.  It’s doubtful if stricter gun laws will make a big difference in overall statistics of violence, since criminals always manage to get them.  Though we do believe some laws strengthened may be more of a deterrent than others, it’s interesting that cities with the toughest gun laws haven’t curbed their gun violence.  But you know, my Dad's guns were freely available to me and my brothers as teens, after training in respectful use, and we never considered using them wrongly. 
    As crime rates increase, we see an obvious lack of respect for the value of another human being… with an increase in bullying and rage issues, taunting, mocking and killing of our law enforcement officers. 
    We can argue gun crime stats, but I don't believe access to guns by teens or any criminal is our main issue.  We have seen over time that any manner of weapon can be used besides guns - knives, a heavy object to bludgeon the victim, vehicles, even a rock by Cain to kill his brother Abel in a fit of jealous rage.  Even in states or cities with the strictest gun control laws, crime rates have risen a good deal lately.
    Many at-risk youths have not learned how to appropriately redirect their losses, upsets or rage other than to lash out at those around them - especially when adults use violence to release their own anger.  There seems to be a lack of discipline – some kids know what they can get away with and readily test the limits.  And, sometimes, kids lack appropriate role models as we adults can also give inappropriate signals.  Too often we, as a society, have given our youth too much, causing an "entitlement" syndrome where no effort is put forth to earn what one desires to gain.
    We witness or become the target of bullying, verbal attacks, abuse and harassment in many forms.  Amidst the violence, angry rhetoric, and sexual harassment and misconduct in our society, something seems to be missing.  What happened to the respect we once showed each other?  Showing courtesy, consideration and honor to others fits together under that one term – respect.  Displaying an attitude of humility with respect shows the depth of our own character and integrity.  Yet, it seems that mocking or hateful vitriol is the language preferred from many directions.  Like you, I find it appalling. 
    Anger against sin and abuse is not wrong, but righteous, an emotional response which God gave us. When anger stems from a heart with sinful intention, therein lies the abuse and lack of respect.  And it should make us stop and think.  
    Perhaps, instead of taking a knee to the American flag and finding fault with America, those with ability, financial or otherwise, could help the underprivileged within current charities or create new ones.  Perhaps, simply from their own heart of love, instead of violence and destruction to have their demands met, they could become a mentor to show the disadvantaged a better way.  I grew up without much of what my peers had.  I’ve been mocked and ridiculed.  But I also grew up with parents who cared and who disciplined.  I grew up with kids of all races, including black friends and those of international heritage, and they and their parents did all they could to accomplish their goals with respect and gratitude to the community.
    Where has morality gone?  Why are certain “politically correct” attitudes condoned while those who disagree are held in disdain?  With the push to set God aside as irrelevant in our lives, to live as if we are unaccountable to anyone and anything, I think we have also brushed moral ethics and values aside.  After all, if we do not believe we’re created in the image of God, but simply exist because a few cosmic molecules exploded with a bang, then of what value is another person’s life.  I find it ironic that huge fines are levied for killing animals, yet our unborn children are aborted/killed because they might be defective or an inconvenience. 
    Is a conscience or a moral obligation obsolete?  Do we do whatever seems right to us alone?  Without moral absolutes and the ensuing guilt regarding what is or is not considered sinful behavior, then we don’t have to hold ourselves accountable to God and His word.  Still, how often don’t those who hold to a belief in God tend to live by certain moral standards that have their very foundation in Holy Scripture.
    With so many accusations of sexual misconduct/harassment among public officials coming to light, has this pattern of behavior become prolific because of Bill Clinton’s ability to “get away with it” during his past presidency?  I remember someone saying to me then that it was no big deal, “Everyone does it!”  Oh really?  Does everyone lie to cover up the truth, or only abusers?  What’s lacking in one’s character to cause such rampant abuse?  The predator or abuser knows how to shame his victims into silence.  Silent no more, many are speaking out more readily, calling attention to the abuse and harassment suffered quietly for too long.  The victims are trying to bring accountability into the picture for restitution and a better way to live responsibly.  Yet, too often victims are still silenced and looked upon as the problem.
    We feel free to disparage and mock the opposition of our dearly-held beliefs, yet we’re appalled if our own perspectives are attacked.  Once upon a time, we honored each other… despite our differences.  Once upon a time, we agreed to disagree.  We were able to debate and argue our points in a respectful manner, but now it seems that mocking, hate-filled rhetoric, and even violence is “de rigueur.”  Why? 
    I’ve pondered the societal denigration which brought about the November 2008 Black Friday shopping stampede.  The epitome of greed fed that mad rush, pushing and shoving throughout the crowd, just to satisfy selfish desires… for Christmas gifts no less… resulting in the trampling death of a Wal-Mart employee.  I remember hearing this story on the news then, and being saddened and appalled that such a tragedy could have even happened.
    But, isn’t it greed and selfishness which results in any crime, whether it be robbery or murder?  We’re jealous.  We dislike.  And we allow minor slights to fester.  We have our rights, hold grudges, and can’t forgive.  Someone has what we want so we take it to satisfy our pleasure, or destroy the one who owns it.  How unutterably sad that society has stooped to this level, even to condemning those who bring attention to abuses they’ve dealt with.  Yet, there’s nothing new under the sun, as Solomon once said. (Ecclesiastes 1:9)  Even Adam and Eve’s son Cain killed his brother, Abel, out of jealousy that festered and grew into a murderous hatred.  (Genesis 4:4-12)
    These thoughts reminded me of the vitriol espoused by and against various public officials, particularly during election time.  There’s a hatred and cancellation of the opposition, those holding and expressing conservative and/or Christian biblical values.  Whether by, or against, the president of our nation or any of our local officials, including law enforcement officers, such words seem to be the norm lately.  With hatred and anger fueled perhaps by abusive rhetoric, and a loathing of that with which we disagree, passions are fed and all manner of evil erupts from the human heart… rather than allowing the opposition time to express their opinion.
    In the Summer of 2017, many thought it was “the right thing to do” by taking down statues erected in memory of our nation’s historical past.  We cannot rewrite history by destroying that with which we disagree, and instead are setting a dangerous precedent.  In removing what is considered a negative, perhaps we miss the opportunity to learn from past mistakes… personal and collective, national and international.  Perhaps there are teachable moments that would draw our divergent beliefs together in common ground.  In the slippery progression to remove more and more references to our historical past, what’s next?  Think long and hard of the consequences… because it just might be us next… me and you…for our beliefs.
    A contrast to such rhetoric and violence can be found in Jesus’ teachings that we call The Beatitudes, especially one simple phrase we all know as the Golden Rule.  “So, in everything, do to others what you would have them to do you…” (Matthew 7:12 NIV)  As the physician Luke expressed in his gospel (17:3), “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him.”  What better way to show Christ’s love to our neighbor or enemy than by lending a helping hand with courtesy and forgiveness… while respecting our differences.
    When an expert in the old Jewish law asked, “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’  This is the first and greatest commandment.  And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’  All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”  (Matthew 22:36-39 NIV) With such love, we “encourage one another and build each other up”. (I Thessalonians 5:11) 
    Wow!  What a depth of perfect wisdom we find in Jesus’ words!  In taking them to heart, there’d be no more abuse, petty fights or squabbles among us, or even great wars.  We’d be so in tune to each other’s needs that our selfish ego and desires would vanish.  All out of a simple respect for each other and their needs.  May God bless each of us as we practice that kind of true humility.  
    Respect
    Linda A. Roorda
    It seems we’ve mislaid respect and value.
    We want what we want, and deserve it now!
    We’ll step on your toes, fight and destroy
    Not caring to pause and treasure your worth.
    ~
    Entitled am I, my wants come first
    I rush and push, and trample on through.
    How dare you think that I could be wrong
    I have my rights!  Get out of my way!
    ~
    Oh, to our shame, what have we done…
    We once shared love but now foster hate,
    We once treasured folks for who they are
    And valued their rights as much as our own.
    ~
    Common courtesy, we salute your ways
     With manners polite and outstretched arms
    Welcoming others with civility’s mores
    Regarding humility as our tone of grace.
    ~
    With deference and honor we highly esteem
    Others before self with gratitude’s praise
    Rendering tribute where homage is due
    Tactful and kind, we respect you for you.
    ~~
  24. Linda Roorda

    Respect

    By Linda Roorda,

    Taking notice of some issues lately, decided this blog from the past bears repeating today.
    Oh, that we lived in a perfect world! … but we don’t. Not everything goes our way, but our response can make a difference. So, why am I hesitant to express my opinion? There's a place for respectful disagreements, including of each other's faith, or lack thereof as espoused a few years back by Joy Behar of “The View” and those who admire her. They mocked former Vice President Mike Pence for his Christian faith and talking to Jesus, even calling a “mental illness” his listening to Jesus’ voice. I, too, have heard the "voice" of God... sometimes loud and clear as if someone were next to me uttering the words, other times nothing more than a gentle nudge in my soul. Prayer is a powerful communication.
    But, in re: school and public mass shootings, Ed and I have long felt there's something eating away at society, like a cancer. A shooting near a school happened in Binghamton this past week. It’s doubtful if stricter gun laws will make a big difference in overall statistics of violence, since criminals always manage to get them. Though we do believe some laws strengthened may be more of a deterrent than others, it’s interesting that cities with the toughest gun laws have not curbed their gun violence. But you know, my Dad's guns were freely available to me and my brothers as teens, after training in appropriate use and cleaning, and we never considered using them wrongly.
    As crime rates increase, we see an obvious lack of respect for the value of another human being… with an increase in bullying and rage issues, taunting, mocking, and blatant killing of our law enforcement officers. We can argue gun crime stats, but I don't believe access to guns by teens or any criminal is our main issue. We have seen over time that any manner of weapon can be used besides guns - knives, a heavy object to bludgeon the victim, vehicles, even a rock by Cain to kill his brother Abel in a fit of jealous rage in earliest biblical times. Even in states and cities with the strictest gun control laws, crime rates have risen considerably recently, especially when “catch and release”/so-called bail reform allows criminals to walk with great leniency… including repeat offenders. There are no real consequences for bad behavior.
    Many at-risk youths have not learned how to appropriately redirect their losses, upsets or rages other than to lash out at those around them - especially when adults use violence to release their own anger. There seems to be a lack of discipline – some kids know what they can get away with and readily test the limits. And, sometimes, kids lack appropriate role models as we adults can also be poor models.
    We witness or become the target of bullying, verbal attacks, abuse and harassment in many forms. Amidst the violence, angry rhetoric, and sexual harassment and misconduct in our society, something seems to be missing. What happened to the respect we once showed each other? Showing courtesy, consideration and honor to others fits together under that one term – respect. Displaying an attitude of humility with respect shows the depth of our own character and integrity. Yet, it seems that mocking or hateful vitriol is the language preferred from many directions. Like you, I find it appalling.
    Anger against sin and abuse is not wrong, but a righteous emotional response which God gave us. When anger stems from a heart with sinful intention, therein lies the abuse and lack of respect. And it should make us stop and think.
    Perhaps, instead of taking a knee to the American flag and finding fault with America, those with ability, financial or otherwise, could help the underprivileged within current charities or create new ones. Perhaps, simply from their own heart of love, instead of violence and destruction to have their demands met, they could become a mentor to show the disadvantaged a better way. I grew up without much of what my peers had. I earned my way in life. I’ve been mocked and ridiculed. But also grew up with parents who cared enough to discipline. I grew up with kids of all races, including black friends and those of international heritage, and they and their parents did all they could to accomplish their goals with respect and gratitude within the community.
    Where has morality gone? Why are certain “politically correct” attitudes condoned while those who disagree are held in disdain? With the push to set God aside as irrelevant in our lives, to live as if we are unaccountable to anyone or anything, I think we have also brushed moral ethics and values aside. After all, if we do not believe we’re created in the image of God, but simply exist because a few cosmic molecules exploded with a bang, then of what value is another person’s life. I find it ironic that huge fines are levied for killing animals, yet our unborn children are aborted/killed because they might be defective or an inconvenience.
    Is a conscience or a moral obligation obsolete? Do we do whatever seems right to us alone? Without moral absolutes and the ensuing guilt regarding what is or is not considered sinful behavior, we don’t have to hold ourselves accountable to God and His word. Still, how often don’t those who hold to a belief in God tend to live by certain moral standards that have their very foundation in Holy Scripture.
    With so many accusations of sexual misconduct/harassment among public officials coming to light, has this pattern of behavior become prolific because of Bill Clinton’s ability to “get away with it” during his past presidency? I remember someone saying to me then that it was no big deal, “Everyone does it!” Oh really? Does everyone lie to cover up the truth, or only abusers? What’s lacking in one’s character to cause such rampant abuse? The predator or abuser knows how to shame his victims into silence. Silent no more, many are speaking out more readily, calling attention to the abuse and harassment suffered quietly for too long. The victims are trying to bring accountability into the picture for restitution and a better way to live responsibly. Yet, too often victims are still silenced and looked upon as the problem.
    We feel free to disparage and mock the opposition of our dearly-held beliefs, yet we’re appalled if our own perspectives are attacked. Once upon a time, we honored each other… despite our differences. Once upon a time, we agreed to disagree. We were able to debate and argue our points in a respectful manner, but now it seems that mocking, hate-filled rhetoric, and even violence is “de rigueur.” Why?
    I’ve pondered the societal denigration which brought about the November 2008 Black Friday shopping stampede. The epitome of greed fed that mad rush, pushing and shoving throughout the crowd, just to satisfy selfish desires… for Christmas gifts no less… resulting in the trampling death of a Wal-Mart employee. I remember hearing this story on the news then, saddened and appalled that such a tragedy could have even happened.
    But, isn’t it greed and selfishness which results in any crime, whether it be robbery or murder? We’re jealous. We dislike. And we allow minor slights to fester. We have our rights, hold grudges, and can’t forgive. Someone has what we want so we take it to satisfy our pleasure, or destroy the one who owns it. How unutterably sad that society has stooped to this level, even to condemning those who bring attention to abuses they’ve dealt with. Yet, there’s nothing new under the sun, as Solomon once said. (Ecclesiastes 1:9) Even Adam and Eve’s son Cain killed his brother, Abel, out of jealousy that festered and grew into a murderous hatred. (Genesis 4:4-12)
    These thoughts reminded me of the vitriol espoused by and against various public officials, particularly during election time. There’s a hatred and cancellation of the opposition, those holding and expressing conservative and/or Christian biblical values. Whether by, or against, the president of our nation or any of our local officials, including law enforcement officers, such words seem to be the norm lately. With hatred and anger fueled perhaps by abusive rhetoric, and a loathing of that with which we disagree, passions are fed and all manner of evil erupts from the human heart… rather than allowing the opposition time to express their opinion.
    In the Summer of 2017, many thought it was “the right thing to do” by taking down statues erected in memory of our nation’s historical past. We cannot rewrite history by destroying that with which we disagree, and instead are setting a dangerous precedent. In removing what is considered a negative, perhaps we miss the opportunity to learn from past mistakes… personal and collective, national and international. Perhaps there are teachable moments that would draw our divergent beliefs together in common ground. In the slippery progression to remove more and more references to our historical past, what’s next? Think long and hard of the consequences… because it just might be us next… me and you…for our beliefs.
    A contrast to such rhetoric and violence can be found in Jesus’ teachings that we call The Beatitudes, especially one simple phrase we all know as the Golden Rule. “So, in everything, do to others what you would have them to do you…” (Matthew 7:12 NIV) As the physician Luke expressed in his gospel (17:3), “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him.” What better way to show Christ’s love to our neighbor or enemy than by lending a helping hand with courtesy and forgiveness… while respecting our differences.
    When an expert in the old Jewish law asked, “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” (Matthew 22:36-39 NIV) With such love, we “encourage one another and build each other up”. (I Thessalonians 5:11)
    Wow! What a depth of perfect wisdom we find in Jesus’ words! In taking them to heart, there’d be no more abuse, petty fights or squabbles among us, or even great wars. We’d be so in tune to each other’s needs that our selfish ego and desires would vanish. All out of a simple respect for each other and their needs. May God bless each of us as we practice that kind of true humility.
    Respect
    Linda A. Roorda
    It seems we’ve mislaid respect and value.
    We want what we want, and deserve it now!
    We’ll step on your toes, fight and destroy
    Not caring to pause and treasure your worth.
    ~
    Entitled am I, my wants come first.
    I rush and push, and trample on through.
    How dare you think that I could be wrong
    I have my rights! Get out of my way!
    ~
    Oh, to our shame, what have we done…
    We once shared love but now foster hate.
    We once treasured folks for who they are
    And valued their rights as much as our own.
    ~
    Common courtesy, we salute your ways
    With manners polite and outstretched arms
    Welcoming others with civility’s mores
    Regarding humility as our tone of grace.
    ~
    With deference and honor we highly esteem
    Others before self with gratitude’s praise
    Rendering tribute where homage is due
    Tactful and kind, we respect you for you.
    ~~
  25. 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.
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