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Linda Roorda

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Blog Entries posted by Linda Roorda

  1. 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.”
     
     
  2. Linda Roorda
    Analogies give us a glimpse of similarities and truths of a story tucked within a story.  Thinking about this concept after my poem below was written brought to mind Mark Twain’s book, “The Prince and The Pauper,” published 1881 initially in Canada, and subsequently in 1882 in the U.S.
    In Twain’s beloved story, a young prince and a pauper (who happen to look a lot alike and were born on the same day) trade places in life.  The prince experiences the roughness of a lowly life just as his counterpart once did, while the pauper tries to bravely find his way at the top of an unfamiliar kingdom of elites.  Common sense, so crucial to his survival in the real world, comes in quite handy as he makes his way through the upper echelon. Ultimately, the real prince returns to claim his rightful place as heir and is crowned king.  Ever grateful for his real-life experiences as a pauper, the prince now understands life for the poor and hard-working folks beneath him, and is better able to comprehend their needs.  And makes his friend, the pauper, his aide. 

    Not having read Twain’s book, my poem was written without knowledge of the story line, though I had heard of the title.  After research, it’s clear my poem takes a similar, albeit slightly different tack to Twain in relating a king who was used to observing the realm from his castle high above the fray of every-day life.  Wanting to experience firsthand what life for his subjects was like, he walks among them dressed as a beggar.  In this guise, he observes that most people continue on their way with their heads held high, seldom stooping to assist someone poorer and perhaps scruffier than they.  Sadly, there are still those who live and breathe a self-serving arrogance.
    A few years ago, I encountered two gentlemen one day – one, a young man looking a bit shabby, crouching against the building to finish a cigarette before entering our local grocery.  Unsure of whether to smile at this lone man for fear my friendliness would be misinterpreted, I nervously glanced his way as he quickly got up and stepped ahead of me to hold the door open.  Giving a smile and thanking him very much, he, ever the gentleman, waited off to the side for me to get settled with a shopping cart as I told him to go ahead of me.
    Later that same day, I met an elderly casually-dressed gentleman walking into the pharmacy at the same time.  As I hung back to allow him entrance first, he instead slowed down and motioned for me to go ahead. Noticing his cap signifying he was a Navy Vietnam Veteran, I thanked him for his service, mentioning one of my brothers was a 20-year Navy man who’d served in the Gulf War.  At that point, the gentleman quietly told me he’d served in Korea, Vietnam, Gulf War, and many places in between, a 40-year vet, and we had a nice chat as he thanked me.  And I realized, first impressions do tend to make a difference, don’t they?
    On the other hand, a young woman notices our poor man in his tattered clothing.  Kindly offering to feed him, not only did she provide nourishing meals, but she repairs his coat to provide warmth against the cold.  He returns often to talk with her, to learn the depths of her heart, and to simply show appreciation and gratefulness for what she has done for him, a beggar.
    He was afraid to share that he had fallen in love with her and was now in a dilemma for he needs to return from whence he came.  Indeed, he knows that truth must always be told in any situation… and so he set out one day to let her know how much he loved her.  He was willing to give up all he owned just to serve her for the rest of his life.  And it was then that he could see his love was returned in her eyes as he knelt down to propose.  With her “yes,” his heart leapt for joy knowing their hearts would soon be united forever, sharing with her who he really was.
    Tucked within the depth of my poem’s reflection is the analogy of our Lord’s love for us. Leaving His throne in His beautiful and perfect heavenly home, He came down to dwell among us… in our world of sin and pain. Once here, Jesus experienced life just as we do with all of its temptations and sadness, but also the joys. He wants to have a relationship with each of us. He wants to share conversations in prayer as we listen for his nudging and messages in our heart from His Words of Life in Holy Scripture.  And in this way, He is able to be our advocate and comforter, knowing from personal experience what our life on earth is all about.  For as Jesus once said, “’Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’” (Matthew 25:40 NIV) 
    During this season of Lent, as we think more closely about Jesus, our Savior, we remember what our Lord accomplished as a servant while He lived among us, even to washing His disciples’ dirty feet: “…just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." (Matthew 20:28)  In His sacrifice, He gave His all for us through His death on the cross… that we might accept His priceless gift of mercy and forgiveness of our sins, becoming our Lord and Savior.  What joy there will be when we are united with Him and remain in the presence of His love forever!  What a King! 
    Ode to a King
    Linda A. Roorda
    I gazed from afar while observing my realm
    And found with interest motives in action,
    But often their lives showed merest concern
    Though I could see depths of their anguished souls.
    ~
    Oh how I loved these people of mine!
    And longed to walk the path to their soul
    A chance to converse, a sharing of hearts,
    To bring them peace with comforting words.
    ~
    So stepping down, I entered their world
    Yearning to serve the rich and the poor
    But they did not know this beggar in rags
    Most never saw needs, just held their head high.
    ~
    And then I noticed a young woman fair
    Who spoke gentle words to a stranger coarse.
    She offered food and to mend my coat
    While love in my heart had only begun.
    ~
    A love which grew on the winds of time
    A chance to bond and learn of her heart
    To know the depths of comfort and peace
    Humility’s grace wrapped up in mercy.
    ~
    Now deeply in love I’d sacrifice all
    Yet she did not know the truth of my garb
    How would I explain that she’d found favor
    That her heart was true, like gold refined.
    ~
    So I intended my dilemma to share
    To let her know from afar I’d come,
    That all I’d longed for I treasured in her,
    Companionship sweet, a melding of souls.
    ~
    Expressing my love for her tender heart
    Overwhelmed was she as on knees I bent
    Asking for her hand, with tears she said yes,
    My heart leapt for joy that we’ll become one.
    ~
    And then I shared my journey in rags
    From a kingdom rich in glory and fame
    To this lowly world of sorrow and pain
    To which I had come, others to serve.
    ~
    For it was then my eyes did behold
    Analogy of One with far greater love
    Who left His throne to walk on this earth
    To share our burdens and speak to our hearts.
    ~
    His love ran red as He gave His all
    To purchase with blood and redeem our souls
    That He might draw near, from sin set us free
    And offer His gift of life eternal.
    ~~
  3. Linda Roorda
    What’s my purpose in life?  Who am I meant to be?  And what am I meant to do? 
    If you’re like me, you’ve pondered those thoughts every now ‘n then over the years, especially in our younger days.  With life ahead of us, we often wonder what part we’ll play in society.  What career should we go into?  Who will we love and marry?  These thoughts carry evidence of the weighty questions from our heart regarding our basic needs, and for who we will become… as we seek to find our place in the world at large.
    Celebrating my childhood friend’s birthday and 50th wedding anniversary with her husband yesterday, and meeting other childhood friends I haven’t seen since my family moved away, brought to mind all the different paths we have each taken in life. Yet, the foundation set by the Christian school and church have been part of the solid foundation in God that was established for our lives.
    I once read of a little child’s misunderstanding of the Lord’s Prayer – “Our Father who art in heaven.  I know you know my name…”  Besides being cute and precious, there’s a lot of truth in those words!  I find peace and reassurance knowing that our heavenly Father knows my name… knows who I am, who He’s created me to be, and what my purpose is on this journey of life.
    As the Lord said to an Old Testament prophets, “For I know the plans I have for you… plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.  Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.  You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”  (Jeremiah 29:11-13)

    God knows what my needs are even before I ask.  But He likes to hear me give voice to those needs… to express a trust in His caring hand, and in His loving wisdom.  Yet, how often doesn’t it seem that, when faced with the brevity and fragility of life, in the pain and turmoil that besets our path, it’s then we’re more apt to pray from the depth of our heart and remember the greater purpose of our life – to praise, thank and glorify our Creator God and bring Jesus’ love to the world around us.
    As we thank and praise our God in the busyness of every-day life, we feel the blessing of a relationship with Him, and feel His presence in even the simplest things that we do. We feel a joy and peace as we follow His footsteps… His words… and as we adopt them for our path in life.  There’s a comfort and a peace we find in knowing we’re listening to His voice in our heart for which direction to take… and how we can use our purpose to help others on this journey of life.
    Because there are as many ways to define our purpose as there are people… for we are each created unique with our own set of gifts or talents, desires or yearnings, and special ways to show love to each other. We actively seek to encourage and support others, show how much you care in words, actions, or simply with smiles and hugs. Share your humorous wit, and a hard-earned wisdom gained through experience. Value family relationships, and give back to your community from your wealth… whether financially or by simply lending a helping hand in a myriad of ways.
    It may not come instantly to us when we have a concern; but, given time and prayerful reflection as we delve into His Holy Word, He’ll lead us forward on the right path.  He’ll show us His will, His purpose for our life and in the lives of others… though sometimes we may not see how He’s working all things together for our good until we look back and see how He’s led us every step of the way.  Because, as we read in Romans 8:28, “we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”
    What’s my purpose?  To bring glory and honor to our great God in all that I do!
    What’s My Purpose?
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    What’s my purpose if not to bring praise…
    To honor a love that knows no bounds
    A grace and mercy I do not deserve
    From One who has blessed with joy out of woe.
    ~
    What have I done that You would seek me
    For I’m not worthy of Your gracious gifts
    But with open arms You draw me near
    To offer me hope with shelter and rest.
    ~
    The blessing of friends reflects Your heart’s depth
    Holding out hands as others we touch
    For there’s a bond that silently speaks
    In drawing near to humbly share love.
    ~
    May I forgive as You forgave me
    All those I meet on this path of life
    As peace You share envelopes my soul
    From striving turmoil to soothing solace.
    ~
    What’s my purpose if not to share love…
    A semblance of Yours bought with a price
    May we be blest from Your gracious hand
    And may our lives bring glory to You.
    ~~
  4. Linda Roorda
    It’s hard to realize a full year has gone by since my husband passed away January 25th. It’s been a year of learning to live more independently while seeking God’s guidance, relying on wise counsel from others, a year of missing Ed’s wit and wisdom and his big hugs which left me feeling so loved and protected… yet times of missing him so much, shedding a few tears, while savoring precious memories of our 49 years together, thankful for the many blessings through the years and now… and it’s also been a year of knowing contentment and peace realizing Ed is fully restored, able to see, to walk and run without pain or dizziness, absolutely enjoying his heavenly home with our Lord.
    Yet, in the past, there were many times when my peace was shattered... difficult storms, painful wounds, major losses... and I was in turmoil. Like December 2019 when Ed was found to be in severe life-threatening diabetic hyperglycemic hyperosmolar syndrome, a rare complication of diabetes type II.  We were both overwhelmed with the new diagnosis of type II diabetes, and a new treatment regimen on top of his multiple other health issues. We fully realize countless others have successfully dealt with this diagnosis, but the initial shock left us overwhelmed.  
    In 2022, Ed was hospitalized twice in July, again at the end of September, in the ER several times in early December for difficulty breathing with severe congestive heart failure and pulmonary edema.  Arriving home that night after spending 8-1/2 hours in the ER, I found two “thinking of you” cards in the mailbox from dear friends. What perfect timing!  God knew we needed a special reminder of how he uses each of us to bring His love and care to those who need a cheerful lift.
    Then just two days after Christmas 2022, Ed was hospitalized for 8 days with fluid overload on chronic congestive heart failure. At cardiac catheterization, three stents were placed to open a fully blocked artery, with more near total blockages and damage throughout his heart with 9 days’ worth of atrial fibrillation.  In January 2023, he was readmitted with Covid, multiple pulmonary embolisms (blood clots in his lungs), more difficulty breathing, and major weakness.  But the cards mentioned above, the visit of dear friends leading to a special inspiring visit by their friend, pastor and chaplain at Robert Packer Hospital, and the many kind comments of loving care and prayers to my Facebook updates at that time, remind me of the following blog I’d penned based on words written so many centuries ago. 
    Reading our devotions one evening several years ago, Ed quietly asked me to read Psalm 91.  He wasn’t sure what it said, but he had a strong sense God was urging him to have me read this Psalm for a particular difficulty I was facing.
    In reading Psalm 91 aloud, I found these words by King David spoke to my heart:  “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.  I will say to the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust’… He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart… If you make the Most High your dwelling – even the Lord, who is my refuge – then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your tent… ‘Because he loves me, says the Lord, I will rescue him; I will protect him…’ He will call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.”  (vs.1-2, 4, 9-10, 14-15. NIV)
    Despite tears rolling down while reading the entire Psalm that night, I felt a great sense of comfort and peace… that peace which passes all understanding despite the trial.  (Philippians 4:7)
    None of us is immune to the trials and storms of life, or the feelings of sadness that overtake us at times.  Sometimes God graciously allows a storm to pass us by without disturbing our equilibrium, other times He fully heals us in our difficult storm, while other times we have no choice but to wend our way through the storm to understand why we had to walk a difficult path… for neither are we promised a life of ease.  As Jesus reminded His followers in John 16:33, “I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world.” 
    The one who is ill may not even look ill.  They remember their busy fulfilling life of the past, replaced by a limited worth or useless feeling that permeates their days.  We’ve learned it is normal to grieve life changes with sadness and frustration, even as Ed’s great sense of humor would pop through despite a difficult day to envelope us in therapeutic hearty laughter. 
    But I will also admit to a touch of envy knowing most friends can do anything or go wherever they want, not an option for us to enjoy.  It can be hard to identify with those who deal with chronic illness… facing health issues and concerns other folks don’t ever seem to encounter.  And the grieving process can initially leave you devoid of the joy which James 1:2-3 speaks about as we learn to accept chronic illness. 
    Guilt may even be felt by the chronically ill person and family when prayers for healing seem to go unanswered.  To hear a casual or flippant response, to be told we’re not praying right, or to sense a lack of genuine care can be crushing. As we pray for healing, we especially ask for strength to handle each day… because healing as we want may not be God’s plan.  The Apostle Paul was not healed as he desired, but learned that God’s grace was sufficient with Christ’s power and strength evident through his (Paul’s) weaknesses.  (II Corinthians 12:7-10)   Relying on God for wisdom and strength each day, God’s power shines through us.
    I will never forget another hospital chaplain who sat with me when Ed was in the ICU in 2010 for severe life-threatening grand mal (tonic-clonic) seizures.  Gradually pulling out our life story, he listened and cared deeply, saying that in 30 years as a chaplain, he’d never met a family who’d dealt with so many difficult issues as we had, and I hadn’t even told him all, as he prayed with me in facing a new major stressor.  Six months later, Ed was back in the ER, hearing his favorite ER physician say, “I’m so glad to see you! Not that you’re ill again, but that you survived those seizures and have no damage!”  Wow!  She truly cared!
    We appreciated the support and prayers of family and friends as we faced each new trial.  Take time to hear concerns as a new norm is accepted, leaning on God as He walks beside you in the storm.  Share your heartfelt hugs.  Convey a depth of feeling and understanding in asking “how are you doing.”  Friends and family who ask and truly listen to understand what anyone with chronic illness faces bring much comfort.  Offers of help are gratefully appreciated, even if they cannot be readily accepted.
    While we're inside the storm, though the wind and waves batter our world, we do remember God is still there, still in control.  We know we can trust Him to hold us tightly, to shelter and protect… even though we may lose everything, including life itself, as when we lost our daughter, Jennifer, and last year my husband.  Yet, through the difficulty, He will make a way, perhaps close one door to open a better one, and shine His light to guide us as we move forward… one step at a time.
    It’s where we place our trust that peace will be revealed.  And when it’s placed in our Lord’s perfect will, trusting that He has our best interests at heart even in the most difficult times, we see Him help us handle what comes our way as we grow in faith to become more like Christ, our life’s purpose.  With such trust, our faith remains unshakeable, and we find a renewed peace… with a joy that passes understanding.
    There’s a painting I love entitled “Peace in the Midst of the Storm” by Jack E. Dawson.  One story is told that a wealthy benefactor searched for the perfect painting depicting peace.  The first two beautiful tranquil scenes were rejected.  When the artist returned to his easel, frustrated at his work being rejected, his prayer prompted the design of a riveting scene.  On a dark and stormy night, water gushes in torrents over rocky ledges…as a mother bird calmly sits upon her nest tucked under a ledge, protecting her young while the elements rage. Now that’s peace!  https://jackdawsontour.com/peace-in-the-midst-of-the-storm/

    Studying that painting, I also notice a profile of Christ in the rock formations and a cross created by rocky fissures.  Considering how our heavenly Father gently guides and protects us during the storms of life, however fierce they may be, it’s His canopy of love and peace that shelters and comforts us.  And I can be at peace when life is in turmoil knowing that “[He] will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in [Him].  Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord…is the Rock eternal.” (Isaiah 26:3-4 NIV) 
    Peace
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    There is a peace in the depth of my soul
    A joy that comes from Your love alone,
    For in the midst of storms and trials
    My heart is steady when focused on You.
    ~
    But peace is fleeting when I fail to heed
    When I take charge and grasp hold the wheel.
    I need to trust that Your ways are best
    When through the darkness I walk gripped by fear.
    ~
    For as the waves relentlessly toss
    Your face I’ll seek for comforting solace.
    I know You’ll guide me safely to shore
    As Your light shines down to brighten my way.
    ~
    For what is peace without Your mercy
    The hand held out to offer refuge,
    An ear to hear burdens of the heart
    Arms to envelope the soul in turmoil?
    ~
    Grace beyond measure You pour over me
    Yet I don’t deserve riches of mercy.
    Prone to wander, to follow my will
    Still You pursue to seek and to save.
    ~
    There is contentment just in the knowing
    Whenever I feel the world crashing down,
    You call my name and draw me with joy
    Out of the chaos and into Your arms.
    ~
    And like a fresh rain washing over me now
    Peace like the sun envelopes my soul,
    It covers my life with joy unreserved
    Tranquility found as I rest in You.
    ~~
     
  5. Linda Roorda
    “Young love, first love, filled with true devotion…”*  Glimpses of memories linger from sixth grade at Passaic Christian School of a former farm girl whose family had moved back to city life in Clifton, NJ.  It was where life began for her, and where her father’s Dutch immigrant family had lived since the Great Depression era of the 1930s.  She was tall at 5’7” in sixth grade, tallest student in the school actually.  With a natural springing high jump, long arms and legs, she had the strength to punch the ball hard to beat everyone at tetherball – including one classmate in particular.  Poor guy!  He simply gave up and walked away the last time they played.  But she must have made an impression.  After making their silhouettes in art class, he brushed the nose of his next to hers saying, “Eskimo kiss!”, and I was smitten. 
    Getting out of his seat for an inquisitive peek out the window one day, our teacher said, “Curiosity killed the cat!” to which he immediately replied, “But satisfaction brought it back!”  I loved his quick wit.  Once a week that spring until school was out for the summer, he walked me home after classes.  One time, he stopped, moved a cinderblock away from a garage door, and positioned me next to it as he stepped up.  Looking down, he exclaimed, “There! Now I’m taller than you!” 
    We carry many special memories in our hearts as we travel through life. And, as we glimpse back through the window of time and recall days of long ago, fragments return of treasured days. We’ve held onto dreams and hopes, we’ve made mistakes that we regret, apologized, moved on and matured. Yet, first love remains with its sweet simplicity and priceless memories… a tender young love.
    In 2018, my mother’s first beau sought her out.  After visiting her nephews on their farm, he was able to contact me and arrange a visit to see my Mom at the nursing home.  Telling me she had left an impact on his life, he made amends.  They had a wonderful visit, a special time of reminiscing.  All those years ago, they’d met at the county fair in Cobleskill, NY.  As farmers, they had a similar background, living not too many miles apart.  They kept steady company through the end of high school and a bit beyond for about 3-4 years.  He loved racing on the local track, known for a fast reputation which broke their relationship.
    Another young man, Ralph, pursued a beautiful girl with a penchant for fast driving... and he asked a friend who that young woman was as she sped by, actually late for work!  Soon she knew this farmer was “the right one” for her as they spent many a Saturday night square dancing, getting to know each other better.  The following spring, they married.  And 11 months later, I arrived as the oldest of six. 

    In seasons of time, young love made itself known once again.  When a tall, dark and handsome young man saw her for the first time, it was love at first sight for him.  Still, it took over a year for Ed to gather the courage to ask that pretty girl out on a date.  And I fell in love with this gentle, caring, humorous, tall farmer with a strong faith in God who was determined to do as much as possible despite his vision limitations. He told me that if I ever felt sorry for him, then I didn’t belong at his side. And we shared our hearts and filled our life with young love and true devotion… meant to last a lifetime, shortened by the limitations of life that no one can predict.
    Yet, there is a love far deeper than any of our tender loves… a love that lasts far longer than our earthly loves… because our “God loves us deeply [and] is full of mercy” (Ephesians 2:4)  Our God has tenderly loved us from before we even were born…words which Israel’s King David penned that our heartfelt praise can echo: “You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made… My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (Psalm 139: 13-16)  No matter our past, no matter the cost, our “God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. (John 3:16)
    Happy Valentine’s Day!! 
    A Tender Young Love…
    Linda A. Roorda
    A tender young love from days long ago
    Held in the heart as memories smile
    From the depth of care to the pain of loss
    Felt in the hands together held tight.
    ~
    A tender young love never forgotten
    Still tucked away in pages of yore,
    Reflecting upon the days of old
    That gently carry the heart’s awaking.
    ~
    A tender young love of silent reverie
    The sheltered moments in passage of time
    That pause to reflect on life together
    Sharing sweet dreams and heart-felt caring.
    ~
    A tender young love that sparkled within
    And lit the world with eyes shining bright
    A focused adoration so well understood
    But lost too soon to the whims of life.
    ~
    A tender young love to always treasure
    As I hold your heart in memories dear
    Your wit and wisdom with hearty laughter
    A voice from the past where our dreams come true.
    ~~
    “Young Love” sung by Sonny James, written by Ric Cartey, Carole Joyner.
     
     
  6. Linda Roorda

    What If...

    By Linda Roorda,

    This story is very close to my heart for someone I dearly loved would not have lived among us if the recommended abortion had taken place. January is Sanctity of Human Life month, and today is Sanctity of Human Life Sunday. First designated as such in 1984 by President Ronald Reagan, I think it extends to far more than the banner of the anti-abortion movement. It’s not a political issue, but one that affects our moral fiber. Sanctity of life issues reflect on each one of us because all life is sacred.
    With the 51st anniversary of January 1973’s Roe v. Wade abortion decision, I again share the story of a mother-to-be who already had two healthy children, a girl and a boy. This time, she was very ill with her pregnancy. Vomiting frequently, she steadily grew worse. Struggling to carry this new little life, and against her wishes, her physician sought to obtain a “medically necessary” abortion. At that time, three doctors needed to sign documentation indicating the mother’s life was in jeopardy if the pregnancy continued. However, no third physician would put his name on the line to allow such an abortion.
    A Cesarean section was performed at 7 months’ gestation or risk losing both mother and baby. To the surprise of all, twin boys were born! After surgery, the mom nearly died from the effects of toxemia (i.e. now called pre-eclampsia), the result of high blood pressure and the demands on her body by not one but two precious little ones.
    With prayer and great medical care, she pulled through; but her little boys struggled. The largest twin at 5 lbs succumbed to an enlarged heart and died at two days of life, while the smallest little boy at 3-1/2 lbs was placed in an incubator for a month. This tiny preemie survived, albeit with health problems and very limited vision in only one viable eye.
    How do I know? The littlest twin was my husband, Edward. His blindness was caused by the incubator's high oxygen content. But we all praise God that no third physician was willing to sign papers to permit an abortion which would have taken the lives of these precious boys.
    Prior to1952, major medical centers knew that high levels of oxygen in incubators led to infant retinal damage and blindness. But physicians at the tiny hospital in Goshen, NY, a small farming community, were not aware of these findings. As a toddler, Ed was taken to Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center in New York City. There, his parents were told he was among about 2000 children seen in their clinic, one of seven children who had some remnants of remaining vision! The optic nerve to his right eye was damaged, causing total blindness, while his left eye had limited vision, 20/200 with correction.
    Ed got his first pair of glasses at age 2. Three years later, with a new pair of stronger lenses, he stared out the car watching the world go by. Suddenly, he shouted, “I see them!” Kids were sledding down a nearby hill; though blurry, it was something he’d never seen before. Whenever his mom told this story, it always brought tears to her eyes. That one sentence was worth every cent of his care, she’d say.
    As Ed grew up, he was determined to do nearly everything everyone else could do. It drove him forward. Totally blind since 1998, we considered it a blessing he had limited vision for as long as he did. The renowned musician, Stevie Wonder, has the same condition. Then called retrolental fibroplasia (RLF), it is caused by high levels of oxygen in the incubator which contributes to abnormal blood vessel growth, damaging the retina. Now termed retinopathy of prematurity (ROP), it still affects a small percentage of premature infants.
    Did you know that at about 22 days, the pre-born infant’s heart begins beating. By 12 weeks, she is about 2 inches long, fully formed and recognizably human, able to feel pain. By 14-16 weeks, fully formed, fingers and toes have fingerprints and nail; he sees and blinks, inhales and exhales amniotic fluid, kicks, sucks a thumb, and sleeps regularly. At full-term, 39 weeks, your baby is ready for life outside the nurturing womb. Even Ed's retired dermatologist, a devout Catholic, always wore the tiny "Precious Feet" pin on her lapel as a testament to her beliefs, pleased we knew what it meant. Look up the pin name online for a physician's story behind this pin.
    Since Roe v. Wade was passed January 22, 1973 allowing for legal abortions in America, the numbers have been staggering with more than 63 million abortions. It must also be taken into account that some data is voluntarily reported while other American states have not provided details in a number of years, and I read there are many uncounted abortions. Yet with legal abortions available, the number of deaths from illegal abortions has declined.
    For anyone who has aborted their baby for whatever reason, I pray she finds peace in the loving arms of God’s forgiveness. But my prayer also is that each precious little life be allowed to reach his or her full potential and life purpose, regardless of disabilities. The current discussions of “quality of life” and euthanasia go beyond a personal decision, with government or insurance companies’ input supposedly for the “good of society.”
    There are many difficult questions on both sides of the aisle. But I’ve long pondered, if we care so much for those in the animal world, and carefully protect and preserve many other species from decimation, how much more precious is each and every human life – especially since we are made in the image of God? How can we destroy human life through abortion, i.e. murder in utero, simply because the pregnancy doesn’t fit our plans or the pre-born baby is “defective”? Do we expect abortion because some pre-born infants are imperfect, and will become a supposed burden to society? Do we justify abortion because some parents are unprepared to care for their children, abuse them, or kill them?
    Even in our imperfect society, there is a viable alternative – adoption. However, with more stringent laws passed to prevent human trafficking, adoption has become an increasingly difficult option.
    Anyone who has miscarried an unborn child understands the pain of loss. I miscarried our first little girl, Heather, at six months, with autopsy showing twins who did not separate properly, followed by a second miscarriage a year later. My cousin, Randy, intellectually challenged, grew up a kind and loving young man thanks to the love of his widowed mother. Despite his disabilities, he knew everything there was to know about his baseball team and the players!
    My step-sister’s son, Cory, was born with DeGeorge syndrome due to a missing part of chromosome 22. Also having apraxia (an inability to perform certain purposeful actions due to brain damage) and diabetes, he developed cirrhosis a year before passing away Easter Sunday 2015. Like many with disabilities, Cory had an infectious joy for life and an unconditional love for everyone he came in contact with, thanks to his mother, Janet.
    Life is sacred, and each pre-born child is a unique gift from God just waiting for us to open our arms and heart to this new little life.

    As David wrote in Psalm 139:13-16: “…you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”
    What If…
    by Linda A. Roorda
    What if…
    There was no God?
    Would we know how to love
    Or, would hate rule our lives?
    Would we each decide
    What rules to live by
    Changing like the wind
    As our wants wrest control?
    ~
    Would we violate
    The sanctity of life
    Simply because
    Life would not matter
    Except for the worth
    We each determine
    How best we can serve
    Our selfish ambition?
    ~
    And yet, what if…
    Each life among us
    Was somehow meant
    To open the eyes
    Of our heart and soul
    To a higher purpose
    To show the value
    Inherent within
    No matter the wrapping?
    ~
    And what if…
    We move toward each other
    And then extend
    Our outstretched hands?
    Would that not show
    Great caring and love
    From within the depths
    Of a heart overflowing?
    ~
    For is that not like
    The hands of One
    Extended outward
    Nailed upon a beam
    To show us how
    We too should love
    And sacrifice self
    Our gift to each other?
    ~
    Because… what if…
    There is a God
    Who really cares
    And Who truly loves
    Each for who we are
    For His life was a gift
    That we would know
    Just how we should love?
    ~~
    Linda writes from her home in Spencer. 
  7. Linda Roorda

    G.R.A.C.E.

    By Linda Roorda,

    G.R.A.C.E. - This acrostic idea did not originate with me; unfortunately, I don’t even remember who I heard preaching about it… nor do I remember all of his words intended for the title of G.R.A.C.E.  In any event, this is my original poem and thoughts, having heard only the tail end of that sermon.
    Grace can be defined as an elegance, a refined charm.  Speaking of a practiced ballerina, or champion ice skater, brings to mind a picture of elegance and graceful beauty in motion.  But grace can also be defined as unmerited favor, like the rescue or redemption from evil.  And thus, the word grace brings into focus the unmerited gift of salvation. As another acrostic online puts it - “God’s Riches At Christ’s Expense.” How fitting.
    Grace is a gift… something we don’t deserve and we can’t do for ourselves.  It’s a reaching out by God toward us, especially as He displays His love for us through His Son.  Who would ever think that God would send His beloved Son to earth from His heavenly home of glory?  Who would think that He would allow His Son to be born into this world of woe, a world of evil?  Who would think that this man, who claimed to be the Son of God, would grow up to live among us… that He would not live an easy life of posh luxury because of who He was… that in living with us He would be tempted as we are, face ridicule and mocking for His love of sinners, the downtrodden, the untouchables – and that He would heal them, and tell them their sins were forgiven?  And who would have expected that our great God would allow His Son, His one and only beloved Son, to die a horrendous and painful death on a Roman cross for sins that he didn’t even commit?  
     Just for us?  For the sins of each one of us?  Why?  Because of His great love for us!  And we don’t even have to satisfy a list of requirements to please our God for Him to love us!  So, how do we fathom such a priceless gift… if not for eyes of grace.  In Romans 3:23 we are told that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God…”  Yet, “…it is by grace you have been saved, through faith - and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God - not by works, so that no one can boast."  (Ephesians 2:8-9)
    And out of a thankful heart for such grace and mercy comes our grateful attitude.  For in our day-to-day relationship with our Lord, we long to please Him, grow closer to Him, and honor Him in all that we do.  And therein lies our grateful relationship with an attitude of confession and endurance... 
     
    G.R.A.C.E.
    A Grateful Relationship with an Attitude 
    of Confession and Endurance
    Linda A. Roorda
     
    With grateful praise I sing of Your grace
    For who am I that You would claim me.
    Yet love me You do, knowing my frailties
    And stubborn penchant to go my own way.
     
    My relationship grows by walking with You
    Though there are times I take You for granted.
    I hear Your voice, but don’t always heed
    Draw me still closer as love grows stronger.
     
    My attitude then will change over time
    As wisdom grows to honor Your word,
    That like a mirror Your Grace I’ll reflect
    For all to see Your love shining through Me.
     
    May I confess the wrongs I have done
    Let me not keep secrets hid away.
    Though You know all, You ask that I come
    Seeking Your face and forgiving grace.
     
    Grant me endurance and strength for the trials
    Knowing You light the path that I walk,
    And should I stumble draw me near to You
    As You wait with grace and mercy’s sweet peace.
     
     
    Linda Roorda writes from her home in Spencer. 
  8. Linda Roorda

    You Quiet My Soul

    By Linda Roorda,

    Saturday morning while doing some garden cleanup, admiring the beauty of the autumn leaf carpet, I listened to the quiet… broken only by low-lying geese honking their conversation, and several birds trilling their beautiful summer songs.  It was so calm and peaceful, without busy road commotion… the call of nature, God’s creation.
    “Be still and know that I am God…”  (Psalm 46:10a)  Quiet your heart… slow down your pace… put aside your frets and worries… and listen as God speaks to your heart… thoughts to remind myself… as I listen to hear His voice.
    Perhaps you’ve heard about comparisons regarding which voice we pay closer attention to… that which we feed… that which brings comfort or worry, encouragement or discouragement, a calming stillness or urgent rushing, the voice of reassurance or fright.  You get the idea.  With maturity, we know the value of discerning which voice we should listen to in any given difficult situation.  While the stronger voice often brings turmoil within our heart, there is another voice which calms and quiets our soul with peace.
    One of my favorite life verses has been, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.”  (Proverbs 3:5-6)  Yet, admittedly, I fall short and tend to fret.  For isn’t it so like us to be drawn away into a false sense of security by thinking something isn’t as bad as it really is?  And I can be so easily overwhelmed by fretting on the day’s trials, or projecting trouble into something that hasn’t even happened yet!
    Sometimes it takes moving away from the hustle and bustle of the world to hear God’s wisdom quietly speak to our heart.  Once warm weather arrives, I enjoy the peace and tranquility of my two sitting gardens.  I love to listen to the gentle sounds of nature all around.  And though what surrounds me was once my husband’s family farm but is now a golf course, the tranquility is refreshing to the soul, especially on those days when I can hear the gentle gurgling of the creek.
    In the relative quiet and solitude, I sit and pray… remembering those in need, or rejoicing with those who’ve been blessed in some special way.  I thank the Lord for my own many blessings, too often taken for granted, especially my late husband and family. And express to Him my needs and concerns.  I thank Him as I listen to the birds sing and chatter, as I watch them building nests and later feeding their young.  I observe and appreciate new blooms as the gardens change day by day.  I watch the creek as it serenely flows west and south.  And my stress is put into perspective.
    For God is a God of peace, not of contradiction and worry. In John 16:33, Jesus told His disciples the night before He was arrested that “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world.”  Our Lord brings comfort and contentment to our soul amidst the din and confusion of the world.  And when we come to Him in confession, He washes us clean by His loving mercy and grace. 
    As our advocate then, our Lord gently reminds us how much He loves and cares for us... as He covers us with “the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, [which] will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about such things.  Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me – put it into practice.  And the God of peace will be with you.”  (Philippians 4:7-9)
    May I be still and know that You are God... as You quiet my soul… 
    You Quiet My Soul
    Linda A. Roorda 
    You quiet my soul while the world rushes on
    I lean on Your word when all around fails
    A strength You give in response to my pleas
    To calm and still my heart in chaos.
     
    When voices condemn in the silence of night
    My heart shrinks down in bitter defeat
    Though awash in fear Your solace I seek
    For comfort You bring when worries stir fears.
     
    Peace within turmoil You alone bestow
    With blessings poured out from Your generous heart
    For Your word directs when I seek Your throne
    As mercy and grace with love set me free.
     
    Your arms wrap tightly to embrace my life
    Encouragement’s light on a pathway dim
    To lead me on and gently reassure
    You’ll never leave... You’ll never forsake.
     
    So quiet my soul while the world rushes on
    Bless me with joy when Your face I seek
    That love may gently contentment’s praise sing
    As you calm and still my heart with Your peace.
    ~~
  9. Linda Roorda

    Contentment Flows

    By Linda Roorda,

    Are we contented yet?  It’s just an accumulation of trinkets and stuff, an assemblage that needs to be fed every so often.  I should know, because I have my own collections from the past.  But, in the long run, none of it will go with us when life’s earthly journey comes to an end.  We should be content with what we have and who we are… not seeking to satisfy our appetite with more of everything life has to offer.  Be at peace, rest in who we are meant to be… don’t compare or judge ourselves to others.
    In contemplating that accumulation, I’m reminded of a song by the rock group U2 from their Joshua Tree album – “But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for…”  A fitting comment to an endless search for just the right thing.  Theodore Roosevelt was even noted to say, “Comparison is the thief of joy.”  How truthful and fitting both sentiments are for all of us at times!
    So, what is contentment?  How do we find it?  And when is enough… enough?  The dictionary on my desk tells me contentment is where the heart is at… perhaps rested and satisfied, at peace, with a quiet and calm joy.  Contentment is an attitude of the heart… being thankful and grateful for what we do have, serving others out of a joyful appreciation.  Because, believe me, contentment is not found in eyeing what someone else has… of being jealous or envious of what’s on their plate… as if we didn’t have enough to take care of on our own.
    In Philippians 4:11, the Apostle Paul wrote “…for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.”  Hmm… so how could he say that with all the many difficulties, beatings, persecutions, opposition to his preaching, false accusations, weariness, hunger, imprisonments and more that he faced? 
    There’s an old hymn I’ve loved since childhood, coming to treasure the words even more after our daughter, Jennifer, died.  Horatio G. Spafford wrote a poem put to music after he and his wife lost their 2-year-old son, their property in the 1871 Great Chicago fire, suffered further economic losses in 1873, and then lost their remaining four daughters at sea - “When peace like a river, attendeth my way. When sorrows like sea billows roll.  Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well, with my soul…” …well-known words of comfort.  Having three more children, losing a second son at age 4 in 1880, he resettled in Jerusalem with his wife and two daughters.  There, he founded the American Colony, a Christian group providing humanitarian relief to the disadvantaged of any faith.  He’d learned the secret to contentment.
    The Apostle Paul, writing to a dear young friend, stated in I Timothy 6:6-7: “But godliness with contentment is great gain.  For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it.”  Don’t get me wrong… it’s not about denying ourselves the ability to succeed in our careers or home life and to have nice things.  Instead, it’s all about the depth of our heart, our faith, our attitude… the intangibles… the spiritual treasures.
    Life really isn’t about gathering as much stuff as we can hoard for ourselves.  Life was never meant to be like that old saying attributed to Malcolm Forbes, “He who dies with the most toys wins.”   It’s not about God ensuring that we have a wealthy and happy life.  It’s not His plan to make us “rich and famous” in a life of ease without pain.  Instead, contentment is a learning process… learning to be who God intends us to be… learning to be gracious and loving when our life is full of pain, disappointments, illness and setbacks.  And, in learning to give thanks and appreciate what we do have, we find ourselves gladly serving others around us with a heart of joy and peace… as contentment flows from our soul. 
    Contentment Flows
    Linda A. Roorda
    Contentment flows from the soul at peace
    Not easily grasped though deeply pondered
    How quick am I to follow my will
    While yielding to trust finds Your truth with grace…
    ~
    Grace to understand blessings of mercy
    In wending my way through waves of turmoil
    Seeking shelter from storms that threaten
    As Your calming spirit brings showers of peace…
    ~
    Peace that envelopes my very being
    From the depth of stress that oft overwhelms
    Which tugs and strains the restful repose
    To humility meek with a heart of joy…
    ~
    Joy that shines bright in the face of woe
    Amidst the sadness of sorrow’s dark tears
    As rays of hope through shutters burst forth
    To flood my soul with serenity’s rest…
    ~
    Serenity’s rest within the world’s din
    Marks peace of mind when focused on You
    Grant me, I pray, a heart full of love
    One filled with thanks as contentment flows…
    ~~
  10. 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.
  11. Linda Roorda
    I saw the sun shining bright for a while yesterday as it peeked from behind those clouds!  That prompted me to take a brisk walk with the wind at my back helping my pace… the same wind and sun in my face on the way home, making me lean into the wind to keep my balance a few times.  How well I remember taking walks with Ed on days like that where he’d hold tightly onto my arm to keep me from blowing away, as he put it!  He kept me from getting blown to and fro by those changing brisk winds… something our Lord does for us when we hold onto His hand, allowing Him to lead and guide us thru stormy days. Which prompted this previously unpublished blog for today.  May you know the Lord’s guiding hand every day on your journey thru life. 
    Sometimes we feel like we have to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders, and we fret and worry about everything! I know… because that description fits me at times. It’s one of my struggles – learning to release my cares to the One who knows and allows what it is I face each and every day.  He can handle all that comes my way… if I would just let Him… and He can lift me up from all the mistakes I manage to make.

    But I’m going to admit it’s not easy to “let go and let God” as the popular saying goes.  Sometimes it seems that if I do the worrying, then somehow that will help make the situation better.  Nah!  Don’t count on it!  Actually, it seems like it often tends to make the situation worse as I become confused and lost in the tangled web of thoughts.
    So, you’d think I’d have learned to always release my burdened heart and let God take over while I move forward in peace.  After all, God is right there, ready to listen, ready to carry me, and ready to deal with whatever is stressing me out.  He can fix it all… without my help!  And He has done just that… blessing me richly in so many ways, so many times… drawing me closer to His side, filling me with a calm and quiet peace. Yet, somehow it seems to be a lesson that I must learn and relearn. 
    All of which reminds me of Matthew 6:25-33 (NIV), part of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount.  These verses have often come to mind over the years.  “Therefore, I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear…  Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.  Are you not much more valuable than they?  Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?  And why do you worry about clothes?  See how the lilies of the field grow.  They do not labor or spin.  Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.  If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? …But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.  Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.  Each day has enough trouble of its own.”  
    And as I heed these precious words from our Lord himself, reaching out to Him in prayer, He’ll guide me each step of the way… just as He’ll guide you through whatever you might face on this journey of life!
    His Guiding Hand
    Linda A. Roorda
    Lord, I give You my all
    As I relinquish
    That which my heart
    Has always held tight.
    You know that I struggle
    Thinking I can control
    All of life’s burdens
    Which tumble my way.
    You hear desperate pleas
    As I try to wait,
    While Your very best answers
    Conform my will to Yours.
    At times I struggle
    Alone with my thoughts
    In a mind doing battle
    Within my seeking soul.
    Where is my God, my protective Shield?
    How can life be so raw?
    Why does pain and confusion
    Keep knocking upon the door?
    And yet… He is always here!
    In a whisper soft … or a vision serene
    Enveloping my heart
    With His perfect love and grace.
    For He directs me on the stony path
    And plants my feet securely
    Upon a foundation solid and firm
    Guiding each step along the way.
    As rough this road at times can be,
    He gently carries me safely home,
    When oft in prayer I turn to seek
    His loving, guiding, and merciful hand.
    ~~
    Linda Roorda writes from her home in Spencer.
  12. Linda Roorda

    The Artist's Eye

    By 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.
    ~~
  13. Linda Roorda
    August 29, 1779, 244 years ago, a battle near present-day Elmira in Chemung County, New York was significant to the Revolutionary War.  It played a crucial, though seldom discussed, key role.  It was not a bloody battle, but it was instrumental in breaking up the power of the Six Nation Iroquois Federation, thus allowing westward frontier expansion for colonials.
    For centuries the Iroquois Nation included the Mohawk, Oneida, Onondaga, Cayuga and Seneca tribes.  In the early 18th century, the Tuscarora joined their ranks by heading north from what is now North Carolina.  As the Revolutionary War commenced, the Iroquois Federation tried to stay neutral.  In time, however, most of the Iroquois gave their loyalty to Great Britain while the Oneida and Tuscarora tribes chose to align themselves with the colonists who were seeking independence from the British Crown. 
    Under Thayendanegea (commonly known as Joseph Brant), the Native Americans (referred to by the Colonists as Indians) joined forces with Loyalists and attacked western frontier settlements just as they did those further east in the Mohawk and Schoharie Valleys.  They carried away prisoners, ruthlessly murdered and scalped adults as well as children, and burned and destroyed the crops and homes of Patriots in both outlying and established settlements.  And a cycle of retaliation ensued.
    I am not here to open a discussion or pass judgment on the negatives and positives of the why, wherefore, and how regarding what was or was not done 200 to 400 years ago in our nation’s history by either the Native Americans or the white European settlers.  May I say, however, that conflict and conquering of other lands and peoples has been taking place since world history began.  Their times are not ours.  
    The Chemung River valley basin and its surrounding hills near present-day Elmira were home to Indians for centuries, but by the 18th century the Iroquois were in consistent residence.  Here they had ample room to grow crops along the fertile river bottoms.  Easy access to virgin forests filled with wildlife supplied them with meat and valuable pelts as they hunted and trapped.  The rivers and streams provided them not only with an ideal means of transportation, but an abundance of fish.  A healthy way of life for sure!
    Atop a steep hill which overlooks the Chemung River and the Southern Tier Expressway (formerly State Route 17, now Interstate 86) is the Newtown Battlefield Reservation State Park, once part of the Iroquois’ territory.  The 100th anniversary of the Battle of Newtown was celebrated August 29, 1879 with the dedication of a monument on top of Sullivan Hill.  The area was designated a national historic landmark in 1965, with battle re-enactments held annually in the park.  I’ve wanted to observe the re-enactments to learn more about the battle, but have never managed to make my way there.  So, come along with me and we’ll learn together what took place all those years ago.
    To understand what took place, though, is to know the precipitating chain of events which led to the small but important battle at Newtown.  In the early days of the Revolutionary War, both the British and the Colonists attempted to gain the loyalty of the Native Americans as noted above.  The ultimate decisions caused division among the great Iroquois Federation when the tribes split their loyalties.  The famed Iroquois’ leader, Joseph Brant, worked closely with the British stationed at Fort Niagara.  He frequently took to the warpath against the white settlers on the western frontier, as well as back east in the Mohawk and Schoharie Valleys.  But the question begs to be asked, why?
    Along with the vital convergence of the Hudson and Mohawk rivers, the greater Albany region was of key importance in the Revolutionary War to both sides.  Schoharie County, part of western Albany County prior to 1795, has historically been considered “The Breadbasket of the Revolution.”  With its fertile lands, the area produced an abundance of crops which kept Washington’s armies fed.  Thus, the area’s assets, the rivers for transportation and the productive land, became a root of contention among the Loyalists and Tories, or supporters of the Crown.  Their loyalties festered and erupted into violence and destruction against their neighbors and kin, the supporters of independence. 
    In the early stages of war, the Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army, General George Washington, preferred that these vulnerable settlements use their own local militia to guard and protect against attack.  And repeated attacking was the game plan of marauding bands of Indian-Loyalist troops.  Often, “forts” of refuge for Patriots were established to escape these bands of Indians and Tories.  Among such forts is the old Dutch Reformed Church, now called the Old Stone Fort, home to the Schoharie County Historical Society in the town of Schoharie, New York which I have visited several times to research my maternal family.  Its stone walls still exhibit a hole from the direct hit of a cannonball. 
    In May 1778, Joseph Brant set out on raids in Cobleskill (near my mother’s home town of Carlisle) and the neighboring frontier settlements.  Soon after, on July 3, 1778, Col. John Butler and his Loyalist Rangers joined Chief Sayenqueraghta’s Seneca and Cayuga Indians in an attack of Pennsylvania’s Wyoming Valley.  Settlers from Connecticut had established homes and farms along the Susquehanna River in this fertile valley, an area which also produced an abundance of grain for the Continental armies.  Here, at Forty Fort (a few miles north of the fort at Wilkes-Barre, but on the opposite side of the Susquehanna River), about 360 local Patriot militiamen were killed with over 200 scalped in the Wyoming Massacre.
    That September, Patriot soldiers under Col. Thomas Hartley took their wrath out on the Seneca, Delaware and Mingo Indians by burning and destroying nearly a dozen towns on the Susquehanna, including Tioga (now Athens, PA) and Chemung (NY).  At the same time, Butler’s Rangers destroyed Patriot houses and crops on the German Flats up north in the Mohawk Valley.  This brought the Patriot militia back out to attack and destroy the Indian settlements at Unadilla and Onaquaga (now Windsor) along the Susquehanna River in New York.
    To read William E. Roscoe’s “History of Schoharie County, New York” and other related books about the killing and destruction throughout the region is to gain a better understanding of the larger picture.  Indians were known among settlers, including my ancestors; some were liked, others were feared.  The war cast a pall of deadly fear among residents of the Mohawk and Schoharie Valleys - one’s loyalties were usually known, whether for the Crown or Independence, and often one’s life depended upon that knowledge.  Neighbor was pitted against neighbor, even against one’s own blood relatives.  My various direct ancestral families were Patriots with one Loyalist, while some extended relatives were killed or taken captive by the Indian-Loyalist bands.   I have also dined with friends (Cheryl being a distant maternal cousin) at the George Mann Tory Tavern north of the town of Schoharie, beautifully restored to its colonial elegance, Mann having been a well-known supporter of the Crown during the War.
    In November 1778, Butler’s Rangers, 320 Iroquois under Chief Cornplanter, and 30 Indians under Joseph Brant attacked Cherry Valley, northeast of Oneonta in Otsego County and northwest of Cobleskill in Schoharie County.  Encompassing the fort to ensure soldiers could not escape, the Indians began their massacre.  They killed and scalped 30 or 32 residents (numbers vary in reports, mostly women and children) and 16 soldiers.  An additional 70 to 80 adults and children (again, numbers vary in reports) were taken captive into Indian territory after the homes and crops had been completely destroyed. More retributions followed from both sides with further loss of life, but the Cherry Valley Massacre was a devastating blow.  Something had to be done to stop this slaughter of innocents.  (Cherry Valley lies south of the Mohawk River and east of the northern end of Lake Otsego.  Unadilla is southwest, near where the Unadilla River joins the Susquehanna.  Onaquaga lies a short way further southwest on the Susquehanna.)
    Gen. Washington was now convinced of the need for an offensive campaign against the British, Loyalists and Indians who held Forts Niagara and Oswego.  Settling on Maj. Gen. John Sullivan as commanding officer, Washington wrote Sullivan on May 31, 1779:  “The Expedition you are appointed to command is to be directed against the hostile tribes of the Six Nations of the Indians, with their associates and adherents.  The immediate objects are the total destruction and devastation of their settlements, and the capture of as many prisoners…as possible.  It will be essential to ruin their crops now in the ground and prevent their planting more…  You will not by any means listen to any overture of peace before the total ruinment of their settlements is effected.  Our future security will be in their inability to injure us…”   Essentially, a “scorched earth” policy was to be executed.
    Thus, in August 1779, Washington sent Major General John Sullivan and his troops up the Susquehanna River from Easton, PA while Brigadier General James Clinton and his army traveled southwest from Canajoharie in New York’s Mohawk Valley down to Otsego Lake and to the Susquehanna River flowing west.  Known as the Sullivan-Clinton Campaign (or, Expedition), Washington’s goal was to destroy Indian ties to the British by decimating the Indian towns and supplies of corn, vegetables and fruit at their source.  It was this produce which not only kept the Indians well fed, but also the British army. Sullivan and Clinton were ordered to then continue northward with their armies to capture the British forts at Oswego and Niagara in order to disrupt their military hold on the region.
    On August 22, 1779, Sullivan and Clinton met at Tioga Point along the Susquehanna River (present-day Athens, PA).  With combined troops numbering at least 2300 to under 4000 (accounts I’ve read vary as to numbers), they traveled northwest along the Chemung River.  On Sunday, August 29, advance scouts found hidden horseshoe-shaped breastworks/earthworks about half a mile long.  Roughly 150 feet up the southeast slope of a mile-long hill (now called Sullivan Hill), these earthworks were within shooting range of the road and near the Iroquois village of New Town.  From this vantage point, those approaching the hill could be observed or ambushed before reaching the Cayuga Indian towns of Nanticoke and Kanawaholla where Elmira was later established. 
    Newtown Battlefield military placements discussed here.
    At that time, the slope was densely covered in virgin forest.  At its base and to the east was a marsh, Hoffman Hollow, thickly covered with grass and trees.  Baldwin Creek ran through this marsh and emptied into the Chemung River (called the Cayuga Branch by Sullivan in his reports).  My online search of Google maps shows what is likely Baldwin Creek to be, surprisingly and confusingly, labeled the Chemung River as it flows under I-86 and empties into the main Chemung River.  What was then called Baldwin Creek runs near to and west of Lowman Road within the area still labeled Hoffman Hollow.
    Manning the breastworks were 15 British troops, 250 Loyalist Rangers, and about 1000 Indian warriors.  The initial intent of Loyalist Major John Butler and the Iroquois chief, Joseph Brant, was to harass the Continental troops.  Sayenqueraghta and other Indian chiefs rejected that proposal, favoring instead attempts at luring the Continentals into a full ambush. 
    One of the forward scouts for the Sullivan-Clinton Campaign, Lt. Col. Adam Hubley, recorded the discovery of these breastworks that morning.  “On our arrival near the ridge on which the action of the 13th commenced with light corps, our van discovered several Indians in front, one of whom gave them fire, and then fled.  We continued…[and] the rifle corps entered a low marshy ground which seemed well calculated for forming ambuscades; they advanced with great precaution, when several more Indians were discovered who fired and retreated.  Major Parr… judged it rather dangerous to proceed any further without taking every caution to reconnoiter almost every foot of ground, and ordered one of his men to mount a tree and see if he could make any discoveries; … [and] he discovered the movements of several Indians… as they were laying behind an extensive breastwork. “ 
    Learning of the breastworks’ locations through Lt. Col. Hubley’s findings, the Continental commanders knew there was an attempt in the offing to lure them into an ambush.  Moving cautiously forward into position, an initial attack on the breastworks came late that morning when Brig. Gen. Edward Hand put his infantry on the far side of Baldwin Creek.  From that position, they could easily fire into the enemy’s defense works. 
    In early afternoon, Gen. Sullivan met with commanders under him to plan their next move.  Essentially, Sullivan’s men were to attack the fortified works of the enemy from the south and east with artillery and troops, while the men under Gen. Clinton were to attack the fortifications from the northeast. 
    The 1st New Jersey Regiment under Col. Matthias Ogden, detached from Brig. Gen. William Maxwell’s New Jersey Brigade, slipped south and west along the Chemung River to come around to the right and rear of the Loyalist-Indian forces.  The New York Brigade under Brig. Gen. James Clinton and New Hampshire’s Brigade under Brig. Gen. Enoch Poor marched northwest through Hoffman Hollow toward the hill’s eastern slope where they turned to flank the British left.  At the same time, Sullivan’s Pennsylvania and New Jersey brigades stayed behind with the remaining light infantry companies.  Brig. Gen. William Maxwell’s 1st Brigade was to take aim at the center or face of the British breastworks.
    Ten guns from the light infantry were placed near the road, ready to open fire on the defense positions and the land in between.  Once these guns began firing, Gen. Hand was to fake an attack on the center of the horseshoe breastworks while the brigades from the east were to turn inward, take the summit of the hill, and then turn to attack the left and rear section of the breastworks.  All together, with Maxwell’s artillery support, the goal of their three-pronged attack was to surround the defenseworks on the hill in a complete crossfire.
    It was a detailed plan which was put together quickly, but one in which the troops readily proved their mettle.  The brief battle resulted in a significant defeat for the British Loyalists and Iroquois; however, it could have been much worse for them had it not been for unavoidable delays by the Sullivan-Clinton armies.  In maneuvering through the swampy ground of Hoffman Hollow, Poor’s and Clinton’s troops got bogged down.  This put the timing of the plan off, and caused enough of a delay that the Loyalist-Iroquois men escaped full encirclement and thus slipped the noose of an utter and complete defeat. 
    In the meantime, Lt. Col. George Reid’s 2nd New Hampshire Regiment was to position itself to the left of Poor’s troops.  Unfortunately, with Reid’s men climbing the steepest part of the slope, they lagged behind the rest of the troops.  Joseph Brant took advantage of this opportunity to lead a counterattack with fellow Indians, almost completely encircling Reid.  Seeing this, the next regiment in line, the 3rd New Hampshire Regiment under Lt. Col. Henry Dearborn, turned around abruptly to fire into the enemy who were positioned downhill.  Clinton and his brigade, climbing up the hill from below and off to the right of Poor, saw these events unfold and sent his 3rd and 5th New York Regiments to Reid’s aid, further thwarting Brant’s attack.  [Above military placements discussed here.] 
    See also: JOURNALS OF THE MILITARY EXPEDITION OF MAJOR GENERAL JOHN SULLIVAN AGAINST THE SIX NATIONS OF INDIANS IN 1779 WITH RECORDS OF CENTENNIAL CELEBRATIONS.  
    For a few hours, the peaceful valley and hills echoed with the blasting of cannons (ranging in size up to six-inch field howitzers), the resounding shots of a few thousand muskets, and the strong acrid smell of gun powder with its residual smoky haze.  The sounds of gunfire combined with the hair-raising battle cries of Indian warriors must have reached a deafening pitch at its peak.  Naturally, there were losses and injuries on both sides.  But, with the realization that they were overpowered, Loyalist Major John Butler, Capt. Walter Butler, and the Iroquois chief Joseph Brant wisely cut their losses and withdrew.  With their troops, they retreated towards Newtown and crossed the river with the Continentals in pursuit, but without additional losses on either side. 
    After the battle, the Sullivan-Clinton Campaign continued on their way north through the finger lakes region, burning and destroying at least 40 Indian villages, reportedly destroying 160,000 bushels of corn and a significant quantity of vegetables and fruit which the Indians had set aside for winter.  By the end of September, the armies were returning to Morristown, New Jersey for the winter.
    From Gen. Sullivan’s journal notes:
    “Teaogo [Tioga], Sept, 30, 1779.
    SIR:—In mine of the 30th ultimo to His Excellency George Washington, and by him transmitted to Congress, I gave an account of the victory obtained by this army over the enemy at Newtown, on the 29th August. I now do myself the honor to inform Congress of the progress of this army... The time taking up in destroying the corn, in the neighborhood of Newtown, employing the army near two days… I sent back all my heavy artillery on the night of the 30th, retaining only four brass three pounders, and a small howitzer; loaded the necessary ammunition on horseback, and marched early on the 31st for Catherine's Town. On our way we destroyed a small settlement of eight houses, and town called Konowhola, of about twenty houses, situated on a peninsula at the conflux of the Teaogo and Cayuga branches. We also destroyed several fields of corn. From this point Colonel Dayton was detached with his regiment and the rifle corps up the Teaogo about six miles, who destroyed several large fields of corn. The army resumed their march, and encamped within thirteen miles and a half of Catherine's Town, where we arrived the next day, although we had a road to open for the artillery, through a swamp nine miles in extent, and almost impervious. We arrived near Catherine's Town in the night, and moved on, in hopes to surprise it, but found it forsaken. On the next morning an old woman belonging to the Cayuga nation was found in the woods. She informed me that on the night after the battle of Newtown, the enemy, having fled the whole night, arrived there in great confusion early the next day; that she heard the warriors tell their women they were conquered and must fly; that they had a great many killed and vast numbers wounded…” 
    The Iroquois, who had supported the British by attacking settlements, killing and taking captives, and feeding the British military, were now forced further west to Niagara and northwest into Canada.  Under protection of the British forts, but without their winter food supply, many died from starvation, disease and the winter’s cold.  Yet, even John Butler, in correspondence that previous May, had referred to the fact that the Indians were not doing well, lacking in production of their own food supplies.
    Although successful at Newtown, the Sullivan-Clinton Campaign has often been referred to as a “well-executed failure.”  Congress congratulated them for what they had accomplished, but they were essentially not looked upon in a favorable light for their failure to take the British forts on Lake Ontario.  True, their armies destroyed the Indians settlements and crops throughout the finger lakes region, but Major General Sullivan stopped short of completing General Washington’s orders.  They had been ordered, and expected, to continue north to Lake Ontario and capture the British forts at Oswego and Niagara.
    However, knowing their field artillery was limited to lighter guns, Sullivan and Clinton returned instead to headquarters in Morristown, New Jersey by the end of September.  In fairness to Sullivan, he realized he was not equipped with big enough artillery to take on the well-defended British forts; he and his troops would likely have been annihilated.  Also, in worsening health, Sullivan resigned command in November 1779 and returned to his home in New Hampshire.
    With Sullivan not completing the balance of his campaign orders, Joseph Brant and his Indians returned to rejoin forces with the Loyalists in 1780.  Once again, they viciously attacked western settlements and the established communities back in the Mohawk and Schoharie Valley regions. 
    These raids and massacres touched my ancestral families in that part of New York.  At Beaverdam (now Berne) near the Switzkill River on September 1, 1781, a British soldier led Loyalists and Indians in an attack on the Johannes Dietz family.  Johannes’ son, Capt. William Dietz, commanded the local Patriot militia, and was, therefore, a target of the Loyalists who engaged the Indians to make Dietz an example and put fear into the hearts of all other Patriot settlers.  After capture, William Dietz was forced to watch his elderly parents, wife, four young children and Scottish maid be killed and scalped.  Two young brothers who happened to be visiting from another family were also taken captive.  At Fort Niagara, Dietz died of a broken heart not long after arrival as witnessed by another captive from Schoharie County.  Capt. Dietz’s father, Johannes, was an older brother of my ancestor, John Hendrich/John Henry Dietz (referenced in my Independence Day article at my blog, Homespun Ancestors.  (see also “Old Hellebergh,” by Arthur B. Gregg, The Altamont Enterprise Publishers, Altamont, N.Y., 1936, p. 24; signed by Gregg, in my personal library from my father’s collection)
    (See Painting of Dietz Massacre by Jacob Dietz, son of Johannes, Courtesy of the Greater Oneonta Historical Society)
    The final and most devastating attack was in the lower Mohawk Valley in October 1781 where everything over a distance of 20 miles was utterly destroyed. 
    When the war was over and the colonists had won, Joseph Brant and other Iroquois settled land given to them by the British Crown on the Grand River in Quebec (now Ontario).  The area of Brant’s river crossing became known as Brant’s ford, later simplified to Brantford.  Other Indians moved on to the Ohio River Valley region, or joined the Cherokee in the southern states.
    Ultimately, the Newtown Battle, or Battle of Chemung, opened the narrow southern gate to settlers who had been forbidden from traveling through this part of Indian territory on their way to settling the western frontier.  For American soldiers who had fought in the Revolutionary War, the Chemung Valley drew many men back who had taken part in the Sullivan-Clinton Campaign. 
    Certain to have admired the beautiful countryside in both Pennsylvania and New York while detailed there on campaigns, it was only natural former soldiers would seek its fertile land as their bounty award for service to their new government.  New England and eastern New York were considered heavily populated, with many regions too rocky for good farming.  Western New York was the perfect place to homestead with wide-open fertile land available to establish a new life.  With the soldiers settling this area, we can assume their descendants walk among us today, perhaps even unaware of their family’s history.
  14. Linda Roorda

    High Upon A Shelf

    By Linda Roorda,

    Sometimes we put others high upon a shelf… like fancy antiques… elevating them far above what is appropriate, thinking more highly of them than we ought.  I mean, after all, we all have our flaws.  Or, we might set them up high, putting a little distance between us… thinking we can just admire them while we go on about our way, doing things without their input or assistance.  Like we do with God sometimes…
    I know I fail at times to look first to God for answers in facing life’s problems.  I do revere the Lord, but when I set Him high up on that shelf by thinking I can handle things all on my own, I soon learn that I really can’t function all on my own.  Sometimes, it seems it’s in the difficult times that I draw nearer to the Lord and ask for His help.  But the gracious God that He is, He keeps working through me… as He continues to draw me ever gently to His side… and I begin to realize the depth of what He’s been doing for me.
    But, of course, I realize I can’t put God upon a shelf like a beautiful precious antique just to be admired, nor can I put Him in a box, limiting His infinite capacities to match our finite minds and expectations.  Instead, God wants to walk with me and you every day… especially in the nitty gritty of life.  He wants to hear my prayers, the pleas and praises of my heart.  He wants to hear my voice just as much as I should want to listen for His still small voice within me… and then heed His voice.  All of which reminds me of another favorite Scripture verse:  “Here I am!  I stand at the door and knock.  If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him and he with me.”  (Revelation 3:20 NIV) 
    It’s true - He really wants to be part of my every-day life!  He wants to shine His light through me and you out into the world, as a witness for Him and all that He’s doing… that others might know His love.  Despite my failings, or maybe because of them, others know my life is full of mistakes, just as we all manage to make mistakes.  But, it’s in my failings and recognition of them that I can look up to Jesus, the One who sacrificed His life for my soul, and realize that I can turn to Him.  In confession, I can ask for forgiveness, and receive the blessing of overwhelming grace and mercy no matter what I might have done.  And then show that same forgiveness to others around me.
    He wants me to take Him off that high shelf and out of that box, and allow Him to walk by my side, through all of life’s ups and downs, asking for His guidance and wisdom, thanking and praising Him all throughout my day… no matter what I face.   
    High Upon A Shelf
    Linda A. Roorda 
    I set you up high, high upon a shelf
    And bring you close when the needs arise
    I shy away from seeking your face
    Keeping my distance, safely I suppose.
     
    You created time and all of this world
    Why would You give an ear to my thoughts?
    Or hear my voice, my pleas in the dark
    When all creation is under Your eye?
     
    How could I think You’d ever have time
    For problems I face, trivial pursuits?
    Why would You care, and why seek me out
    What do I matter to someone like You?
     
    Oh, but don’t you see how special you are!
    How unique your heart, like no other soul.
    I long to meet every day with you
    To shorten the span, that gulf between us.
     
    I’ve given you gifts, fruits of the spirit
    Blessed you with wisdom, the heart’s hidden treasure
    While tests that prove faith through life’s ups and downs
    Are living out hope in My hand unseen.
     
    I love you my child, and forever will
    I’ve given My life that you might be free
    Free under grace with mercy’s deep love
    That My light may shine on the path you walk.
     
    Yes Lord, I’ll bring You down from off the shelf
    As You draw me near with welcoming arms
    And with a glad heart I’ll kneel in worship
    To thank and praise You, my Lord and my God.
    ~~
  15. Linda Roorda

    Faith

    By Linda Roorda,

    Recently, I was mocked for my faith and belief in God by a reader of my online blog.  Attributing to God the special ways my prayers were answered to overcome a fear of going alone through major airports, I met folks who became helpful friends on my flights to and from visiting family.  This woman was aghast, proclaiming God had nothing to do with it. She added that her comments were “unlikely to sway anyone who has been indoctrinated into a belief system.”  Rather, her purpose was to “lay bare the myth of religion” as Christianity has been “incredibly destructive.”  Proudly, she stated how “green” she was, yet bragged about travelling to 90 countries, logging millions of miles, and that God had nothing to do with her flights because “God does not exist.” 
    Without God, we trust in ourself - that’s called pride. How sad!  For as King David wrote in Psalm 14:1, “The fool says in his heart, ‘There is no God.’”  I chose not to respond, but to pray for her instead, while two supporters/administrators made it clear to her that her comments were very inappropriate. As a meme I once saw noted:
    “An umbrella cannot stop the rain, but it allows us to stand in the rain.
    Faith in God may not remove our trials, but it gives us strength to overcome them.”
    Faith… it’s intangible.  You can’t see it.  You can’t feel it.  And it’s hard to define.  But it’s there… deep in the heart. Faith is a trust, a belief, a confidence knowing that something positive will happen based on past experiences, while hope is optimistically looking to the future.  Even though we may not see the evidence of our faith and hope for a long time, we can agree that biblically speaking, “faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.” (Hebrews 11:1 NIV) “For we live by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7) 
    We put faith in a lot of things – like people, money, real estate, our job, military power, that the water we drink and use will always be there, even our electric until it suddenly goes off.  We put faith in our best friends, in our dear loved ones, and hope that they will come through for us. We have faith our car will start… especially on those bitter cold mornings! We often don’t know or understand how something works; it just does – so we say we have faith that it will work.
    We have faith knowing that at the end of a long, dark and dreary winter, we will see spring’s beauty unfold.  The cells of life are within each seed whether human, animal, or plant as created by God and established within its own kind.  And as we watch the flower or leaf bud begin to swell, and then open, we see the evidence, the proof, of our faith and hope in this new life that’s about to burst forth.
    Yet the opposite of faith is pride in self, while the opposite of hope is uncertainty, anxiety, despair… with uncertainty being sure of one thing – nothing.  And how often don’t things and people let us down?  Thus, we should “be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let [our] requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard [our] hearts and minds through Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:6-7).  We have faith, hope, and trust in our God to guide and assist us when we look to Him, seeking to follow in His steps, His path, His will.  So, what exactly is at the heart of this kind of faith? 
    True faith must be put into practice… for though faith is unseen in our heart, it becomes an action on our part when we actually place our trust in the Lord.  And, I’m ashamed to say, I have failed at times.  Yet, faith is essential in relating to God.  Faith helps us realize that no matter what happens to us, good or bad, God is working in the situation for His will, His purpose.  And Ed and I have seen our God working through many difficult situations and losses of health, jobs, and life, using what we’ve learned to come alongside and assist someone else on their difficult journey. 
    We can’t see God and can’t feel Him next to us.  But, in fact, it is even He who opens our heart and gives us the faith to come to Him seeking forgiveness and salvation.  “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith – and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God – not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:8-10 NIV)  And it’s within that faith as we build our trust and confidence with belief and hope that we learn how much our heart wants to please and praise our God.
    Still, at times I have failed to understand the effort to trust that I must put forth in the equation of faith.  At times I have questioned what I sense the Lord is telling me to do versus what my heart wants. At times I have pushed the limits of self will, wresting control of the reins instead of resting in His hands, His will.  But as I’ve learned to trust Him more, to obey His Word, to have faith in His greater purpose for my life, I find peace.  Yet, how hard the lesson can be at times!  Still, God is faithful, even when I am not, so I can have confidence that “…he who began a good work in you [and me] will carry it on to completion...” (Philippians 1:6 NIV)
    Thus, faith is trusting that God will work through me in whatever situation I face.  He wants me to simply trust Him… like a child trusts their parents… to have faith and confidence in Jesus as my Lord and Savior, and in Him alone… that He will take me through a difficult situation, and bring me to the other side with new understanding from the journey. Out of this depth of trust comes the proof of our faith in God as we see the fruits of the spirit emerge in our actions and love toward others.  This will then bring glory and honor back to our great God and His precious gift of love as we continue drawing closer to Him through prayer and study of His Words of wisdom.  And therein lies our growth… the fruit of our faith.
    So what’s at the heart of faith?  An obedience to trust and live out what God expects of me by showing I have confidence in Him and His word. “For we live by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7)  Faith is trusting the Lord will provide and care for me even when I don’t see immediate answers to prayer, knowing “…that in all things [He] works for the good of those who love Him… (Romans 8:28a NIV)
    Simply put, faith is resting in the arms of God, allowing Him to work His will through me… like putting my hand in the Lord’s hand and saying, “Where you lead, I will follow.” (based on Luke 9:57)
    Faith
    Linda A. Roorda
    My faith is more than just mere words
    More than the eye could ever see
    For underneath the surface stirring
    Believes the heart with hope evermore.
     
    A hope within the depths of my soul
    Focused upon what cannot be seen
    There in the quiet and solitude calm
    Lies sweet the dream someday to fulfill.
     
    Choosing always to patiently rest
    Under Your wings to calmly abide
    Eagerly awaiting the break of dawn
    A gentle semblance of faith held secure.
     
    Your promises firm ring evermore true
    For when I put my trust in Your hands
    And then release the reins to my life
    You guide my steps from within Your will.
     
    And yet faith hopes in what can’t be seen
    Always expecting the best to emerge
    For faith is more than just simple dreams
    It’s holding on to trust in the truth.
     
    For truths in Your Word which cling to my soul
    Will give me hope and confidence clear
    When all seems lost and fears wander dark
    Faith holds forever its promises bright.
    ~
  16. Linda Roorda
    Attending my Owego Free Academy 50th class reunion last night, July 22, 2023, it was great to see and chat with so many former classmates.  We were the 100th class to graduate from OFA, and the first class to graduate from the new high school building – such honors! Being asked to give the prayer at the reunion dinner last night, it was an honor to thank our Lord for all His many blessings – of friendships, places we’ve been, lives we’ve built, and to thank Him for the friends who have left this life much sooner than any of us would have liked.  We were given a great informative tour yesterday afternoon at the high school by the young principal – how can he be principal looking like a kid barely out of school! A lot has changed in the intervening 50 years, with great programs in place to help the students achieve their best and prepare for their successful launch into society at large.  Having moved 15 times by the time I was 15, attending five different schools, learning to make new friends at each school, I’ve held onto many treasured memories.  With the reunion in mind, I just had to share this blog originally posted in 2013.
    Oh, the childhood memories of places we’ve been and the friends we’ve made!  Don’t you just love to visit with friends from long ago, remember childhood fun, and recall the good ol’ days when life was simpler?  I suspect we all have precious memories tucked away, ready to be pulled out every so often.  It’s a chance to gaze back in time, to smile anew on fun shared by all.  But, I’m just as sure I’m not alone in having some memories that bring emotions to the surface, and tears to the eyes.
    Twice a year as our children grew up, we’d visit back and forth with my childhood friend and her husband, Hugh.  Kathy and I were friends in East Palmyra – in church, in class at the Christian school, and in playing at our homes.  We continued our friendship via snail mail after my family moved away in 4th grade, just before I turned 10.  It was a very painful and emotional move for me – away from farm life, away from the best friends I’d ever known to city life in Clifton, New Jersey where I was born, and where my dad’s parents and siblings’ families lived.  It was an unwelcome change.  I hated city life, was horribly homesick, and cried for weeks. 
    But life got better as I let go of childhood pain and released the sadness.  Though there were difficult times and events in Clifton, I now find many good memories to replay in my mind’s eye.  It was an era when my sister and I could walk or bike everywhere without fear.  And then there was the time we biked from our eastern side of Clifton to where our grandparents lived all the way on the other side.  When my grandmother opened the door to our knock, trust me, she was not pleased… because no one knew where we were!  Still, with the used bikes my grandfather gave us, we felt so rich!  I also treasure memories of fishing with my dad in northern Jersey lakes, and of spending time with my grandparents.  My grandmother was a former professional seamstress who taught me to sew clothes and quilts – and to rip it out if it wasn’t right and sew it over again, more than once as I recall!  This little Dutch immigrant had an unspoken life motto - “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right!”  How I miss her greeting us at the door with a hug and always sweetly saying, “Hello Dear!” in her soft Dutch accent.
    Admittedly, my favorite memories are those of my childhood on the farms, and the fun my sister and I had back when there was no technology to ruin what games our little minds could conjure up.  My earliest memories, though, begin after we moved back from Delta Junction, Alaska.  My dad had a foreign assignment in the Army, stationed at Fort Greely before Alaskan statehood.  He wanted to homestead, but my Mom wasn’t keen on the idea, so back to New Jersey we went.  I’ve often wished I’d been old enough to remember the trip and the beautiful sights down the Al-Can Highway back to the States; but, then again, as I heard about the road without guardrails next to steep cliffs, of an old car with a steering wheel that caught at the most inopportune times (like coming around a curve and heading straight for a cliff when, at the last moment, the steering engaged again for my Mom, preventing us from plummeting off the cliff), maybe I’m glad I wasn’t old enough to remember that trip.  Dad got rid of that car as soon as they got into Washington state, and they took a train east to Newark, NJ where my grandparents brought us back to their home.
    Dad next went to work on the Everson Farm in Clifton Springs, NY.  I have photos of that time, but my first memories begin when he worked on the Wychmere Farm in Sodus, NY.  I clearly recall that, at age 3-4, we drove down a lane to a Lake Ontario beach where I floated in an inner tube.  Seeing a ship on the horizon, my child’s mind feared it would “run me over!”  Then, imagine my excitement when, while dating my husband-to-be, Ed, my friend, Kathy, and her husband, Hugh, took us to that very same lane and beach near Chimney Bluffs and it was totally familiar to me, remembered from all those years ago!
    Next, on the Breemes farm in Marion, NY, my sister and I could be seen playing in and around the barn; milking “my cows” with an old tea kettle on the bank-barn’s wall ledge while standing on a bale of hay as Dad milked his cows, and throwing rocks into mud/manure puddles with my sister, accidentally following those rocks into the muck.  My brother, Charlie, was born that year, an interloper to our fun… or so I thought at that age.  Later, we once again moved back to Clifton, NJ where I attended kindergarten, a big girl walking several blocks by all myself to P.S. #15. 
    Returning to Marion, NY the summer after kindergarten, we had many more adventures with Fran and Betty DeVries while living upstairs in their beautiful Victorian house on their parents’ farm. I remember the layout of their barn, helping a few times to put milking machines together, watching their Dad put in silage with the belt-driven unloader off the tractor.  My Dad knew Gerald and Joann from the Sussex, NJ Christian Reformed Church youth group when he was herdsman for old Mr. Titsworth after graduating Clifton High School.  Actually, Mr. Titsworth was a direct descendant of Willem Tietsoort who settled in that area after the 1690 Schenectady massacre, purchasing extensive lands from the northern Jersey Indians.  Unknown to our family back then, my genealogy research several years ago discovered Willem Tietsoort was related to one of my mother’s ancestors!
    Moving up the road to the spacious farmhouse on the Musshafen tenant farm brought more fun as we meandered the fields, and walked back down the road to spend time with Fran and Betty.  My Dad bought a steer from Mr. DeVries to raise for beef.  We girls named him Elmer… as in Elmer’s Glue we joked!  My sister and I thought it was more fun running between rows in the garden instead of our weeding chore.  Brother Mark was born here, with Charlie anxiously asking, “When can he play ball with me?”  My Dad’s sister, Aunt Hilda, taught us the little song, “On top of spaghetti...”  Needless to say, whenever I think of that song, it is always with images from that house as the poor little meatball rolls off our dining room table, out the back door, down the cement steps, down the slope, past the garden and under the lilac bushes this side of a small creek!  We shelled endless piles of peas and snapped mountains of beans, and, I’m ashamed to say, threw some under those lilac bushes when we got tired of it all.  We practiced our fishing techniques, aiming to put the dobber into a bucket though I don’t believe we were too accurate.  We caught tadpoles and watched them grow legs while in jars before returning them to the creek to finish growing into frogs.  And we even tried to fry an egg on the road on a very hot summer day… well, the adults always said it was so hot you could…!
    Next, as tenants on the Bouman farm on Whitbeck Road just outside of East Palmyra, fun found us running with Ruth, Annette and Grace in the haymow, catching my shoe on baling twine and tumbling down to the wooden floor below, barely a foot away from the upturned tines of a pitch fork and getting a concussion; traipsing over the fields and through the woods; walking among the cows in the pasture only to be chased by a very indignant new mom for getting too close to her baby and barely making it under the fence with her hugeness right behind me; roller skating, only once, on a pond because we didn’t have ice skates; building snow forts; sledding down the hill outside the barnyard; playing telephone as we kids all sat in a circle, laughing at how the secret message had changed from the first person to the last; playing Mother May I, Red light, Green light, and Hide and Seek; learning to ride bike under Grace’s tutelage with a few falls resulting in scraped-up knees; playing at friend Kathy’s home, sledding down their hill and across the field when a train came through, freezing up and not thinking to roll off - thankfully, the sled came to a stop a few feet away from the track as I looked up in horror at the train rushing by; voraciously reading every book I could get my hands on, a life-time habit; and so much more…!  Oh such fun!!
    Then, abruptly, we moved back to city life in Clifton, NJ.  Sadly, Dad left much behind, including the unique doll house made especially for us girls by our landlord when I was in kindergarten.  Now, we enjoyed visiting often with our grandparents, and loved the family gatherings for every main holiday on the calendar.  When brother Andy arrived, my sister and I, at ages 10 and 11, were responsible every week for months for hauling the family laundry in the little red wagon to the laundromat across the street from the bar at the top of our block, washing and folding it all (we became little pros, respected by all adults doing their own laundry), and getting to buy treats like 5-cent double-stick popsicles, way bigger than today’s version!  We taught Charlie to ride bicycle in the former train station’s empty parking lot across from the end of our block, which is now all gone.  Our Dad took us fishing to northern Jersey lakes and on Clifton’s Garret Mountain with its great vista overlooking the cities to the New York City skyline, all fishing holes from his childhood. We also enjoyed going to Green Pond for water fun where Dad’s sister, Hilda, and family spent the summers.  We two girls enjoyed traipsing the city unsupervised without problems, walking or biking everywhere to parks, the city library, to Passaic Christian School and then to Christopher Columbus Junior High 12 blocks from home.  I can still visualize so much of the city like the back of my hand, forever frozen in time. 
    After four years, my heart rejoiced when we moved back to New York state! We were slowed by heavy bumper-to-bumper traffic because of hippies everywhere on Rt. 17 finding their way to the the fields of the Woodstock Festival on Saturday, August 16, 1969.  Our long drive ended at a house on River Road in Lounsberry, half-way between Owego and Nichols, where the odor of neighboring farms was heavenly.  Here, my latter teen years were spent caring for three-dozen-some chickens, 6 Muscovy ducks and their newly-hatched ducklings (which grew to provide us with fine dining), my lamb, and mare, War Bugg, a beautiful grand-daughter of Man O’ War… along with the arrival of our youngest brother, Ted.  I was, admittedly, very disappointed he was not a little girl, but fell in love with him and those big blue eyes as my sister and I helped care for him.  After all, we were “pros” in baby care by then!
    Meeting Edward, my husband-to-be, at our Owego Christian Reformed Church held at the Talcott Street Community Center, I began another new chapter.  He was a dairy farmer with his Dad, so I moved to Spencer, making a new home, new friends, and a new life.  Simply spending time recalling precious memories of family and friends in a long-ago world brings a few tears and many smiles to my heart…  So, what cherished memories do you have that are waiting to be brought to mind and shared?
    Going back home…
    Linda A. Roorda
    Going back home within my mind
    To simple retreats of childhood days
    Holding sweet memories of yesterday
    Like quiet oases of rest and peace.
    ~
    Stirring emotions that overwhelm
    On traveling back to gentler times
    With early images tucked far away
    On pages engraved in a long-ago world.
    ~
    For what could ever make me forget
    The fears that then descended strong
    With dog at fence and thunderstorm
    To shake the world of toddlerhood.
    ~
    While a life-long love was built in scenes
    Of farming and learning beside my Dad
    With laughter heard through carefree days
    In adventures had by my sister and me.
    ~
    The many homes of my younger days
    Are shelters now for cherished views
    As dear and precious memories enhance
    Wistfully perfect they ever remain.
    ~
    But tucked within the pages recalled
    Are days of change and tender tears
    Moving away and losing friends
    Through a lifetime lived, they’re never forgot.
    ~
    Yet often they say it’s just not the same
    We can’t return to scenes of our youth
    That life and times are forever changed
    The rift between then and now is too great.
    ~
    But as I gaze on all that once was
    I find it’s okay to let the tears flow
    As they wash away the lingering pangs
    To leave my heart refreshed and clean. 
    ~
    So I shall always savor the joy
    Of going back home within my mind
    And holding dear those treasured days
    Of childhood mem’ries and lessons learned.
  17. Linda Roorda

    Broken Beauty

    By Linda Roorda,

    Ever feel as though you’re broken and scattered… like pieces of shattered glass?  You’re so overwhelmed by life, torn apart by one situation after another, perhaps in rapid succession.  And you begin to feel like you want to run away from all the stress and responsibility.  I have… and know I’m not alone.
    We all get hit hard by life at times, like the disruptive past few years midst the coronavirus pandemic.  We all stumble and fall.  We’re all broken… broken by our mistakes, sins, fears, unending pain, ongoing chronic illness, loss of a loved one, financial stress, or simply by the weight of life’s never-ending demands.  But are we willing to admit we’re broken people?  Do we think we’ve got it so together that we would never admit a failing? Do we lash out at others around us out of anger, hurt and resentment? Do we perhaps look down on those who might stumble in a moment of weakness?  Or do we humbly apologize and ask forgiveness from those we might have offended?
    The damage from any trauma or abuse can be devastating, leaving us feeling raw and exposed, torn apart.  Just the simplest things can take a toll when we’re overwhelmed by stress without relief.  Long-term illness or disability can have the same effect.  We keep hoping that one day… somehow… things will get better… but they don’t seem to.
    Reminds me of what it might be like sitting in a boat in the middle of a lake without oars, rudder or motor when the storm hits.  We won’t get very far.  In fact, the storm will toss us about unceasingly or capsize us without that rudder to steer and stabilize the boat, or the oars to row our boat to shore.  And it’s so true that life’s challenges can blindside us when we least expect them and catch us totally unprepared, leaving us feeling like we’re unable to handle what comes our way.  Certainly, we don’t feel like our brokenness is beautiful!
    God never promised us a life without problems and pain.  But He did promise He’d give us what we ask for when we ask in His will, and that He will always be with us.  We just need to ask and trust Him as He “works all things for the good of those who love Him…” (Romans 8:28)  He intends our journey of difficulty to strengthen our faith.  For James 1:2-3 reminds us to “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance…” Yet that trial, or broken road, can sure seem long and tedious, and not something we readily rejoice in!
    Still, as we draw closer to our Lord in the difficulties, we realize He’s been drawing us close to Himself.  He’s at work putting our broken pieces back together to make us complete… to restore us.  How often haven’t we felt His love surround us when the path is hard and long, and we seemed so alone?  Haven’t we looked back to see He’s carried us at times when we’ve done all we could and felt as though we couldn’t take one more step? And isn’t He the one who sent someone to wrap their arms around us, with an ear to listen to our heart, words to heal, and arms to hold us up and help us stand… until we felt stronger and able to function again?  Just like Paul wrote, “I can do everything through him who gives me strength.”  (Philippians 4:13)
    Recently I read about the Japanese artform of Kintsugi (golden joinery), or Kintsukuroi (golden repair) https://www.britannica.com/art/kintsugi-ceramics .  These are terms for a special type of repair to broken pottery which began in about the 15th century.  Artisans take gold, silver or platinum dust, mix it with a special lacquer or resin, and apply it to the broken pieces.  As they fit the broken pieces together, the shattered pottery is made whole again.  Typically, the broken vessel becomes even more beautiful in its new state of repair – broken beauty, in other words!
    No matter what we go through, God will bring comfort and peace to our heart when we look to Him for strength to face each trial.  He has it all under control, and even has a reason for taking us through the storms, allowing us to grow and heal through the difficult journey.  He welcomes us as broken people, and makes something beautiful from our shattered pieces of life! 
    Then comes the day when we realize we’re healed… maybe not exactly as we’d wanted… but the pain no longer has a grip on us… for our brokenness has been used to heal a weakness!  The difficult journey was worth every step from brokenness to a new wholeness … because it has given us a better understanding of life with a greater empathy for others, with peace like a comforting blanket… enabling us to come alongside someone else who is struggling and overwhelmed as we “encourage the disheartened [and] help the weak...” (I Thessalonians 5:14)  For we know that God has used our trial in such a way that we now shine a light from within that we never knew we had… as we’ve gone from broken to beautiful in God’s restorative eyes! 
    Broken Beauty
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    Sometimes…
    Like a beautiful vase
    Our life is shattered
    Like so many shards
    Of broken glass
    Where once there was
    A vessel whole, unbroken.
    ~
    Because…
    Trials of life
    Came crashing down
    To take their toll
    Inflicting damage
    Leaving emotions raw
    Trying to destroy
    The joy from within.
    ~
    But…
    There comes a day
    When it’s time
    To pick up the pieces
    And one by one
    To then reclaim
    The former beauty
    Of the vessel treasured.
    ~
    So…
    An effort ensues
    To fit the pieces
    Back together
    In such a way
    That there will shine
    Illuminating brilliance
    Never before seen.
    ~
    For…
    An inner strength
    Has taken hold
    So that the pieces
    Broken and scattered
    In coming together
    Now give the vessel
    A broken beauty!
    ~~
    02/05/14
     
     
     
     
  18. Linda Roorda
    It’s a fact that we Americans love our 4th of July celebrations!  We especially enjoy family gatherings and picnics, and big parades with lots of floats and marching bands.  We look forward to fireworks with their beautiful colors and designs exploding in the night sky.  We decorate our homes with flags and bunting.  We salute, or respectfully place our hand over our heart, as our nation’s flag is carried past us by military veterans in parades.  And, we recall the two important founding documents of our nation: 
    Preamble to the Declaration of Independence:  “…We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness…”  Preamble to the U.S. Constitution:  “We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America…” What precious meaning these words have held as we take time to gaze backward to their origins, something I never tire learning about.
    As I contemplated our nation’s celebrations, I thought about the effort and sacrifice it took from many to give us the freedoms we so often take for granted.  I am so thankful for all we have in America which many around the world do not enjoy.  But I also wondered if perhaps we have forgotten all that took place a long time ago, and if this day has simply become a traditional fun holiday, or just a holiday to besmirch.  Though no nation or government has been perfect as far back as the beginning of time, the early days of a young nation’s beginnings provide perspective for today’s America, this bastion of freedom.  So, it’s fitting that we ponder what part our ancestors played in the making of our great America some 247 years ago.  And, I might add, one of the best parts of researching my ancestors was the great lasting friendships I’ve made with other descendants.
    Several of my ancestors served in the Revolutionary War in various capacities, some of whom I researched more extensively than others.  Originally, I did not plan to bring them into this article.  But then it occurred to me that would be fitting.  Knowledge of personal service and sacrifice often provides us with a greater understanding of the historical era and what our collective ancestors experienced. 
    Numerous events, political acts, and taxes over many years led to the First Continental Congress meeting from September 5 through October 2, 1774 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.  It was held to counteract the British Parliament’s Coercive Acts (commonly called the Intolerable Acts by the colonists) which were intended to punish the colonists for their Tea Party held in Boston’s harbor.
    But, among the early precipitators of the American Revolution was the import ban in 1774 against firearms and gunpowder enacted by the British government.  Next came the order to confiscate all guns and gunpowder.  The aptly named “Powder Alarm” took place on September 1, 1774 when Redcoats sailed up the Mystic River to capture hundreds of powder barrels stored in Charlestown.  Taking the event seriously, 20,000 militiamen turned out and marched to Boston.  Battle was avoided at that time, but ultimately took place the following spring at Lexington and Concord on April 19, 1775.  Within these events lie the foundation of our Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution as written by Thomas Jefferson in 1791: “A well-regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.”
    The Second Continental Congress began meeting in Philadelphia on May 10, 1775.  That very same day, Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys seized New York’s Fort Ticonderoga from the British after traveling west from Vermont.
    On June 14, 1775, delegates from the Second Continental Congress created the Continental Army from colonial militia near Boston.  The next day, they appointed an esteemed and experienced military and civic leader as commanding general of their new army, a humble man by the name of George Washington, congressman of Virginia.  Nearly a month later, Washington arrived in Boston to take command on July 3rd.  The Continental Congress then approved a Declaration of Causes on July 6th.  This proclamation outlined why the thirteen colonies should stand united against Great Britain’s political clout and military force.
    Through these early years, and with pressing urgency, the great minds of the day began formulating a bold statement of the burdens the colonists bore from an overbearing government an ocean away.  Initially, the colonists were not looking to start a war; they simply wanted their concerns heard and addressed.  But, revolt would be a relevant term regarding that which was festering.  They felt the heavy hand of tyranny over them like a smothering umbrella with their king and his government’s over-reaching philosophy of “taxation without representation.”  
    It did not take much for congressional delegates to think back and recall the Boston Massacre of March 5, 1770.  Several colonials had taunted the ever-present British soldiers.  Reinforcement soldiers shot into the crowd killing five civilians, injuring six others.  Three years later, the Tea Act in May 1773 was followed by the Boston Tea Party on December 16th.  The year 1775 began with several new tax acts put in place; labeled collectively as the Intolerable Acts, they were Britain’s answer to their colonists’ unrest.  And then an auspicious delegation met in Virginia on March 23, 1775. Those present never forgot Patrick Henry’s speech and resounding words, “Give me liberty or give me death!”
    Paul Revere’s midnight ride came the night of April 18/19, 1775 to warn of British ships arriving at Boston’s shores.  [From the interstate, I have seen Boston’s diminutive North Church tucked beneath the shadows of modern “skyscrapers,” and walked the upper and lower decks of the U.S.S. Constitution from the subsequent War of 1812 – with a sailor in period dress uniform talking on a telephone!]  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem, “Paul Revere’s Ride” (“Listen my children and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere…”) has been said to contain many inaccuracies; in reality, it was written 80 years after Revere rode out with several others on horseback, quietly alerting other Patriots, but it may also be that Longfellow simply wrote a flowing ode to Revere with embellishments as any poet is wont to do. 
    The British government was again intent on confiscating all weapons held by the colonists.  Bands of British troops were sent to confiscate ammunition stores in Salem, Massachusetts and part of New Hampshire.  Both times, Paul Revere, a silversmith, was among members of the Sons of Liberty who alerted townsfolk in advance of enemy troops, giving them sufficient time to hide weapons and frustrate the British military.
    Desiring to alert citizens, Revere garnered assistance from Robert Newman, sexton at Boston’s North Church.  To warn that the Redcoats were coming from the shorter water route across Boston’s inner harbor, Newman hung two lanterns from the steeple window.  These lanterns were clearly seen by those in Charlestown, including the British, unfortunately.  Newman must have felt tremendous fear as the Brits attempted to break into the church while he was still there.  Reportedly, he managed to escape capture by quietly sneaking out a window near the altar moments before enemy soldiers entered the church to begin their search.  And the very next day, April 19, 1775, the Minutemen and British redcoats clashed at Lexington and Concord with “the shot heard ‘round the world.’” 
    Two months later, June 17, 1775 saw the Battle of Bunker Hill (actually Breed’s Hill) on the Charlestown Peninsula overlooking Boston.  Per military records, my ancestor John Caldwell McNeill was present as part of the Hampshire Line.  As British columns advanced toward American redoubts, the colonists were reportedly told by their commander, “Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes!”  The British were shot virtually pointblank and hastily retreated – twice.  It was not until the third advance by the British that the inexperienced colonists lost to a superior military force.  As the colonists’ limited ammunition ran out, hand-to-hand combat took place on that third advance.  The redcoats took control with greater troop numbers despite their loss of over 1000 men, while the colonists counted over 200 killed and more than 800 wounded.  Yet, the inexperienced Americans realized their dedication and determination could overcome the superior British military which, in turn, realized this little uprising was going to bring a long and costly war to the Crown. 
    With pressure mounting, the congressional delegation met the next year in the City of Brotherly Love.  Here, they commenced to hammering out wording for what would henceforth be termed a declaration of independence. 
    “Monday, July 1, 1776, [was] a hot and steamy [day] in Philadelphia.”  In a letter to the new president of Georgia, Archibald Bulloch, John Adams wrote, “This morning is assigned the greatest debate of all.  A declaration, that these colonies are free and independent states… and this day or tomorrow is to determine its fate.  May heaven prosper the newborn republic.” (John Adams, David McCullough, Simon & Schuster Paperbacks, New York, NY, 2001, p.125.)  The delegates felt the tension amongst themselves in the debates and wording of their declaration, and the voting at the end of the day was not unanimous.  Their tension was heightened that evening as news reached the city that one hundred British ships had been sighted off New York, with eventually more than 300 joining the initial fleet.  The seriousness of what they were undertaking was felt by every man in the delegation for they knew their very lives were on the line.
    July 2nd saw an overcast day with cloudbursts letting loose as the delegates met.  The New York delegates abstained from voting while others joined the majority to make a unanimous decision.  Thus, on July 2, 1776, twelve colonies voted to declare independence from Britain.  More than anyone else, John Adams made it happen.  His elation showed in writing home about the proceedings to his wife, Abigail.  “The second day of July 1776 will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America.  I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival.  It ought to be commemorated as the Day of Deliverance by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty.  It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations from one end of this continent to the other from this time forward forever more.”  (McCullough, pp. 129-130)
    News spread like wildfire throughout Philadelphia.  A young artist, Charles Willson Peale, journaled that “This day the Continental Congress declared the United Colonies Free and Independent States.”  (McCullough, p.130)   But, Congress still had to review what the delegation had written before an official statement could be made.
    dJuly 3rd blessed the city with a drop of 10 degrees following cloudbursts the day before.  Tensions had even begun to ease among the men, but still there was much work to be done.  More discussion and Deliberation ensued as they reviewed the language of their declaration.  (McCullough, pp. 130-135)  Much had to be cut and reworded to make it a more concise document which then boldly declared, “The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America.  When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.” 
    Benjamin Franklin offered encouraging and comforting words to the now-silent Thomas Jefferson whose many words were debated and cut.  When their work was finished, it was still Thomas Jefferson’s words, however, which have held a firm and tender spot in the hearts of Americans ever since.  To Jefferson goes the credit for writing “…We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.  That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed…”  (McCullough, p.130-136)
    Thursday, July 4, 1776, dawned cool and comfortable.  The tension was gone from the weather just as it was now from among the men of the delegation.  Discussions were again held through late morning when a final vote was taken.  New York still abstained, but the other twelve colonies voted unanimously to support the hard work they had wrought in this Declaration of Independence.  Ultimately, the delegates from all thirteen colonies, including New York, signed the document in solidarity. (McCullough, p. 136)
    Celebrations began on the 8th when the published Declaration was read to the public.  Thirteen cannon blasts reverberated throughout Philadelphia, bells rang day and night, bonfires were lit everywhere, and candles shone bright in windows.  The news reached Washington and his troops in New York City the next day where the Declaration was read.  More celebrations sprang up as the crowds pulled down the equestrian statue of King George III.  (McCullough, p.136-137)  But, their elation was not long in lasting.
    In reality, it would be several more years before celebrations of this magnitude would again be held.  In reality, though the hard work of writing such a declaration was finally completed, even harder efforts and sacrifices of thousands of men and boys on battlefields were about to begin.  In reality, the conflict about to begin would affect every man, woman and child living within the thirteen colonies in ways they could never have imagined.  And, ultimately, their great sacrifices gave rise to the freedoms which we enjoy and tend to take for granted today.
    The lives of the men who signed this declaration were also forever affected.  If the new America lost its war for independence, every signer of said document faced charges of treason and death by hanging for actions against their king.  In signing, they gave “support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, [as] we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.” 
    There were 56 representatives from all thirteen colonies who signed, ranging in age from 26 to 70 (the oldest being the esteemed Benjamin Franklin).  Over half were lawyers, but the men included planters, merchants and shippers.  Most of them were wealthy men who had much to lose should Britain win.  Though none of them died at the hand of the enemy, four men were taken captive during the war by the British, with one-third of the signers being military officers during the war.  And, nearly all of them were poorer when the war ended than when it began. 
    There was much at stake in the days and years ahead after the Declaration of Independence was signed and the war began in earnest.  Some men abandoned the battle lines, their friends, and what once seemed like worthy ideals, and simply walked home.  Many suffered untold pain and suffering as prisoners of war.  Many suffered deprivations of food and clothing along with disease and death within their own military camps.  Many fought family and friends in the same community as Patriot was pitted against Tory, i.e. Loyalist.  Schoharie County, New York, considered by historians to be “The Breadbasket of the Revolution,” provided an abundance of food for Washington’s northern troops.  To frustrate the colonists’ efforts, the British and their Loyalist supporters, including many Native Americans, destroyed and burned crops and buildings as they captured, killed and scalped settlers throughout the Mohawk and Schoharie Valley and along the western frontier during the war. 
    In reality, however, we likely would not have won our independence if it were not for Washington’s spies.  Barely two months after the Declaration was signed, a 21-year-old Yale graduate by the name of Nathan Hale from Massachusetts eagerly volunteered to spy for Washington.  He intended to go behind enemy lines on Long Island and in New York City to infiltrate the British strongholds.  Instead, not being sufficiently familiar with the area and its people, and likely having a New England accent, he was caught and found to have sketches of fortifications and memos about troop placements on him.  Without benefit of legal trial, he was sentenced to death.  His requests for a clergyman and a Bible were refused.  Just before being hung on September 22, 1776 in the area of 66th Street and Third Avenue in Manhattan, Hale was heard to say with dignity, “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.”  (George Washington’s Secret Six, Brian Kilmeade and Don Yaeger, Penguin Group, New York, NY, 2013, p.1.)
    George Washington knew that he desperately needed spies, but he needed them to work in such a way that they would not be discovered.  His tender heart for his fellow countrymen deplored that even one should die for the cause of freedom.  Yet, he also knew that such loss was inevitable.  And, thus was born Washington’s spies so aptly named, “The Secret Six.”
    Out of the realization that Gen. George Washington desperately needed spies, and hating to lose even one more life after the hanging of Nathan Hale, a ring of trustworthy spies was gradually pulled together.  Washington’s “Secret Six” included five men and one woman embedded within and around New York City and Long Island, each familiar with the land and its people.  They reported to Washington on British movements and military plans in a timely fashion. 
    Because they knew the area, and were known by the people, they were readily accepted as they maneuvered amongst the enemy.  That is not to say, however, that they didn’t come close to being found out.  They lived in constant fear of such, not to mention the fear of losing their own lives and destroying their families in the process.  At times they were emotionally frail, depressed and despondent.  But, because of their passion for the freedom movement afoot, they came together for the greater benefit of all.
    At one point, Washington’s army was entirely surrounded by the British in New York City.  With tips from his spies, and being a man given to much time and prayer with God, his troops managed to quietly evacuate the city under the cover of night at an area not under guard.  With dawn, however, came the realization that a large contingent still remained behind and would be very visible to the enemy.  An answer to prayer was soon forthcoming to allow the balance of his men and equipment to leave the city – an unexpected and extremely dense morning fog enveloped the area, allowing them to continue crossing safely over into Jersey with the British unable to do anything about the Continental Army’s escape from their clutches. 
    Because of the work of Washington’s spies and the “important memos” he managed to have planted with false information behind enemy lines, the Americans were able to surprise the enemy at Trenton, New Jersey on Christmas Day night 1776 after the British had relaxed their guard and celebrated the day in style.  Needless to say, the Americans enjoyed a vital and rousing victory.
    Because of the spies and their efforts, accomplished with great fear for their own lives and that of their families, warning was given to Washington of 400 ships arriving from England.  The spies’ insider knowledge that the British were planning to attack and scuttle the French ships and troops coming to Washington’s aid allowed him to turn the tide in a timely manner.  He was able to fool the British into thinking he was readying an imminent attack on New York City, causing them to leave Long Island Sound, thus allowing the French time to land and move inland to safety in Connecticut without battling the British at sea before they even disembarked.
    Because of the spy who owned a print shop which seemingly supported King George, important plans were heard and passed on to Washington.  Other spies were privy to the upper level of command amongst the British military at parties in a particular merchandise shop and a certain coffeehouse.  A circuitous route was set up for their messenger across Long Island to Setauket where packets with concealed or innocuous-looking papers written in invisible ink and code were rowed to the Connecticut shore in a whale boat (while being pursued by the British) where another member took the seemingly innocent packet of merchandise and rode his horse overland to Washington’s camp in New Jersey.  At times, someone simply traveled out of New York City to visit relatives in northern New Jersey and met up with another dependable link to pass the information along to Washington’s headquarters.
    Because of their courage and resolve, the spies assisted in uncovering the Crown’s Major John Andre` (who, himself, ran a British spy ring) as he worked with Brigadier General Benedict Arnold, American commander at West Point.  Despite a prior stellar military record, but due to personal bitterness, Arnold was in the process of handing West Point over to Andre` and the British.  Through a series of blundering mistakes, because of the spies’ knowledge given to Washington at just the right moment, and because of the quick thinking of a couple of patriotic guards on a bridge leading back into New York City, Andre` was captured and later executed.  Arnold’s hand-over was thus thwarted, although Arnold managed to escape behind enemy lines and ultimately fled to England.
    Because of the supposed loyal British support by the owner of said print shop, a little book was obtained through his work as an undercover spy.  This inconspicuous little book contained key information on British troop movements at Yorktown, Virginia.  With important knowledge gained of the enemy’s military plans, Washington was able to redirect appropriate troops and ships to Yorktown.  General Cornwallis surrendered for the British on October 19, 1781 in an American victory where total defeat for the Americans would have otherwise taken place. 
    Because they swore themselves to secrecy, no one knew the full involvement of all six spies, nor all of their names.  Only gradually over the last few hundred years has their identities become known, the fifth not confirmed until recently.  All five men are now known, but the woman’s identity is not; she is simply known as Agent 355.  It is believed she was captured and became a prisoner; but, there is no hard evidence by research even to prove that conjecture. 
    The efforts of the six spies as they secretly obtained information and passed it along (devising their own specialty codes, using a unique invisible ink, and more) enabled them to maintain total secrecy.  Nor did they ever seek accolades for their work after the war was over.  The secrets to their successful accomplishments have been among the methods still taught and used successfully by our CIA today.
    In the interest of sharing the spies’ courage which undoubtedly helped us win the Revolutionary War, their story (as briefly described above) has been extensively researched and written by Brian Kilmeade and Don Yaeger in George Washington’s Secret Six, The Spy Ring That Saved the American Revolution.  It was one of my Christmas gifts from my husband a few years ago, and I highly recommend it to other history buffs.  It’s a read you’ll find difficult to set down!
    So, why is history important to us?  To quote David McCullough in the Reader’s Digest, December 2002, author of the books, John Adams and 1776:  “Who are we, we Americans? How did we get where we are? What is our story and what can it teach us? Our story is our history, and if ever we should be taking steps to see that we have the best prepared, most aware citizens ever, that time is now. Yet the truth is that we are raising a generation that is to an alarming degree historically illiterate… While the popular cultures races loudly on, the American past is slipping away. We are losing our story, forgetting who we are and what it's taken to come this far.”
    “The best way to know where the country is going is to know where we've been…But why bother about history anyway? …That's done with, junk for the trash heap.  Why history?  Because it shows us how to behave.  [It] teaches and reinforces what we believe in, what we stand for.  History is about life – human nature, the human condition and all its trials and failings and noblest achievements… Everything we have, all our good institutions, our laws, our music, art and poetry, our freedoms, everything is because somebody went before us and did the hard work... faced the storms, made the sacrifices, kept the faith…  If we deny our children that enjoyment [of historical story telling]… then we’re cheating them out of a full life.”  
    As I contemplated our nation’s celebrations, I thought about the effort and sacrifice it took from many to give us the freedoms we so often take for granted.  I am so thankful for all we have in America which many around the world do not enjoy.  But I also wondered if perhaps we have forgotten all that took place a long time ago, and if this day has simply become a traditional fun holiday.  The United States of America came to be with God’s hand working a miracle behind the scenes, and within the hearts of men and women who were very involved in its forming by putting their lives, legacy and financial support behind the movement for independence.
    Though no nation or government has been perfect as far back as the beginning of time, the early days of our young nation’s beginnings provide perspective for today’s America, this bastion of freedom.  So, it’s fitting that we ponder what part our ancestors played in the making of our great America some 246 years ago.  And, I might add, one of the best parts of researching my ancestors was the great lasting friendships I’d made with other descendants.
    Several of my ancestors served in the Revolutionary War in various capacities, some of whom I researched more extensively than others.  Originally, I did not plan to bring them into my article.  But then it occurred to me that it would be appropriate.  Knowledge of personal service and sacrifice often provides us with a greater understanding of the historical era and what our collective ancestors experienced. 
    While researching my ancestry over 20 years ago, I purchased Revolutionary War pension application files of several ancestors who had served.  For those whose government files I did not purchase, their data was obtained from Schoharie County Historical Society, various Revolutionary War books, CDs, and documents proving their service.  Hoping that my family research might provide us a closer glimpse of the war for independence through their experiences, I share their legacy.
    1) Frantz/Francis Becraft/Beacraft, bp. 06/12/1761, Claverack, Columbia Co., NY - Private, 3rd Comp., 3rd Regiment, 1st Rensselaerswyck Battalion, Albany County New York Militia, on muster roll from Berne in 1782, 1790 census at Berne.  In an 1839 affidavit, Francis Becraft of Berne stated that he “served as a Private in a company commanded by Capt. Adam Dietz in the County of Albany...” Frantz/Francis married Catherine Dietz (sister of said Capt. Adam Dietz), my g-g-g-g-grandparents.
    In researching my ancestors, I discovered an apparent familial tie to the notorious Tory Becraft/Beacraft.  This man felt no remorse in aligning himself with Joseph Brant’s Indians to capture, kill and scalp Patriots throughout Schoharie County, known to have brutally killed and scalped a young boy in the Vrooman family who managed to escape the house after his family had been murdered.  After the war ended, Becraft/Beacraft had the audacity to return from Canada to Schoharie County where he was immediately captured by ten men.  In meting out a punishment of 50 lashes by whip, the men supposedly reminded him of his infamous acts against the community, his former neighbors.  Roscoe notes that death did not linger for him after the final lash, and his ashes were buried on the spot.  Of the ten men who swore themselves to secrecy, apparently only five are known.  (History of Schoharie County, William E. Roscoe, pub. D. Mason & Comp., 1882, pp.250-251.)  
    However, in "Families (to 1825) of Herkimer, Montgomery, & Schoharie, N.Y.," a genealogical source on many early families by William V. H. Barker, it is noted that the Tory Becraft/Beacraft was Benjamin, born about 1759, brother of my ancestor noted above, Frantz/Francis Becraft.  If this is accurate and they are indeed brothers, they were both sons of Willem/William and Mareitje (Bond) Becraft.  Another source, “The Life of Joseph Brant – Thayendanegea…” notes Becraft survived his whipping and left the area (pg. 64), just as other undocumented sources indicate he survived and returned to Canada to live with his family.  So, I am uncertain as to whether Tory [Benjamin] Becraft actually died from his whippings or survived and left the area.
    2) Johannes/John Berlet/Berlett/Barlet, b. 05/08/1748, Schoharie, Schoharie Co., NY – Private, Tryon County Militia, 3rd Reg’t, Mohawk District.  He married Maria Gardinier, b. about 1751; their daughter Eva/Eveline Barlett married Martin Tillapaugh, b. 1778, my g-g-g-grandparents.
    3) Johann Hendrich/John Henry Dietz, bp 05/10/1722, Nordhofen, Vielbach, Germany – served in Lt. John Veeder’s Company, Rensselaerswyck, later under Capt. Sternberger’s Company at Schoharie.  He married Maria Elisabetha Ecker, bp. 1725; their daughter Catherine Dietz, b. 1761, married Frantz/Francis Beacraft above, my g-g-g-g-grandparents.
    As per my research article on Chemung County’s Newtown Battle, the Indian/Loyalist raids and massacres also touched my ancestral families in New York.  In Beaverdam (now Berne), New York near the Switzkill River on September 1, 1781, the Johannes Dietz family was attacked.  Johannes’ son, Capt. William Dietz was captured and forced to watch his elderly parents, wife, four young children and a Scottish maid be killed and scalped.  (see “Old Hellebergh,” Arthur B. Gregg, The Altamont Enterprise Publishers, Altamont, N.Y., 1936, p. 24; signed by Gregg, in Roorda’s collection from her father.)  Capt. William Dietz’s father, Johannes, was an older brother of my ancestor noted above, Johann Hendrich/John Henry Dietz. 
    4) Johan Dietrich Dallenbach/John Richard Dillenbach, b. 1733 per cemetery records, Stone Arabia, NY; father Jorg Martin Dallenbach born Lauperswil, Bern, Switzerland (emigrated with 1710 German Palatines with mother and first wife). John Richard Dillenbach married Maria Mynard; their son Martinus took name of Martin Tillapaugh (my lineage), married Eva/Eveline Barlett as above.  Dillenbach reported for duty March 20, 1757 when Sir William Johnson called local militia out to protect Fort William Henry on Lake George for the British.  The Seven Years’ War, or the French and Indian War, began in 1754 and ended with the European peace treaties of 1763 during which year Dillenbach again reported to defend Herkimer with the Palatine District Regiment.
    James Fennimore Cooper wrote The Last of the Mohicans about the siege of Fort William Henry.  Roughly 2300 colonial troops were protecting the British fort when the French arrived with about 8000 troops in August 1763 and heavily bombarded the fort.  With additional supporting troops not found to be on their way, the garrison was forced to surrender.  The men were to be protected as they retreated by generous treaty terms.  However, as the Indians entered the fort, they plundered, looted, scalped and killed about 200 colonials, many of them too sick to leave.  In desecrating graves of those who had died before the siege, the Indians exposed themselves to smallpox, taking the germs back to their homes.  The French destroyed the fort before returning to Canada.  Fort William Henry was reconstructed in the 1950s.  Visiting this fort in 1972 with the Lounsberry Methodist Church youth group, I was unaware at the time that my Dallenbach/Tillapaugh ancestor had walked that ground, having been involved in the siege and survived. 
    5) Timothy Hutton, b.11/24/1746, New York City, married 2nd) Elizabeth Deline b.1760.  Their son George b.1787 married Sarah Wyckoff b.1793 (descendant of Pieter Claessen Wyckoff who cared for Pieter Stuyvesant’s bouwery/farm, today’s bowery district of New York City, with his Wyckoff  House Museum on Clarendon Road, Brooklyn, NY still standing), my g-g-g-grandparents.  Timothy served as Ensign in Philip Schuyler’s Regiment of Albany County Militia, at defeat of Gen. Burgoyne in Saratoga October 17, 1777; appointed Lieutenant in New York Levies under Col. Marinus Willett; defended Schoharie County from burnings and killings by British, Loyalists and Indians.  This Timothy is not to be confused with a nephew of same name and rank, b. 1764, which many have done, including an erroneous columnar grave marker in Carlisle, NY.  Sorting their military service out was part of my extensive thesis and documentation in researching and publishing two lengthy articles on the origins and descendants of this Hutton family in the New York Genealogical & Biographical Record in 2004-2005. 
    My Timothy’s nephew William Hutton served extensively in the Revolutionary War throughout New York City, Long Island, and the Hudson Valley.  My Timothy’s nephew Christopher Hutton of Troy, NY served as Ensign, promoted to Lieutenant, member of the elite Society of the Cincinnati.  My Timothy’s nephew, Timothy Hutton b.1764, served as Lieutenant in New York Levies under Col. Willett, enlisting 1780 at age 16 in the Albany militia.  My Timothy’s nephews, Isaac and George (brothers of Christopher and the younger Timothy, all sons of George Hutton, the older brother of my ancestor Timothy Hutton), were well-known influential silversmiths during the Federal period in the late 18th/early 19th centuries in Albany.  Hutton silver has been on display at museums in Albany, New York.
    6) Johannes Leenderse (John Leonardson), b.06/18/63, Fonda, Montgomery Co., NY - enlisted as private in 1779 at age 16, Tryon County Militia, 3rd Reg’t; Corporal in 1781; served on many expeditions in the Mohawk Valley and at forts; joined Col. Willett’s company on march to Johnstown October 1781 in successful battle against enemy who had burned and killed throughout Mohawk Valley; re-enlisted 1782.  Married Sarah Putman b.1773.  Their son Aaron Leonardson b.1796 married 3rd) Lana Gross, parents of Mary Eliza Leonardson b. about 1732 who married William Henry Ottman, my g-g-grandparents.
    7) John Caldwell McNeill, b. 1755, Londonderry, Rockingham Co., NH - at Bunker Hill (actually Breed’s Hill) on Charlestown June 17, 1775 per purchased military pension file.  As Sergeant under Col. Timothy Bedel of the New Hampshire Line, John bought beef to pasture and butcher as needed for the troops.  Bedel’s regiment joined “Corp.1, Co. 1, New York Reg’t” on mission to Canada against British; McNeill taken captive with cousins and friends at The Cedars near Montreal, an island in the St. Lawrence; soldiers were stripped of clothing, belongings and food, and released in cartel negotiated by Gen. Benedict Arnold before becoming a traitor.  John served at and discharged at Saratoga, NY.  He married cousin Hannah Caldwell b.1762; removed to Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York ca. 1794; their son Jesse McNeill m. Elizabeth Ostrom, my g-g-g-grandparents. (Neighbor was Thomas Machin who built the Great Chain across the Hudson River to keep the British ships from sailing north. A granddaughter of McNeill married a Machin grandson, removing to the Midwest.)
    😎 George Richtmyer, bp 04/23/1738, Albany Co., NY – Captain from 1775 through end of war in 15th Reg’t of Albany Militia, defending Cobleskill and Middleburg, Schoharie Co., NY.  Married Anna Hommel; their son Henrich/Henry married Maria Beacraft (see above), my g-g-g-grandparents.
    9) Hendrick/Henry Vonck/Vunck, b. 03/06/1757, Freehold, Monmouth Co., NJ - served as private and Corporal in New Jersey and New York City; carried papers for American Gen. Charles Lee; joined units marching to same area of Canada as John C. McNeill; on return became ill with smallpox with others at Lake George when news of the Declaration of Independence was made; honorably discharged; called to serve again at Sandy Hook, NJ; captured by the British at Sandy Hook, taken to a prison ship, then to the [Livingston] stone sugar house in Manhattan, then another prison ship, the Good___  (writing illegible on the early 1800s pension document, possibly Good Hope).  After “one year and one month” as prisoner, he was exchanged and released.  “Having suffered while a prisoner great privations and disease and in poor clothing and severely unwholesome provisions many prisoners died in consequence of their treatment.” (Per 1832 affidavit of military service for pension.)  Conditions suffered as a prisoner left Henry in poor health the rest of his life; removing later to Montgomery County, NY.  He married Chestinah Hagaman; their daughter Jane Vunck married James Dingman, my g-g-g-grandparents.
    From 1776 to 1783 the British made use of decommissioned ships (incapable of going to sea) as floating prisons.  At least 16 rotting hulks were moored in Wallabout Bay, the inner harbor along the northwest shore of Brooklyn, now part of the Brooklyn Navy Yard.  Among the ships were the Good Hope, Whitby, The Prince of Wales, Falmouth, Scorpion, Stromboli, Hunter, and the most infamous HMS Jersey, nicknamed Hell by the men.  Over 10,000 men, perhaps at least 11,500, died on these ships due to the deliberate deplorable conditions.  Men were crammed below decks with no windows for lighting or fresh air.  There was a lack of food and clothing, with vermin and insects running rampant, and a lack of other humane efforts to aid the ill, all leading to the death of thousands.
    Prisoners died virtually every day, reportedly as many as fifteen a day.  Some were not found right away, their bodies not disposed of until days later.  Often, those who died were sewn into their blankets (if they had one) to await pick up by cart the next morning.  Many were buried in shallow graves along the shore (unearthed during major storms) or were simply tossed overboard, later washing ashore.  With development of Walloon Bay area over the last two centuries has come the discovery of their bones and parts of ships.  To commemorate these soldiers’ lives and what they gave in the fight for independence, the Prison Ship Martyrs’ Monument was built.  Located in Fort Greene Park, Brooklyn, it was dedicated on April 6, 1808 with improvements made to it several times since.
    At least another 5-6000 men died in the sugar houses, bringing the total who died as prisoners to more than 17,500 in the sugar houses and ships, more than double the battlefield losses.  Sugar houses were buildings meant to store sugar and molasses.  Affidavits by my ancestor, Henry Vunck, and friends note he was held for a few months in the “stone sugar house.”  This could only mean the Livingston Sugar House, a six-story stone building built in 1754 by the Livingston family on Crown (now Liberty) Street in Manhattan.  Demolished in 1846, buildings No. 34 and 36 are now on the site.
    A second sugar house, the Rhinelander, a five-story brick warehouse, was built in 1763 at Rose (now William) Street and Duane Street.  This building was eventually replaced and is now the headquarters of the New York City Police Department.  A third, Van Cortlandt’s sugar house, was built about 1755 by the early Dutch family of this name at the northwest corner of the Trinity Church in Manhattan.  It was demolished in 1852.
    10) Hans Georg Jacob Dubendorffer (George Jacob Diefendorf), b. 01/23/1729, Basserstorff, Switzerland – a Loyalist during Rev War, he left Mohawk Valley for Philadelphia and New York City, returned to a daughter’s home in Canajoharie, NY after the war rather than remove to Canada.  A patriotic son disowned his father, taking his middle name (his mother’s maiden name) as his new surname, removing to Virginia.  George Jacob married Catharine Hendree; their son Jacob Diefendorf married Susanna Hess, my g-g-g-g-grandparents.
    On February 3, 1783, the British government acknowledged the independence of the American colonies.  The next day, they formally agreed to halt all military operations.  A preliminary peace treaty was ratified in April, and Canada offered free land that summer to Loyalists who sought a new life.  Still, the British military maintained a presence in Manhattan.  When Britain signed the Treaty of Paris September 3, 1783 to end the war, the hated Redcoats finally and slowly began to abandon their New York City stronghold. 
    Next would begin the task of establishing the government and president of this new nation, the United States of America.  George Washington rode into Manhattan on November 25, 1783 with his officers and troops, eight horses abreast.  At the same time Washington’s parade began, British soldiers and ships were setting sail for their homeland across the Pond. 
    Flags were joyfully waved, church bells rang in celebration, and cannons were fired in honor of those who had fought and for those who had lost their lives, all for the independence of this fledgling nation.  The war had definitely taken its toll; but, on this day, great joy was felt in every heart for what had been accomplished. And that is why we continue to celebrate our 4th of July heritage in style – as we remember and commemorate those who gave so much that we might enjoy so much.  And, I trust we will never forget what their efforts wrought for us in America!
     
  19. Linda Roorda
    We’re very thankful for the good rains that came following the heavy smokey haze we and so much of the northeast dealt with from Canada’s many wildfires. I saw the photos taken by my cousin in New York City sent to his parents, and which his mom forwarded to me. Much denser a haze than we had here, which was bad enough, it permeated everything. And going without rain for several weeks or even a month, it was cause for joy when my students and I heard and saw the heavy rains coming down!
    But the smokey haze hit me as a good metaphor for the haze of emotional disruption caused by PTSD – post traumatic stress disorder. The emotional distress clouds your normal ability to experience life on a good positive level, while you try to live normally, hiding or concealing symptoms of distress so that few notice something just might be amiss… because you, yourself, may not even understand the depth of distress.  I’ve been there… and this is my story.  
    June is National PTSD Awareness Month.  PTSD is a serious issue whose effects I don’t think we fully understand even today.  This is the story of my journey.  I no longer deal with its effects as in years past.  Now realizing I did nothing to cause the problems, there is no reason for me to feel ashamed. 
    Life being what it is, an imperfect entity, there are things that happen to each of us over which we have no control.  What we do have control over, however, is our reaction… either to our detriment, or to our recovery and growth.  And I hope sharing my story here will be helpful, encouraging others in their struggle. 
    Several years ago, a friend’s Facebook post about PTSD suffered by combat veterans brought memories back to me of long ago.  Nearly 10 years ago, inappropriate incidents by a so-called friend during a time I felt utterly overwhelmed by extreme stress… working full time and caring for my husband, his many medical appointments, and virtually all household needs for so many years… reactivated my own PTSD symptoms. 
    Post-traumatic stress disorder is not a syndrome affecting only our military vets returning from an active war zone.  It is believed that about 20% of American adults who have suffered some form of trauma can be diagnosed with PTSD.  This diagnosis includes a host of after effects from various traumas such as emotional, physical, or sexual assaults, natural disasters, serious accidents, and many other traumatic life-altering situational stressors.
    PTSD is an invisible pain with its own specialized mental challenges.  Unlike visible wounds, it often lacks outward evidence or proof, taking prisoner one’s deepest inner self and emotions.
    PTSD is typically evidenced by flashbacks, nightmares, difficulty sleeping and working, panic attacks, and feeling detached from reality… essentially an unstable emotional equilibrium.  Usually, no one else knows the victim has a problem, who may also be in denial that anything is wrong, or may be totally unaware they have a problem.  I know.  I was diagnosed with PTSD well after the trauma of verbal rape had occurred in junior high.  For me, PTSD reared its head to strike years later after having to steel myself daily in an abusive employment situation.
    Predating the initial traumatic event though, my family abruptly moved when I was 9 from a farming community of everything and everyone I loved to city life, and I was an emotional mess.  Within the year, Tourette’s Syndrome began, albeit undiagnosed until years later.  But I overcame the challenges and adapted, making a new life with new friends.  Yet, just a few years later, my family never knew why I suddenly became withdrawn, was easily agitated, and startled and screamed easily at the unexpected.  I was always on alert, wary of others, shied away from making friends, withdrew from a great group of peers in our church youth group, being afraid of even them, and often “clung” to my sister’s side when I should have been making my own friends. 
    I also never shared my fear of the dark, literally sensing someone was behind me to grab and kill me.  It was a very real and horrendous fear that I battled for several decades.  I was afraid to tell anyone, fearing they’d think I was absolutely crazy.  But, to be fair, I also had no idea the trauma of verbal rape in junior high could have caused my problems.  I thought that event had simply been tucked away in the distant crevices of my memory.
    A few years after that emotional trauma, my family moved back to a rural community in upstate New York.  There, I was mocked by a neighbor’s sons, or so I assumed, hidden from view in their yard as I took care of my horse.  Unfortunately, my dislike for them was real.  Unexpectedly, I was reminded of that mocking incident by the perpetrator over 20 years ago.  Still thinking it was hilarious fun at my expense, laughing while retelling the mocking episode, I was afraid to share the pain I’d lived with for so many years.  Sadly, my sister does not comprehend the damage her mocking did to me.  It is well known in the psychiatric community that emotional abuse damages the victim’s self-esteem with long-term consequences to their emotional stability.  Wishing I could apologize for my own wrong in holding onto dislike in thinking a neighbor’s son had done this, I gathered the courage to seek him on Facebook.  He graciously accepted my apology for my long-held hate, and forgave me, passing away unexpectedly several months later.  I am forever grateful I listened to God’s prompting at that time to reach out.
    A few years after that mocking incident though, returning home from dates with Ed (being legally blind, he could not drive), I would park my car as close to the house as possible, and run as fast as I could to get into the house.  The closer the car to the door, the more severe the fear.  It was laughed about, but I never shared my intense fear of the dark with anyone except my husband-to-be.  Sharing it with my Dad a few months before his passing, I heard the pain in his voice for his never having known in order to have been there for me way back in junior high.
    Fast forward several more years when, after leaving an abusive employment situation, property damages began, and nightmares and flashbacks set in.  It felt like I was beginning to break with reality.  Resigning from a new job because of the sudden inability to function and make office decisions regarding things objectively I knew very well how to do, hearing condemning voices and yelling in my head by my former employer, I felt like an absolute and total failure. While looking for just the right tree to drive my car into, I drove past the home of my Dad’s former Army buddy, Roland, a faithful Christian.  I’d sat on his knee for Thanksgiving at my family’s cabin in Alaska when I wasn’t quite 2 years old.  Now, driving past his home, I clearly heard the voice of God saying, “I’m here for you.  Your family needs you.  You will be okay.”  Like ancient Israel’s King David who said in Psalm 91:2, “I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust,’” God was always here for me in so many ways. 
    Finally seeking professional counseling, I was given a diagnosis - PTSD.  My counselor shared that it was not a diagnosis given lightly, typically not given out other than for military personnel.  But she said I had been severely traumatized in several ways, had suppressed the trauma and my feelings, steeling myself to additional abuses, and emotions overwhelmed me.  Told I really would be okay, and that none of it was my fault (which I’d always believed), the healing process began with my husband’s loving support. 
    Still, having to support my family with Ed unable to work at that time, taking a month off, I put one foot in front of the other to work as a secretarial temp for executives before being hired as a hospital medical transcriptionist over 30+ years ago.  The temp jobs were a boost to morale with letters of commendation from a bank president, university labor relations professor at Cornell, and a hotel CEO.  They had each told me personally they would have hired me but for their own secretary being on vacation. 
    It seems like a lifetime ago.  I have forgiven those two boys in junior high, hoping they’ve gone on to become good men as adults, as well as my mocker, and former employer.  The effects of any bullying are devastating as we see all too often among today’s youth.  I will no longer allow myself to be mocked or bullied, even when such abuse is hidden from the eyes of others, even within the church.  I forgive, but renewed friendship is inappropriate with those who continue to blame their victim, refuse to comprehend the damaging effects of ongoing bullying, and cannot apologize or amend their behavior. 
    Though I still find it difficult to go outside in the dark even with a flashlight, startle easily, and always assess my surroundings, I’ve also learned God uses the traumas of life for a higher purpose, like the words He’s blessed me with in poetry, words which I’ve sensed have come from the depths of my soul.  As Paul wrote in Romans 8:28, “we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him…”  And I pray God may use me to “be there”, bringing peace and comfort to others who struggle.
    I’m also thankful to say I’m doing well, appreciative of the great supportive friends who have blessed my life with their presence.  My prayer is that anyone else suffering PTSD, or the adverse effects of abuse and bullying, will seek help to recover… and be richly blessed in their healing! 
    Where the Heart Soars Free
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Little girl sad, withdrawn and teary
    Changes and loss disrupting life’s flow
    Leaving behind remnants of what was
    With emotional scars, reminders vivid.
    ~
    Where once her heart ran free, unhindered
    Clinging to joys and ease of childhood
    Now all the world was seen through the lens
    Of deepening gray on guard for the unknown.
    ~
    Open her eyes, Lord, that she may see
    All of the wisdom You share with her
    May she then know how great is Your love
    That You care enough to shelter her heart.
    ~
    For there is a place where the heart soars free
    Where love shines bright in a world grown dim
    Where hopeless need meets faith to overcome
    By walking the path that conquers defeat.
    ~
    As an airy joy with a zest for life
    Brings cheer to the sad and light to the dark
    Where peace in the heart and contentment calm
    Cover her wounds with Your loving grace.
    ~~
     
  20. Linda Roorda
    It’s another beautiful sunshine day, with cooler temps down from the mid-90s, thankfully.  Still no rain in our area, as we pray for that blessing.  Yesterday was a successful day at our Spencer-Van Etten community farmers market season opener, and a great time to see friends and meet new folks as we chatted about various topics.
    This week as a sub also went very well, with special hugs from students, helping students stay focused on the classwork in front of them. And that reminded me of this previously unpublished poem and reflection written several years ago. We all struggle to stay focused at times, not just our young ones. But there are also benefits to those wandering thoughts… as ideas for good will pop into our thoughts. And maybe that’s how great inventions happen!  God really can use those wanderings to benefit us and others!
    With these few wandering thoughts and ideas, I hope you have a blessed Sunday and a great week ahead, because...  
    We can all get distracted when we focus on something other than the intended.  Our thoughts wander and stray, and we have to rein them in, retrieve them, and regain our focus.  In fact, as I sat here thinking about writing this reflection a few years back, I recalled a cartoon I’d seen decades ago.  As Garfield’s creator, Jim Davis, put it, “I have a fear of letting my mind wander.  I’m afraid it might not come back.”  How true, how true!  Yet, on the flip side, we may learn or discover something new and of benefit in those wandering thoughts and ideas!
    And I chuckle because I cut that out of the paper back then (and have since lost it)… it’s exactly how I felt!  Truth be told, it was on my mind as an example to use as I sat down to write… but then my mind wandered, and I looked out the window at the cold wintry scene… thinking about spring, and gardens, and planting… and, for the life of me, could not recall the above quote when I brought my focus back to the computer.  So, I told Ed I’d forgotten the quote I’d planned to use about letting my mind wander and asked if he had any idea what I’d been thinking of.  Dear man that he was, he knew the exact quote I’d wanted to use! Ed knew me so well!
    I also thought about an old hymn that’s been one of my favorites since childhood – “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” written by Robert Robinson at about age 22 in 1757.  “Come Thou Fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing Thy grace; streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise… Jesus sought me when a stranger, wandering from the throne of God; He, to rescue me from danger, bought me with His precious blood… Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, prone to leave the God I love; here’s my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for Thy courts above.”
    It’s a common malady…  We all tend to get distracted by what’s going on around us.  And we may find ourselves beset with wandering thoughts and/or wandering feet.  We may even stray from the narrow path and away from our Lord at times. But, with His loving mercy and grace, He faithfully and gently draws us back to His side… back to His word which guides our steps, our thoughts, and our words. 
    With those thoughts bringing me back into focus, I’ll rest in Him and the comforting peace of His word.
     
    In Him I’ll Rest
    Linda A. Roorda
    Oh Lord you know I long to follow
    Your guiding words on this path of life,
    Yet still I stray in my thoughts and words
    Away from truth to follow desires.
     
    What is the draw?  Why do I wander?
    What do I seek?  Is it my will or Yours?
    Help me, I pray, to give up my wants
    That which I hold too tightly in fear.
     
    A fear that grips my heart in its clutch
    From being in charge to loss of control,
    Trying to make this destiny mine
    Grasping tightly the threads of my life.
     
    But what I’ve learned by following self
    Is that I’ve missed the greater blessing
    Of true peace found on giving control
    To the One above who created me.
     
    For He established the me I would be
    And created all for His glory and praise.
    He knew before time the steps I would take
    And how He’d draw my heart to seek His.
     
    My life is not my own to command
    I owe my worth to One far greater
    Giving Him reign o’er all I hold dear
    Bringing praises to His name alone.
     
    Then in Him I’ll rest in comforting peace
    And patiently wait His answer to prayers
    As He envelopes my soul with His love
    And shines His light to glow from my heart.
    ~~
    07/17/15
     
  21. Linda Roorda
    What a beautiful sunny morning for Mother's Day!  Within the busyness of life of working full time in both raising a family and earning an income through a career, finding relaxation through resting or enjoying a special hobby, may you be richly blessed in all you do that is dear to your heart.  Wishing each mother a very special Happy Mother’s Day! 
    How to explain a mother’s love…  It’s all encompassing… She believes the best, encourages, supports, and nudges her young ones forward from infancy as they grow up to become who they’re meant to be.
    As a mother holds her tiny newborn in her arms, she feels an intense and special tender love.  From deep within her heart, this new love emerges as each little one is born… for every child is created unique by God… an individual with a distinct character and personality… unlike any other in the world. 
    Children are also not born with a set of instructions in one hand as they enter the world… sometimes unfortunately!  But, with biblical Godly wisdom, a mother, a parent, also grows within… to become wiser as her children mature.  It’s a process involving her learning and understanding while her children move through their own maturation processes.  She holds her hands out to pick her young ones up when they fall… while at the same time she tries to let them fail so they can learn from their mistakes… often called tough love.  We want so much to keep them from feeling pain, loss and disappointment.  And I’ve been guilty of being a helicopter mom… I didn’t want them to face some of the pains I did while growing up.  But, that’s not the best option.
    A mother also realizes she has not always been wise and successful at every turn of the way.  She makes mistakes too.  At times I needed to apologize for my own misunderstandings and mistakes, being willing to learn from the experience with my children, and to move forward a bit wiser. 
    Discipline, responsibility, accountability, honesty and respect are necessary for a child’s growth, taught and modeled by parents. One form of discipline I incorporated from Ed’s Aunt Ethel with our three children was to have them all sit on the sofa holding hands together when they had been arguing.  Unbeknownst to me, as soon as my back was turned, they stuffed their hands down between the sofa cushions – so they wouldn’t have to touch their sibling.  As soon as Mom reappeared, they held hands again.  When I could see they were treating each other well again, I sent them off to play.  As adults, they shared with me what they used to do.  I laughed and said, “But it worked!  It got you talking and working together, even if you were conspiring against me to unhold your hands!” 
    As a child, Jenn liked to take chocolate chips to her room, hiding them in her desk drawer.  One time, this concept went too far.  While their dad was at The Carroll Center for the Blind in Massachusetts, I took the kids grocery shopping with me.  Turning around one time, Jenn slowly took her hands out of her pocket with an odd look on her face.  I knew… I just knew what had happened.  Sure enough, she’d slipped a candy bar into her pocket.  I made her put it back, telling her that the store manager had literally just walked past us.  If he had seen her, I said, he would have charged her with shoplifting.  And people who do that go to jail.  Maybe that was harsh to tell an 11-year-old, but this was going to be stopped.  On the way home, I even drove past and pointed out the county jail. 
    When we visited their dad at his Aunt Ethel and Uncle Harry’s home in Massachusetts a few weeks later, I shared my concern with Uncle Harry.  The next day, he took us all to the Boston Aquarium. We saw the Old North Church, like an ant, tucked down amongst tall “skyscrapers.”  Then he took us to see “Old Ironsides,” the famous ship from the War of 1812. It was impressive to walk on a piece of early American history!  We thought it was especially neat to see a sailor in an 1812-era uniform on deck, talking on a modern telephone!  On the way home, Uncle Harry drove us past a prison with its high barbed-wire fences, telling us it was for teenage delinquents. I’m sure the message was received. Jenn never attempted to steal anything again. True love, and guiding our children through the maze of learning appropriate behavior, does not leave them to blindly follow their own selfish desires.
    After our daughter, Jennifer, passed away at age 25, I wrote my memories of the growing-up years of Jenn, Em and Dan in a book, “Watch Them” for family and friends.  In one chapter I wrote, “Our children – each a unique individual, a most precious gift from God to be treasured and loved as we guide them in their journey through life.  My late friend, Mimi, shared a special quote from her stitchery:  ‘There are two lasting gifts we can give our children – one is roots, the other is wings.’ May we love our children enough to provide them with the deep roots of a sturdy foundation, and yet love them enough to discipline them, giving them wings and freedom to fly out into the great big world on their own.”
    To me, that is what a mother’s love is all about. And I love each of my kids and grands so very much!  God bless you all, and Happy Mother’s Day! 
    A Mother’s Love
    Linda A. Roorda 
    A mother’s love
    From the first smile of joy
    For the precious bundle held in her arms
    To the pride in her heart
    As to the future her child is given.
     
    A mother’s love
    With hugs, tears and kisses
    That heal life’s bruises
    As arms enfold her child tight
    A place that no one else can fill.
     
    A mother’s love
    From deep within her tender heart
    A love that forever hopes the best
    A love that believes in guiding the will
    And a love that never ever lets go.
     
    A mother’s love
    Is kept in gentle memories
    From her tender sweet smiles
    To the depths of her heart
    Forever a love held precious and dear.
    ~~
  22. Linda Roorda
    Today, I’m sharing something close to my heart.  I’ve shared this before, but it bears repeating because I am not alone.  Tourette Syndrome Awareness Month is May 15 to June 15, with the annual Tourette Syndrome Awareness Day on June 7, 2023.  Tourette Syndrome was named for a French neurologist, Dr. Georges Gilles de la Tourette.  He was the first to describe children and adults with specific tic movements in 1884, publishing his study about this syndrome in 1885.
    I’ve had Tourette’s since age 10-11, starting within a year after my family moved from farms in upstate New York to city life in Clifton, New Jersey… the city where I was born and my dad grew up.  It was an extremely emotional, disruptive time in my life to leave behind my close friends and the country life I loved… and preferred.
    Always believing it was that stress which precipitated my tics, I now understand there is often a genetic component, though I have no idea who may have had it in any older generation.  Most of my life I was embarrassed and ashamed to admit I had Tourette’s.  Nor did my parents know what to do about it.  I was initially mocked, and quickly learned to hide or camouflage the tics with movements that wouldn’t be as readily obvious.  I am constantly “on alert”.  Though I can generally successfully “hide” the tics, or so I think, they have to have an out and are worse when I’m away from the public eye or under stress.
    I’ve called the tics “my habit”, but never had a diagnosis until reading a letter in a Dear Abby or Ann Landers column in my early 20s.  Self-diagnosing from the apt description in that letter and response by the columnist, I felt such a relief to give my affliction a name!  Still, I only shared this information with my husband and closest family.  Though embarrassed and ashamed to see myself with tic movements in a family video, I have not let Tourette’s control my life or employment.  I was also afraid of passing it on to my children, but I wanted and was blessed with a family.  I’m aware of the tics, and am able to control them… but only somewhat.  And I’m also thankful they are considered “simple” tics. 
    Just as I’ve been ashamed of my movements, so my late husband was ashamed of being legally blind growing up.  (He read and approved this when I initially wrote it.)  He couldn’t see the school blackboard with his limited vision, even sitting in the front row, and would not ask for the help he needed.  Kids don’t want to be different from their peers.  When they have a noticeable difference, they are too often teased or mocked like my husband was, and become ashamed of who they are… sometimes with devastating effects, like suicide.  It’s up to us as adults, and even children, to be aware of the issues that others around us are dealing with.  If we provide support, acceptance, and encouragement, we will see ourselves for who we truly are - uniquely created in the image of God, and very loved.
    While subbing one day, I was surprised by a young student who kindly asked, “Do you have Tourette’s?”  Seeing no point in denying the obvious to those sweet innocent eyes, I replied, “Yes, I do.  But how do you know about Tourette’s?”  She’d watched a show.  As kids often do, they talked amongst themselves and others began asking me questions.  This led to their teacher setting aside time so I could share what I knew about living with Tourette’s.  I answered their many questions with several adding they knew someone with Tourette’s, too!  It was an informative session, endearing these students to me for their kindness and understanding.  They simply accepted me for who I am, just as I accept each of them.
    Tourette Syndrome is one type of tic disorder, meeting certain medical criteria of involuntary, repetitive movements and vocalizations, lasting for specific lengths of time.  My “simple” tics include, but are not limited to, sudden brief, repetitive movements of certain muscle groups like hard eye blinking or scrunching (the first symptom for most, including myself), facial, mouth, and head movements, shoulder shrugging, arm, hand and finger movements, head and shoulder jerking, leg and foot movements, throat clearing, repeating words or phrases verbally (or in my mind), and more.  I have an arthritic bony prominence of my collarbone from decades-long shoulder shrugs, and thoracic spine pain/arthritis from prior movements.  Tics wax and wane, change muscle groups at whim, and become worse under stress.
    Though the tics have never gone away, they often subside, albeit briefly, when I’m fully absorbed in something like singing, sleeping or designing paintings.  Totally absorbed while playing intently with my toddler son years ago, my step-mother commented that my tics had totally stopped during that brief window of time.  That was the first time I realized there really were times when “my habit” stopped!
    Tourette Syndrome is a neurodevelopmental disorder with typical onset in childhood or adolescence.  Chemical imbalances in the brain, environmental factors, or genetics are considered causative factors.  There is no cure, but there are some treatment options.  About 35 years ago, I was officially diagnosed by a neurologist and prescribed medication.  Unfortunately, taking just half a pill of the smallest dose, the dopey side effect for me was much worse than dealing with the tics, so I declined further medication.
    I do not have “complex” tics which include distinct patterns with multiple muscles and movements, hopping and twirling, head banging, and more.  Vocal tics can include sniffing, throat clearing, shouting, saying words or phrases, and repeating what was heard.  Though swearing and unacceptable language are found in a small percentage of Tourette cases, the media often describes coprolalia as a more common symptom.  My heart goes out to those with this more severe and disruptive range of tics, some of whom may qualify for disability benefits.  Many with Tourette’s also have other diagnoses including obsessive-compulsive disorder, hyperactivity (possibly me), attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder, and learning disabilities. 
    Guidepost magazine once featured contemporary Christian music singer, Jamie Grace, sharing her diagnosis of Tourette’s.  Reading the article about her, I burst into tears just to know that someone else has it, but has not let it stop her from living a full life, too.  I always felt so alone, never knowing anyone else with Tourette’s until I opened up about it a few years ago on Facebook.
    Looking at this from God’s perspective, I find it comforting to know He sees me for who I am, Tourette’s and all.  He has a greater purpose for our lives as we bring honor and glory to Him in all that we do, even with our limitations.  Often, as we go through the trials of life, that’s when we learn how to trust and rely on the Lord the best.  In overcoming our own problems, God uses us and our difficult circumstances to reach others who may be dealing with similar issues, bringing love and comfort to them in a way that is as unique as we are each gifted individually.
    To learn more about Tourette Syndrome and how to handle the emotional and physical challenges, go to their website:  https://tourette.org/  Read shared personal stories at: Home | Mytourette.org
  23. Linda Roorda

    Gift Wrapped

    By Linda Roorda,

    “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere you go!”*  We love that old song and the memories it stirs.  But what does Christmas look like?  Along with hopes for the proverbial white Christmas, we each have special ways we remember and celebrate this joyous holiday.
    Lights are strung to outline houses, bushes and trees, and even vehicles!  Christmas trees of real or faux evergreen in varying sizes are put up inside the house.  Then we choose white lights, mixed colors, or a single-color theme.  And we add decorations and bows, candles, poinsettias and more to bring a festive holiday look to our homes.  There are as many ways to decorate as we are each different and unique!
    But then there’s the other part… shopping!  It can either be fun or a chore... yet, there’s something in the busy, frenzied pace that belies the true peace of Christmas.  I confess to not liking the commercialization that used to start barely after Thanksgiving was over, but now even earlier.  I don’t like hectic shopping, looking for just the right gift by trekking from store to store for hours on end, and waiting in long lines that go on forever.  And we especially don’t care to be among rushing crowds that push and shove and grab… we’ve all heard about those examples which, thankfully, I’ve not personally witnessed.  The deals may be hard to beat, but… that ambience leaves a bit to be desired.
    I prefer leisurely shopping trips, enjoying a pleasant day out, listening to Christmas music playing in the background with list in hand… because I’m not good at off-the-cuff gift decisions.  I enjoy gazing at the fancy decorations and gift ideas on display, and watching the faces of little kids light up at the sights.  But shh!!  I have to admit I’ve taken advantage of online shopping over the past several years.  Yes, me!  Someone who could never imagine she’d ever do that!
    Oh, and let’s not forget the best part of Christmas… all those gift-wrapped packages under the tree!  They hold hidden treasures for loved ones and friends, secrets known only to the giver. Giving a gift is exciting, really the best part!  As the recipient unwraps their gift, they tend to take on the bright glow of joy... and treasure the gift wrapped with love from your heart to theirs.
    I’m sure some of my other favorite Christmas memories are yours, too… like Christmas Eve candlelight services, caroling with friends to greet those who are housebound, memories of Christmas Day morning worship services of my childhood, and the happy gatherings of family and friends.
    All of which brings me to contemplate the treasured gift we celebrate on this special day - a baby born a long time ago.  Seemingly no different than any other infant… except that this one was born in a stable, amongst the cattle, donkeys, dogs, cats and mice… a baby whose birth was announced by angels to lowly dirty shepherds living out in the fields… a baby whose life still holds special meaning for us today.  
    To an astonished young woman, the blessed virgin Mary, the angel Gabriel had appeared with this message: “’Greetings, you who are highly favored!  The Lord is with you.’  Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be.  But the angel said to her, “’Do not be afraid, Mary. You have found favor with God. You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus.  He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High.’”  Luke 1:29-32 NIV
    In due time, Mary’s little baby was born… in a stable, there being no room in the inn at Bethlehem.  “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 a 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
    That birth announcement must have been so exciting, yet very humbling, to have seen and heard!  How awesome to consider that God sent us His love as a tiny infant, gift wrapped in swaddling clothes. The baby Jesus - Emmanuel, God with us… yes, the one who walked this earth on His journey to a cross… He’s the gift of salvation for us to unwrap and treasure.  Yes, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!
    Gift Wrapped
    Linda A. Roorda
    In wintry stillness there’s a peace I find
    While the world’s a’bustle with its fast-paced voice
    Midst a din that beckons in all directions
    To draw me away from peaceful reflection.
    ~
    From frenzied crowds to pushy shoppers
    There’s a greed we find in ego’s actions.
    May we bless instead by giving of self
    For within each heart we hold the treasure.
    ~
    Yet it seems we rush from here to there
    Exhaustion filling our stressed-out lives.
    Did we accomplish what needed doing
    Or merely deplete our dignity’s calm?
    ~
    May even we with our lists so long
    Take time to ponder and remember why
    The reason for joy in this season of cheer
    Is gift wrapped in peace and given with love.
    ~
    In celebration our voices are joined
    Recalling a birth from long, long ago
    Announced to shepherds by angels on high
    “Glory to God…and on earth peace to all.”
    ~
    For with the birth of baby Jesus
    We gaze in awe on the promised One
    Messiah, Savior, and Light of the world
    The Prince of Peace for our seeking hearts.
    ~
    Most holy of nights when God came to earth
    To share Himself, gift wrapped and swaddled,
    With an invitation that we would unwrap
    His gift encased in salvation’s love.
    ~~
    12/05/16
    *Written by Meredith Willson in 1951, sung by many, hits by Perry Como and Bing Cosby in 1951.
  24. Linda Roorda

    Seeking You

    By 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.
    ~~
     
  25. Linda Roorda
    Before I retired, I looked forward to the weekend.  But often found that once I got there, the chores on my list seemed to never end.  There was no escape!  They needed to be taken care of… though I’d much rather enjoy a respite with my hobbies – sewing, gardening, taking a walk, reading an in-depth well-researched historical book, or just relaxing on a bench in my gardens enjoying nature's beauty and listening to the birds.  But the demands of responsibilities in every-day life like paying bills, laundry, cleaning house and the pellet stove in the winter, baking Ed’s favorite cookies, etc. all take precedence over my “play time”… which I then savor as a treat, like dessert, after the necessaries have been properly take care of.
    And my thoughts turned to Proverbs 31 and the excellent wife… a woman more valuable than the most beautiful and precious gem.  Her accomplishments in caring for her husband and family are deserving of great reward.  “A wife of noble character who can find?”  [Prov. 31:1 NIV]
    This excellent and virtuous woman embodies all we could ever want or hope to be.  She not only excels in the care of her home and family, but she also excels outside the home in the business world.  Her husband trusts her completely, knowing that she has his good at heart.  And, with the knowledge of her support, he earns great respect in his own business arena.  The excellent wife and mother cares about her family as well as those in her employ.  She has wisdom, empathy and mercy… with a loving and discerning heart to meet their needs.  She provides for her family’s future; and, knowing all that she has done in advance, she can smile or even laugh at the hardships which will inevitably come. 
    On the other hand, I am well aware that I simply don’t measure up.  Though I sure try, I so often fail.  On verbalizing my thoughts of failure while studying this chapter a while back, I discovered I wasn’t alone in those feelings amongst us ladies.  We were all reminded that that is where God’s loving forgiveness and grace comes in… as we pick ourselves back up and try again with our Lord always at our side. 
    Our excellent wife, or even a single woman, also embodies the wisdom found in the whole book of Proverbs, intended for each of us… a wisdom in its entirety which I do not have.  Left to my own devices, I revert back to thinking I can handle life all on my own, thank you very much.  But, knowing that I don’t measure up, Proverbs 31 reminds me whose wisdom and discernment I need to seek to guide me daily… even on a minute-by-minute basis.  And with our Lord’s guidance, I am more prepared to face the world and all of life’s demands.
    An Excellent Wife
    (Based on Proverbs 31) written in February 2015
    Linda A. Roorda
    An excellent wife is of matchless worth.
    Priceless she is, more valued than gems.
    Her husband trusts completely in her
    And knows her heart as she gives her best.
    ~
    She chooses well, her hands work with skill
    She shops with knowledge to find the best deals.
    She wakes before dawn her household to feed
    Eager to serve those under her care.
    ~
    She ponders wisely when purchasing land
    And gains a profit from crops she has raised.
    The money she’s earned in turn will be used
    Grapevines to buy, others to employ.
    ~
    With physical strength she tackles her tasks
    She knows what to do and pitches right in.
    She presents for sale her quality goods
    To ensure her home no lack or need knows.
    ~
    In one hand she holds the needs of her home
    And with her fingers she carries out plans.
    When storms descend her heart is fearless
    For she’s prepared, her family protected.
    ~
    Blankets she makes, fine clothing she sews
    Remnants she uses, no wasting supplies.
    Her crafts to sell, a profit to gain
    That gifts she may give as others are blessed.
    ~
    Her husband is admired by all those he meets,
    As he holds a place among the respected.
    Strength and dignity cover her well
    She smiles with peace at trials to come.
    ~
    In wisdom she rests when speaking her mind
    Her instructing words show kindness and love.
    She keeps her focus when running her home
    That idle hands would not be her theme.
    ~
    Her children observe her busy deeds
    They praise her heart and bless her dear name.
    With understanding her husband sees all
    For he knows her heart and praises her worth.
    ~
    In contemplating women of renown
    She far exceeds whatever their fame.
    For “charm is deceptive, beauty is fleeting”
    But she who worships the Lord shall be praised.
    ~~
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