Jump to content

Linda Roorda

Uber-Member
 View Profile  See their activity

  • Content Count

    312

  • Joined

  • Last visited

  • Days Won

    13

Blog Entries posted by Linda Roorda

  1. Linda Roorda
    I love taking walks in the fields and through the woods, and miss those walks from years ago.  Actually, for our first date on Christmas Day 1973, Ed took me for a walk up the hill on what used to be his family’s farm, now the Hollybrook Country Club golf course.  We followed a steep path upward that once upon a time was used to access a hayfield, presumably by a team of draft horses.  From the top, standing in a grove of white pines planted in defined rows, we looked back down on the farm.  I took a few photos - without a zoom lens, they did not come out well.  But, our view out over the snow-covered valley was awesome!  And, it was the first of many long walks to come.
    Years later, we took our three children, and close friends, Kathy and Hugh with their two children, for walks up the new logging trails.  We even found two trees with a straight “bar” of wood growing between them.  I have no idea what formed this oddity; but it was completely covered in bark, joining the two trees like a friendly handshake between them.
    We also took our three children for walks through the fields even though, admittedly, it wasn’t a favorite hike for all of them – though they did enjoy taking turns riding on their Daddy’s shoulders!  One of the worst moments, though, was when our daughter, Emily, got the toe of her sneaker caught in a small-animal trap as we entered the main logging trail into the woods.  Let me tell you, I was furious!  Ed and his father had not been notified by anyone that traps had been set out there.  Thankfully, we were able to get the trap off Em’s sneaker.  Thankfully, it had only latched onto the front of her sneaker where a thick band of heavy rubber protected her toes.  And, thankfully, she suffered no damage other than bruising to her toes. 
    Making no apologies for my anger, I took a rock and smashed the trap into several pieces, tossing them into the underbrush.  A day or so later I saw two young men walk across the back of the fields, looking for a trap that was no longer there.  Unfortunately, we never knew who they were to have asked them about their not having had permission to trap on our land, let alone not giving us knowledge where said trap lay covered up in the middle of the trail, and the fact that it could have caused much worse damage to Em’s foot.  Though I did not know it at that time, it is illegal to touch someone else’s trap; but, it is also unethical not to ask for permission to trap on property that is not yours, not to mention unethical to lack the courtesy to inform the land owner of where your traps are placed.
    Another time, we saw a gorgeous buck with an awesome large rack off in the distance in what Ed and his father called the “21-acre piece.”  It was a very rocky field.  After they moved on the farm in 1968, they picked 80 loads of rocks before deciding that was beyond enough and they just dealt with the rest.  They always said they didn’t know how crops grew with all those rocks which seemed to birth new ones every spring, but that field grew the absolute best alfalfa! 
    But, back to that buck.  He gazed at us as he stood proud and tall, and began pawing the ground.  Then he stomped and snorted, trotted toward us a bit, and pawed and snorted again.  Soon enough, he quickly and gracefully bounded off as he disappeared back into the woods.  What an awesome sight that had been!
    I remember taking walks a few years later with our son, Dan, like when we spent time identifying as many plants in a pasture that we could for one of his Boy Scout badges on his way to becoming an Eagle Scout.  Another time we followed turkey tracks into the woods.  Taking walks in the winter months, we saw many animal trails though we didn’t always know what footprints belonged to which animal. 
    Dan and I even got lucky to find deer beds in the snow!  Tucked under gnarled and weathered ancient apple trees in the meadow pasture (below the ridge that runs behind our property), they provided the deer a well-used cozy hideaway.  This old apple orchard was located below where a saw mill had been situated above the creek in the 1800s.  On the south side of the creek, and along the side of that field, was the old dam remnant which had backed up the creek to provide sufficient water flow for the mill.  The images of farm life from another century scroll through my mind, as I think about those who used to enjoy walking these fields so long ago.
    Thankful for another day and God’s beauty in creation on display all around us… from the gardens we cultivate to the natural wild beauty I/we too often take for granted. This past Friday, I attended the Memorial Service for my late cousin Robert’s wife, Virginia, at His Tabernacle in Horseheads. I lived with their family for 6 months in 1974 before my marriage to Ed that October. Virginia shared her advice, wisdom, humor, and recipes for her spaghetti sauce and goulash which I made for decades and miss on my limited diet. Posted to FB yesterday, one of her sons and his wife shared photos of the beauty and sounds of nature on their walk in the peace of God’s love surrounding them.  In a previous reflection for my poem “Creation’s Glory,” I shared my enjoyment of taking walks in the fields and woods of my cousin Howard’s farm in Nichols, NY.  I love the solitude and beauty of nature, God’s creation.  May we enjoy the generous blessings God has showered on us in so many ways... as we go for a walk, taking in His love enveloping us... even as you enjoy visualizing your own walk among nature’s beauty with this poem. 
    Come Take A Walk
    Linda A. Roorda
    Come take a walk upon a path
    That stretches out beside a creek
    And wanders past the arching trees
    As through the fields and woods we stroll.
     
    While sun above shines brightly down
    Casting shadows of dappled grays,
    Fluffy white clouds roam bright blue skies
    Lending a glow along our way.
     
    Tuffets of grass, castles for mice
    Who part the strands to peak between
    And gaze in wonder as giants pass
    Eyes open wide, they take it all in.
     
    Minnows darting between the rocks
    Slightly hidden among the reeds
    Peeking around to catch a glimpse
    Of who’ll they be when they have grown.
     
    For swimming here are bass and trout
    Catfish and snakes and pollywogs
    The creek is teeming with life beneath
    A surface smooth and lightly rippled.
     
    Moving along we gaze on sights
    Only few see to take delight
    For there are ducks and geese with young
    Plying waters, enjoying a swim.
     
    High above us and all around
    Squirrels jumping, tails a’bobble
    Seeking berries, seeds and leaf buds
    Keeping an eye on strangers below.
     
    There’s an eagle!  King of the sky!
    High in a tree with eyes that pierce
    Seeking a meal to take back home
    He swoops down quick as talons grip tight.
     
    Turkeys strutting, feathers fanned wide
    Toms keeping guard, hens grazing with ease
    Moving steadily across the field
    A beautiful sight though rarely seen.
     
    A rabbit hops along the trail
    I never saw nor heard a sound
    But there he goes darting among
    The brambles wild, his home beneath.
     
    A tiny fawn cautiously peeks
    Beside his mom as she stands tall
    Gazing about to check the air
    Strangers like us cause her to fear.
     
    With quickest turn she bounds away
    As tawny fawn brings up the rear
    White tails held high they dart through brush
    To hidden home in forest deep.
     
    The sights beheld have not begun
    To share that seen in walking past
    Ferns and flowers, trees in full leaf
    Grass growing green, birds on the wing.
     
    The beauty here in nature’s bounty
    That holds the eye and touches the ear
    Savor the treat, hold onto treasures
    Blessings from above for us to enjoy.
    Photo: Lake McDonald, Glacier National Park, by Linda A. Roorda, 2004
     
  2. Linda Roorda

    Abusers Among Us

    By Linda Roorda,

    Learning that last Sunday, 09/19/21, was Abuse Awareness Day in the Christian Reformed Church (in which both Ed and I grew up), I am sharing my blog which was posted to their website in 2017. 
    There once was a man who appeared on the scene.  Suave and debonair with confidence bold.  Flattery oozed like syrup sweet.  And despite her protests, he flattered yet more.  After all, he said, she deserved the praise for she was worth it.  Despite her protests, she absorbed the attention… until she understood his world of deceit.
    Abuse encompasses an array of distorted behaviors and abuses within friendships and marriages, destroying God’s gifts. Lacking respect, those with self-centered narcissistic and/or predatory traits have a need for power and control over others. They are confident and prideful.  Their goal is to exploit, crossing boundary lines with intimidation to prove their superiority, having a need to diminish the worth of others to feel good about themselves.  They claim repeated mocking put-downs are jokes.  If you attempt to break the cycle, they contend you can’t take a joke, are too emotional, and too sensitive.  “Like a maniac shooting flaming arrows of death is one who deceives their neighbor and says, ‘I was only joking!’” (Proverbs 26:18-19  NIV)
    With callous disregard, they lie when faced with truth.  They may abuse emotionally, verbally or physically. Their story changes to suit confrontation as they feign innocence, create confusion, and claim they don’t understand what you’re talking about.  In attempts to hold them accountable, they skillfully play the innocent hurting victim, project blame onto the true victim, and will not take personal responsibility for their own issues. They don’t feel a need to apologize, claiming they did nothing wrong – evidence of a hardened heart.
    Predatory grooming, done in specific stages, is universal against children, teens and adults to control with a perverted form of trust to the perpetrator’s benefit.  After targeting someone perceived as vulnerable, they reel in an unsuspecting heart with the flattery of false love.  Keying in on filling an emotional need, they try to isolate their victim in secrecy from those who would realize what’s happening divide-and-conquer technique).  Innocuous sexual advances are made which gradually become bolder until the abuser thinks control can be maintained to score the ultimate goal.
    Grooming also manipulates the victim’s responses to garner increased affection.  If you desire to please others, you’ll meet their needs.  In time, you will be manipulated into doing more of their bidding.  They’ll make excuses and manipulatively use Scripture so you’ll accept their abuse, thwarting your protests.  When they think they’ve got you under control, emotional destruction begins.  You are despised for having qualities of love and joy which they cannot feel, necessitating an endless pursuit of new victims to manipulate in order to fill their heart’s void.
    If you back away from their chaos, they may use threats, turn angry or violent, quickly revert back to a loving persona to throw you off balance, and resort to stalking behavior.  Unless they show and express true sorrow and repentance for their behavior with evidence of genuine change, walk away from their abuse… and stay away. 
    For we read, “There are six things that the Lord hates, seven that are an abomination to him: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans, feet that make haste to run to evil, a false witness who breathes out lies, and one who sows discord among brothers.” (Proverbs 6:16-19 ESV)
    The opposite of such discord is a love which embodies all that is good.  “Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude.  It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth.  Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”  (I Corinthians 13:4-7 ESV)
    As we speak with such love, we encourage each other.  “Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.” (Ephesians 4:29-32 ESV)
    Typically, those who trust others have a heart of empathy, are naively innocent (without “street smarts”), and are more easily taken advantage of.  Predators know this and zero in on their target like a hunter on its prey.  To realize that someone would target you for their advantage is to feel a range of emotions from guilt and shame for having been used, to anger at another’s attempts to destroy you.  Genuine love is not in the abuser’s heart despite claims to the contrary.  With evil intent, you are used for their benefit - a lack of respect for your worth.  When that is recognized, you are on your way to recovery and healing.  I know… I was a victim. Sadly, several times because I simply forgave and moved forward, trying to make the relationships work. Not until after I had walked away from them and no longer allowed any contact, did the abuse end.  Yet, out of the experience came wisdom from God.
    Mutual friends who have never fallen under the blinding spell of narcissistic and/or predatory deception, nor suffered attacks of retaliation, do not see the abuse.  They see only the passive mask, the public face of supposed innocent humility, and often excuse and enable abusers.  After all, they’re so kind and loving, so good to everyone – until, behind the scenes, you cross them, buck their mistreatment, and begin to confront their wrongs with truth privately or publicly.
    Yes, these types of abuses are found within the church, the perfect cover with our Christ-like love for, and generous forgiveness of, one another.  As the body of Christ, we should listen, believe, respect, and support the victim who dares step forward. The abuser only recovers when the façade of innocence is removed by admission of wrong, repentance, and proves the desire for a changed heart.
    To the youngster or adult being swayed by abusive pressure or bullying - hold tight to your convictions, ideals and honor.  Don’t allow anyone to take these from you.  Respect yourself enough to say “No” and walk away – whether it be “No” to drugs, “No” to someone wanting to take away your innocence, “No” to emotional or physical abuse, or “No” to sexting, sexual abuse, or sex trafficking.  Walk away and seek advice from a trusted, qualified professional to help you stand firm against such unwanted pressure.  Respect yourself as a child of God.  Don’t be taken down.
    Taken Down
    Linda A. Roorda
     She was taken down the garden path
    And showered with seduction’s prose,
    Sweet words of praise and silken flattery
    That touched her heart to follow his goals.
     
    She trusted him and his glowing words
    Though his zest for life held deceitful charm,
    As her heart of love for all in her world
    Was purposely swept by grooming words smooth.
     
    How easily swayed is a trusting soul
    Who believes and thinks the best of her friends,
    Yet who is misled by the foxy wiles
    Of one who claims humility’s garb.
     
    Why the conquest instead of friendship?
    Why the seeking to own gentle hearts?
    Why the pleasure in taking away
    That which is not yours to alone enjoy?
     
    How can you claim a God-honoring life
    As you betray a friend’s trusting heart?
    Such evil flays the inner soul
    And leaves a wound not easily healed.
     
    But comes reality when the truth sets in
    And she regains boundaries once lost
    As true emotions with selfless empathy
    Emerge once again to prove her value.
     
    For in disrespect concealed by flattery
    Lies the evil of a planned defeat.
    He cannot abide reality of love,
    And must destroy the one with a heart.
     
    As she unravels the disillusions
    And begins to heal her eyes are opened.
    Emotional depths of her heart and soul
    Are restored in full, her peace made complete.
    ~~
  3. 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.
    ~~
  4. Linda Roorda
    Early April is typically the start of fishing season.  And as a kid, I loved to go fishing with my Dad… not so much for how to catch “the big one” as simply spending time with my Dad.  When I was about age 7 or 8, he had me, my sister and brother practice casting our lines with a lead weight (instead of a hook) into a 5-gallon bucket.  Can’t say I hit the mark very often!  I also remember fishing in the Erie Canal just west of Palmyra, New York.  One time we even watched a boat being raised in the lock while we stood on the concrete edging… petrified I’d fall in and drown!
    After moving back to New Jersey near my Dad’s family, we fished in the large pond at Clifton’s Garret Mountain, Lake Hopatcong, and Upper Greenwood Lake in northern Jersey all where he’d fished as a youngster with his father.  I never could bear to touch those squiggly worms, or put them on the hook, though my sister didn’t seem to mind so I left that nasty deed to her or Dad.  I only managed to catch little fish, so was never even able to brag about catching “the big one!”  And I could never manage to touch their slimy scaly bodies either!  Ugh!!! Dad filleted them, and Mom cooked them up so scrumptiously!
    But there’s another aspect of fishing we don’t often think about.  I remember a song we sang as kids in East Palmyra Christian School, enjoying the hand motions that went along it:  “I will make you fishers of men, fishers of men, fishers of men.  I will make you fishers of men, if you follow Me...” 
    The words to this children’s song are taken directly from Jesus’ words to Peter and Andrew, two brothers who were fishing on the Sea of Galilee:  “Come, follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.”  (Matthew 4:19 NIV)  Jesus called twelve men as His disciples, men from various backgrounds – Peter and Andrew (brothers, fishermen), John and James (brothers, fishermen), Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, Matthew (tax collector, a despised occupation), James, Thaddeus, Simon the Zealot, Judas Iscariot (who later betrayed Jesus and then hung himself), Matthias (who replaced Judas), and Paul whom Jesus met on the road to Damascus.  (Acts 9:1-22)
    Paul, a tentmaker, previously known as Saul, was a Jew who zealously killed many Christians before his conversion, thinking he was stopping the spread of heresy.  Answering the call of God on that road, Paul became an Apostle, a fisher of men, and helped spread the Gospel far and wide, writing 13 New Testament books (or 14 books if he authored Hebrews).
    Jesus had taught the initial twelve for three years, giving the example of His holy life and words for them to follow.  It was His mission to teach them the foundations of His love and truth, knowing that He would later send them out to reach others in His name… with His words and example for us to follow today.
    It makes us think a little deeper as we compare fishing gear and their function to that of fishing for the hearts of our friends.  Letting others know Christ’s gift of love and forgiveness is our calling.  For, in pondering Jesus’ words, we are reminded to fulfill Christ’s words in Matthew 28:19 to “…go and make disciples of all nations…,” and this poem began to take shape in my thoughts. 
    Going Fishing
    Linda A. Roorda
    Walking along with pole in hand
    The peace of nature to soothe the soul
    With time to think and ponder life’s ways
    To ease the tension from busy schedules.
     
    With rod and reel slung over shoulder
    Whistling a tune that lifts the soul
    Down narrow path to water’s edge
    Dappled shadows splay out from the sun.
     
    Finding a spot along the shore
    To sit a spell and cast out my line
    The wiggling worms, bait for the fish
    On hooks to lure and tempt the big one.
     
    Standing on shore I cast out my line
    And patiently wait, watching the dobber
    Thinking of life, my family and friends
    Thoughts to ponder, and wisdom to gain.
     
    Did not our Lord say, “Come follow me,
    And I will make you fishers of men.”
    Allegory set in their working days
    From fishing nets to fishing for souls.
     
    The pole holds gear like Bibles the Word
    It’s the main support as Scripture to life
    Fishing depends on strength of the rod
    As life relies on God’s truth to lead.
     
    A reel is the heart which sends out the line
    Reaching others with love for their soul
    Extending a hand to draw from afar
    To carry their load, burdens to lighten.
     
    The line holds the lure of gospel truth
    Our faith walk shared, testament to grace
    With mercy gentle we lead them to Christ
    Who transforms hearts, redeems by His love.
     
    With hook we set the love of Jesus
    His death took our sin, from One who knew none
    For by his gift He purchased our souls
    That in His life salvation we find.
     
    A creel we need to hold new believers
    A welcoming church to warmly receive,
    To teach and guide for growth and change
    That they may know new life in the Lord.
     
    How like fishing is seeking lost souls
    To draw them close with love from our heart
    To help them see God’s truth from His word.
    So pick up your pole, let God make the catch!
    ~~
    Photo Credit: My Mom took this on her old camera of me, my sister and Dad
    going fishing on a cold spring morning 1965,
    Lake Hopatcong, NJ
  5. Linda Roorda
    Today, I’m posting something a little different on Poetic Devotions. So many of us are thankful for the blessings we, as a nation and as a people, have received since our nation was founded. And today, I’d like to celebrate those who gave their support to the founding of our great nation. In knowing a little about some of my maternal family’s ancestors who took part in the American Revolution, it helps put a personal perspective to the many individuals who gave of themselves that we and so many others might enjoy the freedoms we’ve been blessed with. Are we individually or collectively as a nation perfect? Of course not!  But we learn and grow from past mistakes, not from erasing them from history, praising God for all He has blessed us with.  Enjoy your celebrations of our nation’s founding with your friends and family!!
    It’s a fact that we Americans love our 4th of July celebrations!  We especially enjoy family gatherings and picnics, and big parades with lots of floats and marching bands.  We look forward to fireworks with their beautiful colors and designs exploding in the night sky.  We decorate our homes with flags and bunting.  We salute, or respectfully place our hand over our heart, as our nation’s flag is carried past us by military veterans in parades.  And we readily recall the two important founding documents of our nation:   
    1.       Preamble to the Declaration of Independence:  “…We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness…” 
    2.       Preamble to the U.S. Constitution:  “We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America…” 
    What precious meaning these words have held as we take time to gaze backward to their origins, something I never tire learning about.  
    So, why is history important to us?  To quote David McCullough in "Why History?" in the December 2002 Reader's Digest, author of the books, John Adams and 1776:  “Who are we, we Americans? How did we get where we are? What is our story and what can it teach us? Our story is our history, and if ever we should be taking steps to see that we have the best prepared, most aware citizens ever, that time is now. Yet the truth is that we are raising a generation that is to an alarming degree historically illiterate… While the popular cultures races loudly on, the American past is slipping away. We are losing our story, forgetting who we are and what it's taken to come this far.” 
    “The best way to know where the country is going is to know where we've been…But why bother about history anyway? …That's done with, junk for the trash heap.  Why history?  Because it shows us how to behave.  [It] teaches and reinforces what we believe in, what we stand for.  History is about life – human nature, the human condition and all its trials and failings and noblest achievements… Everything we have, all our good institutions, our laws, our music, art and poetry, our freedoms, everything is because somebody went before us and did the hard work... faced the storms, made the sacrifices, kept the faith…  If we deny our children that enjoyment [of historical story telling]… then we’re cheating them out of a full life.”    
    As I contemplated our nation’s celebrations, I thought about the effort and sacrifice it took from many to give us the freedoms we so often take for granted.  I am so thankful for all we have in America which many around the world do not enjoy.  But I also wondered if perhaps we have forgotten all that took place a long time ago, and if this day has simply become a traditional fun holiday.  The United States of America came to be with God’s hand working a miracle behind the scenes, and within the hearts of men and women who were very involved in its forming by putting their lives, legacy and financial support behind the movement for independence. 
    Though no nation or government has been perfect as far back as the beginning of time, the early days of our young nation’s beginnings provide perspective for today’s America, this bastion of freedom.  So, it’s fitting that we ponder what part our ancestors played in the making of our great America some 246 years ago.  And, I might add, one of the best parts of researching my ancestors was the great lasting friendships I’d made with other descendants. 
    Several of my ancestors served in the Revolutionary War in various capacities, some of whom I researched more extensively than others.  Originally, I did not plan to bring them into my article.  But then it occurred to me that it would be appropriate.  Knowledge of personal service and sacrifice often provides us with a greater understanding of the historical era and what our collective ancestors experienced.   
    While researching my ancestry over 20 years ago, I purchased Revolutionary War pension application files of several ancestors who had served.  For those whose government files I did not purchase, their data was obtained from Schoharie County Historical Society, various Revolutionary War books, CDs, and documents proving their service.  Hoping that my family research might provide us a closer glimpse of the war for independence through their experiences, I share their legacy. 
    1) Frantz/Francis Becraft/Beacraft, bp. 06/12/1761, Claverack, Columbia Co., NY - Private, 3rd Comp., 3rd Regiment, 1st Rensselaerswyck Battalion, Albany County New York Militia, on muster roll from Berne in 1782, 1790 census at Berne.  In an 1839 affidavit, Francis Becraft of Berne stated that he “served as a Private in a company commanded by Capt. Adam Dietz in the County of Albany...” Frantz/Francis married Catherine Dietz (sister of said Capt. Adam Dietz), my g-g-g-g-grandparents. 
    In researching my ancestors, I discovered an apparent familial tie to the notorious Tory Becraft/Beacraft.  This man felt no remorse in aligning himself with Joseph Brant’s Indians to capture, kill and scalp Patriots throughout Schoharie County, known to have brutally killed and scalped a young boy in the Vrooman family who managed to escape the house after his family had been murdered.  After the war ended, Becraft/Beacraft had the audacity to return from Canada to Schoharie County where he was immediately captured by ten men.  In meting out a punishment of 50 lashes by whip, the men supposedly reminded him of his infamous acts against the community, his former neighbors.  Roscoe notes that death did not linger for him after the final lash, and his ashes were buried on the spot.  Of the ten men who swore themselves to secrecy, apparently only five are known.  (History of Schoharie County, William E. Roscoe, pub. D. Mason & Comp., 1882, pp.250-251.)    
    However, in "Families (to 1825) of Herkimer, Montgomery, & Schoharie, N.Y.," a genealogical source on many early families by William V. H. Barker, it is noted that the Tory Becraft/Beacraft was Benjamin, born about 1759, brother of my ancestor noted above, Frantz/Francis Becraft.  If this is accurate and they are indeed brothers, they were both sons of Willem/William and Mareitje (Bond) Becraft.  Another source, “The Life of Joseph Brant – Thayendanegea…” notes Becraft survived his whipping and left the area (pg. 64), just as other undocumented sources indicate he survived and returned to Canada to live with his family.  So, I am uncertain as to whether Tory [Benjamin] Becraft actually died from his whippings or survived and left the area. 
    2) Johannes/John Berlet/Berlett/Barlet, b. 05/08/1748, Schoharie, Schoharie Co., NY – Private, Tryon County Militia, 3rd Reg’t, Mohawk District.  He married Maria Gardinier, b. about 1751; their daughter Eva/Eveline Barlett married Martin Tillapaugh, b. 1778, my g-g-g-grandparents. 
    3) Johann Hendrich/John Henry Dietz, bp 05/10/1722, Nordhofen, Vielbach, Germany – served in Lt. John Veeder’s Company, Rensselaerswyck, later under Capt. Sternberger’s Company at Schoharie.  He married Maria Elisabetha Ecker, bp. 1725; their daughter Catherine Dietz, b. 1761, married Frantz/Francis Beacraft above, my g-g-g-g-grandparents. 
    As per my research article on Chemung County’s Newtown Battle, the Indian/Loyalist raids and massacres also touched my ancestral families in New York.  In Beaverdam (now Berne), New York near the Switzkill River on September 1, 1781, the Johannes Dietz family was attacked.  Johannes’ son, Capt. William Dietz was captured and forced to watch his elderly parents, wife, four young children and a Scottish maid be killed and scalped.  (see “Old Hellebergh,” Arthur B. Gregg, The Altamont Enterprise Publishers, Altamont, N.Y., 1936, p. 24; signed by Gregg, in Roorda’s collection from her father.)  Capt. William Dietz’s father, Johannes, was an older brother of my ancestor noted above, Johann Hendrich/John Henry Dietz.   
    4) Johan Dietrich Dallenbach/John Richard Dillenbach, b. 1733 per cemetery records, Stone Arabia, NY; father Jorg Martin Dallenbach born Lauperswil, Bern, Switzerland (emigrated with 1710 German Palatines with mother and first wife). John Richard Dillenbach married Maria Mynard; their son Martinus took name of Martin Tillapaugh (my lineage), married Eva/Eveline Barlett as above.  Dillenbach reported for duty March 20, 1757 when Sir William Johnson called local militia out to protect Fort William Henry on Lake George for the British.  The Seven Years’ War, or the French and Indian War, began in 1754 and ended with the European peace treaties of 1763 during which year Dillenbach again reported to defend Herkimer with the Palatine District Regiment. 
    James Fennimore Cooper wrote The Last of the Mohicans about the siege of Fort William Henry.  Roughly 2300 colonial troops were protecting the British fort when the French arrived with about 8000 troops in August 1763 and heavily bombarded the fort.  With additional supporting troops not found to be on their way, the garrison was forced to surrender.  The men were to be protected as they retreated by generous treaty terms.  However, as the Indians entered the fort, they plundered, looted, scalped and killed about 200 colonials, many of them too sick to leave.  In desecrating graves of those who had died before the siege, the Indians exposed themselves to smallpox, taking the germs back to their homes.  The French destroyed the fort before returning to Canada.  Fort William Henry was reconstructed in the 1950s.  Visiting this fort in 1972 with the Lounsberry Methodist Church youth group, I was unaware at the time that my Dallenbach/Tillapaugh ancestor had walked that ground, having been involved in the siege and survived. 
    5) Timothy Hutton, b.11/24/1746, New York City, married 2nd) Elizabeth Deline b.1760.  Their son George b.1787 married Sarah Wyckoff b.1793 (descendant of Pieter Claessen Wyckoff who cared for Pieter Stuyvesant’s bouwery/farm, today’s bowery district of New York City, with his Wyckoff House Museum on Clarendon Road, Brooklyn, NY still standing), my g-g-g-grandparents.  Timothy served as Ensign in Philip Schuyler’s Regiment of Albany County Militia, at defeat of Gen. Burgoyne in Saratoga October 17, 1777; appointed Lieutenant in New York Levies under Col. Marinus Willett; defended Schoharie County from burnings and killings by British, Loyalists and Indians.  This Timothy is not to be confused with a nephew of same name and rank, b. 1764, which many have done, including an erroneous columnar grave marker in Carlisle, NY.  Sorting their military service out was part of my extensive thesis and documentation in researching and publishing two lengthy articles on the origins and descendants of this Hutton family in the New York Genealogical & Biographical Record in 2004-2005.   
    My Timothy’s nephew William Hutton served extensively in the Revolutionary War throughout New York City, Long Island, and the Hudson Valley.  My Timothy’s nephew Christopher Hutton of Troy, NY served as Ensign, promoted to Lieutenant, member of the elite Society of the Cincinnati.  My Timothy’s nephew, Timothy Hutton b.1764, served as Lieutenant in New York Levies under Col. Willett, enlisting 1780 at age 16 in the Albany militia.  My Timothy’s nephews, Isaac and George (brothers of Christopher and the younger Timothy, all sons of George Hutton, the older brother of my ancestor Timothy Hutton), were well-known influential silversmiths during the Federal period in the late 18th/early 19th centuries in Albany.  Hutton silver has been on display at museums in Albany, New York. 
    6) Johannes Leenderse (John Leonardson), b.06/18/63, Fonda, Montgomery Co., NY - enlisted as private in 1779 at age 16, Tryon County Militia, 3rd Reg’t; Corporal in 1781; served on many expeditions in the Mohawk Valley and at forts; joined Col. Willett’s company on march to Johnstown October 1781 in successful battle against enemy who had burned and killed throughout Mohawk Valley; re-enlisted 1782.  Married Sarah Putman b.1773.  Their son Aaron Leonardson b.1796 married 3rd) Lana Gross, parents of Mary Eliza Leonardson b. about 1732 who married William Henry Ottman, my g-g-grandparents. 
    7) John Caldwell McNeill, b. 1755, Londonderry, Rockingham Co., NH - at Bunker Hill (actually Breed’s Hill) on Charlestown June 17, 1775 per purchased military pension file.  As Sergeant under Col. Timothy Bedel of the New Hampshire Line, John bought beef to pasture and butcher as needed for the troops.  Bedel’s regiment joined “Corp.1, Co. 1, New York Reg’t” on mission to Canada against British; McNeill taken captive with cousins and friends at The Cedars near Montreal, an island in the St. Lawrence; soldiers were stripped of clothing, belongings and food, and released in cartel negotiated by Gen. Benedict Arnold before becoming a traitor.  John served at and discharged at Saratoga, NY.  He married cousin Hannah Caldwell b.1762; removed to Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York ca. 1794; their son Jesse McNeill m. Elizabeth Ostrom, my g-g-g-grandparents. (Neighbor was Thomas Machin who built the Great Chain across the Hudson River to keep the British ships from sailing north. A granddaughter of McNeill married a Machin grandson, removing to the Midwest.)
    8 ) George Richtmyer, bp 04/23/1738, Albany Co., NY – Captain from 1775 through end of war in 15th Reg’t of Albany Militia, defending Cobleskill and Middleburg, Schoharie Co., NY.  Married Anna Hommel; their son Henrich/Henry married Maria Beacraft (see above), my g-g-g-grandparents. 
    9) Hendrick/Henry Vonck/Vunck, b. 03/06/1757, Freehold, Monmouth Co., NJ - served as private and Corporal in New Jersey and New York City; carried papers for American Gen. Charles Lee; joined units marching to same area of Canada as John C. McNeill; on return became ill with smallpox with others at Lake George when news of the Declaration of Independence was made; honorably discharged; called to serve again at Sandy Hook, NJ; captured by the British at Sandy Hook, taken to a prison ship, then to the [Livingston] stone sugar house in Manhattan, then another prison ship, the Good___  (writing illegible on the early 1800s pension document, possibly Good Hope).  After “one year and one month” as prisoner, he was exchanged and released.  “Having suffered while a prisoner great privations and disease and in poor clothing and severely unwholesome provisions many prisoners died in consequence of their treatment.” (Per 1832 affidavit of military service for pension.)  Conditions suffered as a prisoner left Henry in poor health the rest of his life; removing later to Montgomery County, NY.  He married Chestinah Hagaman; their daughter Jane Vunck married James Dingman, my g-g-g-grandparents. 
    From 1776 to 1783 the British made use of decommissioned ships (incapable of going to sea) as floating prisons.  At least 16 rotting hulks were moored in Wallabout Bay, the inner harbor along the northwest shore of Brooklyn, now part of the Brooklyn Navy Yard.  Among the ships were the Good Hope, Whitby, The Prince of Wales, Falmouth, Scorpion, Stromboli, Hunter, and the most infamous HMS Jersey, nicknamed Hell by the men.  Over 10,000 men, perhaps at least 11,500, died on these ships due to the deliberate deplorable conditions.  Men were crammed below decks with no windows for lighting or fresh air.  There was a lack of food and clothing, with vermin and insects running rampant, and a lack of other humane efforts to aid the ill, all leading to the death of thousands. 
    Prisoners died virtually every day, reportedly as many as fifteen a day.  Some were not found right away, their bodies not disposed of until days later.  Often, those who died were sewn into their blankets (if they had one) to await pick up by cart the next morning.  Many were buried in shallow graves along the shore (unearthed during major storms) or were simply tossed overboard, later washing ashore.  With development of Walloon Bay area over the last two centuries has come the discovery of their bones and parts of ships.  To commemorate these soldiers’ lives and what they gave in the fight for independence, the Prison Ship Martyrs’ Monument was built.  Located in Fort Greene Park, Brooklyn, it was dedicated on April 6, 1808 with improvements made to it several times since.  
    At least another 5-6000 men died in the sugar houses, bringing the total who died as prisoners to more than 17,500 in the sugar houses and ships, more than double the battlefield losses.  Sugar houses were buildings meant to store sugar and molasses.  Affidavits by my ancestor, Henry Vunck, and friends note he was held for a few months in the “stone sugar house.”  This could only mean the Livingston Sugar House, a six-story stone building built in 1754 by the Livingston family on Crown (now Liberty) Street in Manhattan.  Demolished in 1846, buildings No. 34 and 36 are now on the site.  
    A second sugar house, the Rhinelander, a five-story brick warehouse, was built in 1763 at Rose (now William) Street and Duane Street.  This building was eventually replaced and is now the headquarters of the New York City Police Department.  A third, Van Cortlandt’s sugar house, was built about 1755 by the early Dutch family of this name at the northwest corner of the Trinity Church in Manhattan.  It was demolished in 1852.
    10) Hans Georg Jacob Dubendorffer (George Jacob Diefendorf), b. 01/23/1729, Basserstorff, Switzerland – a Loyalist during Rev War, he left Mohawk Valley for Philadelphia and New York City, returned to a daughter’s home in Canajoharie, NY after the war rather than remove to Canada.  A patriotic son disowned his father, taking his middle name (his mother’s maiden name) as his new surname, removing to Virginia.  George Jacob married Catharine Hendree; their son Jacob Diefendorf married Susanna Hess, my g-g-g-g-grandparents. 
    On February 3, 1783, the British government acknowledged the independence of the American colonies.  The next day, they formally agreed to halt all military operations.  A preliminary peace treaty was ratified in April, and Canada offered free land that summer to Loyalists who sought a new life.  Still, the British military maintained a presence in Manhattan.  When Britain signed the Treaty of Paris September 3, 1783 to end the war, the hated Redcoats finally and slowly began to abandon their New York City stronghold.   
    Next would begin the task of establishing the government and president of this new nation, the United States of America.  George Washington rode into Manhattan on November 25, 1783 with his officers and troops, eight horses abreast.  At the same time Washington’s parade began, British soldiers and ships were setting sail for their homeland across the Pond.   
    Flags were joyfully waved, church bells rang in celebration, and cannons were fired in honor of those who had fought and for those who had lost their lives, all for the independence of this fledgling nation.  The war had definitely taken its toll; but, on this day, great joy was felt in every heart for what had been accomplished. And that is why we continue to celebrate our 4th of July heritage in style – as we remember and commemorate those who gave so much that we might enjoy so much.  And, I trust we will never forget what their efforts wrought for us in America!
    Read my full research article by clicking below at: Celebrating Independence Day! - Homespun Ancestors - Twin Tiers Living:
     
     
  6. Linda Roorda

    I Searched...

    By Linda Roorda,

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

    Your Family Tree #1

    By Linda Roorda,

    Welcome to the world of genealogy research where your ancestors come alive!  It’s exciting to put names, faces, and personalities to your family’s past.  Here, we’ll delve into clues to find those whose genes flow through your veins, and who contributed their part to who you’ve become today.  But, I need to warn you – it’s addicting!
    I used this poem, Dear Ancestor, in the 600+ page manuscript I wrote on researching my mother’s complete ancestral history.
    Your tombstone stands among the rest,
    Neglected and alone.
    The name and date are chiseled out
    On polished, marbled stone.
    It reaches out to all who care
    It is too late to mourn.

    You did not know that I exist
    You died and I was born.
    Yet each of us are cells of you
    In flesh, in blood, in bone.
    Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
    Entirely not our own.

    Dear Ancestor, the place you filled
    One hundred years ago
    Spreads out among the ones you left
    Who would have loved you so.
    I wonder if you lived and loved,
    I wonder if you knew
    That someday I would find this spot,
    And come to visit you.
    By: Walter Butler Palmer (1868-1932), written in 1906
    Several years ago I gave a two-part seminar for the Spencer, New York Historical Society on researching ancestors.  In this column, I’d like to revisit that arena because you may be starting your research journey, may have hit a brick wall or two or more, or maybe just want to find a little more information on your elusive ancestors.  The key to starting a study of your family’s history is through personal research of family records, census records, church records, cemetery records, and war records, etc. 
    This series was originally published biweekly in the former local newspaper, “Broader View Weekly.”  My intention is to expand the articles and provide interesting historical backgrounds.  Many of you know I also wrote other personal interest/interview articles for that paper, and began a blog, “Life on the Homestead/Homespun Ancestors”. 
    To introduce my genealogy work and credentials, I researched and documented both of my mother’s parents back to the early 1600s Dutch of New Amsterdam and the greater New Netherlands, including founders of New York City and the Albany and Schenectady area.  Along the way, a few French, Belgian and English folk became part of my family with their own fascinating histories.  My lines next include numerous 1710 German/Swiss Palatine immigrants documented from church records in Germany and Switzerland as researched and published by Henry Z. Jones, Jr., and the ca. 1718-1720 Scots-Irish immigrants to Massachusetts Colony, founders of the Londonderry, New Hampshire region. 
    Among various genealogy reference books, there are two books in my personal library which were invaluable to my early research:  “The Palatine Families of New York, 1710, Vols. I and II” by Henry Z. Jones, Jr., and the incomparable background history of the Palatines and their travails in “Early Eighteenth Century Palatine Emigration” by Walter Allen Knittle, Ph.D.
    I am not a professional genealogist, but a hobby researcher who loves history.  I had no prior training, but learned along the way with the help of kind strangers met on my journey.  Several even turned out to be distant cousins with whom I continue to maintain a close friendship. 
    My quest began with my mother’s family tree in hand.  Though I never saw the actual tree (which now belongs to one of my cousins), it hung on the wall in my maternal Tillapaugh family farmhouse in Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York.  In 1969, my Mom carefully copied down all the names from the tree for my first Bible.  Then, in 1998, I purchased a book on my paternal Dutch Visscher genealogy from a distant relative who works at The Hague’s genealogy center.
    I also have “The Dallenbachs in America” which documents my maternal Swiss Dallenbach/Tillapaugh ancestry.  It includes a photo showing my mom’s parents at the 1910 Tillapaugh Reunion on the Hutton Homestead, settled in the early 19th century.  My mother’s two oldest brothers inherited this dairy farm, and my cousins continue to run it.
    But, it was another item which actually launched my deeper research.  In 1999, a photo was offered on the Schoharie County Genweb email site noting these words penciled on the back:  “First Tillapaugh Reunion July 1910, Hutton Homestead.”  As noted above, my uncles inherited this farm from our Hutton ancestors, and my cousins still farm it today.  Informing the seller (a professor and antique enthusiast) of my immediate family ties to the photo (showing my grandparents and paternal great-grandparents), he offered it for my purchase, and I was determined to learn more about my ancestors.  And part of that photo is featured above as my header image. (see photo attached.)
    Out of my several years of extensive research and documentation came three articles published in the “New York Genealogical and Biographical Record” (NYGBR), which are in Elmira’s Steele Library Genealogy Section where I researched many Saturday mornings.  You can also find the NYGBR in Cornell University’s genealogy library, or other libraries with such holdings.  If there is no viable genealogy library near you, your local library can obtain various books and journals for you through the inter-library loan system which I also used extensively.
    My first article was titled, “Which Elizabeth Van Dyck Married John Hutton?”  (NYGBR REC.135:31 – REC indicates the volume, followed by the page on which the article appears).  It documented use of the Dutch naming pattern to clarify which of three Elizabeth Van Dycks married the shipwright John Hutton, not the goldsmith, of the same name.  They were all of New York City and documented in records of the late 1600s and early 1700s. 
    Though this naming pattern is endemic to the Dutch, other ethnic groups used a similar pattern, but not as consistently or as extensively over the centuries as the Dutch.  They faithfully followed a pattern of naming the first two sons after the children’s grandfathers, and the first two daughters after the grandmothers.  Thereafter, children were named after the respective great-grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles, or even the baptism sponsors.  I absolutely enjoyed mapping families using this naming pattern in the online baptismal records of the early Dutch Reformed Churches of New York City, Albany and Schenectady.
    My second article, “The Family of John Hutton and Elizabeth Van Dyck,” (REC.136:45; 136:135; and 136:193) again used the Dutch naming pattern to determine that Elizabeth Deline Hutton’s parents most probably were William and Ariantje Deline.  I could not accept that a prior researcher had published as fact (and believed by multiple genealogists with whom I was in contact) that she was the daughter of 63-year-old Margrietje Clute Deline, a woman who was more likely Elizabeth Deline’s grandmother.  If mother of Elizabeth, Margrietje would’ve held a world record for sure if that were true! 
    This article delineated John Hutton’s descendants (some not previously documented in this family), including my ancestors who settled on the above-noted Hutton Homestead in Carlisle, New York in the early 19th century.  My research article also corrected other mistakes in lineage, and corrected wrong Revolutionary War data chiseled onto my ancestor’s tall obelisk monument.  There were two Lt. Timothy Huttons, my ancestor and his younger nephew.  I proved the military data on the monument is actually that of the younger Lt. Tim Hutton.  Oh, but it pays off to do your own thorough research!
    My third article, “The McNeill Family of Carlisle, Schoharie County,” (REC.139:123; 139:217; 139:313) documented the descendants of John McNeill, mariner, of Boston [Massachusetts] and New Boston [New Hampshire].  John’s wife, Hannah Caldwell McNeill, died (presumably) soon after childbirth, while John likely died at sea as per estate records purchased (no cemetery record available).  This left their only son, John Caldwell McNeill, an orphan, raised by his mother’s parents in and around Londonderry, New Hampshire.  About 1795, John C. removed his family to Carlisle, NY. 
    The McNeills had never been documented as a family, and I knew of only one son, my ancestor, Jesse.  But, piece by piece, a family was built from John C.’s Revolutionary War pension file (which had an affidavit by son Jesse, no other children’s names), census records, cemetery stones, other family war pension files, obituaries, historical society data, out-of-state historical books the local Spencer Library graciously ordered for me, and from other descendants who replied to data I posted online.  Unfortunately, I know nothing about one daughter, and only the nickname of one other daughter. 
    Again, there is no substitute for the hard work of personal research and documentation; but, making friends with researchers of the same lines, and sharing data, goes a long way to helping you find your ancestors!
    It is my hope to inspire you by providing valuable tips on researching your ancestors in future articles.  But, again, fair warning – it’s addicting! 
  8. Linda Roorda
    Spent some time yesterday with a friend at our mutual friend's "TNT Greenhouse" in Bradford, NY. Brought home flowers for a large pot to set on our front steps and to fill a hanging basket on the back deck. I’ve also watched Mama Robin build a nest in an empty birdfeeder on our deck, now setting on 3 little blue eggs, with hummingbirds and orioles returning to their respective feeders. And, tho my Juneberry bush, daffodils and tulips are done blooming, the lilacs began blooming this week as trees have fully opened their leaves to the sun … reminding us once again … it’s spring!  Enjoy the beauty of God’s creation all around you!  
    Ahhh, spring!  My favorite season!  And hasn’t it been looking beautiful outside?  I love to see the signs of new life emerging slowly, almost imperceptibly, after earth’s long wintry sleep.  To smell the fresh earthy aroma that follows a gentle spring rain is so refreshing, to see the grass almost immediately turning from shades of crisp tan and brown and dingy green to rich verdant greens, and to watch the daintiest leaf or flower bud begin to emerge… these all bring joy to my heart. 
    With a bright sun’s nourishing warmth, those leaf buds soon swell and burst open, bringing many more shades of green to life.  Then, as flowers burst open to brighten the landscape, it’s as though all of creation rejoices with an endless bounty of color.  “For behold, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone.  The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.” (Song of Solomon 2:11-12)
    I’ve often thought about the joy and pleasure it must have given our God as He created every aspect of this world, every plant and creature… each uniquely designed!  After His work of creating separate aspects of this world each day of the week, “God saw all that He had made, and it was very good.” (Genesis 1:31 NIV)  Wouldn’t it have been wonderful to have been a witness as this marvelous creation came to be?  I’ve also imagined that the first week of creation was spring with vivid colors bursting forth in blooms from every kind of plant and flower imaginable!  An amazing palette of color!
    When God created man and woman in His image to tend and care for the beautiful Garden of Eden, ultimately to be caretakers of the new world at large… they were each uniquely created and loved by God… just as we are in our own time.  And to know that all this beauty was created for our pleasure, to treasure and nourish… what an awesome responsibility and beautiful gift we were given! 
    Enjoy the beauty of spring in all its glory as it bursts forth anew to revive and color our every-day world with exhilarating joy!
    Colors of Spring
    Linda A. Roorda
    From brilliant yellow of forsythia arched
    To burgundy red on trees standing tall
    The colors of spring emerge in great beauty
    To brighten our days from winter’s dark sleep.
     
    From shades of chartreuse as leaf buds burst forth
    To pink and white flowers in cloud-like halos
    Hovering on branches in glowing full bloom
    Swaying above carpets of undulating green.
     
    From rich azure sky with puffs of white-gray
    To pale blue horizon at forested hills
    With sun-streaked rays like fingers of God
    To lengthening shadows as light slowly fades.
     
    From velvet black night as moon rises full
    To glittering diamonds twinkling bright
    Up over hills on their path through the sky
    Gliding above trees with limbs reaching out.
     
    From earth’s colorful palette awakening clear
    To the crisp and bold and shades of pastels
    Shimmering and dancing to brighten our day
    Created by God, our pleasure to behold.
    ~~
     
  9. 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.
  10. Linda Roorda

    Fences

    By Linda Roorda,

    A fence… just a simple snow fence… part of it standing as straight and tall as the day it was put up, while other sections lean askance or lay surrendered to the elements. 
    Sometimes we see things that trigger thoughts and emotions.  And that’s what happened when I saw this photo taken and posted by our good friend, Hugh Van Staalduinen.  His wife, Kathy, and I have been friends since childhood; together, we’ve been family friends ever since our respective dating years.  
    Hugh, a retired truck driver, has built a reputation with his hobby of taking beautiful bird and butterfly photos.  He finds Sodus Point a favorite spot for taking photos of not only birds, hawks and eagles, but of the lighthouse and gorgeous sunsets over the lake.  But, every now and then he ventures beyond the aesthetic… and his photo of a simple snow fence on the beach at Sodus Point, NY caught my eye.  It spoke volumes to me, and a poem was born. 
    The Sodus area holds a special place with my earliest memories.  When I was about 3 to 4 years old, my dad worked for the Wychmere Dairy Farm.  I remember a trip to a Lake Ontario beach near Sodus then, and I can still visualize a ship on the horizon as I floated in my inner tube.  Years later, on a drive to Chimney Bluffs near Sodus Point, Hugh drove us down the exact same woodsy lane to the exact same spot on the beach which has been in my memories since childhood!  Then, as a teen, I climbed a section of Chimney Bluffs with steep spires of earth in constant change from effects of the weather.
    But, in Hugh’s simple photo of a snow fence stretching along the beach, we see strong upright sections still connected to those which are leaning or have fallen down… as though the sections are connected by helping hands reaching out, an apt reflection of life.  For me, this fence evoked images of how we often become support for others to lean upon… the stronger supporting the weaker… be it the younger assisting the elderly, the parents helping their children, or the healthy aiding the sick. 
    In James 1:19-27, with admonishment to “be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry…[and] to look after orphans and widows in their distress…” my mind saw the arms of love reaching out like those of the snow fence.  With our loving acts of listening, kindness, respect and gentleness, we come to the aid of those in need. 
    By showing this love in many ways, we meet others where they’re at…and shower them with true Christianity in action.  To sit silently by and do nothing is to stifle God’s love.  But, by abiding in His word and in His love, we are led to help those who simply need a shoulder to lean on, or a hand to lift them up after a devastating blow has laid them low.
    Oh, the images that come to mind in the simplest of scenes!  Just a simple snow fence... with some sections standing straight and tall, some leaning, and some fallen down, covered by snow and ice… an image that speaks volumes if we but listen with our heart.
    Fences by Linda A. Roorda
    As I gazed upon a fence with slats
    Meant to protect and divert a storm,
    Significance seen in sections displayed
    Some standing tall, some twisted askew.
     
    We build our fences for reasons many
    Some to protect and some to lean on/for décor,
    Some as evidence of hearts hid from view
    For a fence speaks well what words cannot say.
     
    This image evoked by words unspoken
    Is strength within that others may lean.
    Blessed with a vigor which few can maintain
    The stalwarts shelter when the weary falter.
     
    Yet there are times when a fence is built
    As a wall of sorts to block out life’s stress,
    Some meant to hide, some shielding from harm
    Both meant to offer a refuge from pain.
     
    So fences we build across life’s terrain
    Uniting with strength to carry burdens,
    Supporting others in facing the storms
    With hands held out like friends intertwined.
    ~~
     
  11. Linda Roorda

    I Cannot See

    By Linda Roorda,

    Unless you’ve experienced what someone else has dealt with, you cannot make a valid judgment against them.  We take so much in life for granted… especially in what we can see and do.  But reflect with me for just a few minutes on what it would be like without one, or more, of your senses.  What if you could not smell, taste, hear, speak, or see?  What if you couldn’t walk, or move your arms?  What if the simplest tasks became so much more difficult due to a new disability?
    As I’ve mentioned in other blogs and poems, my husband, Ed, is blind and my mother is paralyzed on the right side from a stroke. Thankfully, my mom is left-handed and propels her wheelchair with left hand and foot to visit her friends – and let me tell you, that left hand and arm of hers is so strong I have had to remind her not to squeeze my arthritic hand so tight when we’d say goodbye!
    This poem was written one day as I contemplated Ed’s dark world of blindness, and the vision I take for granted, even now.  I have to remind myself of his limitations because I’ve become accustomed to how good he is at getting around the familiarity of our home without sight in a world that depends on vision.  Even though he had limited vision in his only usable eye when he farmed with his dad (20/200 with glasses), he managed to make barn and field chores look easy.  In reality, it wasn’t.  He made accommodations and learned to live with very blurry vision.
    As a family, we learned to remember to put something back in its original place so he could find it again, and not to move the furniture without telling him, or leave a door ajar for him to walk into.  Yes, we learned the hard way to make those issues priorities… and sadly, I still forget on a rare occasion.
    I would also put bump dots on digital dials of appliances so he could do minor cooking and laundry, while he uses rubber bands of different sizes to tell his medications apart and to distinguish salt and pepper.  He wants to be as independent as possible, though now his permanent statin-drug muscle damage has taken more of a toll and he’s struggling to get around, very limited in what he can do.  
    But, there once was the day he made his usual big pot of chili… with a twist.  When the kids came home from school, he heard, “Oh Pop! You put fruit cocktail in the chili!”  The can of fruit had gotten too close to the cans of tomatoes and he had had no idea. We ate it anyway.  And, it wasn’t too bad, just a little sweeter than usual.  Who knows… maybe it would be worthy of winning a competition!  But, yes, life has been interesting in learning to accommodate his needs… for all of us.
    When he went to The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, Massachusetts for six months of training in the fall of 1989, we family members were given occluders to cover our eyes for a while.  (Actually, each staff member is required to wear them one day a month.)  At the end of the exercise, the kids and I, and Ed’s parents, could take off our occluders.  But, Ed could not… his vision loss was permanent.  It was a stark reminder to us with sight as to how blessed we really are… and how to better understand his loss and frustration in recovering and learning a new way to function.
    For it’s been hard for Ed to face the world without vision along with his other disabilities.  Our world is not always as understanding as we would like to think.  There are folks who rush past as I guide my husband, and their feet have become entangled in his outstretched cane which feels ahead for obstacles... and I have had to stop unexpectedly because someone cut us off sharply in their hurry, throwing him off balance, nearly falling.  We have found that people will sometimes talk louder to him; he’s blind, but not hard of hearing. 
    Once, when he was hospitalized, the nurse’s aide actually said to him, “Hey! What’s the deal with the sunglasses? Think you’re a movie star?”  Ed calmly replied, “No. I’m blind.” And she stumbled profusely trying to apologize.  Then there are the adult stares, which I hope are due to their being impressed with his ability.  Once during mobility training with his specialist, he was learning to find his way through the mall while she followed from a distance.  A kind gentleman came up to him, grabbed his arm and started walking, i.e. pulling, him along, asking where he wanted to go.  Ed thanked him, but gently explained he was learning to find his own way around.  As for the children who stare and ask their curious questions, we explain why he uses a white cane to help them understand what it’s like to live in a world without sight.
    But, there are so many limitations placed on someone with any disability that we often don’t think about.  Ed simply cannot do whatever he wants.  He cannot get in the car and drive wherever and whenever he wants.  Without sight, there is so much that is missed… in the beauty of a sunny day, of flowers blooming in multitudinous hues, of storm clouds gathering, in watching brilliant flashes of lightning, of seeing a rainbow at the storm’s end, seeing the beauty of a freshly fallen snow… of loved ones’ dear faces… of a newborn’s precious face, never having been seen before to hold onto the memory… of having lost the ability to simply pick up any book or paper to read, or a pen to write, now having to take the time to accomplish those tasks a new and slower way by having them read to him or by listening to books on cassette… and so much more.  And, to be honest, he generally prefers we not describe the beauty around him for the painful reminder of what he’s missing.
    In time, though, an understanding and acceptance is gained by going through the vital grieving process, as for anyone with any loss.  Life is no longer the same, and never will be.  We also learned the hard way that grief over a loss is important.  It’s a key process in learning to deal and grow, and should not be rushed.  Simply be there with support.  For acceptance comes with the change by gaining confidence in the ability to move forward a new way… in learning new processes for what was once familiar and easy.  
    Our faith in the Lord has been our support when we feel overwhelmed… when Ed can’t do what he’d like and I’ve been stretched to the max to pick up the slack.  The Lord has listened to our prayers in the needs of every-day life.  He’s been at our side to see us through this journey we never expected.  Ask how you can pray for the one on the journey.  Don’t assume to know what they might need.
    Take the time to understand life for someone with a disability of any kind.  Take the time to put yourself in their shoes… to walk their path and understand their limitations.  Take the time to love them, to share and question… and then listen between the lines for what they might be hesitant to express.  Encourage them, and laugh with them.  Walk with them, and you will both be blessed on the journey.
    I Cannot See
    Linda A. Roorda
     I cannot see this beautiful day
    And I long to bask in its brilliant glow
    Taking in rays that uncover the dark
    But instead I feel its warmth like flames.
     
    I cannot see tender smiles that beam
    As voices carry the tones of your heart,
    And tears that flow in sadness or joy
    Are a gentle touch felt deep in my soul.
     
    I cannot see love’s beautiful face
    Though I hold you near in image faded.
    I take your hand and with gentle kiss
    Shower affection from memories dear.
     
    I cannot see what your eyes behold
    As the world moves on and leaves me the past,
    So let me borrow your words to describe
    Changes in life without an image.
     
    I cannot see somber cloudy days
    Instead I hear your voice cheer me on.
    You tenderly hold my heart in your hand
    For without your strength I could not go on.
     
    I cannot see the path that we walk
    Yet wisdom shared from the depth of trust
    Embraces our hearts to cover what lacks
    As you guide with love in step at my side.
    ~~
  12. Linda Roorda
    Father’s Day… a time to remember the dads we treasure.  They’ve taught us well in the ways of life.  And I remember a lot about my dad.  In fact, it would be fair to say that I had put him on a pedestal while growing up… not a wise placement for anyone. But it seems he could do anything and everything, a jack-of-all-trades.  Though none of us can measure up all the time, there is One who is perfect… who forgives all our failings… our heavenly Father.
    There is so much my Dad, Ralph, taught me and my five siblings, including all about the love of Jesus.   As a small child on the farm, I would say, “Jesus is my best friend!”  But, for a time as a teen, I forgot my childhood friend until my Dad reminded me of those words I used to say as a little girl.  Oops! 
    I loved playing board games on Sunday afternoons with my Dad, especially Scrabble. I love the challenge of this game and tend to play aggressively, perhaps because I was in tough competition with my Dad.  Though I won only one game against him over those several years, it was a sweet victory knowing that I’d accomplished the win without his having given me an edge.
    He taught me honesty was the right way such that in 8th grade English class I chose to write an essay entitled “Honesty Is The Best Policy”, receiving an A.  Actually, I think I may have gotten writing and art abilities from him.  Although he was an exceptional storyteller, perfectly imitating voice and mannerisms of various comedians, I speak best through the written word.  He also had a gift for drawing with his talent for art passed on to me and my son.
    As we grew up, we loved hearing Dad tell family stories of his and our childhoods.  He had a gift for telling any story in a humorous way, and how I long to hear them all again.  I’d ask him to write them down for posterity, but he never did.  When he drove truck in the latter 1960s through the 1990s (and later huge tractors for an Iowan farmer), he’d come home with stories from the road.  He shared radio routines by Bill Cosby and southern Cajun comedians, recalling their stories and imitating accents perfectly!  That was way better entertainment than TV any day! 
    I recall a few stories of his time in the Army at Fort Greeley, Alaska (1956-1957), a foreign assignment before official statehood.  From 18 months to 2 years, I was too young to remember my six months at Delta Junction with my baby sister.  But, I do remember having heard how he, his best buddy Roland, and two other friends found a sunken rowboat.  As it lay not far below the surface of a lake, they pulled it up, cleaned it off, and took it out to fish.  It made for an interesting adventure to say the least – while they each took a turn fishing, the other three worked hard at bailing to keep the boat afloat! Now that’s dedicated fishermen! 
    Fort Greeley is also where he learned to drive big rigs.  With someone ill, he was asked to take over in the motor pool one night.  Proving he could handle backing up a trailer perfectly, the commanding officer asked where he’d learned to do that since everyone else struggled.  “Backing up a manure spreader, Sir!” was his dutiful reply.  They kept him in the motor pool, where he gained invaluable training for later driving 18-wheelers.
    He also was given a rare promotion because he took the time to thoroughly clean an office coffeepot, a skill learned from his Dutch immigrant mother who had taught him all aspects of housekeeping while growing up, like any good Dutch mother.  With a general visiting Fort Greeley, and the coffee-making task handed down to my Dad, he took pains to provide a clean urn for making fresh-brewed coffee… which greatly impressed the general.  When the general asked who made the coffee, the aide who was supposed to have made it “blamed” my Dad.  Instead of the feared reprimand for the typically bad-tasting coffee the office was known for, the general complimented my father on the best cup he’d ever tasted!  Turning to the senior officer, he told him to give my father a promotion!
    When we were younger, he always had time for us. I loved it when he took us fishing to Garret Mountain in Clifton, Lake Hopatcong and Upper Greenwood Lake. And, though I could never bring myself to touch those worms (still can’t!), let alone put them on a hook, and never did catch “the big one,” it was the quality time with our Dad that meant so much to us kids.  As a tomboy, I especially enjoyed working outside with my Dad whether it was in the barn learning to care for the animals, in the huge vegetable gardens, or traipsing the fields and woods hunting.  That love just naturally transferred to enjoying the time spent working alongside my husband out in the barn or in the yard, even growing my own gardens.
    As we grew older, we teens were often in our own little world yet I still adored my Dad.  He listened and gave sound advice.  I even recall the day he didn’t go to work, taking me instead for a drive to discuss a problem I was dealing with.  At times though, I wasn’t ready to listen to him because, as life moved on, his anger took control and he wasn’t always there for us as a family, causing division with his divorce by expecting full support.
    But I treasure our renewed relationship later in life.  With apologies for my own errors as a teen, I heard his sadness as I expressed how family dysfunction affected all of us, and he understood my saying I/we all had needed him more than he realized when he was on the road for 2-4 weeks at a time.  I appreciated his compliments on my writing for a local newspaper, my own blogs, publishing genealogy research in a national journal (The New York Genealogical & Biographical Record), and for how well I raised my family and took care of my Mom.  Honesty and forgiveness cleared the way for better relationships with love expressed to both my parents.  God truly takes our most difficult situations, working them for our good when we love Him, admit our errors, and make amends.
    My Dad’s careers changed from farming, to driving a grain truck delivering feed to dairy farmers (with top NY State Purina Feed salesman award for 1961 and 1962), to carpentry with his Dad, a general contractor in northeast New Jersey, to driving a tank truck locally and later OTR (over the road/cross country).  When we lived in Clifton, NJ, he drove chemical tankers locally in northeast Jersey, southern New England, and New York City.  What stories he brought home from his experiences!  I got to ride with him only twice and wish it could have been more.
    I was never so happy as when we moved back to New York in 1969!  Though I hated city life, I can now look back with fond memories of Clifton, NJ.  As we settled into “backyard farming,” he taught me how to care for our mare, War Bugg, a granddaughter of Man O’ War, a retired Western working ranch registered Quarter Horse.  One of his trucking buddies also worked the rodeo circuit and put War Bugg through her paces – she did a figure-eight so tight you’d’ve thought she’d fall over!  I helped Dad build her corral and box stall in the small barn, along with re-roofing and remodeling the old chicken coop for our flock.  And then came the heavy-duty barn chores of bringing hay down out of the mow, hauling 50-lb bags of grain, mucking out the pens, learning to groom War Bugg and pick up her feet to clean the soft undersides, devouring books on horses and their care, dreaming of being an equine vet.  I saw his deep concern when I stepped on a wasp’s nest in the haymow with 11 stings on my leg, and his gratefulness for my dousing him with a 5-gallon pail of water when a torch threatened to catch him on fire while trying to burn tent caterpillars.
    But I also learned the hard way that running War Bugg flat out up the road and back could have killed her.  I’d simply clicked my tongue and she took off like a rocket, so I let her run.  I was scolded hard, yet taught to walk her slowly, allowing her to have only small sips of warm water till she cooled down.  After riding her another time, I dismounted, tied her to the backyard light pole, ran into the house briefly; and on returning, realized she’d pulled on and broken her bridle, standing as if still tied with reins straight down.  And I realized she was Western trained to be “ground tied” and to take off at the click of the tongue, very responsive to touch, the absolute best horse!  I still miss her…
    Soon enough, I got married and began a new life with my new family, while my siblings and parents scattered themselves around the U.S.  Life changes, and we change with it. As a child, I teased my Dad when he turned 30 that he was old, and that when he’d turn 50 he’d be “over the hill!”  Well, Dad, guess what?  Your oldest daughter reached that milestone a ways back, and she’s still kickin’!  Giving him this writing in 2014 before he passed away April 17, 2015, his wedding anniversary with my Mom, he knew I felt blessed to have him as my Dad.  Sometimes I wish I could go back and relive the childhood fun of days long ago, but I treasure those memories that linger still... and I love you, Dad!
    May you each be blessed with very special memories of your Dad, too!  Happy Father’s Day! 
    I Remember A Dad
    Linda A. Roorda
    I remember a dad who took me fishin’
    And remember a dad who hooked my worms,
    Who took those hooks from fishy mouths,
    And showed me the country way of life.
    ~
    A family of six, two girls and four boys
    Fun and trouble we shared as we grew.
    From farms and fields to paved avenues,
    Walking and biking, exploring we went.
    ~
    I remember a time spent playing games,
    A dad who’d not cheat for us to win.
    Family and friends and holiday dinners,
    Lakes and farms and countryside drives.
    ~
    Weeds were the bane of childhood fun,
    So ‘tween the rows we ran and we played.
    But as I grew and matured in age,
    Weeding was therapy in gardens of mine.
    ~
    I remember a dad who thrived on farming
    Livestock and gardens, and teaching me how.
    I remember a dad who took me huntin’
    Scoutin’ the fields, always alert.
    ~
    I remember a dad who taught us more
    For growing up we learn by example.
    I remember working alongside my dad
    Roofing a barn and building corrals.
    ~
    I remember a dad whose gifts were given
    In fairness to meet each child’s desire.
    I remember a dad whose wisdom we honor
    In memories of caring and love in small ways.
    ~
    I remember a dad who brought us laughter
    With Cajun and Cosby stories retold.
    For blessed with a gift of retelling tales
    Family and childhood events he recalled.
    ~
    I remember a dad whose time was given
    To help his children face life’s turmoils.
    Time spent together are memories treasured
    For things done best put family first.
    ~
    I remember a dad who taught me more
    To treasure my faith in Jesus my friend.
    In looking to Him as Savior and Lord,
    Salvation by Grace, not earned by my deed.
    ~
    As I look back to days long ago,
    I remember the dad I knew so well.
    For I miss the dad who took me fishin’
    And remember the dad who taught me more.
    Listen to my recording of "I Remember A Dad" under my friend's podcast, Balms for the Soul.
  13. Linda Roorda

    Tug Salute

    By Linda Roorda,

    In the autumnal season of life, as we age and retire out of the workforce, some of us may begin to feel unwanted and useless.  We’ve done our job, and certainly did our best… we put heart and soul into our family and career.  But now that we’re a few years removed from a busy active life, and no longer able to do what we once could, maybe some of us feel like we’ve been “put out to pasture” and left to watch time slowly tick away.
    I hope you’re enjoying a great autumn season as the leaves turn colors, the geese form their entourages and fly south, colder weather requires jackets, and tinges of wood smoke make the outdoor air aromatic reminding me of what pioneer days must have been like. We still have not had a frost but expect it later this coming week.  Like life, a lot of changes happen in this season of fall as we prepare for winter just around the corner, reminding me I need to prepare for the inevitable and get those snow tires put on.  And so, we prepare for our latter season of life… and enjoy this time of change. Admittedly, though, I am not a big fan of change… like arthritis creeping in, realizing I need to buy a magnifying glass to read the fine print… but I roll with it, accept the changes, and move forward… 
    These thoughts came to mind on seeing some photos several years ago, like those at this tug graveyard, taken by Will Van Dorp, aka Tugster, another friend from childhood days.  As Will documents and blogs about the daily traffic of his aptly-named watery “Sixth Boro” surrounding New York City and its environs, we see tugs hard at work towing and pushing barges or assisting an array of ships.  Once upon a time, newly minted, they slid off the ways into the water, freshly christened with a shining glow, eager to face whatever responsibility or danger came their way. Tugs of various shapes and sizes actively plied the waters for many decades, sometimes sold to be rebuilt, repurposed and renamed to fit a new owner’s need.  But, it saddens us when these workhorses of watery roads are abandoned in a lonely inlet graveyard to slowly rot away.  They deserve a more fitting tribute for their hard-earned rest.
    Sort of like us… who begin to feel more like the months of autumn as the effects of aging take their toll… despite our thinking we’re a few decades younger and that we can still handle what we used to do with ease!  Maybe we had only one job, one career, or maybe we embraced multiple careers in our lifetime.  Maybe we lived through an era in history with a personal perspective that today’s youth just don’t understand.
    Be willing to share your life stories… the blessings, the fun and laughter, and the tears in tough times.  What was learned through your experiences may help someone else understand how to face their own difficulty.  With the end of life coming to us all eventually, be it boat or person, we can still make the most of our time that’s left.
    We don’t need to retire to the proverbial rocker in the corner… at least not yet anyway!  We can be repurposed in retirement to benefit others.  We can volunteer our time in any number of ways within our local community.  In so doing, we can bring a smile, a sense of joy and love to someone who truly can’t get out and about as they once did. 
    Listen to the stories, memories of the heart.  Help a friend share their life’s history.  Perhaps you can be the catalyst to writing down their memoirs.  Create the opportunity for such remembrances to be passed on to their children, grandchildren and great-grands, even to others beyond their immediate family. 
    Every one of us has a story to tell… our place in history to share.  Like us, those old tugboats are deserving of recognition for what was accomplished during life’s journey with a fitting salute and tribute. 
    Tug Salute
    Linda A. Roorda
    They ply the waters, these boats called tugs
    Each bow riding high with a stern slung low
    A workhorse they say for river or sea
    Vital to traffic of watery lanes.
    ~
    Now gaunt and faded like lifeless fossils
    Left to corrode alone with their mem’ries,
    Who can recall the day of christening
    When futures shone bright as colorful hulls.
    ~
    Riding waves high to rescue the dying
    Pushing and tugging behemoths of the deep
    Gently nudging, tucking in a berth
    Or pushing deep scows hauling upriver freight.
    ~
    No matter the calm, never minding the storm
    They’ve a job to do without laud or praise
    Handling with ease by a captain’s trained eye
    Who knows safe channels like the back o’ the hand.
    ~
    But came the day they were put to rest
    No hands at the helm, their days were numbered
    Silently rocking as waves tick off time
    Lapping relentless to a tune not their own.
    ~
    Haunting images mere remnants of honor
    Come close and listen, if you dare tread near
    Listen to whispers of tales long ago
    As we salute you, the pride of the harbor.
    ~~
    PHOTO CREDIT:  Will Van Dorp, "Tugster".
  14. Linda Roorda

    Seeking You

    By Linda Roorda,

    I was asked to speak at a local women of faith retreat in December 2014 on their theme, “Wise Men Still Seek Him.”  It was an honor to have been asked to share my life’s faith testimony, but it was also a humbling experience to open my heart in a “public” venue.  It’s entirely different from writing poems and reflections for my blog, Poetic Devotions.
    While God has graciously given me more understanding and wisdom gained over a lifetime of spiritual growth, He has also continued to draw me into a deeper faith through all of life’s ups and downs. Like this past week... Ed was in the hospital a few days for worsening congestive heart failure causing increased pulmonary issues with his COPD. And then, multi-tasking, running in a gazillion directions at once, I walked nose first in the dark into an open door I’d forgotten to close. Thankfully it wasn’t broken, tho it’s still sore. Ed is “ok” but continues to struggle with his ADLs, i.e. activities of daily living, as exercise-induced shortness of breath and weakness take over… as does frustration and learning to accept more limitations with his many diagnoses.  But God… is still here, still guiding us each step of the way. And with all that’s happened lately, I needed to re-read and remember these words taken from my larger essay written in 2014.  Listening to our favorite older Newsboys CDs which Ed played this morning, I heard the phrase “…’cause every time a teardrop falls, it's kicking up dust in our world of pain, let’s get drenched under God’s good rain, caught in a deluge of mercies… caught in a landslide of love.”  Because nothing separates us from the love of God even when we deal with the difficulties of life… and I needed to be reminded of that, too.   
    This may not seem like a Christmas type message, but without the birth of our Savior, who would we seek?  My prayer is that God will use these words taken from my larger speech to bless your heart. God bless you today and always.
    I’m the oldest of six children, blessed to be born into a Christian family, albeit a somewhat dysfunctional and fractured family, with my parents divorcing not long after I married.  There was never a time I did not know about Jesus from church, Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, and Christian elementary school. At 14, having moved 15 times, and to a new school district for the fifth time and saying I had no friends, my father reminded me that as a little girl I would say Jesus was my best friend. Ouch! I’d forgotten that!
    At 15, I recognized my need for Jesus as my Savior and asked Him into my heart. Still, I did not seek God and His will as I should have during my late teens.  Yet, it’s in knowing that when I seek the Lord with my confession and repentance, He forgives me and wipes my slate clean for “…as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.” (Ps.103:12 NIV)
    I was married at 19 to Edward in October 1974, waiting until the fall crops were in.  Celebrating our 47th anniversary this past fall, I look back and see how immature I was.  But I also look back and see how faithful the Lord has been, always beside me, guiding and drawing me closer to Himself, and He has given me a husband whose love, insight, and wisdom have met my needs.
    Like other young couples, Ed and I thought we’d live happily ever after without problems. Instead, like so many others, our life together seems to have been one struggle after another, though it’s how we react and what we learn that makes a difference. There was a time years ago when I did not understand that… when I felt lost, questioned whether I was truly saved, not knowing how to accept or learn from problems sent my way.  But the Lord took the wounds and scars in my life and turned them into blessings as He helped me grow spiritually through those tough times.
    Admittedly, it’s been the journey of a lifetime learning to seek God, to listen to His still small voice and nudges within my heart.  Sometimes His message is loud and clear.  Sometimes God is quiet and doesn’t seem to hear my prayers, with no clear answers, no direction, no healings.  Yet, it’s in those times that I remind myself to keep moving forward in faith knowing that God is with each of us through the tears and difficulties, not just the best of times, for “…we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”  (Romans 8:28 NIV)
    Despite my share of struggles and failures when I take the reins instead of allowing God to have control, I can honestly say, as I look back, that it’s also been through the toughest days that God has blessed me in many ways.  Sometimes I long for a quiet simple life, one without any difficulties.  But that is not the life given to me.  I need to rest knowing that He is in control.  He uses our struggles to teach us, to draw us closer to Himself, and to reach others through struggles we go through.  He understands what we face and allows our difficulties in order to help mold us into the person He wants us to become.  And I can’t help but wonder if I would have grown spiritually if I had never faced the various trials sent my way. 
    For God does not heal us of our problems the way we want just because we pray for healing.  Literally being told that Ed was not healed of his blindness because we were not praying right, or that we should pray certain ways for healing, set dangerous tones of self-centeredness, not seeking God’s will.  As we scroll through Scripture, we find that Paul sought the Lord three times to be healed of his “thorn in the flesh.”  Instead of healing, he heard the Lord say, “’My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness…’” and Paul responded by saying “That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weakness… for when I am weak, then I am strong.” (II Corinthians 12:9-10 NIV)  Yet, Ed and I know how hard it is to live out those words of faith when we have not seen the healing we have prayed for.
    So, it’s the Lord’s wisdom I seek to guide my steps, to direct my path, to cover me with mercy when I am weak and fail yet again.  And when I’m stressed to the max by life and its busyness, I find He is there, even in the mundane.  He’s teaching me to seek Him… to lean on Him… giving me peace and contentment in the turbulence.  In this, I can find satisfaction doing what He expects of me even when it’s not the easiest path nor the direction I want to go.  For our walk of faith takes us to new dimensions with Christ that we would not have known without those difficulties.
    As the Lord has drawn me and Ed closer to Himself, He has strengthened our faith, taught us forgiveness and patience under his grace and mercy, and carried us when we feel so overwhelmed.  He has been with us through days when we wondered why it seemed He wasn’t answering our prayers… when we lost our unborn babies, later giving birth to three beautiful healthy children; when Ed, a premature twin who was legally blind from pure oxygen in the incubator, went to an eye doctor for vision issues, told to quit farming that day, had 9-hr retinal/eye surgery, and I had to find a job; long-term effects of my undiagnosed PTSD from past abuse; my Tourette’s syndrome since age 10; when our son was diagnosed with a rare congenital heart defect needing an implanted defibrillator; when our oldest daughter died at age 25 from an undiagnosed heart abnormality; when Ed went to The Carroll Center for the Blind for training, then lost his job as customer service rep after 9/11, telling God he’d tried everything he could to find work, putting it in God’s hands to find him a job – and God answered him with a new job when the company’s owner knocked on our door to ask what Ed could do for them! When I had multiple neck fusions, back and hand surgeries, an autoimmune disorder (sarcoidosis) with severe IBS necessitating a very restricted diet, and breast cancer. When Ed had permanent statin drug muscle damage needing multiple surgeries to repair torn cartilage in knees and shoulder from struggling to stand from sitting, neck fusion, a brain shunt causing seizures, unrelenting pain and dizziness since 2008, severe CHF, COPD on chronic asthma, diabetes; and so much more I'm not going to list… And now, retired, I’ve been blessed with a sub position in our local public schools, hoping to make a difference in the lives of youngsters.
    Through it all, God showered us with love in answering our prayers in ways that best fit His plan.  As my friend Natalie wrote, “God does not always reward faith with blessings.  He allows our faith to undergo challenges - to be tried through a fiery testing.”  Job, Paul and James all speak of God knowing our path through trials as we persevere in faith and wait on God’s timing, as hard as that may be at times.
    And in seeking Jesus this Christmas season, may we each find Him in the humblest of places within our heart… not in the rich embellishments and trappings which boldly confront us.  May we find Him in serving others with a heart of love, even the least among us… in caring for the hurting souls among the noisy din of humanity. 
    Then, wherever love is needed, may we reach out to reveal Christ among us, and know the gift of His strength and comfort, and hope and peace in the midst of life’s turmoil.  For with that peace comes the gift of inner joy because in Matthew 6:33 we are told to “Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”
    In this joyous Christmas holiday season as we celebrate the birth of our dear Lord and Savior, may we all remember to wisely seek Him first… whatever comes our way.
    Seeking You
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Seeking you Lord, Your will in my heart
    Giving all thanks and praise to Your name,
    As Your loving hand with mercy and grace
    Guides through rough seas to calm peaceful shores.
     
    Seeking you Lord, in the dark of night
    When sleep won’t come and dreams bring on fears,
    As I arise to the morning dews
    And greet the sun for a bright new day.
     
    I’m drawn to Your side when cares overwhelm
    Teach me Your ways from words filled with hope.
    Grant me Your peace when life darkens doors
    Guide every step, Your wisdom impart.
     
    With riches great we travel secure
    Thinking we have control of our life,
    But when troubles come we turn quick to you
    Pleading for strength to carry us through.
     
    This strength I seek from Your loving arms
    Moment by moment to face new demands
    With head bent low my prayers rise to You
    To humbly shine Your light from within.
     
    May I ever know You walk alongside
    Guiding my steps and the path that I take
    May words expressed show love to others
    From a heart that seeks your wisdom and truth.
     
    Then may I know Your mercy and grace
    Covers my soul with comforting peace
    Granting wisdom from within Your word
    As I praise Your name and seek Your will first.
    ~~
  15. Linda Roorda
    We recently watched a news clip from January 10, 2022 showing a young woman driving up to a large dumpster, opening the rear door of her car, grabbing a black bag, flinging it into the dumpster, and driving away. Six hours later, passersby rummaging through the trash heard what sounded like a kitten crying. I cried as I watched a woman tenderly cuddle and caress an infant after finding the newborn boy inside that bag, while her friend called 911. My heart goes out to the teen mom, 18 years old, reportedly afraid and unsure of what to do, claiming she didn't know she was pregnant. Reading that she and her boyfriend had broken up last summer, I was also saddened that the baby's father had had no say in the future life of his child when she threw their baby into the trash. I also hope she gets some good counseling. 
    Yet, every state has safe haven laws providing a drop-off at police and fire departments, even at hospitals. Not considered abandonment of an infant up to each state’s specified age limit, safe havens will place the infant in protective custody for foster care or adoption. When teaching sex ed to our teens, perhaps it’s time we tell them about safe havens and that there are many options where someone can turn to for help, not just for an abortion, and not to throw their baby away like garbage. 
    I have also read and heard stories about survivors of attempted abortion left to die by abortion clinic personnel – infanticide is the appropriate term. Thankfully, compassion stirred the hearts of staff who sought medical care for these infants who were later adopted and loved, some of whom were born with defects due to the abortion procedure, some going on to become outspoken pro-life advocates for the value of every human life.  As one abortion survivor, Melissa Ohden, stated, “Something’s wrong when women’s empowerment is based on ending another human being’s life.”
    On February 25, 2019, the U.S. Senate failed to pass the Born-Alive Abortion Survivors Protection Act by a vote of 53-44. It would have protected infants born alive following an abortion attempt. Independent journalist, Thor Benson, tweeted that “there is no such thing as an abortion survivor.” What a false narrative he promoted!
    Among a number of abortion survivors is Gianna Jessen, “born during a saline abortion” per her birth certificate with resultant cerebral palsy, a powerful pro-life speaker.  On August 22, 2013, Gianna shared her emotional journey with an Australian government audience, “We are in a battle for life and death. Which side are you on?… If abortion is just about women’s rights, then what am I? … What arrogance… that the stronger should dominate the weaker, and determine who should live or die. You cannot make your own heart beat. It is the mercy of God that sustains you, even when you hate Him… I am weaker than most of you, but this is my sermon. What a small price to pay to be able to blaze through the world as I do and offer hope. God is in control and He has a way of making the most miserable thing beautiful…”  
    With today being “Sanctity of Human Life” Sunday, I believe that extends to far more than the pro-life movement.  To me, it’s not a political issue, but one that affects our moral fiber because all life is sacred.  The intrinsic value we place on life determines how we treat others around us.  Though I realize there are differing opinions on abortion, this is a story dear to my heart. An edited and condensed version of this reflection and poem was first published at Do Justice, a section of the Office of Social Justice website for the Christian Reformed Church.
    With the 49th anniversary of January 1973’s Roe v. Wade abortion decision, I share the story of a young mother-to-be.  She already had two healthy children, but this pregnancy made her very ill, vomiting frequently, steadily worsening.  Struggling to carry this new life, her doctor sought a “medically necessary” abortion.  Three doctors needed to sign documentation indicating her life was in jeopardy if the pregnancy continued.  But, no third physician would add his name. 
    A Cesarean section was performed at 7 months’ gestation or risk losing both mother and baby.  To everyone's surprise, twin boys were born!  After surgery, the mom nearly died from the effects of toxemia (i.e. pre-eclampsia), the result of high blood pressure and the demands on her body by two babies.
    With much prayer and great medical care, she pulled through.  But, the largest twin at 5 lbs, born with an enlarged heart, died at two days of age, while the smaller twin at 3-1/2 lbs spent a month in an incubator.  This tiny preemie survived, albeit with health problems and very limited vision in only one viable eye. 
    How do I know?  The smaller twin is my husband, Edward.  We praise God that no third physician was willing to sign for an abortion which would have killed these boys before they were given a chance at life.
    By 1951, major medical centers knew that high levels of oxygen in incubators led to infant retinal damage and blindness.  But, physicians at the small hospital in Goshen, NY’s farming community were not yet aware in 1952.  As a toddler, Ed was seen by a specialist in Boston who gave him his first glasses.  Later, at about age 5, with stronger lenses, gazing out the car window he shouted, “I see them!”  Though blurry, kids sledding down a hill was something he’d never seen before.  Telling this story never failed to bring tears to his mother’s eyes.  Ed also recalls that was when he first saw outdoor Christmas light decorations.
    Taken to Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center in New York City when age 8 or 10, his parents learned he was among about 2000 children seen in their clinic, one of only seven children with some remnants of vision.  The optic nerve to his right eye was destroyed, while his left eye had limited vision, 20/200 with ultimate correction. 
    As Ed grew up, he was determined to do nearly everything everyone else could.  Totally blind since 1998, we consider it a blessing he had limited sight for as long as he did.  The renowned musician, Stevie Wonder, has the same condition causing his blindness.  First identified in 1941, it wasn’t until 1951 that retrolental fibroplasia was proven to be caused by high-concentration oxygen in the incubator contributing to abnormal blood vessel growth which damaged the retina.  Now termed retinopathy of prematurity, it still affects a small percentage of very premature infants. 
    At about 18-21 days, the pre-born infant’s heart begins beating.  By 12 weeks, she is about 2 inches long, fully formed and recognizably human, able to feel pain.  By 14-16 weeks, being fully formed, fingers and toes have fingerprints and nails, he sees and blinks, inhales and exhales amniotic fluid, kicks, may suck a thumb, and sleeps regularly.  At full-term, 39-40 weeks, your baby is ready for life outside the nurturing womb. Your infant is not just a blob of cells and tissue, but a very real baby.
    Since Roe v. Wade was passed January 22, 1973 allowing legal abortions in America, the numbers have reached an approximate 58.6 or 59.1 million by 2016 (depending on source).  While some data is voluntarily reported, I read other American states have not provided details in years, along with untold uncounted abortions.  
    For anyone who has aborted their baby for whatever reason, I pray she finds peace.  But, my prayer is also that each precious life be allowed to reach his or her full potential and purpose, regardless of disability.  Yet, I realize there are women in situations for whom an abortion may truly be necessary.  Such personal decisions must be difficult and painful. 
    I’ve often thought that if we care so much for those in the animal and plant world, protecting and preserving so many species from decimation, how much more precious is each and every human life?  How can we destroy human life through abortion simply because the pregnancy doesn’t fit our plans, may be the result of abuse or rape, or the pre-born child is “defective” and may be a “burden” to society?  Do we justify abortion because some parents can’t afford a baby, are unprepared to care for their children, might abuse them or kill them?  Difficult scenarios; but, even in our imperfect world, there is help including viable alternatives like adoption.  As abortion survivors will tell you, they are very thankful to be alive, even children born to rape victims… simply because their mother cared enough to give them the gift of life.
    My cousin, Randy, with an intellectual disability, grew up a kind and loving young man thanks to the love of his widowed mother, Marjorie.  Despite his disabilities, he had a strong faith in his Lord, and knew everything there was to know about his favorite baseball team and its players! 
    My step-sister’s son, Cory, was born with DeGeorge syndrome due to a missing part of chromosome 22.   Like many with disabilities, Cory had an infectious joy for life and an unconditional love for everyone he met, thanks to his mother, Janet.
    Anyone who has miscarried an unborn child understands the pain of loss. I miscarried our first little girl, Heather, at six months, apparently twins who didn’t separate, and 11 months later miscarried another little one at 3-1/2 months.
    Despite our own disabilities, some greater than others, we are each created unique and have a special place in this world for touching the lives of others.  Life is sacred, and each pre-born child is a treasured gift from God just waiting for us to open our arms and heart to their precious life. 
    As David wrote in Psalm 139:13-16:  “…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.” 
    What If…
    Linda A. Roorda
    What if…
    There was no God?
    Would we know how to love
    Or, would ego rule our lives?
    Would we each decide
    What laws to live by
    Changing like the wind
    As our wants wrest control?
     
    Would we violate
    The sanctity of life
    Simply because
    Life would not matter
    Except for the worth
    We each determine
    How best we can serve
    Our selfish ambition?
     
    And yet, what if…
    Each life among us
    Was somehow meant
    To open the eyes
    Of our heart and soul
    To a higher purpose
    To show the value
    Inherent within
    No matter the wrapping?
     
    And what if…
    We move toward each other
    And then extend
    Our outstretched hands?
    Would that not show
    Great caring and love
    From within the depths
    Of a heart overflowing?
     
    For is that not like
    The hands of One
    Extended outward
    Nailed upon a beam
    To show us how
    We too should love
    And sacrifice self
    Our gift to each other?
     
    Because… what if…
    There is a God
    Who really cares
    And Who truly loves
    Each for who we are?
    For His life was a gift
    That we would know
    Just how we should love.
    ~~
    Photo of young Ed doing his favorite thing - listening to music, knowing exactly which record was which by memorizing the logo/name on each record!
  16. Linda Roorda
    How do you write a tribute to celebrate a life, and capture the essence of 70 years in just a few words? I couldn’t, but will share some snapshots of Ed’s life that I read yesterday at Ed’s burial service with several family and friends present.
    When he went back to the ER yet again on January 13th, Ed calmly told me he was praying for God to take him home. He was tired and worn out from the constant health issues he’d had since October 2008. He wanted me to know how much he loved me and our family, and that he could not have done life without me at his side for those 48 years - well actually 49 years if you count from Christmas Day 1973 when we started dating.
    But I also want to share that Ed’s cousin Kevin called me March 29th.  He told me something he was hesitant to tell Ed when it happened, and now wishes he had. He had wanted to tell me after Ed passed but was afraid of breaking down so he waited … but in November, he’d had a very vivid dream of Ed.  Kevin was in front of his house when Ed appeared and said “Hey Kevin! Look what I can do!” as he ran back and forth!!  Kevin believes it was a premonition that he didn’t realize at the time, a treasure!! 
    Ed was an easy-going, laid-back kinda guy, with a great sense of humor. When his friend and coworker Jeff Grover, who he thought highly of, picked him up for work at VTI and apologized for oversleeping and being late, Ed would simply say, “It’s ok. You must’ve needed the extra sleep”. Ed was kind and compassionate to a roommate who’d had a terrible night after surgery such that Ed got very little sleep. Bruce, who grew up a dairy farmer and was a disabled policeman, so appreciated Ed’s kindness and reawakening of his own faith in God that when Ed was discharged, he got out of bed to give Ed a hug and broke down crying on Ed’s shoulder for the friendship bonding they’d shared that week.
    Ed did not like attention on himself. He was quite a fighter in life and never gave up, working hard to prove he could do things with his limited vision. Over the past several years of his illnesses, he was determined to do whatever he could, for as long as he could, rather than sit back and do nothing. His faith in God was a very real part of his life, praying for God’s wisdom and guidance. He told me he even prayed for a wife, and God had sent me. And he was very supportive of my endeavors, often reading my blogs before posting and gave constructive advice. Yes we had difficulties as a couple, but we made a commitment when we got married and worked through those hard times with God at our side.
    He was a two-month premature twin, spending a month in an incubator with pure oxygen which damaged his eyes. With no vision in his right eye, and only 20/200 vision with glasses in left eye, he managed to do a lot. With new glasses at age 5 or 6, he was ecstatic to see kids sledding down a hill, something he’d never been able to see before. He used to lose his glasses regularly, with the family finding them in odd places like hanging from a beam in the haymow after haying! He wouldn’t let it be known he couldn’t see the board from a front row seat, but one special teacher caught on and let Ed copy from his notes. He was appointed swim team manager for the state championship team while at Warwick High School. He swam like a pro, but wasn’t allowed to compete on the team for fear he’d hurt himself or someone else by not being able to see his lane, a great disappointment to him, but he accepted it and moved on.
    Ed had helped on the farm since he was a little kid. As he grew older, he wanted to do what his brother Marv did – like driving tractor and doing field work. His Dad said, “Okay, you can try, but you’ve got to be careful” – not telling his Mom till later.  He tried, and was very careful, proving he could handle their John Deere 520 and machinery like he was born to the job. He loved nothing better than doing fieldwork, alert to machinery sounds and problems. He was always extra cautious, never reaching over or into running machinery for the danger that posed. He was also great at rhyming words, making short silly “poems,” telling me it was from all those years of endless hours on the tractor! Ed also had a close friendship with hired hand, Mat Donnelly, who was surprised I was Ed’s wife; we knew each other in Lounsberry.  Ed and Mat really enjoyed working together, and visiting together over the years, talking and listening to Ed’s records or CDs.
    Ed had also milked cows since he was young; but by getting his head under a cow to see where to put the milking machine, his Dad advised him that if he was going to milk cows, he’d better find another way to put the machines on or he’d be getting his head kicked in a lot!  So, like for other tasks, he put the machines on by feel.
    He loved working with his Dad who allowed him the ability to succeed by trying, and did so well at many things that I took his abilities for granted. He grew up on rented farms in Orange County, NY, before moving to their own farm in Spencer in April 1968. That lasted until June 1985 at age 33 when he had a major retinal detachment. Imagine going to the eye doctor, being told you need urgent surgery, and you can’t even do barn chores that night… or ever again. He was devastated. And we had three little ones to raise. But moving forward after recovery he helped take care of the house and kids while I went to work. He made the grocery list until a few weeks before he passed away. Tho he’d given me his master list, I struggle with actually making that list now!
    Ed held a life-long love of music, from traditional hymns to classic country music, and classic rock from the 1950s thru the 80’s, especially the Beatles!  As a little boy, his parents and relatives were amazed at how he knew which little 45-record was which. If someone asked for a song, he always knew the right one to put on the record player his grand-parents had given him. He told me that he never understood why they were all so amazed because, “I just memorized the picture on each record that went with each song!”  Of course!  How simple… so like Ed, a man without pretentions!
    But he could have been a DJ.  He often knew a song by just a few initial notes, and the background stories of so many singers and their bands, and who left what group to go solo or start another group.  Without vision, he knew every CD he had in several boxes, and knew which song was on what track on which CD, just like he’d known his many records! While dating and after we were married, he took great pains to patiently play a record, stop it, write down the words in a letter to me, play the next phrase, stop, write it down, repeat, repeat, repeat. Later he did this with internet songs, writing down special lyrics for my birthday and our anniversary. I loved that he took the time to do that for me, or that he’d ask someone to take him to the store so he could buy me a card.  That’s true love!
    Eventually, he had more eye troubles with hemorrhaging and surgeries, and was left with additional vision loss. He went to The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, Massachusetts for 6 months of personal training from November 1989 to April 1990, spending every weekend by his Aunt Ethel and Uncle Harry, helping them with firewood!  He learned Braille well with large dots, but when he had to use smaller dots, he could not feel them to read. After returning home, he was hired by Vergason Technology in Van Etten.  He worked as a customer service rep, teaching himself to write programs for the shipping and receiving clerks with the assistance of an engineer and listening to tutorials. He could read large white-on-black print on a closed-circuit TV, was able to see some colors, but lost the last remnants of vision in 1998. Going through another bout of deep depression, we learned from counselors it was a typical response, as his old self gradually rose again to deal with being totally blind. But then he was laid off a month after 9/11/2001.
    AVRE (Association for Vision Rehabilitation and Employment) in Binghamton again assisted him in seeking new employment. His aide took him to an interview at Cornell’s vet school office. Afterwards, the woman doing the interview told him he’d been the best candidate she had ever interviewed with his knowledge, calm demeanor and ability to think on his feet, but they really needed someone with vision. He understood, appreciating her input, while the aide from AVRE later asked why he wasn’t nervous. Telling her he had been very nervous, she replied, “You never showed it!  You were one cool cucumber under pressure!”  And that too was so like Ed!
    A few weeks after Jenn died in June 2003, Ed was still on the Federated Church’s prayer list, looking for work. He told me he had prayed and asked God to bring the job to him because he had done all he could do with no results. That week there was a knock on the door. Ray Maratea came in, pulled a chair by Ed in his recliner, sat down, and asked Ed what he could do for them because they wanted to hire him! God answered Ed’s prayer by sending the job to him! Ray had seen Ed’s name on that prayer list!  Working with AVRE, Raymond-Hadley Corporation set Ed up as an office assistant with his customer service background. He set up tractor trailers for pickup and delivery, tracked certificates for files, and made collection calls. When he wasn’t able to work in the office, they willingly set him up at home to continue doing collection calls because he was so good at it - he never got flustered, never got upset at customers, and handled situations with a calm and easy-going manner.  Just a few days before he died, he asked me to write his resignation letter as he knew he would not be able to handle the job when he came home again, saying it was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to ask me to do for him - he absolutely loved his job for the company and the wonderful people he worked with.
    Ed loved his family deeply, and it hurt him that he couldn’t do things with them, go places with them, or visit them. He was very proud of all their accomplishments, and the wonderful adults they became - Jennifer (who’d married Matt), Emily (who married Nick) and Daniel (who married Beth). He also loved his 5 grandchildren very much – Liam, Wesley, Gwen, Samuel, and Maxwell, and always wished he could have seen them, read to them like he did with our own kids before bedtime, or played with them. We love and miss Ed, but rejoice that he’s in his heavenly home with his Savior, and can see and run!
  17. Linda Roorda

    When Breaks the Dawn

    By Linda Roorda,

    Sometimes words seem so utterly inadequate. I awoke this morning to learn a friend lost her beloved sister quite unexpectedly yesterday. Thinking of all the devastation and loss of life Hurricane Ida left behind, and the sadness that has engulfed us all from the debacle in Afghanistan half a world away, our thoughts and prayers and support continue to be with each one so heavily affected by loss.
    And I remember that five years ago tomorrow our world came close to crashing down in a different way, but our great God took control and we praise Him for the blessings with each new dawn.  No, we don't know what the next minute holds for any of us. We've all had our shares of painful losses, within rich blessings that sometimes, it seems, we take so much for granted. May you feel God's arms envelope you with His comforting love and peace amidst the pains of this world. With much love, Linda
    ~~  ~~  ~~                            ~~  ~~ ~~                             
    We often give a prayer of thanksgiving for each new day… as the sun barely begins to peek over the hilltop or horizon, sending its rays to disperse the darkest night… as the twinkling gems scattered upon the black velvet heavens slowly fade from sight… and the sun’s brilliance once again illuminates our world.
    With each new dawn we become aware of the wonders of a new day… another day in which to sing praise and bless someone else along our path.  Having been blessed in so many ways I lose count, I’m afraid I have a tendency to take many of them for granted.  Yet, even the littlest ones seem to just always be there to greet us as we rush by without giving them a second thought… Oh, we have so much to be thankful for, don’t we?! 
    The above reflection was begun in August 2016 with those two simple paragraphs not long after the poem below was written in 2015.  It was just a simple way of saying thanks to God for His blessings and guidance each new day, blessings that I often tend to take for granted… because we never know what tomorrow brings as the saying goes, never mind the next minute. 
    And those words were given new meaning when we were involved in an accident a few weeks later on September 6, 2016.  We were both okay, despite muscle strains.  Actually, we were very thankful to be alive!  It could’ve been so much worse.  With even a second’s worth of difference, it could have been a head-on crash, or at the very least a direct hit into my driver’s side door.
    Even NYS Trooper Leonard told me in the ER, “That was some excellent driving you did there!”  Coming home from my husband’s medical appointment in Sayre, a southbound car on Rt. 34 drove directly into my northbound lane.  As I came over a rise in the road, that car barely missed the SUV ahead of me as I braked and veered to the right shoulder, onto the gravel and grass, running over a 4-ft reflector post which ripped off the rear fender, avoiding going down the steep slope which likely would have rolled our car and very possibly killed my husband.
    Unexpectedly, my car had been rammed hard by the drifting car into my driver’s side rear door and panel.  The impact blew the left rear tire, broke the suspension, ripped the rear bumper off, and whipped my car around into the arc of a 180-degree turn.  Steering to avoid colliding with other southbound cars, I ended up facing southward on the shoulder of the opposite lane.  Later, Ed heard witnesses telling the Trooper, “I don’t know how she missed those cars, but she somehow managed to go between them!”  And no one else got a scratch!
    I’m as impressed as anyone else.  I vaguely recall being in the midst of other cars, afraid we’d take a direct hit on Ed’s door or that I’d hit the car to my left as we spun in that arc, but none of that happened.  I am not hesitant to say that I firmly believe it wasn’t my driving expertise.  In fact, I felt like I wasn’t in control of our car.  I truly believe God’s angels took that wheel and safely wove us between the other cars to prevent a major pileup, one with multiple injuries or even a fatality. 
    So many wonderful people stopped to check on us, called 911, helped stabilize us, and gave us both wonderful loving support.  As my left arm began feeling very heavy and numb, an EMS volunteer held my neck from moving prior to putting a brace on once the ambulance arrived.  The other driver went off the road and into the woods.  She’d been seen to be weaving across the lanes for several miles, with others getting ready to dial 911 for cops to intervene when the accident happened.  She told others she was driving under the influence of her opioid medication.  I do hope she got the help she needed to get off those meds.  Interestingly, she lived a good distance south of the PA border, but had driven quite a ways from her home to Ithaca, NY for her medications.
    I can’t say enough how thankful we are for God’s mighty hand in all of this.  In the space of a second or two, there could have been a completely different result.  Yes, we are so blessed in so many ways… with each new dawn.
    When Breaks the Dawn
    Linda A. Roorda 
    When breaks the dawn my heart rejoices
    For I am blest to see a new sun
    And in my soul a song is stirring
    With praises for this beautiful day.
     
    You open my eyes to the truths of life
    Truths on display in all creation
    A beauty here I marvel to see
    Speaking to me in majestic hue.
     
    Show me each day the way I should walk
    A daily journey with You at my side,
    Let deeper truths from Your holy word
    Speak to my soul and guide all my steps.
     
    May all my steps bring glory to You
    On a path of faith with Your word as guide
    For wisdom’s ways are worth more than gold
    And treasures kept show where the heart lies.
     
    When breaks the dawn let my praise arise
    To You, O Lord, the giver of gifts
    That all may see Your mercy and grace
    Gently bestow a love to be shared.
    ~~ 2015 ~~
  18. Linda Roorda

    The Adulteress

    By Linda Roorda,

    Forgiven!  Can you imagine how she must have felt?  So close to being condemned to death, now free to go… forgiven a heavy burden of sin… free to overcome her past… and free to share the love of her Savior with everyone she comes in contact with!
    “The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery… ‘In the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women.  Now what do you say?’  They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him.  But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger.  When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, ‘If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.’ Again, he stooped down and wrote on the ground.  At this, those who heard began to go away, one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there…”  (John 8:3-9)
    We’ve all done something in our past we’d just as soon forget.  We may still feel the sting of shame.  I can think of many public figures who disgraced themselves including President Nixon, Lance Armstrong, Pete Rose, Bill Cosby, Ravi Zacharias, and now New York’s Gov. Andrew Cuomo.  But, how much better that they and we face our wrongs… our sins… head on.  Admit them and repent, ask for forgiveness, stop blaming others, walk away from wrongful behaviors, and feel the loving grace of our Lord.
    So, what about the men who brought the adulteress woman to court?  Well… they simply walked away and left her standing alone with Jesus.  I’ve always wondered if Jesus was writing a list of their sins in the sand.  If so, that would have made them more than a little uneasy.  They would have stood in amazement, and perhaps felt shame as their secret thoughts and sins were written in the sand, available for all to read.  How did this man know so much about them?
    They had brought this woman to condemn her for adultery, a sin punishable by stoning to death.  And yet, where was the man from the tryst?  Didn’t his sin matter to them, too?  Or, was he among her accusers, blaming her?  Rather than face the depth of hypocrisy in their own heart, each man turned and simply walked away.  They didn’t want others to learn the weight of their own brokenness.  But, as they silently walked away, no contrite heart or apology was expressed.  Did they not realize that God sees and knows the truth?
    What a mockery they made of justice… fingers pointing at another while being guilty themselves.  So typical of abusers who hide behind their mask of piety.  They were so focused on trying to get Jesus to incriminate himself with a response, they didn’t understand the depth of their own sin.  They walked away from seeing who Jesus truly was, and their own need of grace. 
    Both civic and religious leaders fail us then as now.  Leaders who call themselves gifted exude an arrogance with pride. (Proverbs 16:18)  Leaders who fail to hold themselves and others around them accountable lack integrity and humility.  Often, they can be classified narcissistic, being more than simply self-centered.  They feel entitled to praise or special treatment.  They lack empathy, are abusive, liars who do not take responsibility for their own behavior, take advantage of others, lash out at criticism or perceive they’re not getting the attention they deserve with a behind-the-scenes retaliation and perpetual blame shifting.  Underneath the egotistic façade, they are usually deeply insecure and use a faux cover to present themselves as more worthy than they really are.
    Yet, what a powerful picture of mercy and grace Jesus gave us all as He forgave the woman.  All she had to do was repent.  In doing so, leaving her old life behind to follow the Teacher, our Lord, she would gladly share with others what He had done for her.
    Because she now had a future!  A life to look forward to!  She’d lived her past under whispered labels.  She’d heard the mocking voices deep in her soul… stupid, worthless, trash, adulteress, prostitute.  Yes, she’d lived a life of ill repute.  But, the Teacher… He respected her!  So, what did He see in her?  He saw someone who’d been taken advantage of to benefit others… someone weighed down by a heart of sorrow and shame… someone willing to openly shoulder responsibility for all of her own wrongs.
    This Teacher, the man named Jesus… He saw what she could be when cleansed of her past.  He saw her broken heart longing to be made whole.  He stood her up tall so she could start anew.  Just like our Lord does for us.  He forgives the heart that repents, no matter the charge… that longs to make amends… that longs for a closeness with God.  He holds out His hands to draw us near… setting us back up on our feet as He guides our path with flawless wisdom…  Forgiven!
     
    The Adulteress
    By Linda A. Roorda
     
    I met him today, the greatest Teacher!
    My life was a mess, but He picked me up.
    He gave me hope... He gave me vision.
    He freed my soul from sin’s dark snare.
     
    Dragging to court they brought me up front,
    My accusers smug turning to the crowd.
    With taunting words they scoffed and accused
    Revealing my life, my sin and my shame.
     
    How could I have reached such fallen depths?
    He told me he cared.  I believed his lies.
    His words were glib with flattery smooth
    But now I was caught, ensnared in a trap.
     
    Stating that stoning was punishment fit
    They asked the Teacher his thoughts on the law.
    Instead He stooped and commenced to write
    Words hid from others, known only to them.
     
    Yet, as they questioned, He continued to write.
    On standing tall, He peered in their eyes.
    “If any one of you lives without sin,
    Let him be the one who casts the first stone.”
     
    Slowly the elders and then the younger
    Quietly fled until only two,
    The Teacher and I, we alone stood still.
    From silence He spoke, my soul deeply touched…
     
    “Woman, where are they?  Have any condemned?”
    Glancing around, “No one,” said I.
    “Then neither do I.  I condemn you not.
    Go, and leave your sin.  Forgiven are you.”
    ~~
    08/05/17
  19. Linda Roorda

    You Lead Me On

    By Linda Roorda,

    As each year draws to a close, we tend to be a bit nostalgic, looking back to remember where the prior year has taken us.  This past year of 2020 marked the emergence of new problems we’d never dealt with before… a contagious world-wide pandemic called Covid-19, perhaps akin to the Spanish flu problems of a century ago.  
    Along the way, businesses were burned and destroyed by demonstrations and riots.  Cancel culture decided who and what we can remember.  Small businesses were shuttered for good after devastating losses from governmental lock-downs to prevent disease spread, while larger stores remained open.  We were afraid to venture out for work, school, and necessary staples; but, when we did, we wore masks and sanitized everything we could to help control virus spread.  Too many lives were lost, while many more of our loved ones did survive the coronavirus.  And, a new normal was born.
    We despaired.  We became depressed.  Yet, despite all the negatives we lived through, we have hope as we face an uncertain future.  We have our family and friends, and the love we share will see us through many a change.  But we also have our Lord at our side, ready to take our hand and walk with us across the threshold of a new year and into the unknown.
    It was a simple photo of a wooden fence taken by my friend, Fran Van Staalduinen.  But it said so much.  The remaining section of an old weathered wood fence stood without a gate, enveloped by a dense hedgerow of lush green bushes and vines.  Nearby stood a tree in full leaf as I imagined ample branches out of view reaching upward and outward, overshadowing all to provide cooling shade.  Sunlight managed to penetrate the thick canopy of leaves, spreading out a dappled glow at the foot of the tree.  And through the aperture left by the open gate, my gaze was drawn to a matted path as it wound its way into a bright sunny field of rich grasses growing wild and free… beckoning us to venture out into the unknown. 
    Fran’s photo taken in 2015 instantly drew me in – I loved it at first sight!  And it’s literally worth a thousand words.  Immediately, I felt that the tree resembled the family patriarch with an overarching reach, covering his children and their children and their children (you get the idea) with his love… rather like our God and His love!  And, then I saw the open gate as indicative of life… for life is like an open path set before us.  We can either sit back, be afraid to take hold of life’s possibilities and stay safe, sheltered by the familiar… or, we can move forward through the open gate as we find our way out into the world, often by trial and error among life’s vicarious ups and downs. 
    These thoughts fittingly reminded me of the song by David Gates (of the 1970s rock group, Bread), “If a picture paints a thousand words…”  Derived from an axiom we’re all familiar with, “A picture is worth a thousand words,” that phrase aptly fits Fran’s photo.  American in origin, the phrase became popular in the early 20th century with its initial use attributed to Arthur Brisbane (editor of the Syracuse Advertising Men’s Club).  In March 1911, he instructed fellow newspapermen to “Use a picture.  It’s worth a thousand words.”
    As I continued to contemplate Fran’s photo and the imagery the scene created, I realized that we most often gain wisdom along our journey of life when we travel the unknown and difficult paths.  Yet, we can also simply take that first step forward in faith knowing that, no matter what lies ahead, there is Someone, our Lord, who will guide our steps along the way.
    Which, in turn, brought to mind a few of my favorite Scripture verses: “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path” (Psalm 119:105) as we “Trust in the Lord with all [our] heart and lean not on [our] own understanding.  In all [our] ways acknowledge Him and He will direct [our] paths.” (Proverbs 3:5-6)  
    For “Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers.  But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates day and night.  He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither.  Whatever he does prospers.”  (Psalm 1:1-3)
    Especially as we begin a new year, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace so you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 15:13)
    What fitting reassurance we find as we look to our Lord to guide and lead us through the open gate of life!
    A very Happy and Blessed New Year to each of you! 
    You Lead Me On
    Linda A. Roorda
    You lead me on through an open gate
    To a world beyond that beckons my heart
    Where sunlit vistas and dappled shadows
    Reveal rich treasures along life’s journey.
     
    You lead me on over paths unknown
    To guide my steps as I learn from You
    You light my way that once seemed dark
    As joy I find with You at my side.
     
    You lead me on and guide my voice
    For only when I seek Your heart
    Is wisdom gained to handle life
    When darts assail and cares weigh me down.
     
    You lead me on so I may know
    That even though my feet may stumble
    You care enough to pick me back up
    As loving grace and mercy set free.
     
    You lead me on to praise your name
    Within the turmoil and waves of despair
    For it’s often then I know You carry
    My reeling heart through pain and loss.
     
    You lead me on that I may learn
    The lessons found in trials faced
    For wisdom gained first walks the path
    From troubled storm to the heart at peace.
     
    You lead me on to songs of joy
    As morning dawns with light of day
    Hope in the truth, cleansing for the soul
    And faith in Your love to guide my way home.
  20. 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
     
  21. Linda Roorda

    Blessings

    By Linda Roorda,

    I suspect we’re all beginning to think about Thanksgiving, planning guests and menus…time to spend with family, fun and games… yet knowing we each have so much to be thankful for… every new day. But, if you’re anything like me, some of those blessings tend to be taken for granted… some things are just such an “every-day” part of our life, we forget to stand in awe of how special they really are. Being in contact with those less fortunate than we are, my heart goes out to them while seeking God’s guidance on how best to meet those needs. God gives us these opportunities to share from the bounty He’s provided us.  And may you be richly blessed this Thanksgiving in so many ways! 
    Blessings... those gifts given with no expectation of payback.  They arrive unexpectedly from many sources… from our dear family and friends, from strangers we pass on our daily path, from a special moment in time, and all from our God above.  Blessings convey love from the sender.  They invoke inspiration as we face nature’s finest moments of grandeur.  Given by our Creator God, blessings take our breath away as we pause in awe.
    Blessings come in the simple form of a thankful heart when we’ve given to meet someone else’s need without expecting a reward…
    Blessings come within the deep sense of pleasure for that special little something done as a random anonymous act of kindness and generosity to cheer another soul on their journey of life… 
    Blessings come specific to each person… for we are each created unique.  My blessings are different from yours, and yours are different from those who you know.  When we truly stop to think about it, we realize that all of life is a blessing.  I remember the old hymn from my childhood, “Count your blessings, name them one by one. Count your blessings, see what God hath done…”  But, in reality, I cannot even begin to count all my blessings nor to comprehend their great number.  And that’s the key – understanding that all of life, from this entire world and universe down to our little life in and of itself, is a blessing in every way imaginable from our great and awesome God!
    Blessings come with prayer and a thankful heart as we receive them from God.  He, as creator of this universe and each of us within it, owes us nothing.  Yet, He loved us so much, despite our disobedient ungrateful hearts, that “[He] shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:8) We owe Him everything… every ounce of praise from our thankful heart… for from Him, we have life, even the air we breathe, and so much more which we take for granted every day… and from Him, we have our precious gift of eternal salvation that nothing can destroy.
    And when we see our life and the world around us that way, we truly see our blessings with a grateful heart… ready to offer praise with thanksgiving to God for such awesome gifts in even the simplest of treasures.  May you be blessed, today and always!!
    Blessings
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Like dawn awaking to a gentle rain
    Are blessings showered upon our lives
    From seemingly small to greatest of all
    They are the simple, and yet not trivial.
     
    We take a breath with no thought to the gift
    Each second, each minute of every new day
    Yet it’s a blessing we take for granted
    With nary a thought as to the Giver.
     
    From dawn to dusk the sun bathes our world
    As our eyes behold the beauty around us
    With its warming glow is our life enhanced
    While we think naught from whence it came.
     
    A whispered word of gentle praise
    And loving concern expressed with feeling
    Abilities shared with ease of talent
    These, too, are blessings which touch deep the soul.
     
    An act of kindness, random or thoughtful
    Given from the heart is but a reflection,
    An image of grace like that received
    And bestowed in mercy by our Lord above.
     
    Love from the heart, in tenderest form
    Treasures each life we meet on our path,
    To bless another aside from our wants
    Enriches us both as God leads our way.
    ~
     
  22. Linda Roorda

    Lady Wisdom

    By Linda Roorda,

    I’ll admit to enjoying the beauty of yesterday’s snowstorm, and our wind-driven “iced grass” and drift ridges over the deeper snow, while feeling sorry for a bluebird hunkered down with his feathers pluffed out as he braved the buffeting bitter-cold winds on the telephone wire… as it made travel for many difficult on the roads with many accidents.  Yet knowing that this snow won’t last long with the warming temps coming this week helps me deal with winter’s “last gasp” as the robins and blackbirds I’ve seen this past week will also be glad to have the snow melt away.  But the pristine purity of this fresh snow also reminded me of God’s righteousness and His wisdom… a resource we can seek no matter what we do, no matter the weather...
    Wisdom... that value within our heart and soul which helps guide our steps on this path called life.  An entity more precious than gold.  Lady Wisdom’s knowledge often comes from experience, by learning and gaining insight the hard way… you know, those mistakes that can either break or make us.  She brings a common sense, discernment, shrewdness… an innate understanding of what’s best.  But, this sound judgment can be lacking when we become distracted or enticed by what seems so right, yet, in reality, is so wrong when we heed the voice of Folly.
    One of my favorite life verses is “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and he will make straight your paths.” (Proverbs 3:5-6 NIV)  Wisdom is knowledge we apply to every-day life God’s way.  Yet, like I’ve said before, I often think I can take the reins and direct my own steps… only to realize that I erred, once again, and need to grasp His hand, allowing God to guide me as I learn from His infinite wisdom.
    With wisdom comes the ability to discern or judge right from wrong… to think and act appropriately, and to not become enmeshed in folly’s foibles.  As God searches the depth of our heart, His Spirit reaches out to us with a still small voice in our inner being. If we’ve embedded Lady Wisdom’s truth within our heart, we’ll know whose voice to trust and follow… while folly proceeds headlong toward a path of destruction.
    And, as we humbly follow Lady Wisdom’s righteous ways, a calm and peaceful tranquility will envelope our soul.  We’ll know we’ve chosen the right path when we’ve given time and consideration to acting in a way that would receive God’s blessing.  I love the book of Proverbs for the depth of wisdom gleaned as we “Listen to my instruction and be wise; do not ignore it.  Blessed is the man who listens to me… for whoever finds me finds life… but whoever fails to find me harms himself.” (Proverbs 8:33-36 NIV)
    Lady Wisdom… a personification of God’s attributes in the feminine form.  She is not meant to take His holy place, but rather to give a human side to God’s omniscience… for “the fear [awe, respect] of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.” (Proverbs 9:10 NIV) 
    Lady Wisdom
    Linda A. Roorda
    Lady wisdom carries high her torch
    She lights the way with truth on her side.
    Her words bring strength to face life’s trials
    With comfort and peace when the winds blow fierce.
    ~
    Listen and heed her still small voice
    Words to the soul that lead and protect,
    For like a lantern which brightens the way
    So is Wisdom in guiding your life.
    ~
    When lured and tempted by desires for more
    Do not be swayed by enticements sweet.
    For trust is earned with truth and respect
    A higher calling than rebellious ways.
    ~
    Seek out the Lord whose hand will uphold
    Stand firm on His word within your heart.
    Learn at His feet, discerning the right
    His knowledge gain with treasured insight.
    ~
    Be wise in judgment, perceiving the darts
    Trust in the Lord with all your heart.
    Lean not upon your own understanding
    But acknowledge Him, the giver of Wisdom.
    ~~
     
  23. 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
     
    ~~
  24. Linda Roorda

    My Advocate

    By Linda Roorda,

    We’ve all heard the old adage that there are two sides to every story, and a classic trial brings that point out vividly.  I’ve served on three juries in the past – one clearly guilty, one given a lesser settlement than pursued, and one clearly not guilty.  It’s an honor to be selected to sit with peers to carefully review and ponder the facts of the case as presented by the respective attorneys, and to be responsible for the right verdict.  Certainly, some have abused the trial-by-jury system and condemned truly innocent folks, but it has been more often than not an equitable and viable justice system.
    The legal teams for the defendant and the plaintiff each present salient points to be considered, arguing their case convincingly with evidence and witnesses.  Once the case has been handed over to the jury, it’s up to the 12 jurors of peers to discuss the evidence presented and determine guilt or innocence.  For the most part, at each trial, we jurors could tell early on where the truth lay.  We also brought along our own life experiences and knowledge which helped weigh the evidence from both sides.  In one trial, for example, the farming background I and another gentleman had made all the difference in helping others understand more fully the veracity of certain aspects which had been presented during the trial.
    But sometimes it seems that a trial with its accusations is like that voice in my head reminding me of how guilty I am.  It’s Satan pointing out all my sins… one after another, stacked high, like a mountain tall.  The right way to live is spelled out in the Ten Commandments, in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, and scattered all throughout Scripture.  But, I’m also very aware that I cannot keep God’s commands and expectations to live a pure and holy life.  I have a serious debt which I can never repay.
    So, what am I to do?  Go to the Lord, admit my sins and failures, and accept God’s love and forgiveness, for nothing I could ever do will wash away my guilt.  My favorite verse since childhood has been – “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”  (John 3:16 KJV)  
    Jesus took the punishment I deserved on that fateful day we call Good Friday.  He was whipped, mocked, and nailed to a cross… not for anything He had done.  He was sinless, faultless, perfect.  Yet, He did that for me.  He willingly took my place, giving His life to purchase my right to join Him in heaven forever.  His mercy and grace brings me to tears.  Someday I will stand before Almighty God, my judge, to give an account of my life, and I will have nothing to say in my defense… except that my advocate, Jesus, will be standing at my side, declaring me guiltless because He already paid for my sins… with His own life. 
    My Advocate
    Linda A. Roorda 
    With accusations I’m now confronted
    No plea have I but guilty as charged
    I hang my head to litany stark
    And with quiet shame my accuser I face.
     
    It once had seemed the world was my own
    I learned the games to lie and to cheat
    I did not care if others were hurt
    As long as my will and goals were achieved.
     
    But in the spiral of downward tumble
    I lost the vision I’d once beheld
    A purer focus, others before self
    Humble respect in tangled webs lost.
     
    And one by one as charges were read
    I clearly recalled the past with deep pain
    Regret now for words carelessly spoken
    How could I ever repair what I’d done?
     
    In my despair while under scrutiny
    My only hope was to beg for mercy
    That maybe some good done along the way
    Would balance the book, the ledger of sin.
     
    But, alas, I heard the judge declare
    Guilty as charged; no mercy be shown.
    Like rock upon rock my sins were stacked high
    As I stared upon the mountain of debt.
     
    Just then the doors were flung open wide
    And striding forth came a man in white robe
    Boldly he exclaimed, “This debt has been paid!”
    “I hung on the cross, and took all the shame.”
     
    Slowly I sank to my knees in awe.
    Who was this man who gave all for me?
    How could he give his life for my debt?
    For I can’t repay such a merciful gift.
     
    Reaching out gently he pulled me up straight
    And showed me his scars and nail-pierced hands
    He held out his arms in welcome embrace
    As he dried my tears and declared me free.
     
    I love you my child… I did this for you.
    I carried your shame upon my beaten back.
    I purchased your soul with life-giving blood
    That you might have life with mercy and grace.
     
    Now all I ask is by faith you walk
    Bring to the world compassion and peace
    Carry my light to the corners dark
    Open your heart to love and forgive.
    ~~
  25. 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
×
×
  • Create New...