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Linda Roorda

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Blog Entries posted by Linda Roorda

  1. Linda Roorda

    Thanksgiving

    By Linda Roorda,

    If you know me well, you know that fall is not my favorite season.  Oh, don’t get me wrong - I enjoy the brightly colored leaves, sunshine in a beautiful crisp blue sky, the cooler temps, the lack of stifling humidity, and the pungent odor of smoke from a well-run woodstove.  But, the darker, dreary, and shorter days with leaves fluttering down to mulch the earth as they leave behind the stark contrast of bare tree limbs against a gray sky tend to bring a sadness for me.  I much prefer spring and the emergence of new life.
    Yet, I cannot miss the fact that time and the pace of life is slowing down.  There is more time to focus on home and family projects, hobbies like sewing quilts and writing blogs, and preparing for our two favorite holidays – Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Even though my mood may sink a bit on a dark and dreary day, I still get excited to see the first big snow and watch the birds at my feeders.  Fall is also when I find time to reflect on a year of many blessings as I begin to write our Christmas letter and remember loved ones.
    But it’s also the time of year that we look forward to celebrating Thanksgiving and remembering the first celebration of thanks just a few centuries ago.  On Thanksgiving Day, we realize once again that we have so much to be thankful for.  God has blessed us all in so many ways, yet we often (me included) tend to take much in life for granted.  And I cringe every time I hear this special day called Turkey Day, instead preferring to think that deep within each of us is a heart of thanksgiving for all the blessings showered upon us each and every day.
    As a nation, we treasure the story of the Pilgrims’ first Thanksgiving celebration at Plimouth Colony in 1621.   (The Pilgrims of Plimouth are not to be confused with the Puritans who settled the Boston area; they are each of different religious backgrounds.)  The original Mayflower passengers numbered 102, with about 50 crew members, when they set sail in September 1620 for the intended destination of the Virginia Colony.  Blown northward off course, they arrived in November 1620 to a barren landscape on the shores of Cape Cod amidst cold and bitter winds and snows.  Signing the Mayflower Compact on November 11, 1620, their simple but well-written document laid the foundation for the new colony’s self-government in the New World.  
    In December, the Mayflower sailed up to Plymouth Harbor.  These hardy souls struggled to survive as the ravages of disease took a toll on board ship where they wintered.  Only 53 passengers and half the crew remained alive in the spring.  This left a straggling group of humanity to emerge from winter’s stark bleakness to face the early days of spring.  Yet, the days were bright with hope and promise as the warming sun nudged green buds alive on plants and trees.  They had survived!  And, with God’s help, they were determined to succeed in their endeavor to settle this new land.
    Building huts within the protection of a fort and its cannon, they moved from the hold of the ship to life on shore.  They learned to grow vegetables and hunt wild game and fish.  Native Americans who had befriended them were of great assistance in teaching the best methods for growing their gardens, and hunting and fishing.  At the end of harvest in October 1621, a feast was held for three days, traditionally considered the first Thanksgiving.  From records kept, 53 Pilgrims and 90 Native Americans attended this great feast.
    By 1623, their failed communal farming effort had been given over to the more productive privatized individual family farming.  With an abundant harvest following a drought and subsequent beneficial rains, Gov. William Bradford proclaimed a day of thanksgiving that same year:  “Inasmuch as the great Father has given us this year an abundant harvest of Indian corn, wheat, beans, squashes, and garden vegetables, and has made the forest to abound with game and the sea with fish and clams, and inasmuch as He has protected us from the ravages of the savages, has spared us from pestilence and disease, has granted us freedom to worship God according to the dictates of our own conscience; now, I, your magistrate, do proclaim that all ye Pilgrims, with your wives and little ones, do gather at ye meeting house, on ye hill, between the hours of 9 and 12 in the day time, on Thursday, November ye 29th of the year of our Lord one thousand six hundred and twenty-three, and the third year since ye Pilgrims landed on ye Pilgrim Rock, there to listen to ye pastor, and render thanksgiving to ye Almighty God for all His blessings.”
    The Pilgrims’ annual tradition was followed in 1630 by the Puritans’ first celebration, in 1639 by settlers of Connecticut, and in 1644 among the Dutch of New Netherlands.  Each group also set aside an annual day of thanksgiving in future years. 
    By the 18th century, various colonies designated a day of thanksgiving for military victories or bountiful crops.  In December 1777, a national day of thanksgiving within all thirteen colonies was declared and set aside by General George Washington after British General Burgoyne surrendered at Saratoga.  On October 3, 1789, President Washington set aside the first Thanksgiving Day, and proclaimed such a day again in 1795.  Since then, a national day of thanksgiving was proclaimed by future presidents, but not necessarily annually.  It was President Abraham Lincoln who established a national Thanksgiving Day to be held on the last Thursday of November 1863.  Since then, Thanksgiving has been observed annually.  However, change once again took place in 1941 when President Franklin Roosevelt set the fourth Thursday of each November as the official date, and there it has remained.
    What foods were on the menu for the first Thanksgiving Day feast in 1621?  From writings kept, the Wampanoag Native Americans killed five deer.  The colonists shot wild fowl – likely geese, ducks and turkey.  Indian corn was used since what we know as field and sweet corn were not yet available.  Jennifer Monac, spokesperson for the living-history museum at Plimouth Plantation, has said they “likely supplemented their venison and birds with fish, lobster, clams, nuts, and wheat flour, as well as vegetables such as pumpkin (not in pie), squash, carrots and peas.” However, what we consider traditional foods for our Thanksgiving dinner, i.e. mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, sweet corn, cranberry sauce, stuffing and pumpkin pie, were not found on their table – these foods had not even been introduced into their diet yet!
    What sets this day apart for you and your family? What makes your heart thankful? What special memories or traditions of Thanksgiving Day do you share with family and friends?  I’d love to hear your memories!
    Thanksgiving has always been a family day for us, whether during my childhood or with my husband and our children.  When I was a small child, my dad had farm chores; but we always attended a morning worship service.  In my late teens, and no longer on the farm, and no worship service at our church, he often took us hunting which I thoroughly enjoyed!  For my husband, Ed, every holiday was wrapped in the necessary milking and barn chores, continuing after we married.
    I especially enjoyed the big dinners after church at my dad’s parents’ home in Clifton, New Jersey in my early teens.  With her Dutch accent, my grandmother always welcomed us at the door with her cheery “Hello, Dear!”  My grandfather, a general contractor, had fully shed his accent, though they both spoke Dutch when we grandkids were not to know the content of their conversation!  And I well remember their food-laden table, surrounded by their three children and spouses, and all of us grandchildren.
    Thanksgiving Day also brings to mind the quintessential painting by Norman Rockwell of the family gathered around the table - Grandma setting down the large platter of turkey, eagerly awaiting Grandpa’s carving.  When our three children were young, I began a fun tradition of naming our birds either Sir Thomas or Miss Henrietta, depending on their size.
    Growing up, our children always enjoyed watching the Thanksgiving Day parades.  I often had to work this holiday years ago as a medical transcriptionist for a local hospital, and looked forward to coming home to the delicious aroma of turkey dinner begun by my husband and children.  Now, with our two remaining children grown and married, and each with children of their own, they celebrate with their respective spouse’s family.  Ed and I celebrate with a small quiet dinner.  And then, we eagerly anticipate Christmas and the return of our family for a few days.
    Thanksgiving Day also never fails to remind us of those who have left behind an empty chair and a hole in our hearts – our oldest daughter, my husband’s parents, and both of my parents.  Yet, sweet memories of their love cast a warm glow over all. 
    With thankful hearts for the many blessings God has so generously bestowed on each of us, I wish you a very Happy Thanksgiving Day!
  2. 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.
    ~~
     
  3. Linda Roorda
    December 5th is a day my/our Dutch ancestors celebrated Saint Nicholas Day or Eve, part of traditional European Christmas celebrations for centuries.  My cousin Sytske Visscher in the Netherlands shared that “St. Nicolas Day/Sinterklaas Day is celebrated on December 5, or the weekend before or after. According to the myth, the Bishop of Myra in Turkey (St. Nicolas) was born on December 6 and started to give presents to the poor members of his congregation on the evening before, December 5.  Families nowadays decide to celebrate the weekend before or after the official day.  Especially celebrating with only adults can better be organized on a weekend (Friday or Saturday evening) when most people do not have to go to work the next day.  Many not only give presents but also make poems to say something to the receiver of the present about what happened to him or her in the last year.”
    I think Christmas is everyone’s favorite time of year, especially a white Christmas!  Right?!  Even shopping begins in earnest the day after Thanksgiving.  But, many of our current holiday traditions either changed dramatically or began only in the 19th century.  Writing in the “Broader View Weekly” local newspaper in December 2012, I explored the origins of many of our American Christmas traditions.
    The Dutch word “Sinterklaas” for Saint Nicholas is considered the origin of our American “Santa Claus” with Washington Irving and Clement C. Moore helping to make him who he is today.  The earliest writing in America of a figure resembling our modern Santa can be found in Washington Irving’s satire of Dutch culture.  In “History of New York” published in 1809, Irving writes in chapter IX:  "At this early period…hanging up a stocking in the chimney on St. Nicholas eve…is always found in the morning miraculously filled; for the good St. Nicholas has ever been a great giver of gifts, particularly to children." 
    Clement C. Moore immortalized St. Nicholas in “’Twas The Night Before Christmas.”  In this ode to St. Nick, he appears on December 24th, Christmas Eve in America, not the traditional St. Nicholas Day/Eve of December 5 or December 6. Moore’s poem, published anonymously in a Troy, New York newspaper on December 23, 1823, promotes a new appearance to the original lean St. Nicholas:  “He had a broad face and a little round belly…He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf…[with a] "sleigh full of Toys" [and] "eight tiny reindeer…[as] Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound."  The two original reindeer names of Donder and Blixem were later changed to Donner and Blitzen.  Once again, the Dutch influence in the former New Netherlands was involved as “donder” means thunder and “bliksem” means lightning. 
    While Irving and Moore both present the jolly gift giver as Saint Nicholas, political cartoonist Thomas Nast is considered the first to refer to “Santa Claus” in his illustration for the January 3, 1863 edition of “Harpers Weekly.”  President Lincoln had requested that Nast depict St. Nicholas visiting the Union troops.  Nast’s illustration shows Santa Claus sitting on his sleigh at a U.S. Army camp, handing out gifts in front of a “Welcome Santa Claus” sign.
    Another treasured tradition of our modern Christmas is Charles Dickens’ short story, “A Christmas Carol,” written as a commentary on the greed of Victorian England.  Available in book stores the week before Christmas 1843, it sold very well, never being out of print since.  Scrooge has the distinction of being one of the most well-known literary characters.  But, what do we care… Bah, humbug!
    Our decorated Christmas tree comes from German traditions with Queen Victoria’s husband Prince Albert putting up the first decorated tree at Windsor Castle in 1841.  Based on illustrations of this event published in America in 1849, Christmas trees then became fashionable on this side of the “pond.”  Small candles were used to light the tree, with popcorn and cranberry strings typically used for decoration.
    From the religious aspect, Christmas celebrations differed in many ways based on national origin.  I found it interesting to learn that Christmas celebrations were outlawed in Boston by the Puritans in the mid to late 17th century with fines for violations, while the Jamestown, Virginia settlers enjoyed their merry celebrations under Capt. John Smith.  After the American Revolution, Americans looked down on English traditions, including Christmas.  Apparently, Congress was even in session on December 25, 1789!  In fact, Christmas did not become a federal holiday until Congress declared it such on June 26, 1870. 
    By the late 19th century, celebrating Christmas was made popular through children’s books and women’s magazines.  Church Sunday School classes began encouraging celebrations, and families were decorating Christmas trees with everyone “knowing” Santa Claus delivered gifts on Christmas Eve, traditions which have been carried on into the 21st century.
    Other popular traditions we all look forward to include decorating our homes and trees, baking scrumptious special treats, singing carols, and either making or shopping for just the right gift for each special person on our list.  But, alas, the years have also taken a simple celebration in honor of Jesus’ birth and made it into a highly marketed holiday, one often filled with ostentatious materialism.  Personally, I prefer to step back to the simpler traditions of my Dutch ancestry and childhood home, one without “all the trappings” and media frenzy.
    With my dad being a first generation Dutch-American, we veered from Dutch tradition in some ways.  We maintained Christmas Day with a morning church service and a big family dinner; but, our gift-giving was held the Saturday before Christmas, not the Dutch traditional day of December 5.  My husband’s Dutch family gave gifts on Christmas Eve as they had Christmas morning worship service after barn chores, but we decided on Christmas morning for our kids to open gifts.
    My first and last adoration of Santa Claus came the Christmas I was 5 years old when Santa visited my grandparents in Clifton, New Jersey. We three oldest granddaughters shyly sat on his lap to share our wants.  Afterwards, my grandmother took us to an upstairs window to watch Santa and his reindeer leave.  All I saw was a car with red tail lights driving away between the snowbanks.  At that moment, I was crushed and disillusioned, and just knew there was absolutely no Santa Claus because, despite dressing the part, he did not have a sleigh and reindeer!
    After all, everyone’s favorite reindeer is Rudolph with his nose so bright!  Supposedly written by Robert L. May for his daughter when her mother was dying of cancer, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” was actually written in 1939 for his employer, Montgomery Ward, as a Christmas book given out free to customers.  Though May’s wife did die around the time he wrote the story, he read it to his 4-year-old daughter as he worked on it simply to ensure it held a child’s interest.  With memories of his own childhood, May decided on a tale with roots in “The Ugly Duckling” and the taunts he had suffered as a child.  Poor Rudolph was ostracized by other reindeer for being different, having an obvious physical abnormality… a glowing red nose.  No one else had one!  Regardless of his defect, Rudolph thrived under his parents’ love, overcame his disability and the taunts to became a responsible young deer!  And then one foggy night, Santa noticed how Rudolph’s nose shone through the dark, and asked him to lead the team of reindeer pulling his sleigh on Christmas Eve!  How excited and honored Rudolph must have felt!
    We’ve all been blessed with special Christmas memories over the years.  While visiting my mom at Elderwood nursing home in the past, she shared that her mother had always put up and decorated a large Christmas tree in their front parlor.  It was a big change for her to learn that her new husband was not so inclined to such displays due to his more austere Dutch upbringing.  With limited decorations and no trees until my mid-teens when my dad finally gave in to the pleading of his six kids, I have found it difficult to step out of that mold.  Yet, I have enjoyed putting up a tree with lights and decorations when our three children were young.  And now, since my mother-in-law gave me her ceramic tree the Christmas before she passed away, I am honored to share her generosity in this smaller and simpler display.
    My favorite Christmas memory was when my husband, Ed, farmed with his dad.  With finances tight, I usually sewed clothes for all of us.  But, one year I also made doll beds for each of our children by taking free boxes from the local grocery store, gluing the bottoms together, and covering them with wood-grain contact paper.  My step-mother gave our three children a Cabbage-Patch type doll she had made, while my grandmother sewed clothes and blankets for each doll.  And our kids could not have been happier! 
    Our local churches do not have a Christmas morning service like Ed and I grew up with, though we have enjoyed the local Christmas Eve candlelight services and singing of favorite carols.  We also began a tradition of reading the Christmas story with our children before they opened gifts on Christmas morning. 
    And another favorite of our family has been the TV special, “A Charlie Brown Christmas” by Charles M. Schulz.  With the busy holiday shopping extravaganza and commercialization, I think we sometimes lose a little of the wonder of that very first Christmas.
    “Narrator:  It was finally Christmastime, the best time of the year.  The houses were strung with tiny colored lights, their windows shining with a warm yellow glow only Christmas could bring.  The scents of pine needles and hot cocoa mingled together, wafting through the air, and the sweet sounds of Christmas carols could be heard in the distance.  Fluffy white snowflakes tumbled from the sky onto a group of joyful children as they sang and laughed, skating on the frozen pond in town.  Everyone was happy and full of holiday cheer.  That is, everyone except for Charlie Brown…”
    “Charlie (to Linus):  ‘I think there must be something wrong with me.  I just don’t understand Christmas, I guess.  I might be getting presents and sending Christmas cards and decorating trees and all that, but I’m still not happy.  I don’t feel the way I’m supposed to feel…’”
    “Later, after a day of frustrations, Charlie says:  ‘I guess you were right Linus; I shouldn’t have picked this little tree.  Everything I do turns into a disaster.  I guess I don’t really know what Christmas is about.  Isn’t there anyone who understands what Christmas is all about?’”
    “Linus:  ‘Sure, I can tell you what Christmas is all about.’  [Walking to the center of the stage, Linus speaks:]  ‘And there were in the same country Shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.  And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone ‘round about them, and they were sore afraid.  And the angel said unto them, ‘Fear not!  For behold, I bring you tidings of great joy which will be to all people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.  And this shall be a sign unto you.  You shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in the manger.’  And suddenly, there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men.’”  [Luke 2:8-14]
    Did you notice Linus drops his blanket? He knew who to trust. And, for me and my family, that’s what Christmas is all about…  As we begin to celebrate this Christmas season, share your special memories...
  4. 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.
  5. Linda Roorda

    Would I?

    By Linda Roorda,

    Christmas is so much more than busy days of shopping, fancy decorations, and Santa.  It’s more than admiring a special baby in the manger with his parents and shepherds.  It’s all about the why of his birth, and the hope he brings to our world.  But I wonder if I take my faith for granted.  I’ve known Jesus and been “in the church” since I was a baby.  I have seen God work in my life in special ways, felt Him draw me to His side as my Savior, and heard Him speak to my heart. Yet, what would I have thought if I had walked where Jesus walked when He lived upon this earth? 
    How would I have reacted when Jesus taught his disciples and the crowds that gathered?  What would I have thought of His combined humanity and deity, His love for sinners, and His great miracles? Would I have accepted Him as my Savior?  Or, would I have turned my back and rejected Him, calling for His death as others did?
    What would I have thought if I had been Mary?  With her pregnancy foretold by an angel, not married to Joseph yet, she was initially troubled.  But, Mary soon felt overjoyed to be chosen as mother of the Son of God as the angel had said (Luke 1:26-38) and glorified her Lord in song! (Luke 1:46-53) Joseph was also visited in a dream by an angel to help him understand Mary’s pregnancy. Yet, what about the attitudes they may have faced among family and friends?  Despite what the angel said, and Mary’s simple faith in God, she could have been stoned to death for her supposed unfaithfulness to Joseph by being pregnant before marriage. (Deuteronomy 22:20) Still, Joseph was a good man, heeding the angel’s message, loving and protecting Mary rather than walking away from her.  And into these humble but loving beginnings was the Son of God, the baby Jesus, set to be born…  (Matthew 1:18-24)
    When it was time, Mary gave birth in a stable full of dirty smelly animals because no one, no one, had even a small room where they could welcome their precious newborn.  As she gently wrapped her baby in swaddling cloths, calmed his tears, snuggled him in her arms and nursed him, I imagine she gazed on him with the tender love and joy in her heart that every new mother feels.  When he’d fallen asleep, she laid him gently on the hay in the manger, as the animals made their own soft chorus of night-time noises. (Luke 2:4-7)
    And what would I have thought if I were a shepherd on the hills protecting my sheep when suddenly a brilliant light appeared?  Imagine hearing an Angel say that a Savior had been born.  A Savior?  Was this the Messiah promised to the world so long ago?  And then the heavens opened as a great host of angels appeared in the brilliantly-lit sky, all singing and praising God!  What an awesome sight and sound!  It must have left them speechless!  (Luke 2:8-13)
    When the angels left, the shepherds rushed to Bethlehem to search for this newborn babe. And they found him exactly as they’d been told, lying in a manger in a stable.  Quietly, the shepherds gazed in awe upon Mary’s little boy.  She was amazed they knew all about him, and he was just born!  She heard about how the angels sang praises of her baby, calling him Christ the Lord.  Now these humble men glorified and praised God for her baby… as Mary treasured and pondered it all in her heart. (Luke 2:15-20)
    And how could Mary ever forget the time she and Joseph couldn’t find Jesus among the crowds as they walked back to Nazareth.  Imagine their consternation on finding him teaching the elder rabbis in the tabernacle.  Her little boy was only 12 years old!  He had even told his parents, “Don’t you understand I must be about my Father’s business?”  (Luke 2:49)  His father’s business?  His father was a carpenter, not a rabbi!  She and Joseph did not understand, but she pondered these things in her heart… how odd it all was, and yet how amazing!  Surely, she remembered what the angel had said about her little boy…
    Mary saw the crowds who followed after her son as a grown man, hanging onto every word he spoke… going from town to town.  How well did she and others understand that Jesus truly was the Son of God, the long-awaited Messiah?  The religious leaders walked away deeply troubled by his teachings.  Yet, there were so many miracles… and no one had ever seen or heard anything like this before!  
    Then there were the 12 men who were called her son’s disciples.  Jesus had chosen them to follow Him, and follow they did, going everywhere with their beloved teacher.  And yet, even they did not truly understand.  Oh, sure, Jesus taught them with authority and an earnestness.  One time he even asked them, “Who do you say I am?”  Peter had answered, “You are the Christ (Messiah), the Son of the living God.”  Then Jesus replied, “Blessed are you, Simon… you are Peter (which means rock)… for this was not revealed to you by man, but by my Father in heaven…” (Matthew 16:13-20)  Peter knew, he understood, and believed; but, just how deep was his faith?  Anyone’s faith at that time?
    Because, sometime later, after the soldiers had taken Jesus from their midst in the Garden of Gethsemane, Peter was questioned by two servant girls and others around a warming fire.  Three times he told them “I don’t know the man!”… and then the cock crowed… and Peter remembered Jesus had said he would deny him. (Matthew 26: 69-74)  “Even if I have to die with you, I never will disown you!”  Peter had exclaimed. (Matthew 26:31-35)  But now he had done just that.  Oh, the shame of it all! 
    Peter walked off by himself, sobbing with a broken heart. (Matthew 26:75)  He had abandoned his best friend, the man who had called him a rock for the firm foundation within him, for the church to be built on this rock, this faith.  He, Peter, who had been nothing more than a humble, dirty, smelly fisherman before Jesus saw something better in him… he, Peter, afraid of people’s reactions, afraid to admit how close a friend he had been to Jesus.  Did Peter really understand that his best friend, Jesus, truly was God?
    All these things Mary pondered in her heart as her son was dying a horrendous death above her on a cross.  Did she understand what her son’s birth and life on earth had been all about?  That he really had been going about His Father’s business?  That His heavenly Father was theirs also?  That her son was born to live among them, yet came with a purpose… to die for their sins and ours, and that He arose and returned to Heaven, that we all might have the gift of salvation and eternal life with Him?  “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him, should not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3:16 KJV)
    Would we have understood the truth Jesus was teaching… without the written Word in our hands?  Would we have followed Him, regardless of the cost?  Would we have shown others what the love of Jesus means?  So much to consider… so much to ponder… that I have to ask, would I?
    May you have a Blessed Christmas! 
    Would I?
    Linda A. Roorda
    Would I know this Child from Heaven sent?
    Would I pause like Mary to ponder?
    Would I grasp His Love meant for me?
    Would I walk the paths that He trod?
    Or, Would I be ashamed to know Him?
    ~
    Would I know the depth of His love?
    Would I feel the sorrow His heart felt?
    Would I stay awake as He prayed?
    Would I take His cross on my back?
    Or, Would I pound the nails in His hands?
    ~
    Would I know Jesus died for me?
    Would I feel His grief for my sin?
    Would I know my Lord in risen glory?
    Would I in joy to God’s Gift be true?
    And, Would I love, forgive, and shine forth His Light?
    ~
    April 2012
     
  6. Linda Roorda

    My Shepherd You Are

    By Linda Roorda,

    I struggle with remembering to take life one day at a time, even though I often reference it in my writings. Maybe you too? It’s a daily learning process to release my cares to God. With my husband's need for nursing home rehab, I’ve panicked and become fearful of the unknown future… will he do well, rebuild muscle to regain strength enough to return home… or will he need long-term skilled nursing care… a frightening unknown future for both of us.
    But then, I remember, trust God – for He has it all under control. He knows the plans He’s already put in motion for me and Ed, individually and as a couple.  “’For I know the plans I have for you,’” declares the Lord, “’plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” (Jeremiah 29:11)  For “He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.” (Isaiah 40:11)
    I’m not alone!  When I wander with frets and worries, He pursues me… He comes seeking and calling me back closer to Himself… as I then look to Him for guidance, comfort, and peace.
    Interestingly, our friend and pastor, Charlie (and Natalie) Hale, from Maine, unknowingly confirmed my choice of this blog by sending us his own words of comfort to me and Ed about Psalm 23 last Thursday.  He wrote, “God knows we can be afraid and He has promised to take care of us through everything that comes our way. Keeping our focus on God who has promised: “Yet in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.  For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:37-39)  We can trust that we are safe in the hands of God come what may because we know we are His and no one is able to snatch us out of His hands. (John 10:29)  Thank you, Charlie, for reminding us of our Lord’s precious care as Shepherd.
    As I wrote back in 2014, Psalm 23 has been a favorite sacred poem to many of us, a calming reassurance, bringing peace to our soul when we face difficult days.  What better way for the psalmist David to have described the loving protection and care of him by our, Lord, than through this Psalm based on what he knew firsthand as a Shepherd!
    My poem below is an interpretative attempt to rephrase David’s work with wording from my heart, and not to take anything away from the original.  My hope is that it still reflects the intent of David’s beautiful words, the thoughts and feelings that he conveyed as he spoke from his own experience as a shepherd before God promoted him as king over Israel. 
    For we need a shepherd, too… because, like sheep, we’re prone to wander off to that which beckons and appeals to us.  Yet, we can be so unaware of the dangers which lie ahead on our path.  With a friend and neighbor who raises sheep, it’s amazed me to learn how “dumb” sheep really can be.  They’re followers, like Mary’s little lamb – where one goes, the rest are sure to follow… even into danger.  Sheep need a shepherd to protect and shelter them from the elements and storms… someone to guide them to the best pasture and water... to pull them back when they start to wander away.  They need a shepherd to prevent dangerous predators from attacking the weakest or those grazing on the outskirts of the flock.  They need someone to assist at early spring lambing to assure all goes well; and to see that when a mother abandons one of her twins or triplets, the little one is adopted by another caring mother or cared for and fed by their loving shepherd.  Simply put, sheep need someone they trust completely to care about their every need.
    In my teens, I raised a lamb, a twin abandoned by her mom.  I fed little “Lambie” with a baby bottle from my baby brother, made sure her water bucket had fresh clean water, brought hay for her to munch on, took her outside to graze on fresh grass in our backyard while keeping an ever-watchful eye out to protect her as she investigated and jumped around, seeing how much her shepherdess cared for and loved her.
    Having cared for a little lamb, I can truly appreciate the imagery of Jesus as my Shepherd, listening for His voice of wisdom, and feeling His love guiding and protecting me.  The hard part for us, though, is being sure to follow Him...
    My Shepherd You Are
    Linda A. Roorda
    (Based on Psalm 23) 
    My Shepherd You are, protector and shield
    Providing my needs for body and soul.
    You cover with peace so I will not fear
    You give my soul rest, contentment to know.
     
    Your Word is my light on this path of life
    That Your love I may show to all those I meet.
    Yet when sorrow comes to wrap in despair
    May I ever know it will not destroy.
     
    Though in the valley, death I may face
    You walk beside me with comfort and peace.
    For calm is my heart when focused on you
    As with me you stay ever at my side.
     
    Whenever I stray enticed by sweet ways
    Your directing words still guide me in love.
    My faith you reward among all my foes
    As blessings pour out, my life overflows.
     
    Your loving goodness with mercy and grace
    Will follow my days of life on this earth.
    For within your house, oh Lord I shall dwell
    To sing your praise now and evermore.
     
    Lover of my soul guiding my steps
    Seeking my heart when wand’ring I stray
    Bringing me joy to follow Your path
    My Shepherd You are, protector and shield.
    ~~
  7. Linda Roorda

    The Broken String

    By Linda Roorda,

    I cannot even begin to say “thank you” enough for all the kindness in the many caring words in cards and in person, the shared tears, meals, memories and laughter, and thoughts and prayers family and friends have showered upon me and my family in the loss of our Ed – husband, Pop, Gramps, brother, cousin, uncle, and friend. Thank you to everyone who came to the calling hours and memorial service yesterday, you deeply touched our hearts - including the surprise to see my niece and her family who traveled from Tennessee, and our friends, our late Jenn’s dear in-laws, who drove down from Maine – we shall never forget their kindness in being here with us. Thanks to my daughter for finding the direct contact person at the newspaper headquarters who so kindly amended Ed’s online obituaries to include our Jenn’s name as having predeceased him, because… in all the upheaval, I forgot to include my own daughter. All the offers of help in so many ways are greatly appreciated. I’m still looking around to find Ed, wondering why he’s not holding onto my arm, but I’ll be ok and know Ed is rejoicing in heaven’s glory with perfect vision!
    Each one of us encounters failures and losses in life.  Each one of us encounters disabilities in ourselves or those around us.  But it’s what we do with, and how we react to, all that comes our way that makes a difference... in our lives and in the lives of others.  We can carry on with selfish pride in what we can do, we can roll over in defeat at failure... or we can face the challenge in humility, asking God to guide us along a broken and difficult path.
    For 27 years (from 1982 to 2009), we burned wood to heat our house.  When my husband, Ed, farmed with his dad, he cut his own firewood with a chainsaw despite very limited vision.  Came the day, though, that Ed lost the balance of his limited vision and was completely blind.  He could no longer use a chainsaw after just a few years, later had to stop using an axe to split wood, and it remained to be seen how he would handle the other obstacles that faced him after becoming totally blind. 
    Initially, he went through a difficult transition and grieving process, common to all with any serious loss.  None of us knew how best to handle the change.  It was a learn-as-you-go process until we found professional guidance specifically for the blind at A.V.R.E. in Binghamton, NY and The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, MA.  And then, his old self rose up to meet the challenges, determined to do whatever he could to face whatever came his way… with a catch.
    As he stacked firewood one day without any remaining fragments of light and color to guide him, the rows kept collapsing.  He simply could not get the pieces of wood to fit together well enough to stay in neat upright rows.  In utter frustration, he sat down and put his head in his hands, feeling like an utter failure.  All of his life he’d had to struggle with limited vision, being classified legally blind from infancy on.  He struggled in the classroom, not being able to see the board, often refusing to ask for help.  He wanted to be just like everyone else.
    Most of us can tackle any activity, job or hobby with ease.  But Ed was denied what he longed to do… he couldn’t play football or basketball with his 6’7” height.  He could swim like a pro, but wasn’t allowed on the team for fear he’d hurt himself or others if he strayed from his lane.  Instead, the coach made him manager of their state division championship team from Warwick, NY.  But, at other times, peers mocked and belittled him.  Why couldn’t he be accepted just for who he was?  Why did everything have to be so hard?  Why couldn’t life be easier and simpler… like it was for everyone else?  It wasn’t fair, he thought.
    Yet, he had accomplished so much with so little for so many years!  He could milk the cows, climb the silos, drive tractor and do all the field work except plant corn, and that was only because he couldn’t see where the last row left off.  With his limitations, he knew to be extra cautious and it always paid off.  But, now it seemed that even this last bit of enjoyment in stacking firewood was being taken from him, too. 
    Except, while sitting there, with the wood he’d stacked falling down, he decided to pray and ask God for help in this seemingly simple, but now very challenging task.  He prayed that God would guide each piece of wood he picked up so it would fit and the rows wouldn’t fall down… so that he could stack the wood himself without having to ask yet again for more help.  As he stood up and once again picked up the firewood, he soon realized that every piece he stacked fit… well, actually, fit perfectly!  When he was done, his rows stood straight and tall without collapsing! 
    And then he began hearing comments from neighbors who marveled at how great his stacked firewood looked.  By a man who couldn’t see, no less!  As Ed told anyone who commented, “It wasn’t me; it was God.”  It was only after he prayed each time before he picked up the first piece of wood that he was able to manage this seemingly impossible task.  But, if he forgot and just delved right in to stacking, the wood invariably collapsed… until he sat down and had a little talk with God.
    My poem below is reminiscent of a story floating around the internet of violinist Itzhak Perlman performing with a broken violin string.  Though that feat was unable to be confirmed by reliable sources, the concept is worthy of illustrating our brokenness in disability.  Another young man, Niccolo` Paganini, was an Italian child prodigy who played mandolin and violin from ages 5 and 7 respectively.  Supposedly, he once played with three broken strings, refusing to allow the handicap to end his serenade.  Paganini excelled in part because of Marfan’s Syndrome which gave him his height and extra long fingers, a genetic syndrome also found in both of our families.  The elasticity of joints and tissues allowed Paganini the flexibility to bend and extend his fingers beyond the norm as he used the disability to his benefit.
    Like Ed and others with disabilities, we can either resent our situation or we can have a little talk with God, asking Him to guide us through whatever we face. 
    The Broken String
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Four strings create beautiful music
    Perfection in pitch, magnificent tone
    All they expect, not asking for more
    Performing with pride just as it should be.
     
    Pulling the bow across the taut strings
    Gently at first, then faster I stroke
    The symphonic sound brings tears to their eyes
    This is my gift to their list’ning ears.
     
    Closing my eyes to the beauty of sound
    Caressing the strings, deep feelings evoked
    From graceful and light to dramatic and rich
    Till one string popped, now what shall I do?
     
    Adversity gives a chance to prove worth
    As now I’ve lost a string that flails free.
    In silence all eyes are riveted on me;
    Would I be angry or would I accede?
     
    Silently I prayed, God give me the strength
    I’ve been disabled, humbled before all.
    Help me I pray to carry on well
    Let them now see You working through me.
     
    Adjusting my bow and fingers for sound
    Quickly I learned to amend my strokes,
    As to my ears a beautiful tune
    Emanates yet while focused on God.
     
    When the finale at last had arrived
    With a soft sigh I played my last note,
    And as it faded they rose to their feet
    With wild applause from their hearts to mine.
     
    Perhaps it was all intended to reach
    This attitude of pride within myself.
    A lesson was learned in how to react,
    Adversity’s gift to sink or to soar.
     
    For without You what does my life mean?
    What value is placed on my outward skills?
    Do You not, Lord, see deep in my heart
    Where my soul reflects my pride or Your grace?
     
    My attitude then a choice I must make
    Embrace gratitude or sink in despair.
    For I cannot change what happens to me
    Instead, I’ll play while focused on You.
     
    Humility grows by resigning pride
    As a broken string reflects trials of life.
    Others I’ll serve as You did for me
    For in You is found the selfless way of life.
    ~~
    05/31/14
    ~
    An abridged version of the following reflection was published in “Breaking Barriers” in March 2016, a publication of the Christian Reformed and Reformed Church in America Disability Concerns Ministries.
     
  8. Linda Roorda

    And He Smiled

    By Linda Roorda,

    None of us knows the impact we can have on those around us.  We live our life as best we can, trusting God, and simply doing what needs to be done with what’s in front of us. We don’t look for adulation. We strive to be there in support of those in need, to do perhaps what they cannot.  Perhaps we give a smile, an encouraging word, praise for a job well done, or humor to lighten their day in the stress of life.
    One of my friends, Sharon, fits that description. She wrote this poem as the words came gushing to her mind in the middle of the night a few days after my husband Ed passed away. I was deeply touched with how perfectly these words flowed with very little editing on her part. And I shed tears, for these words from God so perfectly spoke not only the heart of my friend, but brought comfort and peace into the depths of my family’s loss.
    With permission granted, I share her poem with you. It embodies truth as God knows what we are dealing with and has allowed to touch our lives for His purposes.  He smiles, understands, and lovingly embraces us on those difficult days we all face… while we each become the arms of God extending His loving care to those around us.  
    And He Smiled
    By Sharon Babcock - January 2023 
    A gentle giant of a man
    And a slender doe-like young woman
    Fell in love walking the winter fields.
    God had put them together
    Already knowing the trials they would face.
    And He smiled.
     
    They made a home together,
    And their family grew,
    Even as they grieved for the babies
    They would not see grow up.
    Their love story went on
    And more babies came.
    They trusted God.
    And He smiled.
     
    He worked the farm,
    Driving his favorite tractor in neat, straight rows.
    She worked too, and filled their home
    With things she lovingly made,
    Curtains for the windows
    And clothes for the children.
    They trusted God.
    And He smiled.
     
    His vision faded,
    Blindness finally overtook him,
    And the farming that he loved could no longer be.
    They faced the death of their beloved now-grown little girl.
    The trials that God knew they would face mounted around them.
    His body became a prison of pain and suffering.
    But they trusted God.
    And He smiled.
     
    The life of the gentle giant and the young woman
    Became a lesson for all to see.
    They had trusted God.
    He had been faithful.
    And He smiled.
     
    Now the gentle giant has gone Home,
    Leaving the young woman alone.
    She will mourn for him, longing for his touch,
    His voice, and the way he made her laugh.
    But she knows he clearly sees now,
    And when he first opened his eyes in Heaven
    He saw Jesus, and there was great rejoicing.
    And God smiled.
     
    He has hugged his children, his twin brother, his parents,
    And all the other dear ones who went Home before him.
    He has looked at their faces and seen their smiles.
    His body, no longer wracked with pain,
    Is young and strong once again.
    He rejoices as he hears the words of his Savior,
    “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
    He waits for the young woman to join him once again.
    And God smiled.
     
    In the quiet moments
    When everyone has gone home,
    She knows her life will never again be the same.
    And yet, she is trusting God for everything, as always.
    And thanking Him for a lifetime of love with her gentle giant.
    She can sing, “It is well with my soul.”
    She is trusting God.
    And He is smiling.
    He knew.
    ~~
     
  9. Linda Roorda

    Maybe...

    By Linda Roorda,

    This is a previously unpublished poem and reflection that I wrote in June 2016. It was written at a time Ed was feeling disheartened by the constant, never-ending difficulties and health issues he faced.  He read it back then, and appreciated these words intended to lift him up.  And if you are facing a difficult season of life, may God bless you through these words, and comfort you with His peace. 
    ~~
    I suspect there are a number of good folks, especially the elderly and the disabled, who may feel as though no one needs them anymore.  They’ve given their life to working and helping others, and now their body has begun to fail them, leaving them to think they’re worthless… maybe even feeling as though they’re a burden to family and friends… or simply feeling down or depressed about their life’s turn of events.  And perhaps this malady affects more of our friends and loved ones than we care to think it does.
    Stop!  You are not worthless!  You have so much value to share with others around you!  If we’re honest, we all struggle at times with whether we’re really needed, or even appreciated for what we do.  I know there were times my husband, Ed, felt discouraged with his disabilities, like he wasn’t a valuable part of our marriage or family team.  But I reassured him how much I really needed him.  I needed his sense of humor, his strength of faith and character, his wise and godly words of wisdom, his comforting hugs with those long arms wrapped around “little tiny me” (our joke), his even-keeled and easy-going personality, with his arms and words bringing comfort and peace when I’d become overwhelmed by life.  And this poem and reflection were written to encourage him during a time when he was feeling down about all his health issues.
    Think of the wisdom you’ve gained over a lifetime of working, learning, and maturing.  Just maybe you have something to contribute that others might find helpful on their life’s journey.  Maybe you have an answer to a perplexing problem that they couldn’t see their way out of.  Maybe you could simply be the ears to hear their story… listen to their cries… and give them the tangible support of a shoulder to lean on.  Be that someone they can vent to… someone to share their heartaches with… someone to share their joys with… while you, in turn, might share your own wisdom and humor.  Help them see their way back out of the Tunnel of Defeat to smile again and become a help to others - “…[to] comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.” (II Corinthians 1:4)
    Each of us has a value and worth far beyond what we can ever imagine.  Share what you see among the positives and strengths in their life.  Open their eyes to the character and person they truly are… the one that others see within.  Let them know how much you need them… that their inner strength, which was once so vibrant, may lie hidden now, and they may have forgotten it exists, but it is still there… just waiting to emerge and be shared with some needy soul.
    For just maybe… you truly are worth more than you ever might think! 
    Maybe
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Maybe you think you’ve nothing to give
    Maybe you wonder where all the years flew
    Maybe you think of what could have been
    Maybe you wonder why life’s valleys are deep…
     
    Maybe you don’t see your gentle heart
    The love and wisdom your words express
    The protection found within your arms
    A restful solace with comforting peace.
     
    Maybe you remember your youthful strength
    Maybe you wonder why health is shattered
    Maybe you think that you’re not needed
    Maybe you wonder what value you have…
     
    Maybe compassion which empathy shares
    From a humble soul which doesn’t praise self
    And humor and smiles that lift heavy burdens
    Bring glowing praise for life’s simple blessings…
     
    For maybe your life is a shining beacon
    That others may know Who guides your heart still
    As the light of wisdom, that humble honor
    Proves faith and trust rests solely in Him.
    ~~
    06/17/16
  10. Linda Roorda

    I See Beauty

    By Linda Roorda,

    My desk calendar has a quote from Victor Hugo – “Winter is on my head, but eternal Spring is in my heart.”  So true, isn’t it?! Even in difficult times, we still have hope, we still look forward, and try not to dwell on the negatives… tho sometimes it’s easier said than done, and something I have to work on at times to keep focusing forward in hope… to hope in the Lord to see me/us through our difficult days.  
    Which reminds me of this blog, for winter can seem so dark, so long… yet even then there is beauty to be found in the simplicity of winter, and the simplicity of our days, if we just open our eyes to truly see the blessings around us.
    Though this poem and blog were written several years ago, reading and updating it led me to be thankful again for the little things, life’s simplicity, God’s blessings.  Enjoy!
    ~~           ~~           ~~
    There’s beauty all around us in even the simplest of things… if we just take the time to truly see. 
    Sometimes when the days were hectic and I’d get overwhelmed, just sitting in my gardens would help to wash away the stress, like a cleansing of the soul. And in the depths of a cold winter, I’d set out sunflower seeds, peanuts in the shell, and suet… to quietly watch the birds descend on the dining bounty.  Whether sitting in a summer garden surrounded by blooming splendor or sitting in the warmth of my house gazing outward at a pristine snowfall, there is so much beauty to enjoy.
    I’ve shared other poems and reflections about the beauty of nature.  Truth be told, outside is where I’d rather be, no matter the season.  Except, having discovered a tick embedded with a resultant bull’s eye rash in early 2015, I’m not as much a frequenter of the outdoor world as previously.
    But when writing this blog in mid-January 2016, winter had finally settled in with her bitter cold, howling winds, and a light snow.  After being spoiled with an extra warm late fall/early winter compliments of El Nino, it was only fitting we returned to more seasonable weather… which prompted me to feed the birds.  Almost immediately, a downy woodpecker settled on the upright peanut-in-the-shell feeder I’d made several years ago.  It’s been frequented by downy, hairy, red-headed and red-bellied woodpeckers, blue jays, nuthatches and chickadees. And that doesn’t even include the wide variety of birds which have flown in to seek a snack in the other feeders.  Some very interesting species during migrations were also drawn in when seeds were set out longer during the season than in the recent few years.
    While watching the birds though, I couldn’t help but notice the stark-naked tree limbs reaching skyward.  There’s a distinct beauty in their coarseness.  Some branches drape downward, others reach beckoning hands out and up, as they twist and turn in various directions.  And they all carry leaf buds that before too much longer will begin to swell with the promise of spring… to once again be clothed in shades of green and dazzling pastels.
    I especially enjoy the warm days of spring that flow into the heat of summer.  I absolutely love to hear the early spring peepers and frogs.  And I love to hear the variety of birds singing as they fly around our yard, swallows swooping to catch bugs on the wing... and the calls of hungry nestlings to their busy parents…  all music to my ears.
    To watch a gorgeous sunrise as the faintest of color pierces the velvet dark sky, or to gaze on a beautiful sunset with rays of sun which slice outward from behind clumps of clouds is heavenly. And, taking a long look at those clouds, notice the different types, forms, and shapes.  Again, there is so much simple beauty to be found anywhere the eye can look.
    Take time to peer a little closer at weeds while taking a walk.  Their delicate flower forms often closely resemble cultivated relatives.  Watch a stream flowing by, water gurgling over the rocks, little fish darting here and there.  Observe a bee or a bug from as close a perspective as you can get.  Study the bloom of a flower.  Appreciate what’s right there in front of you, and drink in the beauty we often and casually walk on by…
    It seems that as we contemplate nature’s beauty around us, life begins to ease into a slower pace.  Allow yourself the chance to slow down… stand still within life’s fast-paced frenzy.  Look around… and truly see the beauty in the tiniest of details.  For as Ecclesiastes 3:11 says, “[God] has made everything beautiful in its time…”  So, take the time to pause and contemplate life in all its delicate beauty …
     
    I See Beauty
    Linda A. Roorda 
    I see beauty in the world around
    Where some see a tree I see living art
    I see God’s hand in the rays of dawn
    The streaks of light that brighten our world.
     
    I hear the chirps of birds in the air
    Tunes of delight as they share their praise
    With grateful hearts for daily blessings
    Their endless singing brings joy to my soul.
     
    I gaze upon a flowing river
    Or gentle stream and watch its passing
    From whence it came to where it will go
    While I at the edge can only look on.
     
    I climb these hills covered in thick wood
    To look on scenes spread out far below
    A miniature world enchanting and calm
    Creation’s beauty forever enjoyed.
     
    It gives me pause to contemplate life
    Reason and meaning for all in this world
    Breeze in the air and sun on my face
    With reassuring peace midst bustling din.
     
    While gazing still away to the west
    This day winds down and shadows lengthen
    The sunset dazzles as it slowly fades
    A perfect ending, its treasure to hold.
    ~~
  11. Linda Roorda

    The Bread of Life

    By Linda Roorda,

    I woke up early one Sunday morning several years ago with the beginning of this differently-phrased poem running through my thoughts… and got up to write it down immediately.  I couldn’t risk losing the thoughts that flowed.  Reading it again, I see how fitting it is for this season of Lent. As our busy days and weeks draw us closer to celebrating Easter, we ponder all that our Lord did for us when He walked upon this earth, especially in His great sacrifice.
    For the picture that came to mind was of Jesus, the Bread of Life, the spotless Lamb of God, leisurely strolling among us, the great sea of humanity, just as we read in the Holy Scriptures.  We touched Him, listened to His words, praised Him for His great love, kindness, healing... and we sat down to dine with Him.  But then, to our amazement, He willingly allowed himself to be taunted and whipped.  Bleeding, his skin in shreds, unrecognizable, He took upon His shoulders a cross, weighed down by all of our sin. 
    The Son of God came to earth so that, as son of man, born of a virgin, He might live among us, His creation.  Though perfect in every way, He was tested, understanding our frailties, our weaknesses.  He came to seek and to serve us, with all humility, that we might learn from His ways.  He taught and ministered with wisdom beyond our finite comprehension.  He healed some and forgave the sins of others, all that we might come to understand His mission more fully.
    He took my place… my shame… my guilt.  My sin left deep stains and wounds upon His body, yet He gently covered me with a garment woven from His Words of Life.  The garment was dipped and washed in His blood, but it emerged pure and spotless… undefiled… and undeserved by me. And humbly I bow, with praise and thanksgiving for Him alone… Jesus, my Savior, my Redeemer, my God… the Bread of Life. 
    The Bread of Life
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    I watched intently
    The Bread of Life
    Walking among
    The sea of humanity
    As He, the gentle
    Perfect and spotless
    Lamb of God
    Willingly
    Took upon His shoulders
    My guilt
    My shame
    My sin
    All that defiles
    And wove for me
    With Words of Life
    A garment
    Pure and spotless
    Cleansed
    By His blood poured out
    Which covered my stains
    As I
    With grateful heart
    Praise the One
    The great I Am
    My Advocate
    Who took my place
    And welcomes me
    With open arms
    And nail-scarred hands
    Forgiven.
    ~~
  12. Linda Roorda
    I’m very thankful to be celebrating another birthday, and the many blessings within the sadness of these past several months. God has answered my prayers for strength, to “be strong”, our daughter Jenn’s words of Godly wisdom from my vision of her in heaven while praying in my sitting garden the day after her passing… so fitting even now, as God has wrapped His arms of love around me by using each of my friends and family with their gifts of love, hugs, and encouraging kind words – because you each have a gift within your heart to share… reminding me of this blog and poem written several years ago.
    Sometimes, our best inspiration comes from the most unlikely place!  With the admonition to be “in the world, but not of it,” we find ourselves living out our faith foundation in the world around us (Romans 12:2).  After graduating from 6th grade at Passaic (Pine Street) Christian School in New Jersey, my Dad felt it was time to live out my faith by attending public junior high.  Despite the culture shock, I learned invaluable lessons… especially since I think we tend to compartmentalize “church/faith” versus every-day worldly life.
    So yes, sometimes our best faith inspiration comes from the most unlikely place!
    I used to enjoy relaxing in the evenings with Ed by watching reruns of M*A*S*H, though it’s no longer on that cable station.  Though not overly fond of some of the show’s escapades, I especially prefer Corporal Walter (Radar) O’Reilly and the latter years with Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce’s new surgical partners, Captain B.J. Hunnicutt and Major Charles Emerson Winchester, III, as well as their commanding officer, Colonel Sherman T. Potter, and Major Margaret Houlihan.  The show and its characters seemed to have evolved from a certain nonsense to one of moving and memorable themes.  As the varied characters offer a wide array of human egos and emotions, I’ve found the wisdom of humanity expressed well in many of the shows.
    There’s an episode that has always held a special place in my heart, one that I consider the arrogant Major Winchester’s best.  After operating on a wounded soldier, able to save the young man’s leg with his surgical expertise, Winchester tries to encourage his patient further.  Explaining that, although he’ll have permanent nerve damage to three fingers of his right hand, it won’t be too noticeable.  Angry, the soldier is reduced to tears and despondency, telling Winchester that his surgical efforts weren’t good enough.  His hands were his life… he was a concert pianist!  Feeling the pain of failure, Winchester turns away despondent.
    Then, with determination, Major Winchester approaches the 4077th’s company clerk, Corporal Max Klinger, handing him a list of sheet music to pick up in Seoul.  Later, with music in hand, Winchester wheels Private David Sheridan into the Officers’ Club and positions him in front of the piano.  Despite his patient’s disgust, Winchester attempts to encourage the young man’s gift to make music.  Angry and resentful, Sheridan wants none of it.
    Unshaken, Winchester shares the story of a pianist from another time who’d lost the use of one hand. Placing sheet music for a one-handed pianist in front of Sheridan, he asks, “Don't you see?  Your hand may be stilled, but your gift cannot be silenced if you refuse to let it be.”
    Private Sheridan scoffs at his surgeon:  “Gift?  You keep talking about this damn gift.  I had a gift, and I exchanged it for some mortar fragments, remember?”
    With great feeling, Winchester responds:  “Wrong!  Because the gift does not lie in your hands.  I have hands, David.  Hands that can make a scalpel sing.  More than anything in my life I wanted to play, but I do not have the gift.  I can play the notes, but I cannot make the music.  You've performed Liszt, Rachmaninoff, Chopin.  Even if you never do so again, you've already known a joy that I will never know as long as I live.  Because the true gift is in your head and in your heart and in your soul.  Now you can shut it off forever, or you can find new ways to share your gift with the world - through the baton, the classroom, or the pen.  As to these works, they're for you, because you and the piano will always be as one.”  Slowly and hesitantly, Sheridan began playing, gradually finding himself taken over by the emotion as the music in his soul found its voice. (from the TV series M*A*S*H:  "Morale Victory", 1980) 
    Just as Maj. Winchester tried to help Pvt. Sheridan understand, we’ve each been blessed with a special gift, a talent.  We can hide it, misuse it, or use it to benefit others... we have a choice.  Though we may not see our gift as the blessing it is, Jesus’ brother James acknowledged that “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father…” (James 1:17a)  Even the Apostle Peter encouraged us by writing that “Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God’s grace in its various forms.”  (I Peter 4:10 NIV) 
    We can encourage a friend with our words or any of our unique special gifts, like teaching, serving, leadership skills, mercy and compassion, or even simply giving the gift of our time (Romans 12:6-8).  When we make wise use of our talents and training, we truly are blessing the recipients of our gifts.  In faithfully serving others, may we one day hear our Lord say to us, just as he told the young man who grew his financial gift:  “Well done, good and faithful servant!  You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!”  (Matthew 25:21)
    You’ve A Gift Within
    Linda A. Roorda
    You’ve a gift within your heart to be shared
    To love your neighbor as you do yourself
    But much more than this is humble service
    Sharing devotion from depths of true love.
    ~
    Seek out the hurting, the ones bewildered
    In a world of turmoil, in the midst of grief,
    At a loss for words, not knowing where to turn,
    Be an anchor bringing peace to their soul.
    ~
    Be generous with praise, speak truth with wisdom,
    Carry the burden to lift the heavy heart
    Encourage and esteem, strengthen with hope
    Humbly meeting each need on your path.
    ~
    Lift up the oppressed, release from restraints
    Enfold in your arms those wounded by life.
    Show mercy and grace, forgive the offense
    Come alongside to guide the wavering feet.
    ~
    For out of confusion and cries of the soul
    In walking a line tween query and quest,
    Comes peace that calms and joy that rebuilds
    From the gift within your heart that was shared.
    ~~
  13. Linda Roorda
    Despair… a lack of hope... a feeling of utter defeat… like you’ve been so beaten down you can’t get back up to face the world.  The loss of something good can be that devastating… whether it’s the loss of a loved one, the disabling of physical abilities, the loss of a job, or perhaps the loss of something greatly treasured.  Maybe one of these difficult issues is what you’re facing right now.
    My poem below was written in 2014, during a very difficult year for us as a couple, found among my cache of unpublished reflections.  Ed faced a life-and-death situation from severe pancreatitis with no known cause, the doctor telling him if he’d waited one more day to come to the ER, he would not have survived.  That recovery was followed by additional health issues, procedures and surgery for Ed, with my own diagnosis of breast cancer with procedures and surgery.  To say we were overwhelmed by life, trying to handle so many health issues one on top of another, would be an understatement… 
    Any loss can be difficult as you slowly wend your way through grief. Your emotions have taken a hit. Yet you may not realize it’s actually healthy to go through the several steps of grief to process a loss… as long as you don’t get stuck in one of the stages.  For it’s important to know that, in the end, you will be ok… you are normal… and you will survive to ultimately smile at the world once again.
    Like many others who have faced losses, my husband and I also faced several major losses which, at the time, seemed utterly overwhelming.  And we fell right in line with the Kubler-Ross stages of grief - denial, anger, the “if only” stage, depression, and acceptance.  Admittedly, it’s not an easy journey.  But in looking back, we can honestly say we overcame the challenges and moved forward in peace knowing the Lord was at our side… every step of the way.
    One of the initial major losses we dealt with began for my husband in 1985.  He had always known poor vision after pure oxygen damaged his eyes as a premature twin in an incubator (then called retrolental fibroplasia, now labeled retinopathy of prematurity).  But, unknown to us as a young couple was the disease’s typical gradual deterioration of the retina in his left eye (the right optic nerve was damaged irreparably by the pure oxygen). 
    Going for a second opinion due to odd shadows in his vision field, he was told he had a major retinal tear that the previous ophthalmologist had overlooked and actually denied to another doctor who felt that was the issue… and Ed needed urgent surgery.  He could not even do barn chores that evening… or ever again… in order to preserve his only viable eye and limited vision for as long as possible. 
    To Ed, it felt as though it were the end of life… the end of farming with his Dad, the only working relationship he had known, a way of life he absolutely loved.  He was only 33, and we had three young ones to care for.  In coming to terms with our situation, I went back to work a month after his surgery, while he stayed home to care for our children.  Unfortunately, he faced further vision loss a few short years later as we returned from a trip to New Jersey to visit my family.  We shared an unforgettable day of fun and laughter when my Dad and step-mother took us to the ocean at Sandy Hook. But on the way home, driving north through the hills of Scranton, PA, his eye began hemorrhaging.  After two surgeries, he was left with limited light and color detection, and the stages of grief set in once again.
    Typically, major loss is also faced with denial and shock that such a thing could happen.  Yes, it was devastating.  How could this happen to us, and why?  He’d lost his farming job and had no idea what else he could do with limited useable vision.  We’d also purchased a new riding mower that spring which he was looking forward to using.  You think things will get better… soon, somehow… they just have to!  You hold out hope that life will return to normal… but the norm we were used to was gone forever.
    And then, anger and frustration took over.  You may go through a time of blaming yourself, or someone else.  Life seems unfair and you find yourself retreating into a world all your own.  If only things were different, if only I’d done things differently…  At this stage, Ed smashed his white cane until broken.  What we learned after seeking professional help for the blind and their families from Binghamton’s AVRE was invaluable.  Later, while Ed was at The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, MA for six months, he again learned this was part of a normal grief process.  Other residents had also taken out their anger and frustration in various ways, with most, if not all, breaking their first cane.  It was hard to learn a new way of doing things… to tackle the simplest of tasks with very limited or no vision… learning to do the things we take for granted.  Out of his training at The Carroll Center, came the blessing of skills for a new office job.
    Then, as the final curtain of darkness closed in around him about 10 years later, a deeper depression settled in.  As he lost the last remnants of vision, Ed would describe dreams in vivid colors to me.  They seemed to taunt him on awakening, and he would be devastated once again to find his world was still dark, totally devoid of all light and color.  I suspect that may also be why he wasn’t overly fond of colorful descriptions of things he could no longer see.  I get it… that was like rubbing salt into an open wound; it was easier for him to just not think about his vision loss.
    Gradually, though, he came to accept his situation as his old self rose to the occasion.  Just like when he grew up with limited vision in school and on the farm (20/200 with glasses, reading with a book very close to his face), he was determined to accomplish whatever seemingly insurmountable task was put in front of him… and succeed he did!  His faith remained strong in God who had given him a kind and gentle heart with a depth of wisdom and sense of humor that once again carried him forward. 
    And remember that new riding mower which Ed never got to use?  Well, we have a photo of him sitting on it, reaching to the front of the mower with his new white cane… positioned to guide his path... just for the fun of it.  He always impressed me with his sense of humor and inner strength, another gift from God, for I truly don’t know that I could have handled all that he had… as well as he had.  Yes, he continued to have occasional difficult days of depression, as anyone does with major loss, but He carried on with strength and courage from the Lord to face each new obstacle.
    With our hope, faith, and trust in God above, we find He’s there for us.  He has promised “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” (Hebrews 12:11)  “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10)
    Our God may have to carry us for a while, but He’s there, helping each of us face the darkest and most difficult days… on our journey to joy.  
    The Journey to Joy
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    I see your hurt and sorrow within
    As you gaze out from a darkened pane
    Where once shone light and humor bright
    Now focus is turned to inward retreat.
    ~
    Not yours to enjoy are bright sunny days
    And seldom is heard laughter’s easy ring.
    Your days often pass in a hazy blur
    With meaning to find in the depth of loss.
    ~
    For you the birds do not sing their songs
    And clouds have covered the light in your heart.
    Each waking moment a reminder grim
    Of all that once was and all that can’t be.
    ~
    But change will come when you least expect
    And so it is with healing’s growth
    With subtle tones your soul will be filled
    As glimmers of hope displace the gloom.
    ~
    For if you allow the dawn’s gentle rays
    To open windows in the heart of your soul
    A breath of fresh joy will encompass you
    Bringing its light on the wings of hope.
    ~
    Then throw open wide shutters of despair
    And let the Son cover you with His peace
    Listen to His voice bring soothing comfort
    Drawing you near in His arms of love.
    ~
    May your heart hear the birds sweetly sing
    And may your soul see the Light of the world
    As grateful song brings praise to His name,
    For He has wrought this journey to joy.
    ~~
  14. Linda Roorda
    Though spring is right around the corner, winter left behind another remnant with a thin dusting of fresh white powder on a newly greening yard with continued flurries and a temp of 20 this morning. So I can either be distressed or accept winter’s last fling, or two, knowing it won’t last as spring will soon be here… the large influx of noisy blackbirds looking for refreshment testified to that yesterday morning! It’s just one of the things I’ve learned to accept, something I can do nothing about other than to appreciate each day of new life and the joy it brings in a myriad of ways.  Similar to the ways in which we view our individual life setbacks, problems and struggles.  But we know God is still here with us, still caring for us, still guiding us thru each difficulty that we might learn from His wisdom. And I wish you God’s many blessings and abundant love today and always...
    Sometimes I Strive -- I have struggles in life… like everyone else. I don’t like to see the downtrodden victims of society, regardless of the circumstance. Like others, I ask why there is suffering. Why are innocents murdered? Why do some suffer virtually lifelong with chronic health issues while others go their whole life with barely a problem, and live past 100 (like my great-grandmother)? Why do we find inequality in many societal sectors? Why does it so often seem like the rich get richer, and the poor get poorer? But then, those questions beg another and another… like why is there evil in the world? Is there an evil underplay which thwarts God’s good? And, where is God in all the mess?
    There was, and perhaps still is, a religious philosophy called the “prosperity gospel.” If we live and pray a certain way before God, we will be blessed… yes, but it's not just a cause and effect. It often seems to go along with faith healing… as if having enough faith, or praying just the right way, will gain us our desires from God… like health, wealth and happiness. Ours is a society that expects instant gratification. In reality, it’s a dangerous message that twists the true meaning of God’s blessings which aren’t always readily poured out the way we want… and may tend to promote the thinking that the degree of blessings is based on our level of faith and spirituality… a works-based manipulation of God through various methods to meet His favor... like my being asked "have you tried this" to gain a certain response from God... 
    We may hope and pray for years that God will heal us or rectify some problem… yet, we may or may not see the answer in our lifetime. We may hold onto Scripture that seems to promise God’s blessings upon faithful followers. Unfortunately, at times, answers that we hope and pray for never seem to come… or, the answers may not be what we want. Why? What’s wrong with us? What are we doing wrong that our prayers aren’t answered, while others seemingly live an unfettered life of health, wealth and happiness? It’s as though a dissatisfaction builds, and we get caught up in looking over our shoulder at what others have or don’t have. And that should not be... it's wrong.
    So, if we take a step back, we might hear that still small voice in our heart… the voice of God speaking to our soul. As we contemplate Psalm 37, we find the shepherd king David wrote verses rich with meaning, even for us today:
    1) “Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.” [vs.3; the secure care and provision by the Lord, our shepherd]
    2) “Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart.” [vs.4; seek the Lord, study His word, meditate on His truths, and He will give you the desires which mirror HIS will]
    With the wisdom God granted him, King Solomon advised that we “trust in the Lord with all [our] heart and lean not on [our] own understanding; in all [our] ways acknowledge him, and he will make [our] paths straight.” (Proverbs 3:5-6) 
    Even James reminded us in chapter 1, vs.2-5 that we should “consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault…” And yet, how well we know that it’s not easy to be joyful in trials.
    We can find a multitude of examples throughout Scripture of those who loved the Lord yet suffered unjustly, while their faith was strengthened through various trials. Job lost everything, but he learned to trust God’s sovereignty. Joseph, too, suffered unjustly, being sold into slavery by his brothers. It took years before God felt his trials in total had prepared him sufficiently to become second in command under Egypt’s Pharaoh. Our Lord’s disciples were not rewarded with health and wealth for having known Jesus personally. All but John were martyred with their blessing, instead, being a powerful witness to us of Christ’s loving grace which continues today. 
    And, the beloved Apostle Paul shared his own physical struggle in II Corinthians 12:8-10. It was his belief that he was given an irritating “thorn” so that he would not become conceited in his ministry. “Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me… For when I am weak, then I am strong.” Can I say that? No, not always… Paul had tremendous faith, a highly honorable witness of God's love and grace, yet even he was not healed as he desired.
    Even in turning back a few pages to Romans 8:28, we read that Paul reminded us to “…know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”  For “this is the confidence we have in approaching God:  that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us.” (I John 5:14)  Then, as we “…seek first his kingdom and his righteousness…all these things will be given to [us] as well. (Matthew 6:33)  The blessings come with faith and trust in God and His will for my life… not following or pleading for my own desires.
    In the midst of our troubles, as we seek the Lord’s love and guidance, He uses those trials to bring His will to completion in us, causing good to emerge out of what we consider bad… not necessarily health and wealth, but certainly that for which we can bring praise and honor to our loving God as our faith grows through the trial and suffering.  For in the end, He is all we need… not riches and great fame.
    And there I rest my case, putting an end to my own strivings and struggles against what at times seem to be unfair life circumstances… to “be still, and know that [He is] God.” (Psalm 46:10)  For who am I to question what trial God will use to bless and mature me into wisdom… or to draw me closer to Him and His great love… and maybe to bless someone else from what I’ve learned?  As our Lord’s prayer says, “…Thy will be done…”  
    Sometimes I Strive
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Sometimes I strive against You, my God
    Without an answer to desperate pleas.
    How can it be that silence ensues
    From heartfelt prayers and a depth of faith?
     
    Yet no promise was ever uttered
    That a life of ease for asking was ours,
    For at the core of trials and tears
    Lies deeper faith with trust at its heart.
     
    To watch and wonder why suffering exists,
    What is the purpose?  Where is the healing?
    Did you not say, “Take delight in Me
    And I will grant the desires of your heart?”
     
    But that’s only part of truth in blessing
    For when it’s Your will and we bear much fruit
    Will it be said You answered my pleas?
    No, even then answers seem fleeting.
     
    For in the asking You give what is best,
    Not what we want, but what meets our needs.
    As You work for good whatever we face
    Therein lies peace in accepting Your will.
  15. Linda Roorda
    Spring is on its way! For real! I saw little white snowdrops and purple crocuses blooming in my gardens on my walk-about Friday. The blackbirds have definitely returned, their huge flocks of black covering the yard and treetops singing their hearts out, along with the lilting songs of my favorite bluebirds and the tweets of robins. And with the slow emergence of spring comes the vagaries of weather, the plummeting highs and lows, yet we didn’t get the sleet and snow with yesterday’s rain, for which I’m thankful.
    But with Saturday’s cold blustery, windy, dreary, rainy day I decided to sew up a new purse – using fabric of fanciful and beautiful dragonflies like iridescent butterflies.  And as I sewed, my mind wandered back in time to the many various items like clothing, quilts, and purses I’ve made over the decades. But, as is typical, I made a few mistakes that needed correcting… like when I made a special quilt for Ed in the past. The center panel and fabrics were gifted to me by three different friends, yet they meshed so well as if purchased together! And yes, I made a mistake in sewing then too… had to rip out and redo an entire side section. But in the process, I realized something special - isn't that how God takes the pieces of our life and fits them all together perfectly?! And that got me thinking about this old blog, The Master Tailor.
    I love to sew!  And it all started in 7th grade Home Ec sewing class in Clifton, NJ.  Making a simple A-line denim skirt using orange thread (to resemble Western clothing) and a beach wrap (displayed on the wall by the teacher) were the simple beginnings of better things to come. 
    With my mom too busy caring for a new baby brother to teach me more, my dad’s mother took me under her wings.  A former professional seamstress of gowns and clothing, Grammy helped me sew a western shirt (see attached photo), not an easy project with those angled points, and taught me well to use the seam ripper.  I learned to rip out my mistakes, start over, and make it right!  Isn't that how God takes the pieces of our life and fits them all together perfectly?  In making life mistakes, it’s how we accept correction or change that makes all the difference.  
    So, when I tried to make a quilt on my own, totally wrong, Grammy taught me the correct way. She gifted me with several fabrics as I made a cardboard template to cut out 6-inch squares.  Laying out the fabric squares on the living room floor, I set them in a pattern, sewed up the long strips, and then sewed each long strip side by side.  With that success, Grammy gifted me with fabric every Christmas over several years for yet more skirts and dresses. 
    After my family moved to Lounsberry, NY in 1969, I bought a c.1900 treadle machine that my auctioneer cousin, Howard, was selling for only $3.  My dad oiled it, fixed the tension, got a new leather belt for the wheels, and my sewing obsession took off.   More skirts, suits and dresses were made on that treadle machine to carry me through high school, including my prom gown and wedding gown. 
    Turning 20 on my first birthday after we married, my husband bought me a new Singer electric sewing machine!  And oh, if it could talk, the miles of thread and fabric it has sewn in clothes for myself, shirts for my husband, clothing for my children, and tiny clothes for their dolls.  And, now, using this same sewing machine, I’ve been making quilts in log cabin and prairie window designs among many other designs, along with simple and more-detailed table runners, and purses.  How I wish Grammy could see them for she taught me well!
    Have you known that feeling of contentment as you worked to create something of value for yourself or others?  Have you known what it feels like to be so engrossed in a project that you lose all sense of time?  Have you known the frustration of having to take the time to rip out a seam, or correct something that just wasn’t right?  And, because you did so, you then felt the satisfaction of seeing your finished project in all its beauty?  Maybe that’s how God views us when we recognize His hand guiding us through life’s ups and downs.  David said it so well, “If the Lord delights in a man’s ways, he makes his steps firm; though he stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand.”  (Psalm 37:23-24)
    This poem was written in a reflective moment, remembering that various mistakes, hardships, and testing over the years have helped define character and create who we are deep in our soul.  At times, I’ve not paid sufficient attention to my sewing, made mistakes, and had to employ that seam ripper.  I’ve also realized what a life lesson that holds… because admitting I’ve made an error is the first step to correcting it, and then learning from it.  I may not want to face the trials which might be coming in the future; but, in looking back, neither can I imagine life without the hardships we have worked through.  They refine our life and shape us for the better… just like the seam ripper’s cutting edge.
    And I also can’t help but realize that the Lord knows what He’s doing as He works His will through those trials which He allows each of us to face.  “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him...” (Romans 8:28, NIV)  For through these difficulties, He shapes and molds us into the unique and special person He intends for us to be. 
    The Master Tailor
    Linda A. Roorda 
    As the seamstress sits and begins to sew
    Her loving care goes into each stitch
    And correlation stirs within her thoughts
    Of the Creator’s design deep in her soul.
     
    In her mind’s eye she sees it take shape
    From simple concept to finished result
    And beams with joy, her dream made complete
    As she holds with pride her creation dear.
     
    But what the world just cannot see
    Are errors which loomed about to destroy
    For outward beauty can never reveal
    The seam ripper’s hand in disciplined cuts.
     
    When I beheld what the seamstress had wrought
    I could not miss the significant key
    Of one who deftly shaped my own soul
    From even before my life came to be.
     
    The Master Tailor gazed into the future
    And pondered the me who I should be.
    He planned and designed each path for my good
    As He cut and sewed the fabric of me.
     
    He carefully stitched and eased the seams
    And reigned in penchants of wayward threads,
    But now and then along the way
    The seam ripper’s edge He gently employed.
     
    For don’t you see, without the hardships
    Life’s burdens and pain cannot reflect
    The greater good down deep in my heart
    As seam ripper cuts shape my will to His.
     
    On a journey I am, a work in progress
    For someday when my time has come
    He’ll gaze upon His workmanship
    And see exactly who He planned me to be.
    ~~
  16. Linda Roorda

    My Advocate

    By Linda Roorda,

    We’ve all heard the old adage that there are two sides to every story, and a classic trial brings that point out vividly.  I’ve served on three juries in the past – one clearly guilty, one given a lesser settlement than desired, and one clearly not guilty.  It’s an honor to be selected to sit with peers to carefully review and ponder the facts of the case as presented by the respective attorneys, and to be responsible for the right verdict.  Certainly, some have abused the trial-by-jury system and condemned truly innocent folks, but more often than not it has been an equitable and fair justice system.
    The legal teams for the defendant and the plaintiff each present salient points to be considered, arguing their case convincingly with evidence and witnesses.  Once the case has been handed over to the jury, it’s up to these 12 peers to discuss evidence presented and determine guilt or innocence.  For the most part, at each trial, we jurors could tell early on where the truth lay.  We also brought along our own life experiences and knowledge which helped weigh the evidence from both sides.  In one trial, for example, the farming background I and another gentleman had made all the difference in helping others understand more fully the veracity of certain aspects which had been presented during the trial.
    But sometimes it seems that a trial with its accusations is like that voice in my head reminding me of how guilty I am.  It’s Satan pointing out all of my sins… one after another, stacked high, like a mountain tall.  The right way to live is spelled out in the Ten Commandments, in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, and scattered all throughout Scripture.  But I’m also well aware that I cannot keep God’s commands and expectations to live a pure and holy life.  I have a serious debt which I can never repay.
    So, what am I to do? Go to the Lord, confess my sins and failures, and accept God’s love and forgiveness, for nothing I could ever do will wash away my guilt.  My favorite verse since childhood has been – “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”  (John 3:16 KJV)  
    Jesus took the punishment I deserved on that fateful day we call Good Friday.  He was put on trial, a one-sided sham of justice.  He was whipped, mocked, and nailed to a cross… not for anything He had done for He was sinless, faultless, perfect… fully human, yet fully God.  But He did that for me.  He willingly took my place, giving His life to purchase my right to join Him in heaven forever.  His mercy and grace bring me to tears.  Someday I will stand before Almighty God, my judge, to give an account of my life.  I will have nothing to say in my defense… except that I put faith in my advocate, Jesus, who will be standing at my side, declaring me guiltless because He has already paid for my sins… with His own life… my Savior. 
    My Advocate
    Linda A. Roorda 
    With accusations I’m now confronted
    No plea have I but guilty as charged
    I hang my head to litany stark
    And with quiet shame my accuser I face.
     
    It once had seemed the world was my own
    I learned the games to lie and to cheat
    I did not care if others were hurt
    As long as my will and goals were achieved.
     
    But in the spiral of downward tumble
    I lost the vision I’d once beheld
    A purer focus, others before self
    Humble respect in tangled webs lost.
     
    And one by one as charges were read
    I clearly recalled the past with deep pain
    Words now regretted, carelessly spoken
    How could I ever repair what I’d done?
     
    In my despair while under scrutiny
    My only hope was to beg for mercy
    That perhaps some deed along the way
    Would balance the book, the ledger of sin.
     
    But, alas, I heard the judge declare
    Guilty as charged; no mercy be shown.
    Like rock upon rock my sins were stacked high
    As I stared upon that mountain of debt.
     
    Just then the doors were flung open wide
    And striding forth came a man in pure white
    Boldly he exclaimed, “This debt has been paid!”
    “I hung on the cross, and took all the shame.”
     
    Slowly I sank to my knees in awe.
    Who was this man who gave all for me?
    How could he give his life for my debt?
    For I can’t repay such a merciful gift.
     
    Reaching out gently he pulled me up straight
    And showed me his scars and nail-pierced hands
    He held out his arms in welcome embrace
    As he dried my tears and declared me free.
     
    I love you my child… I did this for you.
    I carried your shame upon my beaten back.
    I purchased your soul with life-giving blood
    That you might have life with mercy and grace.
     
    Now all I ask is by faith you walk
    Bring to the world compassion and peace
    Carry my light to the corners dark
    Open your heart to love and forgive.
    ~~
  17. Linda Roorda
    Impetuous Peter… the disciple like so many of us, if we’re honest.  I tend to speak quickly, not always giving as much thought to my answer as I should.  My late husband, on the other hand, would take time to formulate his reply. And how often I’ve realized the depth of wisdom he shared in what he’d mulled over.
    Then, there’s the side of us which promises never to abandon a friend in their time of need.  Yet we do. And I can’t help but wonder… aren’t we a bit miffed at their denials of wrongs to protect themselves?  Does their conscience pierce their heart?  Is there even a snippet of guilt or shame?  Don’t they know a heart-felt apology for wrongs done begins to restore relationships?  But, more importantly, have we forgiven them anyway?  For faithful is the friend who remains supportive and encouraging.
    But please note, I am not speaking about truly abusive relationships. That is an entirely different situation we need to walk away from when no genuine remorse and change is made… despite what others think who don’t know the truth.
    Which reminds me of the twelve disciples gathered around Jesus and their inner thoughts… no different than us. Unbeknownst to all but Jesus, one of their own, Judas, was in the process of selling out their Lord for thirty pieces of silver, even as they shared the Passover meal together. (Matthew 26:14-16, 17-30)
    The disciples all knew how much Jesus loved them, so it must have caused great consternation as they heard Him warn Peter that before a rooster crowed twice, Peter would deny ever having known Jesus.  (Mark 14:30)  They must have wondered how their Teacher could think such a thing, let alone say it! (Luke 22:31-34; Mark 14:27-31)  Even Peter protested that he would rather go to prison or die with Jesus, than ever renounce his best friend!
    After dinner, they went to the Garden of Gethsemane to rest and pray.  Judas (who had left the table of his dining friends) eventually rejoined them, bringing along a large entourage of soldiers.  And then he boldly gave Jesus a traitor’s kiss as soldiers surrounded his former teacher.  To prove his own devotion to his best friend, Peter rashly sliced off the ear of one of the Roman guards with his sword.  With tender love for those who meant him harm, Jesus gently restored the man’s ear, and rebuked Peter for such hasty behavior. (John 18:10-11) Surprisingly, as Jesus was being arrested, His closest friends… his followers, his disciples… turned their backs in abandonment and ran out of fear. (Mark 14:50-52) 
    Later that evening as Peter warmed himself around a fire in the courtyard during Jesus’ trial, a servant girl thought she recognized him. Concerned for his own life after Jesus’ arrest, Peter vehemently denied being among Jesus’ closest friends… three times he rebuked their remembrances, the last time swearing like the old fisherman that he was.  Immediately, a rooster crowed for the second time.  And Peter instantly recalled what Jesus had predicted.  His heart sank in broken-hearted grief.  He had vehemently denied that he’d ever do such a thing to his closest of friends, and yet that’s exactly what he had done.  Feeling utterly ashamed and alone, he walked away from everyone, and wept tears of great sorrow and remorse.  (Mark 14:66-72)
    Once again, Peter had reacted rashly, thinking he was deflecting harm to himself by denying the truth without taking the time to think of the consequences.  Yet, Peter loved his Lord.  And Jesus loved Peter… unequivocally.  For after Jesus’ crucifixion and then resurrection, the angel in the tomb told the women, “[Jesus] is risen! He is not here… Go, tell His disciples and Peter.”  To me, those words signify how deeply our Lord loved Peter.  Despite Peter’s hasty denials, God wanted to be sure Peter heard and understood the good news!  (Mark 16:7)  In Luke 24:9-12, we read that as soon as Peter heard about Jesus’ resurrection, he got up and immediately ran to the tomb to check out the story’s validity for himself.  So like our impetuous Peter, isn’t it?!  But it also shows how deeply Peter truly loved his Lord!
    Some days later, unexpectedly meeting their Lord on the shore of Galilee after fishing all night, John retold for us how Jesus asked Peter three times if he loved Him. With a tone of voice that likely reflected his deepest feelings, Peter was irritated and hurt that Jesus would ask him the same question for a third time. And Peter gave the same response each time, “You know I love you!” (John 21:15-17) Yet it was all done to help Peter understand that he was truly loved… and forgiven for his denials because of his repentant heart… and that Jesus was now giving Him a second chance with a new responsibility.  Peter was to reach out to a world of hurting souls with the same love that he had been given from Jesus after his own failures! 
    The reason Jesus was born into this world… the reason He died on a cross… was to pay for the sinful deeds we’ve done, no matter their size.  “For we have all sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption of Jesus.” (Romans 3:23-24)  As we confess our sins and need for a Savior, we receive God’s most gracious gift of forgiveness.  “For God so loved the world that He sent His only begotten son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16)  What depths of mercy and grace are ours! 
    A Blessed and Happy Easter to each of you! 
    Do You Love Me?
    Linda A. Roorda
    Do you love me?  More than all these?
    You know I do, Lord!  A loving friendship.
    You know my thoughts, my words and my ways,
    Surely you know how deep is my love.
    ~
    Do you love me?  Do you truly love?
    You know I do, Lord!  I’d sacrifice self.
    Then feed My sheep, meet them in their need,
    Go to My flock, and lead them in truth.
    ~
    Do you love me?  With your heart and soul?
    Oh Lord, I am grieved!  My heart has been stabbed.
    But oh! the shame of having denied
    One with whom I’d walked, the leader of hearts.
    ~
    Did you not warn of what was to come?
    I pledged you my love above all others.
    I’d follow you Lord, even unto death!
    I’d never disown my Savior, my God.
    ~
    But when confronted, my heart shrank in fear.
    I heard my own words deny with alarm.
    Twice more they claimed I was with the condemned,
    When out of my mouth came vicious cursing.
    ~
    I winced in shock to hear the cock crow.
    My heart sank in shame for what I had done.
    My Lord had said deny Him I would,
    Now all I could do was bitterly weep.
    ~
    You gazed thru my heart. You saw my soul’s depth.
    You poured out Your love though faithless was I.
    And now, Lord, you ask, do I truly love?
    Yes, Lord, I do! With heart, soul and mind.
    ~
    Then tenderly care for the sheep of My fold.
    Go to the fields and guide them in truth.
    Feed them my Word, everlasting life.
    Shower with mercy and grace in My name.
    (Published at the Christian Reformed Church online Network here 04/04/0/23)
     
  18. Linda Roorda

    A Tiny Seed

    By Linda Roorda,

    I love spring!  It’s a season full of the promise of new growth, new life.  Yet as I thought about life emerging from a tiny seed, fed and nourished by the sun’s warming rays and watered by a refreshing shower, I could not help but think of the Lord feeding and nourishing our souls to help us grow.
    As a TA sub in a science class recently, I was reminded of this unpublished blog. Studying plant life, the students experimented with seeds in different situations.  Seeds were placed on a folded paper towel with a specific amount of water… some were set on a windowsill where they would have sunlight and warmth, while others were put into a dark cupboard where it was cooler.  Checking on the progress of their seeds daily, each group measured and looked for growth.  The seeds with the sun’s warmth did the best with rich green young growth, while the seeds in the dark cool cupboard had some growth with long tendrils of white or very pale yellow instead of a darker rich green… they were searching for light and warmth.
    Interestingly, when I searched my photo file for a particular set of pictures, I saw this photo for today’s post was taken exactly 6 years ago – 04/30/2017!  The bursting leaf buds on my maple trees are at the very same stage as back then!  A reassurance when the world around us seems to be in constant flux that we are still in His care.
    In observing that experiment’s results, I realized how like us and our spiritual growth when we have Jesus and His Word, His light, as our guide, versus the darkness without His guiding light.  In Jesus, we have a solid foundation to lean on.  We’re fed with spiritual nutrition from His Word, Holy Scripture, as we turn to Him for answers in dealing with life’s problems.  And I can’t help but wonder about those who lash out at life around them, having little to no purpose or meaning.  Without a solid foundation and moral guidance to keep them on the right path, they often grow with negativity, seeking the easiest route to self-gratification regardless of collateral damage.
    I long for them to know and feel the embrace of God’s overwhelming love.  In creating us and knowing who He’s designed us to be, it must give God great pleasure to watch us fulfill the purpose He’s placed within each of us as we seek His wisdom.  Like a seed pushing upward and outward from its protective shelter below the soil, growing from a tiny seed until the whole of its beauty is evident, so is our life. 
    Developing from a tiny cell, we grow until we are one day born unique, created by God like no other being.  From infancy onward, we continue our maturing process to exhibit a growth and beauty within our heart and soul as we become who God intended us to be… a beautiful life meant to glorify Him. 
    A Tiny Seed
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Once upon a day a seed was planted
    Just a tiny seed, held gently in hand
    The soil was tilled and the seed tucked in
    To patiently wait, its growth to begin
    Learning to endure the seasons of life.
     
    As the tiny seed emerges frail
    From winter’s long and darkened sleep
    Into the warming breath of spring
    The sparkling rays of golden sun
    Shine down upon its tiny head.
     
    The rains gently fall to nourish the soil
    The sun rises high to share its warm glow
    And day by day the seed begins to grow
    Coddled with love, nudged into life
    Slowly but surely potential to gain.
     
    So it reaches up yet higher still
    Straining to achieve its dreams and goals
    Looking unlike any other around
    In plain and simple, yet elegant attire
    Focusing on its purpose ordained.
     
    And then one day a small simple bud
    Opens its petals for all to take note
    Delicate beauty unfolding soft
    To praise the One who created it so
    Like you and me with purpose unique.
     
    For by His loving and abundant care
    Sheltered and nurtured within our heart
    Is gently worked His will and His plan
    So that we beloved, precious children of His
    Bring honor and praise to our glorious God.
    ~~
  19. 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
  20. 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.
    ~~
  21. 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
     
  22. 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.
    ~~
     
  23. 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!
     
  24. 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
     
     
     
     
  25. 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.
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