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Linda Roorda

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Blog Entries posted by Linda Roorda

  1. Linda Roorda
    It’s that time of year again!  School is already in full swing in some states, while locally and elsewhere school begins during the week after Labor Day. And students are either glad to be back in class or longing for the final bell of the day to ring.  Classes and the extended subjects are much different now than they were 200 years ago.  Students often did not have a strictly set school year like today, but were excused to help with farm chores such as planting and harvesting crops.  Like many great Founders of America who were self-taught, our ancestors were either self-taught, home tutored, private schooled, or had limited access to public school.  Even then, a good foundation was laid in what they learned which enabled them to succeed well in their life’s profession or to pursue university studies. I have two school books for math and English (in photo above) used by ancestral families, published in 1852 and 1875, that show they definitely got a solid education!
    The school was considered the next most important building in a community after the home.  It was the center of a small town where church, town meetings, community events and picnics were often held.  The “Little House on the Prairie” books and TV series provides a good example of the one-room schoolhouse, the hub of the community. 
    According to Jean Alve (Spencer Historian, Tioga County, NY) in “Sounds of Spencer” for February 24, 1993 (“Looking Back at the History of Spencer, A collection of newspaper articles, 1983-1997”, pub. by The Spencer Historical Society), the Huggtown School of North Spencer was one of the last local one-room schoolhouses.  In use until 1935, John Cowell was the last teacher.  Located next to North Spencer Baptist Church, the building was moved to private property on Cowell Road in 1981, and is now owned by The Spencer Historical Society. 
    My attending two small Christian schools in East Palmyra, NY and Passaic, NJ for elementary grades was, in some ways, similar to the old-fashioned one-room school concept.  Two or three grades were combined with up to 25-30 children per teacher.  I well remember the stop-watch timed math tests, the spelling bees, and oral reading groups.  We memorized math facts, learned to read phonetically, and were drilled with flash cards. 
    My mother and her 11 siblings attended the one-room school in Carlisle, Schoharie County, NY from 1st through 5th grade before going to middle and high school in Cobleskill.   In the 1930s and 1940s, a bus saved them from walking the mile or so to and from school.  She recalled their attempt to walk home during a blizzard one winter, but the fierce wind-driven snow and cold drove them into the town’s only restaurant where they called their father.  They took sandwiches to school, but once a week their teacher cooked them a hot meal.  She can still recall her teachers’ names, with the only man teaching for a few months before being drafted into WW II.  Her favorite subjects were social studies/history, with a 95 on her 8th-grade Regents!  Still her favorite subject, it’s an interest she’s passed on to me.
    My mother’s father, born in 1887, went to that same one-room school building, graduating with an 8th grade education.  A jack-of-all-trades, Leo Tillapaugh was not only a premier dairy farmer of registered Holsteins when that was not the norm, he was elected to the Cobleskill school board for 20 years until his passing, was town Justice of the Peace, Town Highway Superintendent for Carlisle, bookkeeper for the local creamery, and a highly-respected community leader.  I wish I could have known him…
    In the typical one-room schoolhouse, up to eight grades were taught together.  Just as for my mom, boys and girls entered through separate front doors and sat on opposite sides of the room, with the youngest children up front.  Classes were usually held from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. with short morning and afternoon recesses.  Schools were typically built within about a 2-mile walking radius for the students, though some came from longer distances and rode a horse or horse-drawn wagon.  There was often a pasture to stake the horses in, and occasionally a shed in which to stable them. 
    Lunch was carried in baskets or tin pails.  The teacher called the students inside by ringing the bell.  Classes typically began with the Lord’s Prayer, a Bible reading, and roll call before lessons.  An outhouse/privy was located behind the school.  Water from the well was often drunk from one bucket, each student using a common dipper to drink from.  No wonder illnesses spread like wildfire among the children, and quarantines were necessary with suspension of classes at times.
    The teacher was equally a man as a woman, though most women did not teach after marriage.  The teacher was well respected, meting out discipline as necessary.  We have read or seen depictions of teachers who severely overstepped their bounds in disciplinary actions, but that was not the norm from my research.  One of the most common punishments was a whipping with a switch/branch, which would leave red marks on contact.  My mother said there was little disruption and unruliness in their classes; but, she chuckled to recall that, indeed, a few students were taken out to the back shed for discipline.  Most teachers truly cared for and loved their students, being involved in their lives within the community outside the classroom.  My mother said that was also true of their teachers, including one who enjoyed cross-country skiing with them on their farm.
    Students were given responsibilities according to their age.  In the colder months, older children brought in coal or firewood for the stove set in the middle or back of the room.  There was little to no thought of putting insulation in buildings back then, so those sitting nearest to the stove would be toasty warm while students farther away shivered.  Younger students cleaned the blackboard/chalkboard and took erasers outside to clap them clean.  I remember doing that as a child!  It was so much fun to watch the puffs of chalk dust - the harder we clapped, the bigger the puffs!
    Chores by the teacher and students would include making sure the chimney was clean of soot to prevent smoke buildup or a chimney fire.  The floor was swept every day, desks cleaned, blackboards and erasers cleaned, and the windows washed often for light as there was no electricity, only oil lamps or candles which would have given off a certain amount of smoke.  I would imagine that, like now, not all children willingly did their assigned chores, and sometimes certain chores might be doled out as punishment for an infraction. 
    The three R’s, reading, ‘riting and ‘rithmetic, are the necessities to the foundation of any good education.  Teaching back then did not require the extensive education and degrees of today.  What they needed most was a good knowledge of what was being taught, a love for the children, an ability to discipline fairly, and a commitment to teaching and helping each child learn.  Much was taught by memorization, rote and drills.  Flash cards and drills were popular. Children memorized math facts without the fancy terminology of today, which I think causes confusion.  Nor did the elementary grades touch on the algebraic sets or equations that are used to teach now. 
    Reading was taught by the phonics method with hornbooks (a primer with the alphabet and numbers for children) and spellers, and later the six popular graduated “Eclectic Readers” by William Holmes McGuffey.  McGuffey readers were first published in 1836, teaching reading and values such as honesty, courage and good manners.  These popular books were still used in the early 20th century.  Eventually, sight word recognition came into vogue.  http://www.thephonicspage.org/On Phonics/historyofreading.html   I remain a strong proponent of phonics; it’s been the key to my success in medical transcription when meeting new terminology, and was key to helping my children learn to read. 
    Spelling bees were often a popular way to end the school week. The student who could out spell everyone else was highly admired until the next week’s bee and new winner.  Except, of course, when you carry the stigma of an infamous mistake!  Having only moved to Clifton, NJ a week earlier, I was intrigued by a tractor trailer I saw with an orange S.O.X. printed on the side for South Orange Express.  We happened to have a spelling bee that morning, my best subject!  Seriously!  My turn came and the teacher called out, “Socks.”  Confidently facing the entire class, and without thinking, I heard myself say, “S-o-x.” 
    Writing was not with lined paper and pencil familiar to our students.  Instead, they used rock slates and scratched their answers with slate pencils.  As they got older, pen and paper were used, usually with a quill pen made of a sharpened goose feather dipped into the inkwell on their desk.  To prevent the ink from smudging, they would press special blotting paper down onto their writing to absorb the excess ink.  What a lot of effort that must have taken, especially when compared to the ease of today’s technology!
    Desks might be planks with benches, or actual 1-2 person desks.  Up front, the teacher might have a bench near her desk for students to “privately” recite their lessons.  A blackboard, an alphabet sheet, a United States flag, and a clock were often decoratively displayed on the front wall.
    Many of us have seen the “famous” 8th grade test from 100-200 years ago making the email rounds that we adults supposedly couldn’t pass today.  I agree; in reading through it, I can’t begin to answer the questions.  However, if we had studied facts specifically for the test, I think we’d pass with flying colors.  Well, except for anything above algebra and general science – those were not among my best subjects.
    As evidenced by research, our ancestors were very well educated with “just” a one-room schoolhouse 8th-grade education.  After all, their education success led them to become the successful parents, community  leaders, and businessmen and women they were as they brought our communities into the modern age.
  2. Linda Roorda
    I love the change of seasons.  But it almost seems to happen while our backs are turned and we’re not quite paying attention.  Like this fall.  Suddenly, we realize the leaves are turning colors, the weather is cooling down, winds are getting brisker, and fall is here for sure.  Many birds who had been singing all summer while they cared for their nestlings have hushed their songs and, a month or more ago, prepared to take off on their migratory routes for warmer climates. 
    Some friends have told me that fall is their favorite season.  Though it is not my favorite, autumn does hold beautiful bright colors in the changing leaves, cooler temperatures, tangy aroma of woodsmoke in the air, leaves gently fluttering down, the fragrance of pumpkin and fresh-picked apples baked into scrumptious pies, and the satisfaction of having canned tomatoes, fruits and veggies, and maybe pickles which fill the pantry shelves.  I enjoyed all the gardening, canning and freezing years ago to supply our family during the winter months, and savor the memories.  I also love the farm smells of fresh chopped corn, the pungent smell of good silage, and getting a good whiff of hay brought down from the mow. 
    And then winter descends with its shorter and darker days.  The birds who stay behind to endure the cold and snowy onslaught easily find feeders filled with favorite seeds.  Unfortunately, back in 2013 when this was originally written, I came to a tough decision and stopped feeding my birds year around, a first after 30 years.  I do miss my birds, though, with their constant twitter brightening the dark and cloudy days.  I also miss seeing the variety of birds during their migratory flights.  There would be great excitement in searching through my “Birds of North America” by Fred Alsop, finding new birds to add to my list as they stopped in for a snack on their way south or the return trip north.
    I love the first snowfalls which create a magic and beautiful white landscape.  I enjoy the beauty of a wet snow as it clings to every branch, every nook and cranny, but not when it brings those limbs or wires down.  And I will also readily admit that soon after the new year I am ready to be done with snow and cold weather, though a long stretch still remains ahead.  I remember an ice storm years ago, after which my birds attempted to dine on seeds splayed out on the ice.  Gingerly walking up an ice-covered slope of snow, they’d go sliding back down, virtually every time.  It was humorous, and I could only wonder if they were as entertained as I was!  Hey, Woodstock!  Look at me…whee!!!
    As the wintry days gradually become longer, I look forward to spring - my favorite season bringing new life, new growth, and fresh-earth smells as creation’s beauty comes alive.  I love to watch the swelling green buds open daily until the full leaf emerges, having passed through several shades of green, and to watch flower buds mature into beautiful flowers, bringing color back to a dull and grayed world.  There is also nothing quite like spring’s earthy smell, especially when the soil is turned over to plant a crop.  What my husband misses most from farming is climbing up on his big green Oliver, carefully turning the soil over with the plow, and easing the dead furrow over to plow each field just right.  When his plow turned over large flat rocks, he’d take the time to stop, pick them up, and bring them home that evening for me to build garden walls.
    I also find great joy in watching the birds return in the spring, setting out sugar-water feeders for hummingbirds and grape jelly for orioles.  Every year I wait with anticipation for the very first robin to arrive in our yard.  Our kids always knew it was spring for real when they heard Mother call out, “It’s a robin!”  They’re soon followed by bluebirds, tree swallows and house sparrows all vying for a favorite nesting box among several in our yard.  And with eager anticipation, we wait to catch a glimpse of nestlings as they fledge, and watch as the parents bring their youngsters to the feeders.
    And then, almost without realizing it, spring has become summer with its sunny warmth to brighten our days.  We’ve planted vegetable gardens to reap a harvest, and flowers to appreciate their beauty, once again enjoying warm and sunny days outdoors, as autumn’s cooler weather returns and trees turn brilliant colors, while shortened hours of daylight and geese honking loudly high above in their long V formations herald the arrival of winter’s cold and blustery days of stark bare tree limbs midst a gently falling mantle of white.  And so, the seasons change… year after year… 
    Seasons of Change
    Linda A. Roorda
    It happened one day
    When we were not looking
    The passage of spring
    That bloomed into summer
    As bright sunny days
    Slid down into fall
    While leaves gently turned
    Bright colorful hues
    And changes of autumn
    Faded slowly away
    When blustery fronts
    Blew briskly on through
    From down off the barren
    Arctic cold slopes
    Leaving behind
    A little reminder
    Of all the cool fun
    About to begin
    When flakes of pure white
    Float gently down
    Reminding us that surely
    As seasons still change
    The dark gloomy days
    Will soon spring forward
    Bursting with abundant life!
     
  3. 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.
    ~~
  4. Linda Roorda
    Yesterday, my husband was in the E.R. yet again, with difficulty breathing and clearing his lungs from fluid buildup in a long-term battle with congestive heart failure. Every day is a struggle for him, just as it is for so many others around us.  A year ago, I shared this blog from my longer speech at a Women's Faith Retreat in 2014.  I need to be reminded of my own words, and of God's faithfulness in so many ways. Thinking others might need the comfort in knowing God truly is there at our side, I decided to share this again.  And may you be blessed in whatever difficulties you are facing today...
    In December 2021, I wrote: This past week, my husband Ed was in the hospital a few days for worsening congestive heart failure causing 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, just wounded. Ed is “ok” but continues to struggle with activities of daily living, as exercise-induced shortness of breath and weakness take over… just as frustration and learning to accept more limitations within his many diagnoses affect us both.
    Knowing we are definitely not alone among so many others in facing various trials and tribulations, I re-read the words below taken from my larger essay written in 2014.  Nothing can separate us from the love of God when we deal with the difficulties of life… and I needed to be reminded of that, too.  For God is still here, guiding us each step of the way.
    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 “behind the scenes” 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.  This may not seem like a Christmas type message, but without the birth of our Savior, who would we seek when times get tough?  My prayer is that God will use these words taken from my larger speech to bless your heart.
    I’m the oldest of six children, blessed to be born into a Christian family, albeit a somewhat dysfunctional and fractured family, with my father divorcing my mother 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, 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, giving 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 or accepting 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 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 so often 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 two 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 situation 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 (pulmonary 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 congestive heart failure, COPD on chronic asthma, diabetes; and much more I’m not going to list… But now, retired, I’ve been blessed with a sub position in our local public schools, hoping to make a difference in the lives of local 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 is 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.
    ~~
     
  5. Linda Roorda
    With school either having started for some, or about to start for others, I pondered the realization that there’s so much I thought I knew when younger, but really didn’t… for education isn’t only that which is gained in a classroom. Over the years, I’ve learned I can’t turn the clock back to undo or redo what’s been done.  Life doesn’t have a rewind button for our editing... so we inevitably move forward in a relentless flow of time. 
    And in that flow, learning becomes an emotional and spiritual educational process as disappointments and suffering soften our hearts amidst the joys.  This is how we mature and become wiser.  In the process, we learn that we may not get that second chance. Make amends now… apologize, forgive and move forward.  Love one another… and let the other know it.  I have searched for and regained friends from years ago… friends I’d lost when moving away, friends lost when my childish words took their toll, and to whom I’ve given heart-felt apologies.  I cannot undo, but I can atone for and correct my wrongs.
    Walk away from sin… don’t let it overtake you with its tempting appeal.  The great Ten Commandments really do have something to say to us today.  Stop blaming someone else.  Don’t condone or excuse the habit of lying, concealing your wrongs to protect yourself.  Even if no one else is the wiser, God knows.  Own it, confess it, and make amends.  Others do take notice of what we do… do it well, for a good name is much to be treasured.  Love, listen, take advice gladly, and learn… you won’t go wrong.  “Be very careful, then, how you live… making the most of every opportunity…”  (Ephesians 4:15-16)
    As we look back, we often wish we knew then what we know now.  Wouldn’t such knowledge have saved us a whole basket of trouble?!  But, did we hear, did we listen, did we truly heed the advice given as we grew up?  I’m afraid I didn’t always do so.  I thought I “knew it all” in my teens.  It took time as life traversed a variety of circumstances unique to my needs to gain understanding and knowledge with wisdom from God.  And from the realization of my own errant ways and words, I apologized and made amends… because the Lord has done so much more for me.
    For the loving Father that He is, God took the time to teach me all through the years.  Because I was often not listening to wiser words in my youth, I now treasure the wisdom of others as I sit at their feet to learn, and recall fragmented words of wisdom expressed years ago.
    Blessed with Godly wisdom, Solomon wrote in Proverbs 2:1-6: “My son, if you accept my words and store up my commands within you, turning your ear to wisdom and applying your heart to understanding, and if you call out for insight and cry aloud for understanding, and if you look for it as for silver and search for it as for hidden treasure, then you will understand the fear of the Lord and find the knowledge of God.  For the Lord gives wisdom, and from his mouth come knowledge and understanding.”  And vs. 9 adds, “Then you will understand what is right and just and fair – every good path.”  Oh, how true!
    If only… that age-old phrase we all quote... if only I knew then what I know now.  So, let me take what the Lord has taught me through the difficult struggles to reach a satisfied contentment… through tears of deep sorrow to tears of great joy with laughter’s healing touch.  And may we use the blessings He’s bestowed upon our hearts to reach out in love with something we’ve learned… 
    Something I’ve Learned
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    Something I’ve learned since I was young…
    If I knew then what I do know now
    I’d have been spared life’s toughest lessons.
    But, then again, how else would I learn?
    ~
    Something I’ve learned came slowly with time…
    For I wanted life to move fast forward
    And in wanting more, I just needed less
    As contentment dwells in life’s simplest gifts.
    ~
    Something I’ve learned by looking backward…
    That in facing life I thought I knew all,
    But looking forward from slow motion days
    Impatience revealed an unsettled heart.
    ~
    Something I’ve learned wishing I’d discerned…
    By heeding then the sage’s wisdom
    Who’d lived and seen what I could not fathom
    For experience marks the role of teacher.
    ~
    Something I’ve learned is not easy to say…
    That which I rue when youth went its way
    As lessons learned brought maturity’s wealth
    With understanding through wisdom’s trained eye.
    ~
    Something I’ve learned by climbing the hill…
    Conquering hurdles that hindered my path,
    For stones that seemed like unmoving boulders,
    Were mere stumbling blocks to peace found in You.
    ~
    Something I’ve learned I treasure now more…
    My faith in You, Lord, once taken for granted
    Its value gained from bumps in the road
    Which led me to where I stand on Your Word.
    ~
    Something I’ve learned we all have to face…
    Sorrow and loss have taught to accept
    That which was healed as my heart grew wise
    For only from pain can compassion speak.
    ~
    Something I’ve learned about all my stuff…
    I can’t take it there on the day that I leave
    Much better by far to share with you now
    Showing my love in tangible ways.
    ~
    Something I’ve learned that when the door shuts…
    Reasons there are for not looking back.
    Express regret for what’s done is done
    Then welcome the door He flings open wide.
    ~
    Something I’ve learned with You at my side…
    To share the bounty of blessings divine
    To gently speak with a tender voice
    And to hear with love from a generous heart.
  6. Linda Roorda
    Though spring is right around the corner, winter left behind another remnant with a thin dusting of fresh white powder on a newly greening yard with continued flurries and a temp of 20 this morning. So I can either be distressed or accept winter’s last fling, or two, knowing it won’t last as spring will soon be here… the large influx of noisy blackbirds looking for refreshment testified to that yesterday morning! It’s just one of the things I’ve learned to accept, something I can do nothing about other than to appreciate each day of new life and the joy it brings in a myriad of ways.  Similar to the ways in which we view our individual life setbacks, problems and struggles.  But we know God is still here with us, still caring for us, still guiding us thru each difficulty that we might learn from His wisdom. And I wish you God’s many blessings and abundant love today and always...
    Sometimes I Strive -- I have struggles in life… like everyone else. I don’t like to see the downtrodden victims of society, regardless of the circumstance. Like others, I ask why there is suffering. Why are innocents murdered? Why do some suffer virtually lifelong with chronic health issues while others go their whole life with barely a problem, and live past 100 (like my great-grandmother)? Why do we find inequality in many societal sectors? Why does it so often seem like the rich get richer, and the poor get poorer? But then, those questions beg another and another… like why is there evil in the world? Is there an evil underplay which thwarts God’s good? And, where is God in all the mess?
    There was, and perhaps still is, a religious philosophy called the “prosperity gospel.” If we live and pray a certain way before God, we will be blessed… yes, but it's not just a cause and effect. It often seems to go along with faith healing… as if having enough faith, or praying just the right way, will gain us our desires from God… like health, wealth and happiness. Ours is a society that expects instant gratification. In reality, it’s a dangerous message that twists the true meaning of God’s blessings which aren’t always readily poured out the way we want… and may tend to promote the thinking that the degree of blessings is based on our level of faith and spirituality… a works-based manipulation of God through various methods to meet His favor... like my being asked "have you tried this" to gain a certain response from God... 
    We may hope and pray for years that God will heal us or rectify some problem… yet, we may or may not see the answer in our lifetime. We may hold onto Scripture that seems to promise God’s blessings upon faithful followers. Unfortunately, at times, answers that we hope and pray for never seem to come… or, the answers may not be what we want. Why? What’s wrong with us? What are we doing wrong that our prayers aren’t answered, while others seemingly live an unfettered life of health, wealth and happiness? It’s as though a dissatisfaction builds, and we get caught up in looking over our shoulder at what others have or don’t have. And that should not be... it's wrong.
    So, if we take a step back, we might hear that still small voice in our heart… the voice of God speaking to our soul. As we contemplate Psalm 37, we find the shepherd king David wrote verses rich with meaning, even for us today:
    1) “Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.” [vs.3; the secure care and provision by the Lord, our shepherd]
    2) “Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart.” [vs.4; seek the Lord, study His word, meditate on His truths, and He will give you the desires which mirror HIS will]
    With the wisdom God granted him, King Solomon advised that we “trust in the Lord with all [our] heart and lean not on [our] own understanding; in all [our] ways acknowledge him, and he will make [our] paths straight.” (Proverbs 3:5-6) 
    Even James reminded us in chapter 1, vs.2-5 that we should “consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault…” And yet, how well we know that it’s not easy to be joyful in trials.
    We can find a multitude of examples throughout Scripture of those who loved the Lord yet suffered unjustly, while their faith was strengthened through various trials. Job lost everything, but he learned to trust God’s sovereignty. Joseph, too, suffered unjustly, being sold into slavery by his brothers. It took years before God felt his trials in total had prepared him sufficiently to become second in command under Egypt’s Pharaoh. Our Lord’s disciples were not rewarded with health and wealth for having known Jesus personally. All but John were martyred with their blessing, instead, being a powerful witness to us of Christ’s loving grace which continues today. 
    And, the beloved Apostle Paul shared his own physical struggle in II Corinthians 12:8-10. It was his belief that he was given an irritating “thorn” so that he would not become conceited in his ministry. “Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me… For when I am weak, then I am strong.” Can I say that? No, not always… Paul had tremendous faith, a highly honorable witness of God's love and grace, yet even he was not healed as he desired.
    Even in turning back a few pages to Romans 8:28, we read that Paul reminded us to “…know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”  For “this is the confidence we have in approaching God:  that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us.” (I John 5:14)  Then, as we “…seek first his kingdom and his righteousness…all these things will be given to [us] as well. (Matthew 6:33)  The blessings come with faith and trust in God and His will for my life… not following or pleading for my own desires.
    In the midst of our troubles, as we seek the Lord’s love and guidance, He uses those trials to bring His will to completion in us, causing good to emerge out of what we consider bad… not necessarily health and wealth, but certainly that for which we can bring praise and honor to our loving God as our faith grows through the trial and suffering.  For in the end, He is all we need… not riches and great fame.
    And there I rest my case, putting an end to my own strivings and struggles against what at times seem to be unfair life circumstances… to “be still, and know that [He is] God.” (Psalm 46:10)  For who am I to question what trial God will use to bless and mature me into wisdom… or to draw me closer to Him and His great love… and maybe to bless someone else from what I’ve learned?  As our Lord’s prayer says, “…Thy will be done…”  
    Sometimes I Strive
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Sometimes I strive against You, my God
    Without an answer to desperate pleas.
    How can it be that silence ensues
    From heartfelt prayers and a depth of faith?
     
    Yet no promise was ever uttered
    That a life of ease for asking was ours,
    For at the core of trials and tears
    Lies deeper faith with trust at its heart.
     
    To watch and wonder why suffering exists,
    What is the purpose?  Where is the healing?
    Did you not say, “Take delight in Me
    And I will grant the desires of your heart?”
     
    But that’s only part of truth in blessing
    For when it’s Your will and we bear much fruit
    Will it be said You answered my pleas?
    No, even then answers seem fleeting.
     
    For in the asking You give what is best,
    Not what we want, but what meets our needs.
    As You work for good whatever we face
    Therein lies peace in accepting Your will.
  7. Linda Roorda
    Knowing someone we love is facing the journey to her heavenly home soon, and thinking of those who have recently lost their loved ones, I wanted to share this poem and reflective thoughts today. 
    Sometimes… the pain that life hands out is just too much to bear.  You’ve lost a dear loved one, perhaps a beloved pet, or an awesome job which was an extension of yourself, maybe you live with chronic illness, or perhaps an incurable disease…
    And in those difficult times, isn’t it a wonderful feeling to have someone who truly cares come alongside you… someone willing to listen to your heart, to help ease the grief, to share your tears, to speak a few words of wisdom, to help you deal with a particular hurdle, or just to be there to hold your hand while sitting quietly with you?
    This poem was written several years ago as we continued to face my husband’s chronic illnesses.  It all began in the fall of 2008 with statin drug muscle damage and rhabdomyolysis (excretion of blood from muscles), polymyalgia rheumatica, and constant dizziness - with numerous diagnoses (comorbidities) added to the list since then with multiple hospitalizations, and near-death situations too many times.  This is a new way of life for both of us... certainly not the life we dreamed of when we got married.
    Gone are the easier and somewhat carefree days.  Gone is the freedom for Ed do what he enjoyed doing, like stacking his own firewood, being able to take care of our yard and other household chores with ease, or going for evening walks up the road… all the things we used to take for granted. 
     No longer are we able to travel as a couple beyond doctor appointments, or enjoy an evening out to dinner.  We enjoyed going to Cooperstown, New York for our 20th anniversary and later with our kids – to the Baseball Hall of Fame and The Farmers’ Museum.  We’d hoped to take a dinner cruise on the Erie Canal some day.  We long to just get in the car and go visit our children and their families; but, sitting in the car, even for doctor appointments, takes a toll on Ed with increased pain, stiffness, and a generalized sick feeling. So much of what the rest of us can do and take for granted takes great effort on his part due to various limitations.
    Yet, we both know very well we are not alone in this journey.  You, too, are likely facing your own difficult struggles… and our hearts and prayers go out to each and every one of you.  For God never promised that this journey called life would be easy just because we put our faith in Him… and may we know He is still in control no matter the circumstances. 
    A few verses come to mind that we cling to during the hard days and which give us a sense of peace (all Scripture from the New International Version):
    1)      “But he said to me [the Apostle Paul], ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”  Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”  2 Corinthians 12:9
    2)      “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him…”  Romans 8:28
    3)      “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”  Isaiah 41:10
    4)      For “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world.”  John 16.33
    In your most difficult times, may you feel the comforting presence of loved ones helping to ease your pain, just as you feel the presence of our Lord wrapping His arms around you in love… as He covers each one of us with His peace amidst the turmoil…  
    Sometimes…
    Linda A. Roorda
     Sometimes…
    The hurt just cuts too deep
    As you watch your loved one
    Face endless days of pain.
     Sometimes…
    You feel abandoned
    When prayers seem unanswered
    As waves of despair set in.
    Sometimes…
    You stand alone along the side
    Holding their hand in love
    Helpless to assuage the hurt.
     Sometimes…
    Tears that flow from out the soul
    Tenderly touch the heart
    When words cannot even convey.
     Sometimes…
    A hand that reaches out
    To hold, to steady, to calm
    Brings precious comfort to the weary.
     Sometimes…
    The voice of wisdom
    Gently whispers in your ear
    As the love of God gently enfolds.
     Sometimes…
    To understand the trial
    Is simply to accept
    God’s hand is still in control.
    ~~  09/09/15 ~~
  8. Linda Roorda
    It’s common knowledge that spring is my favorite season!  I love earth’s awakening from those long and dreary winter days… though this past winter seemed like it just didn’t want to release its hold on the cold and snow.  But now, the sun shines brighter, the sky is bluer, and there’s an obvious warmth that’s beginning to penetrate every fiber of every living thing.  There may be a good deal of rain mixed in now ‘n then; but, with that rain, slowly and surely new growth takes shape as tiny leaves, flower buds, and new blades of grass begin to emerge.  The cold blanket of snow has been thrown off, the creeks and rivers flow abundantly along their way, and sparkling gems of color begin to explode.  It’s a seasonal dance featuring the debutant of spring dressed in her finest!
    Drink in the pleasure of every facet of spring… from the sylvan palette of leaves in multitudinous shades of green, yellow and purple… to blossoms of white, pink, yellow, red, blue and every shade in between… to birds with their various colors and lilting tunes… to skies wrapped in shades of azure with clouds from white to deep gray… to shades of pink, purple, orange and red at sunrise and sunset… to the velvet black night skies of sparkling diamonds… to spring showers bearing fresh aromas as they saturate and nourish the plants and soil… to the tantalizing and aromatic blossoms from lilacs, roses, sweet peas, irises, daffodils, lilies of the valley… and so much more.
    “See!  The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth, the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance…”  (Song of Solomon 2:11-13a)  Enjoy creation’s blessing in every sense of sight and sound, taste and smell, for “[God] has made everything beautiful in its time!”  (Ecclesiastes 3:11a)
    Spring’s Debut
    Linda A. Roorda
    At the dawning of spring’s debut
    The earth awakens from wintry slumber
    She yawns and stretches, throwing off covers
    Changing her gown from white to sylvan green.
    ~
    She welcomes showers of refreshing dew
    As fragrant aromas drift on gentle breeze
    While life’s renewal and emerging growth
    Bring bright adornment for the bleak and barren.
    ~
    Slowly she dons her delicate gown
    Until she’s covered in brilliant hues
    With sunlight’s rays streaming their warmth
    She lifts her face to absorb their glow.
     ~
    Regaled in finery like delicate silk
    She extends a brush to paint her palette
    With every shade of the rainbow bright
    Her crowning glory like entwining tresses.
    ~
    As we gaze in awe at the transformation
    From sleeping beauty to splendor arrayed
    Like multi-hued gems that sparkle and shine
    Is spring’s debut, prepared for the dance.
    ~~
     
  9. Linda Roorda
    Idols - we all have them... we just may not realize it.  Idols are anything or anyone which takes precedence over our relationship with God.  And yes, I have them, too.  We tend to see the obvious idols in the "things" we clutch closely... especially that which we enjoy doing or collecting - like our hobbies, collectable antiques, our "toys,” and even people.  They fill a void within us and give us an emotional high… for a while.  None of these are evil in and of themselves, but it’s where and how we put the emphasis on them that makes the difference.
    An idol can also be to whom or where we run when we’re dealing with a problem, rather than turning first to our Lord in prayer.  How often don't we fret and worry, feel sorry for ourselves, and take our pain or loss to nurture it and feed it with a selfish pity party.  Once again, I've been there and stand guilty.
    Coddling our idols is also an easy trap to fall into.  We want what we deserve, and we deserve the best!  Or so we think… But that philosophy is misguided, for there is only One who deserves our best.  “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’  The second is this:  ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’  There is no commandment greater than these.”  (Mark 12:30-31 NIV)  And I admit I am not able to unequivocally meet these godly expectations.
    Within these verses above, we are reminded of God’s words in Exodus 20:2-4.  The Ten Commandments, given to Moses during the Israelites’ exodus from slavery in Egypt, remind us that “I am the Lord your God… You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself an idol in the form of anything… You shall not bow down to them or worship them…”  It is God our Creator who we worship, and He alone, realizing we cannot meet up to His great expectations.  And in that, we realize our sinful nature like filthy rags, and our great need for His saving grace.
    After writing this poem in 2015, and editing it, I re-read it in its entirety, nearly bursting into tears… for many reasons.  First, because the words touched my heart deeply for their depth of truth.  I firmly believe God gives me the words, and each poem is a moving emotional experience while writing, though some more so than others.
    And second, I wondered why the words for a happy, joyful, praise-filled poem wasn’t coming to mind.  Why did the words that flowed from my brain and out through my fingers once again contemplate our sin? 
    As I verbalized these thoughts to my husband, Ed, he said, “But your poem is the story of our lives.  We are sinners, and God does take us from rags to glory.  And that really is something to be writing praises about!”  It’s often felt or said that Christians talk too much about sin. 
    Yet, knowing that our perfect creator God has said through the Apostle Paul in Romans 3:23 that we “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God”, it is then we begin to understand that acknowledging we really do sin in so many ways is key.  For in that understanding, it’s also reassuring to know that when we go to God and “…confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” (I John 1:9).
    What a blessing to trust in a faithful Lord who isn’t offended by our wayward feet.  He simply loves us deeply while drawing us back to Himself… no matter our sins, our tattered rags… as He washes us clean!  
    Tattered Rags
    Linda A. Roorda  
     
    When someday I stand before You, my Lord
    What will You see of my earthly life?
    Will You see rags, the tatters of sin
    Or will I be cleansed, washed pure by the Lamb?
     
    Yet for a while we proudly proclaim
    My will!  My way!  The cry of our hearts.
    We live a life in defense of self
    To gain the best this world can offer.
     
    A sense of pleasure in idols we make
    To soothe our hurts and meet our desires.
    But what we crave in comforts and perks
    Cannot appease the soul’s deepest need.
     
    Then what will fill this void in my soul?
    What could ever control all my steps?
    Could it be true that Your word speaks clear
    To guide and direct feet that stray from You?
     
    Help me to leave the past behind,
    Help me to walk with You at my side.
    Guide all my thoughts, my words and my deeds
    Create in me a heart of pure love.
     
    For there is nothing I could ever do
    That Your greatest gift won’t cover with peace
    As long as humbly I seek you in faith
    And with contrition gain mercy and grace.
     
    As You draw me near with welcoming arms
    To embrace Your child with a love divine
    I see the filth of sin’s tattered rags
    Fall gently away for a gleaming white robe.
  10. Linda Roorda
    If you know me well, you know that fall is not my favorite season.  Oh, don’t get me wrong - I enjoy the brightly colored leaves, sunshine in a beautiful crisp blue sky, the cooler temps, the lack of stifling humidity, and the pungent odor of smoke from a well-run woodstove.  But, the darker, dreary, and shorter days with leaves fluttering down to mulch the earth as they leave behind the stark contrast of bare tree limbs against a gray sky tend to bring a sadness for me.  I much prefer spring and the emergence of new life.
    Yet, I cannot miss the fact that time and the pace of life is slowing down.  There is more time to focus on home and family projects, hobbies like sewing quilts and writing blogs, and preparing for our two favorite holidays – Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Even though my mood may sink a bit on a dark and dreary day, I still get excited to see the first big snow and watch the birds at my feeders.  Fall is also when I find time to reflect on a year of many blessings as I begin to write our Christmas letter and remember loved ones.
    But it’s also the time of year that we look forward to celebrating Thanksgiving and remembering the first celebration of thanks just a few centuries ago.  On Thanksgiving Day, we realize once again that we have so much to be thankful for.  God has blessed us all in so many ways, yet we often (me included) tend to take much in life for granted.  And I cringe every time I hear this special day called Turkey Day, instead preferring to think that deep within each of us is a heart of thanksgiving for all the blessings showered upon us each and every day.
    As a nation, we treasure the story of the Pilgrims’ first Thanksgiving celebration at Plimouth Colony in 1621.   (The Pilgrims of Plimouth are not to be confused with the Puritans who settled the Boston area; they are each of different religious backgrounds.)  The original Mayflower passengers numbered 102, with about 50 crew members, when they set sail in September 1620 for the intended destination of the Virginia Colony.  Blown northward off course, they arrived in November 1620 to a barren landscape on the shores of Cape Cod amidst cold and bitter winds and snows.  Signing the Mayflower Compact on November 11, 1620, their simple but well-written document laid the foundation for the new colony’s self-government in the New World.  
    In December, the Mayflower sailed up to Plymouth Harbor.  These hardy souls struggled to survive as the ravages of disease took a toll on board ship where they wintered.  Only 53 passengers and half the crew remained alive in the spring.  This left a straggling group of humanity to emerge from winter’s stark bleakness to face the early days of spring.  Yet, the days were bright with hope and promise as the warming sun nudged green buds alive on plants and trees.  They had survived!  And, with God’s help, they were determined to succeed in their endeavor to settle this new land.
    Building huts within the protection of a fort and its cannon, they moved from the hold of the ship to life on shore.  They learned to grow vegetables and hunt wild game and fish.  Native Americans who had befriended them were of great assistance in teaching the best methods for growing their gardens, and hunting and fishing.  At the end of harvest in October 1621, a feast was held for three days, traditionally considered the first Thanksgiving.  From records kept, 53 Pilgrims and 90 Native Americans attended this great feast.
    By 1623, their failed communal farming effort had been given over to the more productive privatized individual family farming.  With an abundant harvest following a drought and subsequent beneficial rains, Gov. William Bradford proclaimed a day of thanksgiving that same year:  “Inasmuch as the great Father has given us this year an abundant harvest of Indian corn, wheat, beans, squashes, and garden vegetables, and has made the forest to abound with game and the sea with fish and clams, and inasmuch as He has protected us from the ravages of the savages, has spared us from pestilence and disease, has granted us freedom to worship God according to the dictates of our own conscience; now, I, your magistrate, do proclaim that all ye Pilgrims, with your wives and little ones, do gather at ye meeting house, on ye hill, between the hours of 9 and 12 in the day time, on Thursday, November ye 29th of the year of our Lord one thousand six hundred and twenty-three, and the third year since ye Pilgrims landed on ye Pilgrim Rock, there to listen to ye pastor, and render thanksgiving to ye Almighty God for all His blessings.”
    The Pilgrims’ annual tradition was followed in 1630 by the Puritans’ first celebration, in 1639 by settlers of Connecticut, and in 1644 among the Dutch of New Netherlands.  Each group also set aside an annual day of thanksgiving in future years. 
    By the 18th century, various colonies designated a day of thanksgiving for military victories or bountiful crops.  In December 1777, a national day of thanksgiving within all thirteen colonies was declared and set aside by General George Washington after British General Burgoyne surrendered at Saratoga.  On October 3, 1789, President Washington set aside the first Thanksgiving Day, and proclaimed such a day again in 1795.  Since then, a national day of thanksgiving was proclaimed by future presidents, but not necessarily annually.  It was President Abraham Lincoln who established a national Thanksgiving Day to be held on the last Thursday of November 1863.  Since then, Thanksgiving has been observed annually.  However, change once again took place in 1941 when President Franklin Roosevelt set the fourth Thursday of each November as the official date, and there it has remained.
    What foods were on the menu for the first Thanksgiving Day feast in 1621?  From writings kept, the Wampanoag Native Americans killed five deer.  The colonists shot wild fowl – likely geese, ducks and turkey.  Indian corn was used since what we know as field and sweet corn were not yet available.  Jennifer Monac, spokesperson for the living-history museum at Plimouth Plantation, has said they “likely supplemented their venison and birds with fish, lobster, clams, nuts, and wheat flour, as well as vegetables such as pumpkin (not in pie), squash, carrots and peas.” However, what we consider traditional foods for our Thanksgiving dinner, i.e. mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, sweet corn, cranberry sauce, stuffing and pumpkin pie, were not found on their table – these foods had not even been introduced into their diet yet!
    What sets this day apart for you and your family? What makes your heart thankful? What special memories or traditions of Thanksgiving Day do you share with family and friends?  I’d love to hear your memories!
    Thanksgiving has always been a family day for us, whether during my childhood or with my husband and our children.  When I was a small child, my dad had farm chores; but we always attended a morning worship service.  In my late teens, and no longer on the farm, and no worship service at our church, he often took us hunting which I thoroughly enjoyed!  For my husband, Ed, every holiday was wrapped in the necessary milking and barn chores, continuing after we married.
    I especially enjoyed the big dinners after church at my dad’s parents’ home in Clifton, New Jersey in my early teens.  With her Dutch accent, my grandmother always welcomed us at the door with her cheery “Hello, Dear!”  My grandfather, a general contractor, had fully shed his accent, though they both spoke Dutch when we grandkids were not to know the content of their conversation!  And I well remember their food-laden table, surrounded by their three children and spouses, and all of us grandchildren.
    Thanksgiving Day also brings to mind the quintessential painting by Norman Rockwell of the family gathered around the table - Grandma setting down the large platter of turkey, eagerly awaiting Grandpa’s carving.  When our three children were young, I began a fun tradition of naming our birds either Sir Thomas or Miss Henrietta, depending on their size.
    Growing up, our children always enjoyed watching the Thanksgiving Day parades.  I often had to work this holiday years ago as a medical transcriptionist for a local hospital, and looked forward to coming home to the delicious aroma of turkey dinner begun by my husband and children.  Now, with our two remaining children grown and married, and each with children of their own, they celebrate with their respective spouse’s family.  Ed and I celebrate with a small quiet dinner.  And then, we eagerly anticipate Christmas and the return of our family for a few days.
    Thanksgiving Day also never fails to remind us of those who have left behind an empty chair and a hole in our hearts – our oldest daughter, my husband’s parents, and both of my parents.  Yet, sweet memories of their love cast a warm glow over all. 
    With thankful hearts for the many blessings God has so generously bestowed on each of us, I wish you a very Happy Thanksgiving Day!
  11. Linda Roorda
    As summer’s warmth gives way to the cooler days of fall, our thoughts turn to cold-weather projects, and that of storing food for the coming winter.  Without that process, our ancestors would be hard pressed to get through the bitter cold months, unless, of course, you could afford to purchase all your food supplies at the local general store. 
    Once upon a time, most families cultivated large vegetable gardens and raised a barnyard menagerie to put food by for the coming winter – a vital necessity.  How they accomplished it without our modern water-bath and pressure canners, and freezers, that we and our mother’s generation have used amazes me. 
    In early 2003, I was concluding my empty-nest project, researching and writing an extensive manuscript which documented every family line of my mother’s parents back to the early 17th century settlers of New Netherlands.  And that was using only the pathetically slow dial-up internet for online research!  In asking for input from relatives on their memories of our grandparents, my aunt, Shirley (Tillapaugh) Van Duesen, shared how much she enjoyed working alongside her dad.  Her ties to her father don’t surprise me.  While growing up, I enjoyed time spent working with my dad, too, and that naturally evolved into enjoying time spent working with my husband on the farm and around our property.
    But, I found it especially interesting that, of all things my aunt chose to write about, she told me about fall butchering time on the farm.  And I’m so glad she did because, in many ways, what she wrote about is a lost skill.  Oh sure, we still have butcher shops in some rural communities, but gone are the days of farm and backyard butchering where neighbors helped each other with these chores.
    With permission granted by my cousin, Doug, to share his mother’s words, Aunt Shirley wrote, “What I remember the most was hog butchering time which was sometime in November.  It was a community project, usually two or three days.  Everyone who had pigs to butcher helped in the process, and they were hung in my father’s garage to cool overnight or until they were ready to be cut up.  Each one took their own [pig] home to process from that point on.  I always enjoyed helping cut ours up – to cut and skin the rind (or hide) off the fat, cut fat off the meat, grind and render it down into lard for cooking, cut meat into roasts, pork chops, tenderloin, and grind other remaining meat and scraps for sausage.  My father always cut and shaped the hams, then put them in large tubs with a salt brine to cure for several weeks.  Then he would take them out and smoke them in the smokehouse.  He would do the same with the sausage after grinding and stuffing it into the casings, and then shape that into links.  The hams were then put into large brown bags and hung in the cellar, and used as needed – and the same for the sausage.”
    Her description gives us a great overall picture of the process.  Further details on the butchering process can be found in the online Backwoods Home Magazine, Issue No. 23 from September/October 1993, with an appropriate article, “Slaughtering and Butchering,” by Dynah Geissal.  I enjoyed this very informative article in which Geissal gives excellent directions for the homesteader in butchering a variety of home-grown animals raised specifically for the freezer.  She describes how to cut the meat into appropriate sections, with photos to provide guiding details.  She even includes recipes for sausage, scrapple and other delicious fare.  
    Raised on a dairy farm, my husband was present twice when his father and uncles butchered cows on the farm.  Like my aunt wrote, Ed agreed that the best time to butcher is in the fall, typically November, because it’s cold enough to hang the carcass to avoid spoilage.  When cows were shipped to the butcher shop, he also said it was important to keep the animal as calm as possible before slaughter.  This helped keep the meat from becoming tough and unsavory. 
    On a smaller scale in backyard processing, my sister and I were the official assistants when it was time to dispatch designated unproductive chickens or specific meat birds to the freezer.  My father was in charge of swinging the axe on the chopping block.  And for those who have only heard the expression about someone running around like a chicken with their head cut off – let me assure you, it’s accurate!  After filling a 5-gallon bucket with boiling water, we sisters were given the honor of dunking and plucking.  With twine around their feet, we hung the scalded chickens from a nail in a barn beam and plucked those feathers clean off as best we could. 
    My mother was in charge of dressing the hens back in the kitchen.  Dressing is the more delicate term to describe the process of gutting and cleaning the bird.  I still vividly recall my mother showing us shell-less eggs from inside one of the hens – in descending sizes from the current large to tiny!  I was utterly fascinated!  I should perhaps mention at this point that once upon a time I had thoughts of becoming a veterinarian.  As science and math were not among my strong points, that dream soon fell by the wayside.
    We also raised pigs, three at a time.  And now I must confess that I had a tremendous fear of our cute little piglets simply from their noise and stench!  So, I refused to care for them, thus putting my younger brothers in charge of the feeding and cleaning of little piglets that grew into large hogs – really a good responsibility for my energetic brothers!  My dad knew when they’d reached sufficient poundage and sent them off to the butcher shop to become delicious pork in the freezer for us and our city relatives. 
    Our mare (granddaughter of the famous race horse, Man O' War), chickens, ducks and one goose (appropriately named “Honk” by my toddler brother) were my charges with the Muscovy ducks providing entertainment.  Digging a hole in the fenced-in chicken run, we sank a square galvanized tub for their bathing delight, and they regularly enjoyed “swim” time.  
    Only one duck decided to set on about a dozen eggs.  Four hatched properly and soon waddled behind their Mama to explore the great outdoors.  Feeling sorry for the fifth duckling who was late emerging from its shell, this writer took it upon herself to assist the poor little thing.  Unbeknownst to her at the time (she forgot to study), fowl do not need, nor do they desire, our assistance to hatch from their shell.  They have a “tooth” on their beak which assists them quite well; but, they also must do their own hatching in order to survive.  So, you guessed it – this little duckling did not live long once it had been helped out of its shell. 
    Then, a few days later, this caretaker came home from school and eagerly went out to care for her critters only to sadly discover one little duckling had drowned in the 2-inch-deep water dish in their pen.  That left three cute and fuzzy ducklings to follow the adults as they grew like weeds.  And, though a bit more greasy than chicken, they were absolutely delicious when my mother roasted them! (Yes, that was their intended purpose.)
    During the years that I stayed home to raise our children while my husband farmed with his dad, I grew a large garden every summer, canning and freezing a year’s worth of vegetables and fruit.  It sure helped save on grocery bills.  It was only natural I delved into this venture since my parents raised a large garden every year for as long as I can remember, as did both sets of grandparents.  But, as children, when we were sent out to weed our garden, my sister and I opted instead to run and play between the rows!  Truth be told, we even tossed some of the green beans under the lilac bushes when we decided we were tired of the chore of snapping them.  However, when they were my own gardens with food to be put up for the coming winter, I thoroughly enjoyed every aspect of the process.
    But, as mentioned above, I’ve often wondered how our ancestors put their veggies up.  They didn’t have the benefit of a freezer, nor could they efficiently use water-bath jar canning let alone the fine tunings of a high-pressure cooker/canner like I had available. 

    So, in looking for books to study this subject, I recalled my bookshelf held my mother’s, “Putting Food By – The No.1 book about all the safe ways to preserve food.”  It’s a very useful book for beginners as it discusses all the prerequisites to canning and freezing vegetables and meats, including explanations of the old-fashioned methods our ancestors used to put up their food.
    Another excellent resource obtained through Spencer’s interlibrary loan system was “The Little House Cookbook, Frontier Foods from Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Classic Stories” by Barbara M. Walker.  What a genuine treasure this book is as Ms. Walker expands on Wilder’s descriptions of the foods they ate by explaining how their food was prepared with innumerable appropriate recipes.
    A classic from the 19th century, Housekeeper and Healthkeeper (available only online and not through interlibrary loan) by Catherine E. Beecher (sister of Harriet Beecher Stowe) discusses virtually every conceivable household dilemma for the housewife of the late 19th century.  Beecher’s own foreword is written to “My Dear Friends, - This volume embraces…many valuable portions of my other works on Domestic Economy…  It is designed to be a complete encyclopedia of all that relates to a woman’s duties as housekeeper, wife, mother, and nurse.”  Beecher includes five hundred recipes of which I perused a few.  She is completely thorough in all of her explanations to assist the housewife who often entered her new profession without foundational training.  I was impressed by Beecher’s ability to address every possible home situation from cooking and putting food by, to cleaning and caring for the sick family.   
    In our ancestors’ time a few hundred years ago, even through the end of the 19th century, most rural families had a milch (milk) cow or two.  Not only was the family’s delicious milk and cream supplied by their very own favorite pet cow, but Bossy’s milk also provided them the ability to make butter, cheese and ice cream.  Things just didn’t get any better than that!  And, extras could be sold or bartered for other necessities not readily available or too expensive at the general mercantile.
    Without electricity, one either had an ice house to keep foods cold, a storage area in the cellar, or a springhouse.  Root cellars were a popular place to store vegetables below the frost line.  Attics were often used to store food during the winter including hams, pumpkins, squashes, onions, and dried vegetables.  Perhaps the home had a storage shed just outside the back door.  Here, the family could conveniently store meat in a “natural freezer” during the winter months (though I’ve wondered about wild critters enjoying the free cache), along with stacked firewood, other supplies, and kettleware. 

    Then again, many homes had a large pantry just off the kitchen.  I remember well my Grandma Tillapaugh’s huge pantry with shelves on all sides and a door to the cellar, which I never did get to explore.  It was in this pantry that she kept her big tin of large scrumptious molasses cookies that we could help ourselves to when she gave approval.  Try as I might, I was never able to duplicate her delicious cookies though!
    My mother shared with me that their cellar held crates of apples and potatoes and other root vegetables. Not a root cellar per se`, my mom said that what was stored in crates kept quite well through the winter.  She also recalls her mother did use both pressure and waterbath canners for fruits and vegetables, along with canning pickled tongue and other meats at butchering time.  As my Aunt Shirley wrote about butchering time, their meat was put into a salt brine and stored in large wooden barrels or the old pottery crocks.  This process meant keeping the meat well covered by brine, held below the surface by a heavy weight.  Smoking was another great way to cure and preserve the meat to prevent spoilage and bacteria growth during storage over the long winter. 
    Brine, made of sugar, salt, saltpeter or sodium nitrate, and mixed with water, covered and cured meats placed in large crocks.  After the curing time of up to two months, the meat was typically smoked and then hung in the attic or cellar.  Or, you could fry the meat, place it in a crock, covering it with a layer of lard, then a layer of meat covered by lard until the crock was full.  The homemaker had only to dig out the amount of meat needed for a meal and reheat it.  These ever-handy crocks preserved other foods such as butter, pickles, sauerkraut, and even vegetables.  Apple cider was fermented to make hard cider, often a staple on the old farms.  Lard or paraffin was used to seal a crock’s contents, keeping out contaminants causing spoilage.  Read “The Many Uses of Pottery Crocks” by Jeannine Roediger (09/18/11).
    Before modern conveniences came along, root vegetables were typically stored in the cellar, or root cellar – especially potatoes, turnips, onions, beets, cabbages, carrots and even apples.  Areas that are cool, dark and dry help keep vegetables from sprouting, and slow any spoilage that might begin.  It was also a wise idea to store apples, potatoes and cabbages apart from each other and other produce so their odors/flavors did not spoil each other.  It was also a must to keep an eye on everything for early signs of spoilage.  Vegetables and certain fruits being stored could be wrapped individually in paper, or kept in baskets covered in sand, soil or dry leaves. 
    Reading the requirements in “Putting Food By,” we need to know a lot about the root cellar process that, on the surface, seems like such a simple idea – but it’s really not.  There are specific temperature and dryness or moisture requirements for the various vegetables and fruits to prevent mold and spoilage.
    I recall that in the early 1980s, I had an abundance of good-sized green tomatoes.  After picking them, we lay them out on the basement floor on newspaper to ripen, storing the greenest in a bushel basket with each one wrapped in newspaper.  They kept for a good while out in the garage where it was cold but not freezing.
    Another popular method was to dry fruits and vegetables, often simply by drying them in the sun.  Meat dried in this manner is called jerky.  If the home had a cookstove, drying could be accomplished on trays in the oven, or the vegetables and fruit could simply be put on strings and hung to dry in a warm area of the room.  The warm attic space near the chimney was another good place to dry food, using protection from dust and bugs.  Reconstitution by adding sufficient water for stewing was all it took to use these otherwise scarce foods during the cold and barren winter months.  Though they often lost some of the original flavor, dried veggies and fruits must have been a welcome addition to their diet during the cold winter months.  In the latter half of the 19th century, special driers with built-in furnaces became available on the market for home use in drying various fruits and vegetables.
    When thinking about the types of food eaten by our ancestors on the frontier, we need to remember that their salty and fatty dishes were necessary for their diet considering their involvement in extensive physical labor.  And to this any modern farmer can attest as their own hard work all day in the barn or fields contributes to a rather hearty appetite – I do remember how much Ed ate without gaining weight!
    Farmers and homesteaders had not only the typical farm chores to attend to in the hot summer and bitter cold winter, but they would hunt to supplement their meat supply, and put in a garden to reap the harvest of both vegetables and fruits.  If the homesteader did not have a ready supply of fruit on their own bushes and trees, searching the nearby forest often gave them a bounty of seasonal fruits and berries.  Yet, even in that venture, there was the ever-present danger of wild animals, especially bear.  The homesteaders’ hearty appetites and wide variety of unprocessed food allowed for a healthy diet which did not require today’s supplemental vitamins.
    My mother shared her memory years ago of pouring maple syrup (or cooked molasses and brown sugar) over snow which Laura Ingalls and her siblings did to make a delicious candy.  (Not recommended nowadays with the pollutants in our snow.)  As a teen, I remember making ice cream the old-fashioned way with a hand-turned crank – nothing tasted better when it was ready!  And my sister and I attempted to make divinity, once – it wasn’t perfect, but it was delicious!  Now, a favorite of mine is to make cashew brittle – the key being a candy thermometer which neither my sister and I nor Laura Ingalls’ family had available years ago.
    It required a lot of work on the part of every family member to hunt, raise and grow the family’s food, and then to put it up for the coming winter, year after year.  If they didn’t carefully follow the steps to properly preserve their food, a good deal of spoilage could and would occur due to various elements or critters.  And, at the time of which we write, the early 19th century, canning was not yet an available option for our homesteader.  Actually, the glass Mason canning jar with rubber ring and wire clasp was not available until 1858.  But then, of course, if you could afford it, you could simplify life and buy quality foods at the grocery or butcher shop in town to maintain a well-balanced diet throughout the unproductive winter months. 
    All things considered, we really do have an easier way of life.  But, what satisfaction our ancestors must have felt in putting by their own food!  I sure did when canning and freezing the produce of our gardens years ago.
  12. 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
  13. Linda Roorda
    Reading several pages of a book by Laura Hillenbrand to my students, I knew I needed to read the full story.  “Unbroken - A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption” is a bio of Louis Zamperini. Holding records for running the fastest mile, he remains the youngest Olympics qualifier at age 19, placing 8th at the 1936 Berlin Olympics in the 5,000 meter race. Though he didn’t medal, he put on a burst of speed to run the fastest final lap among the competitors in an amazing 56 seconds! On asking, the teacher lent me an unabridged version and I’ve been reading every minute I can this weekend, unable to set the book down for long.
    In a Pacific battle with the Japanese during WW II, Zamperini and his pilot friend survived their B-24 plane crash of May 27, 1943. Stranded at sea for 47 days, they were picked up by the Japanese. Surviving more than 2 years of hellish prison camps and disease, they were tortured, starved, and severely beaten, enduring the brutality with humor, hope and determination. Freed after the atomic bombs were dropped in August 1945, Zamperini faced torments at home with PTSD nightmares of his experience under one especially sadistic guard. Drinking excessive alcohol to control the nightmares, his life began to unravel.
    Finally acquiescing to his wife’s entreaties, he attended a Billy Graham crusade. She had accepted Christ a few days earlier, and hoped Louie could find solace in Christ for the torments he lived with… and he did! His drinking and tormenting nightmares stopped that very night. Zamperini heard Graham preach on the adulteress that night, Graham’s words reminding him of forgotten prayerful pleas for God to save him while in the lifeboat at sea – “If you save me, I will serve you forever.”
    After accepting Christ as his Savior, Zamperini returned to Japan, meeting his former prison guards, themselves in prison. They were puzzled to see him reach out to embrace them with his infectious joy of forgiveness. He also began the Victory Boys Camp for troubled youth, sharing his life’s path, including his salvation journey. As I read, I knew I had to change my plans and post this blog instead of my first choice.
    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 met!
    “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, Pete Rose, Lance Armstrong, Bill Cosby, Ravi Zacharias… while many others seem to be enabled in walking away from accountability for their words or actions.  But, how much better that we all 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 as we make a full corrective change.
    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 arrogant 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 often 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 from her old ways, and become a changed woman.  In leaving her old life behind to follow the Teacher, our Lord, she gladly started sharing 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… someone longing for change.
    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 soul.
    “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.”
     
     
  14. Linda Roorda
    I love a good painting, especially a realistic portrayal.  Actually, once upon a time, I painted landscapes, getting so lost in the effort of creating art that I’d easily forget the passage of time and that I needed to eat.  Sadly, I haven’t picked up my brush and oils in several decades… though I used pen and ink to illustrate a few stories I’d written for my grandchildren several years back.
    In all honesty, I’m not a big fan of abstract art, though I can appreciate various works of modern art among the different genres.  Yet, each one of us views a painting, sculpture, or even a photo differently… because we “see” through our own heart, our own emotions, our own life experiences.  That which may stir my thoughts and emotions with a depth of appreciation may do nothing for you at all.
    But that’s what art is meant to do – to stir our thoughts and emotions, perhaps leading us to recall another time and another place.  A great work of art can transport us in thoughtful reverie as we ponder the meaning of the vision before us… taking us back in time to what once was… or stirring our imagination to envision something only a dream may hold. 
    The artist’s work might convey a concept, an idea, a novelty… that which sparks our interest to understand better what the artist is trying to say or trying to elicit through our individuality.  Art should challenge us to think in a way we might not do otherwise.  Art can tear at our heartstrings and bring us to tears.  It can incite anger at an injustice.  It can elicit great joy within our soul.  It can combine a dichotomy of powerful conflicting emotions.  It can portray evil overcome by good.  It can soothe the weary and distressed.  And, it can even reflect a tremendous calming peace, a peace within the storms of life. 
    A good painting can be likened to the beauty we see in the people and world around us.  Each of us portrays an individual beauty, a uniqueness created by the Master Artist.  We’re one of a kind, not a duplicate.  Even the world of nature exudes a seemingly immovable, yet ever-changing panorama which the Master Artist blessed us with.  For after He created each aspect of the world, our great God “saw that it was good.”  (Genesis 1) 
    And in our appreciation of nature, even the simplest perspectives excite emotions within us… as we observe brilliant sunshine lending both a glow and a shadow to life… the menacing darkness of gathering storm clouds… a brilliant colorful rainbow during or after the rain as the first rays of sun return… the fanning out of the sun’s brilliant rays from behind a cloud like fingers of God… the awesome display of stars and moon in sparkling lights upon a black velvet tapestry… the calm and peace of gentle waves versus the roiling waters which batter a shore… the awe of majestic mountain grandeur to the simplest flat or rolling land with grass gently waving in the slightest of breezes… and the colorful changing of the seasons of time…  as these vistas and more elicit thoughts and emotions within our hearts and minds.
    Though the world and people around us are seen individually, through our unique emotions, we each see all as through the artist’s eye… 
    The Artist’s Eye
    Linda A. Roorda 
    In the artist’s eye is beauty beheld
    Within each scene perfection arrayed
    A haunting image that speaks to the heart
    A story told in visual display.
    ~
    Facing blank canvas, brush poised in mid air
    A picture forms in the artist’s eye
    As ever gently stroke upon stroke
    The scene unfolds, its beauty to share.
    ~
    From lighting bright to shadows dark
    Lingering mirage or perspective clear
     Sentiments stir as we gaze upon
    The artist’s work from within the heart.
    ~
    They say a picture is worth more than words
    And there are times words uttered alone
    Cannot convey the depth of feeling
    Where spoken voice the ambience missed.
    ~
    For within our soul perception awaits
    The depths of which we don’t often plumb
    That we might enjoy designs unique
    By an Artist greater than humanity’s touch.
    ~
    So we gaze upon the scene presented
    As emotions stir like brush on canvas
    For out of feelings tempered by life
    Colors are worked with passion displayed.
    ~
    Thus what the artist has framed for our gaze
    Reaching into the depth of our soul
    As image pondered gives rise to emotions
    Its secrets exposed through the eye of our heart.
    ~~
  15. Linda Roorda
    June is a month to celebrate not only Father’s Day, but National Children’s Day on the second Sunday.  Children are such a rich blessing … a gift from God, a miracle of life!  Each one is uniquely endowed with a personality and set of talents established by their Creator.  What parent doesn’t perceive soon after each child is born how different he or she is from a sibling?  Their unique and individual beauty shines through as we lovingly help guide them in following the path of their God-given gifts.
    I’m reminded of the verse:  “Train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old, he will not depart from it.”  (Proverbs 22:6 KJV)  There are different interpretations of Solomon’s wise words; but, for me, it means to work with (to train) each child according to their unique inclinations, tendencies, and abilities.  Our three children were clearly different.  Raised as best we could the same, their unique personalities, likes and dislikes, tendencies, etc. began emerging fairly soon after arriving.  And encouraging their differences helped direct their lives in the way they should go…
    It did not take long to see who enjoyed being in the barn with their Dad at chore time, and who wasn’t fond of the barn and its smells.  One daughter, like her Mom, loved to be in the barn; the other daughter tolerated it, but preferred not to be there.  But, our son took to the barn like a duck to water.  You couldn’t keep him away, quite like his Dad… and Mom! 
    Likewise, when our daughters were given toy tractors, they really weren’t interested.  Just give me a doll, please!  Yet, when our son came along, he naturally took to pushing the tractors and trucks around as soon as he was physically capable, along with making “Vroom! Vroom!” sounds.  No one ever taught him to do that!  He was very happy to acquire a full assortment of tractors and farm equipment to operate his own farm with a big barn built by his maternal great-grandfather.  And now our grandchildren enjoy playing with the barn, animals and equipment.
    Given a homemade Cabbage Patch type boy doll for Christmas one year, I had to chuckle to see our toddler son as he flopped it around to change the clothes, or as he carried it head down, and would gently correct him - while our daughters were so tender and gentle with their dolls right from the start.  But, trust me, that was not indicative of how tender and gentle our son has been in caring for his own son and daughter!  It is equally a pleasure to watch our daughter as she cares for her three sons.
    Beyond the days of childhood though, to watch them shine with their unique personalities and gifts, has been so rewarding!  To even be blessed with children has also given many rewards to us as parents.  There was a time, after two miscarriages, when I feared we would never have children.  And my heart goes out to those who have also lost children, like the loss of our oldest daughter at 25 years, or have not been able to have the family they desire. 
    Being blessed with our three precious little ones, it was a joy to watch them mature into the wonderful adults they have become, as they married, and now bless us with grandchildren.  The roles have come full circle.  We who were once infants ourselves have grown up, matured, raised our own families, matured some more as we grew with our children’s experiences, and now get to relax and enjoy our precious “Grands” while our children repeat the age-old process. 
    I also once feared the empty nest years.  How would I ever manage without my children around?  After our oldest daughter had gone to college, her siblings spent a weekend visiting her. When they came home, I had to admit to Jenn that I actually enjoyed having some time to pursue my own interests.  I said, “Ya know… I think I could get used to having an empty nest…”  And Jenn just smiled that knowing smile of hers.  But, oh, the joys of having watched them fledge to successful lives of their own!  My husband and I have acquired a renewed time for ourselves, time to cherish each other again beyond the busy activities of children in the house.  I delved into hobbies I had once pursued but put on the back burner to raise my family, reclaiming talents God blessed me with. 
    It all reminds me of our first experience watching bluebird nestlings as they fledged years ago.  Little Bird just couldn’t get enough lift under his wings and landed in the grass while his siblings flew up to our roof.  Mama called to encourage him, fed him, and stayed with him.  Having to leave for church, we returned a few hours later to find they were both gone.  I will always believe Little Bird learned to fly despite my husband’s teasing that the cat got him!  Several years ago, I finally found time to write and illustrate this into a story for my grandchildren.  And that’s what it’s all about – lessons in a never-ending circle of life.
    So now we’ve been blessed with a renewed sense of purpose, a new role as Gramps and Grammy to our five young Grands… to be there for them as they grow up... to help them as they strive to reach their full potential… as they become the blessings to others God intends for them to be.   
    The Blessing of Children
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Each child’s a blessing, a gift from above
    A precious bundle to love and to hold.
    The wonder of life with joy unfolding
    Like a blooming rose which opens to sun.
     
    Tiny perfection created by God
    Pure love at first sight, new life to behold
    Dependent for care, nurturing cuddles,
    Looking for parents to guide and protect.
     
    From infant in arms to busy teen years
    Each day awakens with much to be learned.
    Deep roots must be grown, foundation to build
    With dreams given wings in learning to fly.
     
    Yet one day soon the time will have come
    The nest will empty, the house will be still.
    But this is not all, life holds so much more
    For blessings of God do not have an end.
     
    When nestlings have fledged, relationships change
    Each busy seeking new roles to fulfill,
    New needs to be met, new missions to serve
    Each having purpose, established within.
     
    And as the years flow more changes ensue
    Grandchildren arrive with outpouring of love,
    New meaning to life, usefulness restored
    The empty nester has purpose renewed.
    ~
  16. Linda Roorda
    I woke up early one Sunday morning several years ago with the beginning of this differently-phrased poem running through my thoughts… and got up to write it down immediately.  I couldn’t risk losing the thoughts that flowed.  Reading it again, I see how fitting it is for this season of Lent. As our busy days and weeks draw us closer to celebrating Easter, we ponder all that our Lord did for us when He walked upon this earth, especially in His great sacrifice.
    For the picture that came to mind was of Jesus, the Bread of Life, the spotless Lamb of God, leisurely strolling among us, the great sea of humanity, just as we read in the Holy Scriptures.  We touched Him, listened to His words, praised Him for His great love, kindness, healing... and we sat down to dine with Him.  But then, to our amazement, He willingly allowed himself to be taunted and whipped.  Bleeding, his skin in shreds, unrecognizable, He took upon His shoulders a cross, weighed down by all of our sin. 
    The Son of God came to earth so that, as son of man, born of a virgin, He might live among us, His creation.  Though perfect in every way, He was tested, understanding our frailties, our weaknesses.  He came to seek and to serve us, with all humility, that we might learn from His ways.  He taught and ministered with wisdom beyond our finite comprehension.  He healed some and forgave the sins of others, all that we might come to understand His mission more fully.
    He took my place… my shame… my guilt.  My sin left deep stains and wounds upon His body, yet He gently covered me with a garment woven from His Words of Life.  The garment was dipped and washed in His blood, but it emerged pure and spotless… undefiled… and undeserved by me. And humbly I bow, with praise and thanksgiving for Him alone… Jesus, my Savior, my Redeemer, my God… the Bread of Life. 
    The Bread of Life
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    I watched intently
    The Bread of Life
    Walking among
    The sea of humanity
    As He, the gentle
    Perfect and spotless
    Lamb of God
    Willingly
    Took upon His shoulders
    My guilt
    My shame
    My sin
    All that defiles
    And wove for me
    With Words of Life
    A garment
    Pure and spotless
    Cleansed
    By His blood poured out
    Which covered my stains
    As I
    With grateful heart
    Praise the One
    The great I Am
    My Advocate
    Who took my place
    And welcomes me
    With open arms
    And nail-scarred hands
    Forgiven.
    ~~
  17. Linda Roorda
    Each one of us encounters failures and losses in life.  Each one of us encounters disabilities in ourselves or those around us.  But it’s what we do with, and how we react to, all that comes our way that makes a difference... in our lives and in the lives of others.  We can carry on with selfish pride in what we can do, we can roll over in defeat at failure... or we can face the challenge in humility, asking God to guide us along a broken and difficult path.
    For 27 years (from 1982 to 2009), we burned wood to heat our house.  When my gentle giant husband, Ed, farmed with his dad, he cut his own firewood with a chainsaw despite limited vision of 2/200 with correction in only one viable eye.  Came the day, though, that Ed lost the balance of his limited vision, and was completely blind.  He could no longer use a chainsaw after the first several years, and later had to stop using an axe to split wood, and it remained to be seen how he would handle the other obstacles that faced him being totally blind. 
    Initially, he went through a difficult transition and grieving process, common to all with any serious loss.  None of us knew how best to handle the change.  It was a learn-as-you-go process until we found professional guidance specifically for the blind at A.V.R.E. in Binghamton, NY and The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, MA.  And then, his old self rose up to meet the challenges, determined to do whatever he could to face whatever came his way… with a catch.
    As he stacked firewood one day without any remaining fragments of light and color to guide him, the rows kept collapsing.  He simply could not get the pieces of wood to fit together well enough to stay in neat upright rows.  In utter frustration, he sat down and put his head in his hands, feeling like an utter failure.  All of his life he’d had to struggle with limited vision, being classified legally blind from infancy on.  He struggled in the classroom, not being able to see the board, often refusing to ask for help.  He wanted to be just like everyone else.
    Most of us can tackle any activity, job or hobby with ease.  But my Ed was denied what he longed to do… he couldn’t play football or basketball with his 6’7” height.  He could swim like a pro, but wasn’t allowed on the team for fear he’d hurt himself or others if he strayed from his lane.  Instead, the coach made him manager of their state division championship team from Warwick, NY.  But, at other times, peers mocked and belittled him.  Why couldn’t he be accepted just for who he was?  Why did everything have to be so hard?  Why couldn’t life be easier and simpler… like it was for everyone else?  It wasn’t fair, he thought.
    Yet, he had accomplished so much with so little for so many years!  He could milk the cows, climb the silos, drive tractor and do all the field work except plant corn, and that was only because he couldn’t see where the last row left off.  With his limitations, he knew to be extra cautious and it always paid off.  But, now it seemed that even this last bit of enjoyment in stacking firewood was being taken from him, too. 
    Except, while sitting there, with the wood he’d stacked falling down, he decided to pray and ask God for help in this seemingly simple, but now very challenging task.  He prayed that God would guide each piece of wood he picked up so it would fit and the rows wouldn’t fall down… so that he could stack the wood himself without having to ask yet again for more help.  As he stood up and once again picked up the firewood, he soon realized that every piece he stacked fit… well, actually, fit perfectly!  When he was done, his rows stood straight and tall without collapsing! 

    And then he began hearing comments from neighbors who marveled at how great his stacked firewood looked.  By a man who couldn’t see, no less!  As Ed told anyone who commented, “It wasn’t me; it was God.”  It was only after he prayed each time before he picked up the first piece of wood that he was able to manage this seemingly impossible task.  But, if he forgot and just delved right in to stacking, the wood invariably collapsed… until he sat down and had a little talk with God.
    My poem below is reminiscent of a story floating around the internet of violinist Itzhak Perlman performing with a broken violin string.  Though that feat was unable to be confirmed by reliable sources, the concept is worthy of illustrating our brokenness in disability.  Another young man, Niccolo` Paganini, was an Italian child prodigy who played mandolin and violin from ages 5 and 7 respectively.  Supposedly, he once played with three broken strings, refusing to allow the handicap to end his serenade.  Paganini excelled in part because of Marfan’s Syndrome which gave him his height and extra long fingers, a genetic syndrome also found in our families.  The elasticity of joints and tissues allowed Paganini the flexibility to bend and extend his fingers beyond the norm as he used the disability to his benefit.
    Like Ed and others with disabilities, we can either resent our situation or we can have a little talk with God, asking Him to guide us through whatever we face. 
    The Broken String
    Linda A. Roorda
     
    Four strings create beautiful music
    Perfection in pitch, magnificent tone
    All they expect, not asking for more
    Performing with pride just as it should be.
     
    Pulling the bow across the taut strings
    Gently at first, then faster I stroke
    The symphonic sound brings tears to their eyes
    This is my gift to their list’ning ears.
     
    Closing my eyes to the beauty of sound
    Caressing the strings, deep feelings evoked
    From graceful and light to dramatic and rich
    Till one string popped, now what shall I do?
     
    Adversity gives a chance to prove worth
    As now I’ve lost a string that flails free.
    In silence all eyes are riveted on me;
    Would I be angry or would I accede?
     
    Silently I prayed, God give me the strength
    I’ve been disabled, humbled before all.
    Help me I pray to carry on well
    Let them now see You working through me.
     
    Adjusting my bow and fingers for sound
    Quickly I learned to amend my strokes,
    As to my ears a beautiful tune
    Emanates yet while focused on God.
     
    When the finale at last had arrived
    With a soft sigh I played my last note,
    And as it faded they rose to their feet
    With wild applause from their hearts to mine.
     
    Perhaps it was all intended to reach
    This attitude of pride within myself.
    A lesson was learned in how to react,
    Adversity’s gift to sink or to soar.
     
    For without You what does my life mean?
    What value is placed on my outward skills?
    Do You not, Lord, see deep in my heart
    Where my soul reflects my pride or Your grace?
     
    My attitude then a choice I must make
    Embrace gratitude or sink in despair.
    For I cannot change what happens to me
    Instead I’ll play while focused on You.
     
    Humility grows by resigning pride
    As a broken string reflects trials of life.
    Others I’ll serve as You did for me
    For in You is found the selfless way of life.
    ~~
    First published as a shorter version in the Spring issue of “Breaking Barriers”, March 2016,
    for the Christian Reformed Church newsletter and online Network website.
     
  18. Linda Roorda
    I cannot even begin to say “thank you” enough for all the kindness in the many caring words in cards and in person, the shared tears, meals, memories and laughter, and thoughts and prayers family and friends have showered upon me and my family in the loss of our Ed – husband, Pop, Gramps, brother, cousin, uncle, and friend. Thank you to everyone who came to the calling hours and memorial service yesterday, you deeply touched our hearts - including the surprise to see my niece and her family who traveled from Tennessee, and our friends, our late Jenn’s dear in-laws, who drove down from Maine – we shall never forget their kindness in being here with us. Thanks to my daughter for finding the direct contact person at the newspaper headquarters who so kindly amended Ed’s online obituaries to include our Jenn’s name as having predeceased him, because… in all the upheaval, I forgot to include my own daughter. All the offers of help in so many ways are greatly appreciated. I’m still looking around to find Ed, wondering why he’s not holding onto my arm, but I’ll be ok and know Ed is rejoicing in heaven’s glory with perfect vision!
    Each one of us encounters failures and losses in life.  Each one of us encounters disabilities in ourselves or those around us.  But it’s what we do with, and how we react to, all that comes our way that makes a difference... in our lives and in the lives of others.  We can carry on with selfish pride in what we can do, we can roll over in defeat at failure... or we can face the challenge in humility, asking God to guide us along a broken and difficult path.
    For 27 years (from 1982 to 2009), we burned wood to heat our house.  When my husband, Ed, farmed with his dad, he cut his own firewood with a chainsaw despite very limited vision.  Came the day, though, that Ed lost the balance of his limited vision and was completely blind.  He could no longer use a chainsaw after just a few years, later had to stop using an axe to split wood, and it remained to be seen how he would handle the other obstacles that faced him after becoming totally blind. 
    Initially, he went through a difficult transition and grieving process, common to all with any serious loss.  None of us knew how best to handle the change.  It was a learn-as-you-go process until we found professional guidance specifically for the blind at A.V.R.E. in Binghamton, NY and The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, MA.  And then, his old self rose up to meet the challenges, determined to do whatever he could to face whatever came his way… with a catch.
    As he stacked firewood one day without any remaining fragments of light and color to guide him, the rows kept collapsing.  He simply could not get the pieces of wood to fit together well enough to stay in neat upright rows.  In utter frustration, he sat down and put his head in his hands, feeling like an utter failure.  All of his life he’d had to struggle with limited vision, being classified legally blind from infancy on.  He struggled in the classroom, not being able to see the board, often refusing to ask for help.  He wanted to be just like everyone else.
    Most of us can tackle any activity, job or hobby with ease.  But Ed was denied what he longed to do… he couldn’t play football or basketball with his 6’7” height.  He could swim like a pro, but wasn’t allowed on the team for fear he’d hurt himself or others if he strayed from his lane.  Instead, the coach made him manager of their state division championship team from Warwick, NY.  But, at other times, peers mocked and belittled him.  Why couldn’t he be accepted just for who he was?  Why did everything have to be so hard?  Why couldn’t life be easier and simpler… like it was for everyone else?  It wasn’t fair, he thought.
    Yet, he had accomplished so much with so little for so many years!  He could milk the cows, climb the silos, drive tractor and do all the field work except plant corn, and that was only because he couldn’t see where the last row left off.  With his limitations, he knew to be extra cautious and it always paid off.  But, now it seemed that even this last bit of enjoyment in stacking firewood was being taken from him, too. 
    Except, while sitting there, with the wood he’d stacked falling down, he decided to pray and ask God for help in this seemingly simple, but now very challenging task.  He prayed that God would guide each piece of wood he picked up so it would fit and the rows wouldn’t fall down… so that he could stack the wood himself without having to ask yet again for more help.  As he stood up and once again picked up the firewood, he soon realized that every piece he stacked fit… well, actually, fit perfectly!  When he was done, his rows stood straight and tall without collapsing! 
    And then he began hearing comments from neighbors who marveled at how great his stacked firewood looked.  By a man who couldn’t see, no less!  As Ed told anyone who commented, “It wasn’t me; it was God.”  It was only after he prayed each time before he picked up the first piece of wood that he was able to manage this seemingly impossible task.  But, if he forgot and just delved right in to stacking, the wood invariably collapsed… until he sat down and had a little talk with God.
    My poem below is reminiscent of a story floating around the internet of violinist Itzhak Perlman performing with a broken violin string.  Though that feat was unable to be confirmed by reliable sources, the concept is worthy of illustrating our brokenness in disability.  Another young man, Niccolo` Paganini, was an Italian child prodigy who played mandolin and violin from ages 5 and 7 respectively.  Supposedly, he once played with three broken strings, refusing to allow the handicap to end his serenade.  Paganini excelled in part because of Marfan’s Syndrome which gave him his height and extra long fingers, a genetic syndrome also found in both of our families.  The elasticity of joints and tissues allowed Paganini the flexibility to bend and extend his fingers beyond the norm as he used the disability to his benefit.
    Like Ed and others with disabilities, we can either resent our situation or we can have a little talk with God, asking Him to guide us through whatever we face. 
    The Broken String
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Four strings create beautiful music
    Perfection in pitch, magnificent tone
    All they expect, not asking for more
    Performing with pride just as it should be.
     
    Pulling the bow across the taut strings
    Gently at first, then faster I stroke
    The symphonic sound brings tears to their eyes
    This is my gift to their list’ning ears.
     
    Closing my eyes to the beauty of sound
    Caressing the strings, deep feelings evoked
    From graceful and light to dramatic and rich
    Till one string popped, now what shall I do?
     
    Adversity gives a chance to prove worth
    As now I’ve lost a string that flails free.
    In silence all eyes are riveted on me;
    Would I be angry or would I accede?
     
    Silently I prayed, God give me the strength
    I’ve been disabled, humbled before all.
    Help me I pray to carry on well
    Let them now see You working through me.
     
    Adjusting my bow and fingers for sound
    Quickly I learned to amend my strokes,
    As to my ears a beautiful tune
    Emanates yet while focused on God.
     
    When the finale at last had arrived
    With a soft sigh I played my last note,
    And as it faded they rose to their feet
    With wild applause from their hearts to mine.
     
    Perhaps it was all intended to reach
    This attitude of pride within myself.
    A lesson was learned in how to react,
    Adversity’s gift to sink or to soar.
     
    For without You what does my life mean?
    What value is placed on my outward skills?
    Do You not, Lord, see deep in my heart
    Where my soul reflects my pride or Your grace?
     
    My attitude then a choice I must make
    Embrace gratitude or sink in despair.
    For I cannot change what happens to me
    Instead, I’ll play while focused on You.
     
    Humility grows by resigning pride
    As a broken string reflects trials of life.
    Others I’ll serve as You did for me
    For in You is found the selfless way of life.
    ~~
    05/31/14
    ~
    An abridged version of the following reflection was published in “Breaking Barriers” in March 2016, a publication of the Christian Reformed and Reformed Church in America Disability Concerns Ministries.
     
  19. Linda Roorda
    Who was the carpenter’s son they called Jesus, and what was He really like?  He lived, breathed and walked the face of this earth some 2000 years ago, but how well do we really know Him?  What would it have been like to be around Him, listening to Him, and following Him?  Beyond what we read in our Holy Bible, or what others have written to express their understanding of Scripture’s portrayal of Him, we might wonder what He was like as a child or as an adult facing mundane day-to-day life issues. 
    So, I paused to think about the man named Jesus in a more personal way… like a neighbor would watch this young man’s life from a distance.  Because, sometimes, we may take our faith for granted.
    What made the life of Jesus special?  Why did thousands of people seek him out while others spoke against him?  Why did some ask questions intended to trick him while others clamored for more of his wisdom?  Every time, though, Jesus amazed the questioners, and even pointed out their thoughts. 
    I don’t think I’m alone in seeing myself among the various descriptions of His 12 disciples and their attitudes, nor among the attitudes of the crowds which followed him.  I honestly don’t know how I would have reacted as a contemporary of Jesus.  Would I have believed His message then… like I do now?  Would I have stood on the sideline as a skeptic and mocker?  Would I be afraid to affirm my love of Jesus like Peter did that night beside the fire?  Perhaps these are among the issues any one of us might ponder. 
    Yet, He was so much more… for the other side of the carpenter’s son was Holy.  He had a wisdom, a knowledge, a divinity about Him that was evident to those who believed His message.  He claimed to be the fulfillment of the ancient prophesies about the coming Messiah… in other words, He was born as one of us, yet He was fully God.  Sometimes it may be hard to wrap our finite minds around that concept. 
    He calmly and quietly took the punishment of death on a cross for something He did not do… to pay for my sins… for your sins…  And my heart is forever grateful to the carpenter’s son, the Holy Son of God, for the mercy and grace He extends to each of us on our confession and repentance. As the Apostle Peter affirmed, “Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved.” (Acts 4:12)
    May you be truly blessed this Palm Sunday as we look toward Good Friday and Easter, and contemplate together all that our Lord has done for us.
     The Carpenter's Son
    Linda A. Roorda
     I watched him grow, the carpenter's son.
    He was lucky, the boy who survived.
    Herod killed them, all boys under two
    But Joseph moved and saved his firstborn.
     
    Back from Egypt to Nazareth town,
    Joseph’s wood shop not far from my dad's.
    Jealous was I of one with no wrong.
    How could this boy always be perfect?
     
    I saw his work, quality unequalled.
    Though younger than I more skilled were his hands.
    His work in demand, mine not so much.
    Frustrated was I; like him I did not.
     
    Found debating the elder rabbis,
    Who was he really, this carpenter's son?
    How could he know such truths at age twelve?
    Puzzled was I, as I watched him grow.
     
    His father died young, with Jesus the oldest,
    Leaving their mother to raise them alone.
    A godly woman, without doubt was she
    A humble woman, with wisdom gifted.
     
    But there came a day when Jesus left home
    Leaving skeptic brothers, the carpenter's sons.
    Now he gathered a group of twelve men
    Teaching the crowds, with miracles, too.
     
    I have to admit my conscience was pierced
    For as I listened among noisy crowds
    I often wondered how had he become
    A man of wisdom, this carpenter's son?
     
    I began to listen a bit more closely
    His words made me think in ways I hadn’t before.
    He knew the Scriptures and taught to our hearts
    Once I disliked him, now I wanted more.
     
    What was the draw?  Why such attention?
    His message simple, to love each other.
    But most of all with heart, mind and soul
    To love our God above all others.
     
    For three short years, I put aside self
    To understand the carpenter's son.
    I had not liked him, but he drew me near
    He opened my eyes to depths of my heart.
     
    But then I heard they’d arrested him!
    What was the crime?  He had done no wrong!
    ‘Twas then I learned false charges were made
    Against our Teacher, the carpenter's son.
     
    The servant of all stood calmly as charged
    When asked who he was, confessed to be God.
    Without fair trial, they mocked and whipped
    And like a meek lamb, faced his own death.
     
    We stood and watched as nails were hammered
    His cross raised high between mocking thieves.
    Taunted was he, called King of the Jews
    Yet humbly forgiving was the carpenter's son.
     
    When they determined death had overcome
    We quietly left to contemplate all.
    How could this happen, we wondered aloud
    As he was buried behind a great stone.
     
    The man of wisdom with a heart for peace
    He who preached mercy was gone from our midst.
    Who could replace the man we once followed?
    Like no one else, our hearts he had touched.
     
    Three days later news came to our ears.
    He was risen, though how I don't know!
    Mary first saw Him in the garden alone
    Our Master and Savior, Redeemer and Lord.
     
    He then appeared to the gathered friends
    To show his scars and express His love.
    But He also spoke of a message now ours
    Of mercy and grace from the carpenter's son.
    ~~
  20. Linda Roorda
    I am so thankful for family and friends who were able to attend my mother’s graveside memorial service yesterday. I had selected a pastor for the service; but, as it turned out, he was not feeling well enough to attend. Yet in God’s wisdom and plan, the funeral director asked me to give Mom’s eulogy since I knew her best. And though I forgot some important parts I’d wanted to share, it became a much more memorable and special service to me, and to all who attended from comments shared.
    So, I’d like to share a poem and reflection written several years ago which I closed with yesterday, but which is fitting for each one of us with losses of family and friends. For us since the end of May, it’s been the loss of several close friends, a sister-in-law, several cousins, and now my mother. For losses you have suffered, may you feel God’s comforting presence with peace in your heart… for the love you once shared will live on forever in your heart and in treasured memories.
    It seems that at every holiday and family event there’s an empty chair.  We all have one... or more.  It’s where our special loved one(s) always sat.  Actually, we can still visualize them sitting there, sharing our love and laughter.  But, it’s all just a memory now... sometimes hazier than we’d like.
    Memories are good from this perspective, even if tinged with a bit of sadness.  There are memories of fun and happy times... of laughter at the world’s best jokes told only the way they could… and countless days of childhood fun – before technology spoiled the best in our games of imagination.  Memories of when our children were infants… as we moms nursed our precious babies, rocking them to sleep…  And yes, memories of tears shed… as dads cuddled their little one crying from hurts - physical or emotional.  If only that old rocker in the corner could talk… all the stories it would share!
    It also seems that many of our memories of days long ago are laced with the beauty and simplicity we now miss in the busy rush of life.  So, sit quietly in the empty chair, and take time to think about all that once was when our special loved one was here among us… and remember their beautiful life. 
    The Empty Chair
    Linda A. Roorda 
    The empty chair that quietly waits
    Once held a life in arms of love
    A life of joy and busy fun
    But now stands mute in days of silence.

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

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

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

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

    The empty chair now brings to mind
    The love of those who graced our lives
    Who’ve left behind sweet memories
    Tenderly held forever in love.
    ~~
    08/19/13
     
  21. Linda Roorda
    Do we remember what it was like to view the world through the eyes of a child? Sometimes yes, but a lot of times no … too often, I see the world through the lens of adulthood, from various angles and tints of the life that’s come my way.  This poem came to me a few weeks before this particular evening news segment which prompted the following blog several years ago. We all have much to learn in being a living example of Christ’s love for us… He, who came to this earth as a newborn babe, to experience life through the eyes of humanity, and who, while being fully God, came with a purpose to redeem us from our sinful selves.  And every once in a while, we are vividly reminded of the unselfish core of child-like faith and vision.  God bless you as we remember “the reason for the season”.  
    I think that we, as adults, have forgotten how to view life through the eyes of a child.  Their wide-eyed innocence and purity come to us like a breath of fresh air… like a flower opening its beauty to the sun’s warm rays. 
    As adults though, we sometimes become hardened by the realities of a harsh world.  The evening news on Christmas Day 2014 (as told in Huffington Post, “Prankster Gives Homeless man $100…”) showed a brief documentary of what one homeless man did when given a $100 bill by the commentator, Josh Paler Lin.  Standing at the side of a highway with a cardboard sign, the poor man must have felt like Lin was his savior when he was handed that much money!  He was reluctant at first to take it, but then gladly accepted the free gift and walked away.
    From a distance, the cameraman inconspicuously trailed the homeless man as he took the money and walked into town.  There, the man promptly entered a liquor store… exiting with two large and heavy bags.  The assumption spoken in the video was that the money had been used by the homeless man to buy an awful lot of alcohol.  I will admit that I, too, had felt great disappointment as I watched the man enter the liquor store.  And, I, too, made an assumption by association.
    But, as the cameraman and Lin continued to follow the homeless man without his knowledge, the gentleman walked directly to a nearby park, set his bags down, and began to pull out packages… which he handed to others sitting around at picnic tables.  And what was he handing out?  Food.  After watching for just a little bit longer, Lin went over to speak with the homeless man.  Lin explained what he was doing in his documentary, pointing out the cameraman a short distance away, and then asked the homeless man to explain what he had just done with his $100 bill. 
    I was impressed and teary-eyed to see a youthful Lin, with hair dyed both blond and black, tell the older man he owed him an apology for his wrong assumptions.  They hugged as Lin shared that he assumed the older man had come out of the store carrying two bags full of liquor.  Instead, he had learned a valuable lesson from this selfless, older man who carried all his worldly possessions in a bag… and who thought of the needs of others before his own.  “You just touched my heart,” Lin told him.  It was then the homeless man told Lin:  “There's a lot of people that are just victims of circumstance, and they didn't go homeless because they're lazy… There's a lot of good people that are homeless.”
    And I was reminded of this poem I had written a few weeks earlier.  May I have the ability to see the world through the eyes of a child, coming to the Lord with a simple child-like faith as I put my trust in God’s great love.  For as Jesus said, “…I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven… And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me.” (Matt. 18:3,5)
    With a child-like faith, may I show the world around me the same love the Lord has lavished upon me, a sinner, in need of a Savior…. quite like the homeless man in our story.  It was his simple and generous love for his friends which allowed him to share the food he’d bought with the gift he’d been given.  He hoarded neither the money nor the food.  And in this, I learned a valuable lesson and must ask myself, “Would I have been so generous?”
    Yet isn’t that why Jesus humbled himself to be born into this world of sin, a world far different from the glories of His heavenly home… to share His generosity by coming to us as a newborn babe, to view this world from our perspective, and to save us from ourselves?  Thank you, Lord, for loving me so much that you saw my world through the eyes of a little child so long ago…
    Wishing each of you, my readers, a Merry and Blessed Christmas!! 
    The Eyes of a Child
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Through the open eyes of a little child
    We see our Lord without the blinders
    To know His love as gentle as a lamb
    And feel His arms envelope with peace.
    ~
    The tender faith of one so young
    Is a gift from God through eyes without fear
    A simple trust with expectant hope
    Holding out hands for others to lead.
    ~
    No guile is found within this wee soul
    Whose love is pure like a heart of gold
    Who freely gives to others in need
    That all may praise and bless His name.
    ~
    Untainted youth by worldly vices
    Pure and trusting are innocent minds
    With hearts that see the best in us all
    And faith that hopes with unfailing love.
    ~
    To tenderly hold the hands of a child
    And feel secure, encompassed by love,
    To view the world through innocent eyes
    Is to see the best in all whom we meet.
    ~
    For judging others is not their concern
    They simply believe that all will be well
    And though their pride may rear its revolt
    How willing are they to forgive when wronged.
    ~
    Their trusting heart accepts our reproof
    When patience is taught by living examples
    For character grows with perseverance
    As praises true will confidence build.
    ~
    What would we see through the eyes of a child
    Is it pure love that encompasses all?
    Is it a trust in those who provide?
    And through such faith do our eyes open wide?
    ~
    Faith to trust Him who holds us through storms
    A trusting belief in His loving heart
    And with this love to simply accept
    He knows what’s best as He leads the way.
    ~
    With eyes of a child may we see our Lord
    The giver of life, bestower of gifts
    The One who guides with a Shepherd’s voice
    Who lay down His life that we might live.
    ~~
     
  22. Linda Roorda
    Do we remember what it was like to view the world through the eyes of a child? Sometimes yes, but a lot of times no … too often, I see the world through the lens of adulthood, from the various angles of life that have come my way.  We all have much to learn in being a living example of Christ’s love for us… for He who came to this earth as a newborn babe, to experience life through the eyes of humanity while being fully God, came with a purpose… to redeem us from our sinful selves. And every once in a while, we see that unselfish core of child-like faith and vision in others. God bless you as we remember together “the reason for the season.”
    (My poem’s words were written a few weeks before this evening news segment aired, which prompted the following blog several years ago.)
    I think we often forget how to view life through the eyes of a child.  Their wide-eyed innocence and purity come to us like a breath of fresh air… like a flower opening its beauty to the sun’s warm rays.  But we sometimes become hardened by the realities of a harsh world. 
    The evening news on Christmas Day 2014 (as told in Huffington Post, “Prankster Gives Homeless man $100…”) showed a brief documentary of what one homeless man did when given a $100 bill by the commentator, Josh Paler Lin.  Standing at the side of a highway with a cardboard sign, the poor man must have felt like Lin was his savior when he was handed that much money!  He was reluctant at first to take it, but then gladly accepted the free gift and walked away.
    From a distance, the cameraman inconspicuously trailed the homeless man as he took the money and walked into town.  There, the man promptly entered a liquor store… and exited with two large and heavy bags.  The assumption spoken in the video was that the money had been used by the homeless man to buy an awful lot of alcohol.  I will admit that I, too, had felt great disappointment as I watched the man enter the liquor store.  And, I, too, made an assumption by association.
    As the cameraman and Lin continued to follow the homeless man without his knowledge, the gentleman walked directly to a nearby park, set his bags down, and began to pull out packages… which he handed to others sitting around picnic tables.  And what was he handing out?  Food.  After watching for just a little bit longer, Lin went over to speak with the homeless man.  Lin explained what he was doing in his documentary, pointed out the cameraman a short distance away, and then asked the homeless man to explain what he had just done with his $100 bill. 
    Impressed and teary-eyed, I then saw a youthful Lin, with hair dyed both blond and black, tell the older man he owed him an apology for his wrong assumptions.  They hugged as Lin shared that he assumed the older man had come out of the store carrying two bags full of liquor.  Instead, he had learned a valuable lesson from this selfless, older man who carried all his worldly possessions in a bag… and who thought of the needs of others before his own.  “You just touched my heart,” Lin told him.  It was then the homeless man told Lin: “There's a lot of people that are just victims of circumstance, and they didn't go homeless because they're lazy… There's a lot of good people that are homeless.”
    And I was reminded of this poem I had written a few weeks earlier.  May I have the ability to see the world through the eyes of a child, coming to the Lord with a simple child-like faith as I put my trust in God’s great love.  For as Jesus said, “…I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven… And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me.” (Matt. 18:3,5)
    With a child-like faith, may I show the world around me the same love the Lord has lavished upon me, a sinner, in need of a Savior…. quite like the homeless man in our story.  It was his simple and generous love for his friends which allowed him to share the food he’d bought with the gift he’d been given.  He hoarded neither the money nor the food.  And in this, I learned a valuable lesson and must ask myself, “Would I have been so generous?”
    Yet isn’t that why Jesus humbled himself to be born into this world of sin, a world far different from the glories of His heavenly home… to share His generosity by coming to us as a newborn babe, to view this world from our perspective, and to save us from ourselves?  Thank you, Lord, for loving me so much that you saw my world through the eyes of a little child so long ago…
    The Eyes of a Child
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Through the open eyes of a little child
    We see our Lord without the blinders
    To know His love as gentle as a lamb
    And feel His arms envelope with peace.
    ~
    The tender faith of one so young
    Is a gift from God through eyes without fear
    A simple trust with expectant hope
    Holding out hands for others to lead.
    ~
    No guile is found within this wee soul
    Whose love is pure like a heart of gold
    Who freely gives to others in need
    That all may praise and bless His name.
    ~
    Untainted youth by worldly vices
    Pure and trusting are innocent minds
    With hearts that see the best in us all
    And faith that hopes with unfailing love.
    ~
    To tenderly hold the hands of a child
    And feel secure, encompassed by love,
    To view the world through innocent eyes
    Is to see the best in all those we meet.
    ~
    For judging others is not their concern
    They simply believe that all will be well,
    And though their pride may rear its revolt
    How willing are they to forgive when wronged.
    ~
    Their trusting heart accepts our reproof
    When patience is taught by living examples,
    For character grows with perseverance
    As praises true will confidence build.
    ~
    What would we see through the eyes of a child
    Is it pure love that encompasses all?
    Is it a trust in those who provide?
    And through such faith do our eyes open wide?
    ~
    Faith to trust Him who holds us through storms
    A trusting belief in His loving heart
    And with this love to simply accept
    He knows what’s best as He leads the way.
    ~
    With eyes of a child may we see our Lord
    The giver of life, bestower of gifts
    The One who guides with a Shepherd’s voice
    Who lay down His life that we might live.
    ~~
  23. Linda Roorda
    Today, I’m celebrating the gift of my mother.  Growing up, we heard very little about my Mom’s childhood years, though I loved visiting my relatives on The Farm, sleeping in the big feather bed with feather blankets and pillows, admiring all the antiques, waking up to the clinking milk cans being put on the truck to go to the creamery, walking through the barn and fields with cousins Sandy and Gary, eating my first bowl of Life cereal at their huge table, the kitchen with floor to ceiling cabinets from one end to the other, and playing inside the big farmhouse. This was a place I loved, of which I carry my own special memories. Enjoy this look back to my mother’s childhood, a time and place that emanates the images of “home.
    My mother, Reba, was born and raised on a farm in Carlisle, Schoharie County, NY at the corner of Cemetery Road with the house fronting Rt. 20, the Great Western Turnpike.  Her parents were Leo Jacob and Laura Eliza (McNeill) Tillapaugh. 
    As #11 of 12 kids, Reba grew up on a large dairy farm which included pigs and about 3000 chickens, with draft horses/black Shires doing the field work.  They did okay during the Great Depression because their farm and large garden provided food for winter.  Her parents drilled a well for running water after they’d been married about 20 years and had 10 kids, with two more to follow.  I cannot imagine the work of running a home and farm, and a large family, without running water! 
    Grandma T. cooked large meals every day, made delicious homemade bread in a kitchen woodstove oven, made scrumptious cookies (I remember her big tin of molasses cookies in the huge pantry from which she let us get our own cookies, after we asked her of course!), homemade ice cream, plus fed traveling crews at harvest time.  She also found time to tat and embroider, raise a vegetable garden to can for winter, grew gorgeous flowers, visited the sick and shut-ins, and more.
    My mom remembers that the winters were much worse than they are today.  “It seems like it got cold earlier in the fall than now.  We would pick drop apples in the fall and have cider made.  My mother kept a 20-gal. crock by the back door of the farmhouse.  I remember coming home after school and running to that crock, breaking the ice, and drinking some of that tasty cider! 
    My favorite black farm cat, Skippy, had 7 toes on his front feet; he’d stand on his hind feet, reach up and turn doorknobs with his front paws!!
    I attended the one-room schoolhouse, William Golding, which used a dry cell system for power like my dad did before electric was put in, and the school had an outhouse.  My favorite teacher in the one-room schoolhouse was Miss Santora who went skiing in the fields with us kids!  We had a big woodstove in the center of the schoolhouse, and when it was very cold we would sit around it to keep warm.  I remember the temperature was -25 degrees one morning, but my father was not able to convince the principal to close school that day.  Somehow, we got there, but then it closed at noon.  My sister and I tried to walk home but it was hard to breathe in the bitter cold and wind, so we called my father to pick us up at the Brand Restaurant opposite the school.
    It was normal to get 2 feet of snow in storms or blizzards.  The wind was so bad in big snowstorms you didn’t know which way you were going.  I’m told that in the Oswego area, people tied a rope around their waist to keep from being lost.  We didn’t think of that but we always made it. 
    My father had a big wooden scoop pulled by the horses to clear snow out of the driveway.  In 1943, my father bought a Massey-Harris tractor; later he had the steel lug wheels changed to rubber tires, and a plow was rigged on that tractor.  We had an ice storm, I believe in February 1943, and light poles snapped like toothpicks.  The town had an old Lynn Tractor and it was used to plow town roads; for state roads, they had big motorized trucks.  I don’t know what they did to clear the roads before tractors and trucks were available, but I assume horses were used.
    I think it was in 1945 or 1947 when the snow came and the wind blew for three weeks, and we were out of school all that time!  Drifts were so high and hard we could walk the horses on top.  The workers broke all the snowplows in town, but the county had a snow blower which was used to open all the roads.  I heard they had to keep the blower between the light pole wires as they could not tell where the road was.  I don’t know how my dad and other farmers got their milk to the creamery then, but, again, I assume they used horses.
    Rt. 20 was the first to be kept open in snowstorms.  My parents often put people up overnight when the road conditions became terrible.  Before Rt. 20 was widened about 1941, the road was very slippery when raining and was icy in winter.  One time a Greyhound bus went off the road and into the field off Rt. 20, south of our house.  They used a bulldozer to pull it out of the field. 
    A state trooper would ride a big Harley during the summer.  When he arrested someone, my dad, as justice of the peace, would hold court downstairs; we would be in the room above the dining room, listening through a stovepipe hole!
    We had at least 3000 chickens in a building west of the main house and we kids helped to water and feed them.  My mother candled dozens and dozens of eggs every Sunday evening for hours.  The eggs were kept cool in the basement, being weighed, cleaned, candled, and crated by hand on Sunday night, with as many as 7 large crates of 30 dozen eggs going to the hatchery in Albany every Monday morning.  My mother candled hundreds and hundreds of eggs to ensure a quality product was in those crates for the hatchery. 
    We took milk to the creamery every day in traditional milk cans, and supplied wood to heat not only our house but the church and one-room school.  We raised several pigs with my father holding a neighborhood butchering day on our farm.  After the butchering was done, he cut up meat for the smokehouse, put some in crocks of salt brine, and made homemade sausage, etc.
    As gangs of local farmers traveled from farm to farm to help each other at harvest, my mother fed the crews when our farm was harvested.  She had all her recipes tucked away in her head, and made the most delicious ice cream, hand cranked by us kids clamoring for a turn!  She even shared beautiful flowers from her gardens with local shut-ins.
    About 1938 or 1939, Admiral Byrd’s snowmobile, the Snow Cruiser, was run up Rt. 20 on its way to Antarctica. As a child, age 5 or 6, I was afraid to go inside when it stopped near our farm on Rt.20.  The rubber tires were not appropriate for use in the severe cold, and it was abandoned in Antarctica.  There was an article and photo about it in the July/August 1996 “Reminisce” magazine, pp. 39-40.”
    My family made our own maple syrup and sold some, and still do that now.  Back when I was little, my brothers would tap 300 maple trees for sap to be boiled down to syrup, so sugar rationing during World War II was not a problem for us.  We trudged through deep snow in the woods each spring to help.  My brothers also cut ice off the ponds in the winter, stacking and packing it in sawdust in the icehouse on the back side of the barn.  Ice was cut from farm to farm the same way summer crops were harvested - by harvesting bees of many farmers working together.  It doesn’t seem like ponds freeze over long enough or thick enough to do this now.  That ice sure helped make my mother’s delicious ice cream – I think hers was the best at the ice cream socials!
    ~~
    I, Linda, remember my mother Reba saying she and her next older sister Shirley, and youngest sister Lois, were in the 4-H with a lot of pins and awards. When fair time came, they got vegetables ready for show at the Cobleskill Fair, forcing mom into canning and freezing. Lois remembers we dug up all the veggies in the garden in order to display 'uniform' vegetables!!!  Thinking back, Lois says, “she might have wanted to kill us, but it kept us grounded and out of trouble. Wouldn't trade it…!”  My cousin Allan remembered our Aunt Lois trying to ride a heifer to their house as if it was a horse. OH THE GOOD OLD DAYS!!!!!!!!
    My Mom also shared that growing up in the Great Depression you made your own fun.  She remembered her father had an old school bus, and the kids would go there go in there to play and sit and talk.  At Christmas there was a very large family gathering at the long table.  She helped walk the draft horses, black Shires, to pull the ropes which helped her brothers put the hay up into the mow.  She and a few of the younger sibs took their Little Red Wagon out by the road to pick up the grass mown by the hi-way dept. They’d pile the wagon high, and pull it back to the barn. Mind you, this was in the days of real horsepower.  So, imitating how their dad and older brothers put hay up into the mow with the huge hayforks on rope pulleys with the horses doing the work, she and her sibs took ice tongs and smaller ropes, slinging the rope up over the pipes above the cow stanchions.  With kids on each side, the ice tongs held bits of hay as the kids on the other side lugged on the rope to pull the hay up and over, and down into the feeding trough for the cows!  Now that’s imagination!  Reminds me how I used to milk cows when I was 4-5.  In the barn with my dad as he milked in Marion, NY, I stood on a bale of hay, moving an old teakettle along on the road-side wall ledge, I’d stop to “milk a cow” every few inches! 
    My mother’s father was a jack-of-all trades, not just a farmer, but a man before his time.  It was from him that I inherited green eyes.  He built a top-quality registered Holstein herd with Canadian Holstein-Friesian bulls before most other farmers.  I remember seeing the bulls as a kid in their pens as I peered between cracks in their wooden stalls.  Besides a dairy herd and chickens, he raised pigs, and sold extra hay. He took community responsibility seriously as Carlisle town highway superintendent, Carlisle school superintendent, Justice of the Peace, and Cobleskill school board member and president. A highly respected man of the community was my Grandpa Leo, as well as Grandma Laura.
  24. Linda Roorda
    Despair… a lack of hope... a feeling of utter defeat… like you’ve been so beaten down you can’t get back up to face the world.  The loss of something good can be that devastating… whether it’s the loss of a loved one, the disabling of physical abilities, the loss of a job, or perhaps the loss of something greatly treasured.  Maybe one of these difficult issues is what you’re facing right now.
    My poem below was written in 2014, during a very difficult year for us as a couple, found among my cache of unpublished reflections.  Ed faced a life-and-death situation from severe pancreatitis with no known cause, the doctor telling him if he’d waited one more day to come to the ER, he would not have survived.  That recovery was followed by additional health issues, procedures and surgery for Ed, with my own diagnosis of breast cancer with procedures and surgery.  To say we were overwhelmed by life, trying to handle so many health issues one on top of another, would be an understatement… 
    Any loss can be difficult as you slowly wend your way through grief. Your emotions have taken a hit. Yet you may not realize it’s actually healthy to go through the several steps of grief to process a loss… as long as you don’t get stuck in one of the stages.  For it’s important to know that, in the end, you will be ok… you are normal… and you will survive to ultimately smile at the world once again.
    Like many others who have faced losses, my husband and I also faced several major losses which, at the time, seemed utterly overwhelming.  And we fell right in line with the Kubler-Ross stages of grief - denial, anger, the “if only” stage, depression, and acceptance.  Admittedly, it’s not an easy journey.  But in looking back, we can honestly say we overcame the challenges and moved forward in peace knowing the Lord was at our side… every step of the way.
    One of the initial major losses we dealt with began for my husband in 1985.  He had always known poor vision after pure oxygen damaged his eyes as a premature twin in an incubator (then called retrolental fibroplasia, now labeled retinopathy of prematurity).  But, unknown to us as a young couple was the disease’s typical gradual deterioration of the retina in his left eye (the right optic nerve was damaged irreparably by the pure oxygen). 
    Going for a second opinion due to odd shadows in his vision field, he was told he had a major retinal tear that the previous ophthalmologist had overlooked and actually denied to another doctor who felt that was the issue… and Ed needed urgent surgery.  He could not even do barn chores that evening… or ever again… in order to preserve his only viable eye and limited vision for as long as possible. 
    To Ed, it felt as though it were the end of life… the end of farming with his Dad, the only working relationship he had known, a way of life he absolutely loved.  He was only 33, and we had three young ones to care for.  In coming to terms with our situation, I went back to work a month after his surgery, while he stayed home to care for our children.  Unfortunately, he faced further vision loss a few short years later as we returned from a trip to New Jersey to visit my family.  We shared an unforgettable day of fun and laughter when my Dad and step-mother took us to the ocean at Sandy Hook. But on the way home, driving north through the hills of Scranton, PA, his eye began hemorrhaging.  After two surgeries, he was left with limited light and color detection, and the stages of grief set in once again.
    Typically, major loss is also faced with denial and shock that such a thing could happen.  Yes, it was devastating.  How could this happen to us, and why?  He’d lost his farming job and had no idea what else he could do with limited useable vision.  We’d also purchased a new riding mower that spring which he was looking forward to using.  You think things will get better… soon, somehow… they just have to!  You hold out hope that life will return to normal… but the norm we were used to was gone forever.
    And then, anger and frustration took over.  You may go through a time of blaming yourself, or someone else.  Life seems unfair and you find yourself retreating into a world all your own.  If only things were different, if only I’d done things differently…  At this stage, Ed smashed his white cane until broken.  What we learned after seeking professional help for the blind and their families from Binghamton’s AVRE was invaluable.  Later, while Ed was at The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, MA for six months, he again learned this was part of a normal grief process.  Other residents had also taken out their anger and frustration in various ways, with most, if not all, breaking their first cane.  It was hard to learn a new way of doing things… to tackle the simplest of tasks with very limited or no vision… learning to do the things we take for granted.  Out of his training at The Carroll Center, came the blessing of skills for a new office job.
    Then, as the final curtain of darkness closed in around him about 10 years later, a deeper depression settled in.  As he lost the last remnants of vision, Ed would describe dreams in vivid colors to me.  They seemed to taunt him on awakening, and he would be devastated once again to find his world was still dark, totally devoid of all light and color.  I suspect that may also be why he wasn’t overly fond of colorful descriptions of things he could no longer see.  I get it… that was like rubbing salt into an open wound; it was easier for him to just not think about his vision loss.
    Gradually, though, he came to accept his situation as his old self rose to the occasion.  Just like when he grew up with limited vision in school and on the farm (20/200 with glasses, reading with a book very close to his face), he was determined to accomplish whatever seemingly insurmountable task was put in front of him… and succeed he did!  His faith remained strong in God who had given him a kind and gentle heart with a depth of wisdom and sense of humor that once again carried him forward. 
    And remember that new riding mower which Ed never got to use?  Well, we have a photo of him sitting on it, reaching to the front of the mower with his new white cane… positioned to guide his path... just for the fun of it.  He always impressed me with his sense of humor and inner strength, another gift from God, for I truly don’t know that I could have handled all that he had… as well as he had.  Yes, he continued to have occasional difficult days of depression, as anyone does with major loss, but He carried on with strength and courage from the Lord to face each new obstacle.
    With our hope, faith, and trust in God above, we find He’s there for us.  He has promised “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” (Hebrews 12:11)  “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10)
    Our God may have to carry us for a while, but He’s there, helping each of us face the darkest and most difficult days… on our journey to joy.  
    The Journey to Joy
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    I see your hurt and sorrow within
    As you gaze out from a darkened pane
    Where once shone light and humor bright
    Now focus is turned to inward retreat.
    ~
    Not yours to enjoy are bright sunny days
    And seldom is heard laughter’s easy ring.
    Your days often pass in a hazy blur
    With meaning to find in the depth of loss.
    ~
    For you the birds do not sing their songs
    And clouds have covered the light in your heart.
    Each waking moment a reminder grim
    Of all that once was and all that can’t be.
    ~
    But change will come when you least expect
    And so it is with healing’s growth
    With subtle tones your soul will be filled
    As glimmers of hope displace the gloom.
    ~
    For if you allow the dawn’s gentle rays
    To open windows in the heart of your soul
    A breath of fresh joy will encompass you
    Bringing its light on the wings of hope.
    ~
    Then throw open wide shutters of despair
    And let the Son cover you with His peace
    Listen to His voice bring soothing comfort
    Drawing you near in His arms of love.
    ~
    May your heart hear the birds sweetly sing
    And may your soul see the Light of the world
    As grateful song brings praise to His name,
    For He has wrought this journey to joy.
    ~~
  25. Linda Roorda
    December 5th is a day my/our Dutch ancestors celebrated Saint Nicholas Day or Eve, part of traditional European Christmas celebrations for centuries.  My cousin Sytske Visscher in the Netherlands shared that “St. Nicolas Day/Sinterklaas Day is celebrated on December 5, or the weekend before or after. According to the myth, the Bishop of Myra in Turkey (St. Nicolas) was born on December 6 and started to give presents to the poor members of his congregation on the evening before, December 5.  Families nowadays decide to celebrate the weekend before or after the official day.  Especially celebrating with only adults can better be organized on a weekend (Friday or Saturday evening) when most people do not have to go to work the next day.  Many not only give presents but also make poems to say something to the receiver of the present about what happened to him or her in the last year.”
    I think Christmas is everyone’s favorite time of year, especially a white Christmas!  Right?!  Even shopping begins in earnest the day after Thanksgiving.  But, many of our current holiday traditions either changed dramatically or began only in the 19th century.  Writing in the “Broader View Weekly” local newspaper in December 2012, I explored the origins of many of our American Christmas traditions.
    The Dutch word “Sinterklaas” for Saint Nicholas is considered the origin of our American “Santa Claus” with Washington Irving and Clement C. Moore helping to make him who he is today.  The earliest writing in America of a figure resembling our modern Santa can be found in Washington Irving’s satire of Dutch culture.  In “History of New York” published in 1809, Irving writes in chapter IX:  "At this early period…hanging up a stocking in the chimney on St. Nicholas eve…is always found in the morning miraculously filled; for the good St. Nicholas has ever been a great giver of gifts, particularly to children." 
    Clement C. Moore immortalized St. Nicholas in “’Twas The Night Before Christmas.”  In this ode to St. Nick, he appears on December 24th, Christmas Eve in America, not the traditional St. Nicholas Day/Eve of December 5 or December 6. Moore’s poem, published anonymously in a Troy, New York newspaper on December 23, 1823, promotes a new appearance to the original lean St. Nicholas:  “He had a broad face and a little round belly…He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf…[with a] "sleigh full of Toys" [and] "eight tiny reindeer…[as] Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound."  The two original reindeer names of Donder and Blixem were later changed to Donner and Blitzen.  Once again, the Dutch influence in the former New Netherlands was involved as “donder” means thunder and “bliksem” means lightning. 
    While Irving and Moore both present the jolly gift giver as Saint Nicholas, political cartoonist Thomas Nast is considered the first to refer to “Santa Claus” in his illustration for the January 3, 1863 edition of “Harpers Weekly.”  President Lincoln had requested that Nast depict St. Nicholas visiting the Union troops.  Nast’s illustration shows Santa Claus sitting on his sleigh at a U.S. Army camp, handing out gifts in front of a “Welcome Santa Claus” sign.
    Another treasured tradition of our modern Christmas is Charles Dickens’ short story, “A Christmas Carol,” written as a commentary on the greed of Victorian England.  Available in book stores the week before Christmas 1843, it sold very well, never being out of print since.  Scrooge has the distinction of being one of the most well-known literary characters.  But, what do we care… Bah, humbug!
    Our decorated Christmas tree comes from German traditions with Queen Victoria’s husband Prince Albert putting up the first decorated tree at Windsor Castle in 1841.  Based on illustrations of this event published in America in 1849, Christmas trees then became fashionable on this side of the “pond.”  Small candles were used to light the tree, with popcorn and cranberry strings typically used for decoration.
    From the religious aspect, Christmas celebrations differed in many ways based on national origin.  I found it interesting to learn that Christmas celebrations were outlawed in Boston by the Puritans in the mid to late 17th century with fines for violations, while the Jamestown, Virginia settlers enjoyed their merry celebrations under Capt. John Smith.  After the American Revolution, Americans looked down on English traditions, including Christmas.  Apparently, Congress was even in session on December 25, 1789!  In fact, Christmas did not become a federal holiday until Congress declared it such on June 26, 1870. 
    By the late 19th century, celebrating Christmas was made popular through children’s books and women’s magazines.  Church Sunday School classes began encouraging celebrations, and families were decorating Christmas trees with everyone “knowing” Santa Claus delivered gifts on Christmas Eve, traditions which have been carried on into the 21st century.
    Other popular traditions we all look forward to include decorating our homes and trees, baking scrumptious special treats, singing carols, and either making or shopping for just the right gift for each special person on our list.  But, alas, the years have also taken a simple celebration in honor of Jesus’ birth and made it into a highly marketed holiday, one often filled with ostentatious materialism.  Personally, I prefer to step back to the simpler traditions of my Dutch ancestry and childhood home, one without “all the trappings” and media frenzy.
    With my dad being a first generation Dutch-American, we veered from Dutch tradition in some ways.  We maintained Christmas Day with a morning church service and a big family dinner; but, our gift-giving was held the Saturday before Christmas, not the Dutch traditional day of December 5.  My husband’s Dutch family gave gifts on Christmas Eve as they had Christmas morning worship service after barn chores, but we decided on Christmas morning for our kids to open gifts.
    My first and last adoration of Santa Claus came the Christmas I was 5 years old when Santa visited my grandparents in Clifton, New Jersey. We three oldest granddaughters shyly sat on his lap to share our wants.  Afterwards, my grandmother took us to an upstairs window to watch Santa and his reindeer leave.  All I saw was a car with red tail lights driving away between the snowbanks.  At that moment, I was crushed and disillusioned, and just knew there was absolutely no Santa Claus because, despite dressing the part, he did not have a sleigh and reindeer!
    After all, everyone’s favorite reindeer is Rudolph with his nose so bright!  Supposedly written by Robert L. May for his daughter when her mother was dying of cancer, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” was actually written in 1939 for his employer, Montgomery Ward, as a Christmas book given out free to customers.  Though May’s wife did die around the time he wrote the story, he read it to his 4-year-old daughter as he worked on it simply to ensure it held a child’s interest.  With memories of his own childhood, May decided on a tale with roots in “The Ugly Duckling” and the taunts he had suffered as a child.  Poor Rudolph was ostracized by other reindeer for being different, having an obvious physical abnormality… a glowing red nose.  No one else had one!  Regardless of his defect, Rudolph thrived under his parents’ love, overcame his disability and the taunts to became a responsible young deer!  And then one foggy night, Santa noticed how Rudolph’s nose shone through the dark, and asked him to lead the team of reindeer pulling his sleigh on Christmas Eve!  How excited and honored Rudolph must have felt!
    We’ve all been blessed with special Christmas memories over the years.  While visiting my mom at Elderwood nursing home in the past, she shared that her mother had always put up and decorated a large Christmas tree in their front parlor.  It was a big change for her to learn that her new husband was not so inclined to such displays due to his more austere Dutch upbringing.  With limited decorations and no trees until my mid-teens when my dad finally gave in to the pleading of his six kids, I have found it difficult to step out of that mold.  Yet, I have enjoyed putting up a tree with lights and decorations when our three children were young.  And now, since my mother-in-law gave me her ceramic tree the Christmas before she passed away, I am honored to share her generosity in this smaller and simpler display.
    My favorite Christmas memory was when my husband, Ed, farmed with his dad.  With finances tight, I usually sewed clothes for all of us.  But, one year I also made doll beds for each of our children by taking free boxes from the local grocery store, gluing the bottoms together, and covering them with wood-grain contact paper.  My step-mother gave our three children a Cabbage-Patch type doll she had made, while my grandmother sewed clothes and blankets for each doll.  And our kids could not have been happier! 
    Our local churches do not have a Christmas morning service like Ed and I grew up with, though we have enjoyed the local Christmas Eve candlelight services and singing of favorite carols.  We also began a tradition of reading the Christmas story with our children before they opened gifts on Christmas morning. 
    And another favorite of our family has been the TV special, “A Charlie Brown Christmas” by Charles M. Schulz.  With the busy holiday shopping extravaganza and commercialization, I think we sometimes lose a little of the wonder of that very first Christmas.
    “Narrator:  It was finally Christmastime, the best time of the year.  The houses were strung with tiny colored lights, their windows shining with a warm yellow glow only Christmas could bring.  The scents of pine needles and hot cocoa mingled together, wafting through the air, and the sweet sounds of Christmas carols could be heard in the distance.  Fluffy white snowflakes tumbled from the sky onto a group of joyful children as they sang and laughed, skating on the frozen pond in town.  Everyone was happy and full of holiday cheer.  That is, everyone except for Charlie Brown…”
    “Charlie (to Linus):  ‘I think there must be something wrong with me.  I just don’t understand Christmas, I guess.  I might be getting presents and sending Christmas cards and decorating trees and all that, but I’m still not happy.  I don’t feel the way I’m supposed to feel…’”
    “Later, after a day of frustrations, Charlie says:  ‘I guess you were right Linus; I shouldn’t have picked this little tree.  Everything I do turns into a disaster.  I guess I don’t really know what Christmas is about.  Isn’t there anyone who understands what Christmas is all about?’”
    “Linus:  ‘Sure, I can tell you what Christmas is all about.’  [Walking to the center of the stage, Linus speaks:]  ‘And there were in the same country Shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.  And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone ‘round about them, and they were sore afraid.  And the angel said unto them, ‘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 clothes lying in the manger.’  And suddenly, there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men.’”  [Luke 2:8-14]
    Did you notice Linus drops his blanket? He knew who to trust. And, for me and my family, that’s what Christmas is all about…  As we begin to celebrate this Christmas season, share your special memories...
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