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Linda Roorda

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Blog Entries posted by Linda Roorda

  1. Linda Roorda

    The Eyes of A Child

    By Linda Roorda,

    Do we remember what it was like to view the world through the eyes of a child? Sometimes yes, but a lot of times no … too often, I see the world through the lens of adulthood, from the various angles of life that have come my way.  We all have much to learn in being a living example of Christ’s love for us… for He who came to this earth as a newborn babe, to experience life through the eyes of humanity while being fully God, came with a purpose… to redeem us from our sinful selves. And every once in a while, we see that unselfish core of child-like faith and vision in others. God bless you as we remember together “the reason for the season.”
    (My poem’s words were written a few weeks before this evening news segment aired, which prompted the following blog several years ago.)
    I think we often forget how to view life through the eyes of a child.  Their wide-eyed innocence and purity come to us like a breath of fresh air… like a flower opening its beauty to the sun’s warm rays.  But we sometimes become hardened by the realities of a harsh world. 
    The evening news on Christmas Day 2014 (as told in Huffington Post, “Prankster Gives Homeless man $100…”) showed a brief documentary of what one homeless man did when given a $100 bill by the commentator, Josh Paler Lin.  Standing at the side of a highway with a cardboard sign, the poor man must have felt like Lin was his savior when he was handed that much money!  He was reluctant at first to take it, but then gladly accepted the free gift and walked away.
    From a distance, the cameraman inconspicuously trailed the homeless man as he took the money and walked into town.  There, the man promptly entered a liquor store… and exited with two large and heavy bags.  The assumption spoken in the video was that the money had been used by the homeless man to buy an awful lot of alcohol.  I will admit that I, too, had felt great disappointment as I watched the man enter the liquor store.  And, I, too, made an assumption by association.
    As the cameraman and Lin continued to follow the homeless man without his knowledge, the gentleman walked directly to a nearby park, set his bags down, and began to pull out packages… which he handed to others sitting around picnic tables.  And what was he handing out?  Food.  After watching for just a little bit longer, Lin went over to speak with the homeless man.  Lin explained what he was doing in his documentary, pointed out the cameraman a short distance away, and then asked the homeless man to explain what he had just done with his $100 bill. 
    Impressed and teary-eyed, I then saw a youthful Lin, with hair dyed both blond and black, tell the older man he owed him an apology for his wrong assumptions.  They hugged as Lin shared that he assumed the older man had come out of the store carrying two bags full of liquor.  Instead, he had learned a valuable lesson from this selfless, older man who carried all his worldly possessions in a bag… and who thought of the needs of others before his own.  “You just touched my heart,” Lin told him.  It was then the homeless man told Lin: “There's a lot of people that are just victims of circumstance, and they didn't go homeless because they're lazy… There's a lot of good people that are homeless.”
    And I was reminded of this poem I had written a few weeks earlier.  May I have the ability to see the world through the eyes of a child, coming to the Lord with a simple child-like faith as I put my trust in God’s great love.  For as Jesus said, “…I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven… And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me.” (Matt. 18:3,5)
    With a child-like faith, may I show the world around me the same love the Lord has lavished upon me, a sinner, in need of a Savior…. quite like the homeless man in our story.  It was his simple and generous love for his friends which allowed him to share the food he’d bought with the gift he’d been given.  He hoarded neither the money nor the food.  And in this, I learned a valuable lesson and must ask myself, “Would I have been so generous?”
    Yet isn’t that why Jesus humbled himself to be born into this world of sin, a world far different from the glories of His heavenly home… to share His generosity by coming to us as a newborn babe, to view this world from our perspective, and to save us from ourselves?  Thank you, Lord, for loving me so much that you saw my world through the eyes of a little child so long ago…
    The Eyes of a Child
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Through the open eyes of a little child
    We see our Lord without the blinders
    To know His love as gentle as a lamb
    And feel His arms envelope with peace.
    ~
    The tender faith of one so young
    Is a gift from God through eyes without fear
    A simple trust with expectant hope
    Holding out hands for others to lead.
    ~
    No guile is found within this wee soul
    Whose love is pure like a heart of gold
    Who freely gives to others in need
    That all may praise and bless His name.
    ~
    Untainted youth by worldly vices
    Pure and trusting are innocent minds
    With hearts that see the best in us all
    And faith that hopes with unfailing love.
    ~
    To tenderly hold the hands of a child
    And feel secure, encompassed by love,
    To view the world through innocent eyes
    Is to see the best in all those we meet.
    ~
    For judging others is not their concern
    They simply believe that all will be well,
    And though their pride may rear its revolt
    How willing are they to forgive when wronged.
    ~
    Their trusting heart accepts our reproof
    When patience is taught by living examples,
    For character grows with perseverance
    As praises true will confidence build.
    ~
    What would we see through the eyes of a child
    Is it pure love that encompasses all?
    Is it a trust in those who provide?
    And through such faith do our eyes open wide?
    ~
    Faith to trust Him who holds us through storms
    A trusting belief in His loving heart
    And with this love to simply accept
    He knows what’s best as He leads the way.
    ~
    With eyes of a child may we see our Lord
    The giver of life, bestower of gifts
    The One who guides with a Shepherd’s voice
    Who lay down His life that we might live.
    ~~
  2. Linda Roorda

    A Faithful God...

    By Linda Roorda,

    I don’t pretend to have all the answers.  I know how prone I am to fret and worry.  I often don’t take my concerns to the Lord in prayer right away, but tend to stew on them and think I have to fix the problems myself.  On the flip side, there are times I wait longer than I should to implement what God wants me to do.  Yet, time and time again, our gracious God has been faithful to see me and my husband through difficult situations and painful losses, showering us with blessings throughout those times.  His wisdom shines through when we finally realize there really was a purpose behind the trial we didn’t want to face. 
    When faced with various difficulties, we can remind ourselves that “…the Lord is faithful, and He will strengthen and protect [us] from the evil one.” (II Thessalonians 3:3 NIV)  How often don’t I need to remind myself to look to God, to seek His guidance first?  I am so prone to wanting to “do it myself,” as a little child is apt to say.  How independent and stubborn I am… we are!  But then, lest we forget, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” (I John 1:9NIV)  Our God has a short memory of our failings when we unburden our hearts to Him in prayer and repentance.  
    I also like Psalm 89:1 which says, “I will sing of the Lord’s great love forever…”  To praise our God in song and the written word for all He has done for us is to share His faithfulness with those around us.  Like a mother hen, who we can visualize protecting her young chicks with her wings, David penned, “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.”  Such comfort there is to be found in the Psalms.
    Every day our loving God stands with open arms ready to show us His love and compassion anew.  “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.  I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for Him.’” (Lamentations 3:22-24NIV)  Oh, to be patient and wait for God’s answer to our prayers.  He wants to bless us!  But it also means His will may not be what we want.  It requires patience and prayer from us as we wait for His answer, His blessing… as he sometimes takes us through a difficult time before we see the good come out of that circumstance.
    For He is faithful and just, full of mercy and grace, and will meet us where we are.  We are each uniquely created by Him, the One who knows exactly who we are, and who knows how best to meet our needs.  Then, as we wait on Him, we can “Enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise; give thanks to him and praise his name.  For the Lord is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations.”  (Psalm 100:4-5 NIV) 
    May you know His blessings as you experience the faithfulness of God in your life!
    A Faithful God…
    Linda A. Roorda 
    A faithful God…
    Who loves me dear and draws me near
    Who speaks to me in ways I can see
    Who knows my heart and helps me live my part
    Who hears my cry and knows how hard I try
    Who holds me tight in His arms of might
    Who forgives my sin on confession to Him
    Who stands me tall when again I fall
    Who deserves my praise in songs I raise
    Who never lets go as the way He doth show
    Who carries me through a trial and loves me all the while?
    A faithful God...
    ~~
  3. Linda Roorda

    Hope...

    By Linda Roorda,

    “You have cancer.”  Among the scariest words we can hear.  I was in shock.  My mind was racing.  Tears began to trickle down my cheeks.  I was both numb and yet devastated emotionally.  It caught me totally off guard.  Me?  Cancer?  I could not think clearly.  My heart was pounding.  I was in panic mode.  This cannot be happening!  I have so much to do to take care of my husband.  I don’t have time for this interruption in my life!
    October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  Diagnosed in 2014, I remain cancer free. Because a grieving process is normal when diagnosed, I share my story annually in the hope it helps encourage even one woman to make sure she does her own self breast exams and schedules a mammogram, preventing or finding breast cancer early for a good outcome.  And, if facing her own diagnosis, may she know there is a lot of support available. I am so thankful for the support of my cancer team nurse, and surgeon who, on seeing me in the pre-op area for Ed’s surgery two weeks before my own surgery, simply put his arm around my shoulder briefly to offer that silent voice of compassion. 
    My story was also shared in the past on the Christian Reformed Church Network website, and my cousin’s wife Carol submitted it to the Bradford Co., PA “Daily Review” who published it in October 2021 – all to remind others how important those exams are, because…
    I had actually intended to cancel my mammogram.  There was too much on my plate and I simply didn’t want to take the time to go for this exam in my already hectic schedule.  But, my husband (God bless him!) told me to take care of myself for once, and go get that mammogram.  Dutifully, and now thankfully, I listened to him.
    I could not have my husband with me when I was given the results of my biopsy - he was home with his own health issues, particularly severe constant dizziness when upright, along with extensive muscle and joint pain, recovering from life-threatening pancreatitis, multitudinous medical appointments, treatments, even surgery sandwiched between my biopsies and surgery, and he had not been able to work for several months.  Being blind, he cannot drive me to and from my appointments.  He can’t be with me to give his emotional support at my appointments, or even be with me at my surgeries.  He can’t be there to help ask questions, or simply put his strong arm of support around me… until I get home and share my fears with him.  And he’s been so good to me, so loving and supportive, sharing his Godly wisdom to help calm and soothe my anxious thoughts.  God blessed me with the best husband I could possibly have!
    But, I’m afraid.  I don’t know what lies ahead.  Will I get more cancer?  How will I take care of my husband and everything else if I’m incapacitated?  I don’t want to deal with all that I’m being forced to deal with.  I want to be left alone.  I want to be a little girl again without any cares or troubles.  But that’s not reality.  Reality means I will seek answers. 
    And so, as a medical/radiology transcriptionist, I research my diagnosis.  I read the literature from my surgeon’s office, and devour the words which reputable online medical centers or cancer associations have posted to discuss the disease and the best treatment options available.  Objectively, I understand what they’re talking about… I know what the words mean. But, deep down inside, I don’t want to digest it.  I’m overwhelmed.  I want to push it all away.  It’s become too personal.
    Yet, I have decisions to make.  Decisions I never thought I’d be making.  I’m more comfortable being on the typing end of the diagnostic language, feeling sorry for “my” patients.  Knowing that others have gone through this diagnosis and treatment before, and survived, is both helpful and unhelpful… mostly because each diagnosis and the dealing and healing is personal.  No one else can go through, or feel, exactly what you do.
    I talk with my husband’s aunt who faced her own cancer diagnosis several years ago.  She made her decisions, and did what needed to be done.  I like her attitude.  She is a true woman of faith, an inspiration to me as she looks to our Lord for his guidance every step of the way.
    And gradually, after making panicked decisions, then rethinking and picking each option apart, I come to a decision I can live with.  A decision my family and closest friends support me in.  And I’m okay… being reassured to know my cancer has been caught at an early stage.  For there are others I’ve known with a cancer diagnosis and prognosis worse than mine – those who have recovered after surgery and treatments and done well, those who have been through extensive treatments only to relapse, and those who have lost their lives from such a devastating disease…  And my heart goes out to every cancer patient and their families for all they have gone through.
    This poem was written in three sections at three different times after my diagnosis.  I was amazed at how the words seemed to flow with only minor adjustments.  But then, I shouldn’t be amazed at a God who has held my whole life in His hands.  And I praise the God who blesses me with the words and thoughts to write.
    And, while contemplating it all, this favorite verse of my late daughter, Jennifer, came to mind.  “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”  (Philippians 4:13)  I had embroidered it in a floral design to hang on the wall when she went to Houghton College, also making embroideries for my other two children, Emily and Dan, with their favorite verses. 
    I also found reassurance in “…know[ing] that in all things God works for the good of those who love him...”  (Romans 8:28)  While reading around this verse, I see, “…hope that is seen is no hope at all.  Who hopes for what he already has?  But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.  In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness.  We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us…in accordance with God’s will.”  (Romans 8:24-27)
    Even as I face my diagnosis head on, not knowing what to do or if I’m making the right decisions, God is there.  He answers my heart’s prayers, which I initially didn’t even know how to express other than “Help me, God!”  Then, as I read Romans 15:13, these comforting words enter my soul with more meaning than ever before, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” 
    Along this journey, I even found laughter… in, of all places, the book “Chicken Soup for the Soul, The Cancer Book, 101 Stories of Courage, Support and Love.” [pp.156-158] It was the kind of hearty laughter that brought tears to my eyes… a rolling-on-the-floor kind of laughter!  It may have been stifled for a while, but laughter is still within me.  And soon, smiles will once again reflect the joy deep in my heart!
    So, I’m at peace.  I find comfort in knowing God knew this obstacle on my journey before I even came to be.  He knew I would struggle, but He also knew how He would continue to draw me to His side, providing loving, caring family and friends to support me who gladly filled in for Ed by being at my side in the hospital, and bringing meals to us.  To know the extent of love, caring thoughts and prayers from family, friends and neighbors in our community is overwhelming. 
    As I’ve grappled with life’s changes, I know the Lord has had to carry me at times, but He has also led me through the maze as I’ve slowly learned to accept and deal with what He has allowed to come my way.  And I renew my hope in Him as He leads me forward.
    HOPE
    Linda A. Roorda
    When dark is the way and fear gathers ‘round
    When the road seems long with twists and turns
    The unexpected now comes into view
    Quite unprepared, my course it alters.
     
    The vista ahead fraught with fear and stress.
    How can this be? Can’t happen to me!
    How do I deal with changes to come?
    My plate is too full.  I can’t handle more!
     
    Why, Lord? I ask. I don’t understand!
    As I plunge into the depths of despair.
    I’m at a loss.  Why this obstacle?
    Why me?  But then… Why should it not be?
     
    Some days I’m numb.  Some days I just cry.
    With a loss of hope, and a heavy heart
    Many life changes I don’t want to face
    A grief ensues, a mourning what was.
     
    As sadness descends and stress consumes
    I want to cry.  I want to scream out.
    I haven’t the time.  I just cannot deal.
    Difficult questions now haunt all my thoughts.
     
    When darkness of night seems far too long
    And no answers come to pleading prayers
    Hold me tight Lord, in Your arms of peace
    That without fear a new day I may face.
     
    So I withdraw to an inner retreat
    My haven safe away from the pain
    A place where I rest to gather my fears
    Handing them over, releasing my frets.
     
    For there on the side just waiting for me
    With arms open wide He hears my deep sighs
    The cries of my heart, the fears locked inside
    Taking my burdens and guiding my steps.
     
    Who but you, Lord?  Who else but you?
    Who cares enough to count every tear?
    Who feels the pain, the fear and anguish
    That steals the joy from within my heart?
     
    Hope like a beacon peeks brightly through tears
    With a peace that calms my troubled seas
    Always at my side with a whisper soft
    Drawing me near and holding me close.
     
    Though I’ve felt lost while clinging to faith
    You’re always here embracing with love
    Returning my joy to face each new dawn
    Giving me hope in the peace of Your Light.
    ~~
  4. Linda Roorda
    As many know, my husband was readmitted to the hospital Thursday.  Overlapping congestive heart failure, diabetes, and kidney failure walk a fine line together. Not sure of the immediate future, as none of us do, we watch the world go merrily on its way as we grapple with life’s unknowns, frustrations and limitations, all the while knowing God is here with us and has a plan. His will may not be the plan we want, but as we go to Him, He gently wraps his arms around us, holding us up, giving us strength to face what is meant to be, with His love… I actually needed to be reminded of that and found this poem and blog I’d written in 2017, unpublished previously, so fitting for so many of us today… especially in the heartache of sudden losses like those who are suffering amidst Kentucky’s devastating flash flooding, as we collectively mourn with the families who lost loved ones and everything they owned.  May you each be blessed and comforted today with our God’s great love within your own difficulties.   
    Life can be so hard and painful, difficult and unfair.  We may face debilitating fears of the unknown on hearing a difficult medical diagnosis.  I remember the shock of hearing I had breast cancer.  My mind shut down.  I did not hear much of what else my doctor had to say.  The fears of the unknown were very real, as were my tears.  And I know many of you, my dear friends and readers, have faced similar situations.
    You may feel deep pain and grief in the loss of a loved one before their time… like the losses of our first two preborn infants - Heather at 6 months, believed to be twins who did not separate, followed by a second baby at 3-1/2 months, and then the loss of our daughter Jennifer at 25 years, a month after she graduated with her Master’s in school psychology, leaving behind her husband of 3 years. 
    You may carry the heart wounds of betrayal and abuse, suffer the destruction of a family home or business, or the loss of everything around you in devastating natural disasters, and more.  You know all too well your own trials…  There is so much we don’t understand in this life.
    Yet, amidst all the pain and grief we endure, we can rise from the ashes of devastating losses to a joyous new beginning.  For God is with us, even on those days when we feel abandoned and alone, like no one cares.  Even then, He is there.  He never leaves us.  Perhaps He seems silent, but He is truly never far away.  His arms are always open, ready to hold us, perhaps even to carry us for a while.  But He never leaves us nor abandons us.
    We may not understand the why of our pain while walking the difficult road… but the Lord has His reasons for allowing us to take that journey.  Perhaps this is what it takes to draw us back to His side, to understand His love, to know forgiveness with His lavish gift of mercy and grace through Jesus’ sacrifice, and to know His love and peace beyond understanding. 
    In John 16:33, Jesus told his disciples, and us, that “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world.”  Yet even the strongest among us faces difficult days with doubts about so many things… and we contemplate…
    Joshua was told by God as he prepared the Israelites to enter the promised land:  “6. Be strong and courageous, because you will lead these people to inherit the land I swore to their forefathers to give them… 9. Have I not commanded you?  Be strong and courageous.  Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”  They had lived for so many years and generations as slaves to the Egyptians and their brutality.  Now, after 40 years of wandering in the wilderness under Moses, after facing many difficulties where God showed His loving hand in providing and caring for them, there was still fear of the unknown among the people.
    Again, hundreds of years later, the prophet Isaiah also shared God’s words with the Israelites, “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10-13 NIV)  Words we can also hold onto in our hearts in this every-day journey of life.
    One of my favorite verses is Peter’s words reminding us to “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” (I Peter 5:7 NIV)  And yet, I fall short in bringing ALL my cares and concerns to God, and I stand guilty of fretting and fearing.
    Again, Isaiah wrote down precious words God gave him to encourage us all during trials:  “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.” (Isaiah 43:2 ESV)
    Finally, as the writer of Hebrews 13:5 reminds us, “Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, ‘Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.’” 
    Yes, I have to keep reminding myself of the words of God written well before our time.  These verses show what great love our Lord has for us.  He knows and understands the daily trials of life we face… the losses and pains we suffer…  Though we may consider our losses to be ashes of our treasures, ultimately God will give us joy and peace through the difficulties we face when our hearts are secure in Him… as we hold onto Jesus’ nail-scarred hands and bask in His great love… for "[He will] provide for those who grieve...to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes."  (Isaiah 61:3) 
    What rejoicing we share when blessed with His peace!  Never will He leave us, never will He forsake us! 
    Out of the Ashes
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Out of the ashes comes a healing heart
    And from the shattered comes broken beauty
    A miracle born midst languishing hope
    Comes shining light that glows from within.
     
    Though all I can give is a heart of love
    The simplest of gifts with no strings attached
    I give it to you with hands held out
    As You lift me up to stand rejoicing.
     
    From heavenly throne to servant of all
    You humbly came to seek and to save
    Bringing compassion, discerning my heart
    You gazed on my soul to see the real me.
     
    If all my riches were piled up high
    They‘d account for naught when put through the fire
    But where I have stored the Light of the world
    Is where the treasures of my heart are held.
     
    For out of the ashes comes a heart at peace
    Broken and shattered in sorrow and shame
    But born anew by Your sacrifice
    Your love covers all with mercy and grace.
    ~~
    12/06-09/17 
  5. Linda Roorda
    Spent some time yesterday with a friend at our mutual friend's "TNT Greenhouse" in Bradford, NY. Brought home flowers for a large pot to set on our front steps and to fill a hanging basket on the back deck. I’ve also watched Mama Robin build a nest in an empty birdfeeder on our deck, now setting on 3 little blue eggs, with hummingbirds and orioles returning to their respective feeders. And, tho my Juneberry bush, daffodils and tulips are done blooming, the lilacs began blooming this week as trees have fully opened their leaves to the sun … reminding us once again … it’s spring!  Enjoy the beauty of God’s creation all around you!  
    Ahhh, spring!  My favorite season!  And hasn’t it been looking beautiful outside?  I love to see the signs of new life emerging slowly, almost imperceptibly, after earth’s long wintry sleep.  To smell the fresh earthy aroma that follows a gentle spring rain is so refreshing, to see the grass almost immediately turning from shades of crisp tan and brown and dingy green to rich verdant greens, and to watch the daintiest leaf or flower bud begin to emerge… these all bring joy to my heart. 
    With a bright sun’s nourishing warmth, those leaf buds soon swell and burst open, bringing many more shades of green to life.  Then, as flowers burst open to brighten the landscape, it’s as though all of creation rejoices with an endless bounty of color.  “For behold, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone.  The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.” (Song of Solomon 2:11-12)
    I’ve often thought about the joy and pleasure it must have given our God as He created every aspect of this world, every plant and creature… each uniquely designed!  After His work of creating separate aspects of this world each day of the week, “God saw all that He had made, and it was very good.” (Genesis 1:31 NIV)  Wouldn’t it have been wonderful to have been a witness as this marvelous creation came to be?  I’ve also imagined that the first week of creation was spring with vivid colors bursting forth in blooms from every kind of plant and flower imaginable!  An amazing palette of color!
    When God created man and woman in His image to tend and care for the beautiful Garden of Eden, ultimately to be caretakers of the new world at large… they were each uniquely created and loved by God… just as we are in our own time.  And to know that all this beauty was created for our pleasure, to treasure and nourish… what an awesome responsibility and beautiful gift we were given! 
    Enjoy the beauty of spring in all its glory as it bursts forth anew to revive and color our every-day world with exhilarating joy!
    Colors of Spring
    Linda A. Roorda
    From brilliant yellow of forsythia arched
    To burgundy red on trees standing tall
    The colors of spring emerge in great beauty
    To brighten our days from winter’s dark sleep.
     
    From shades of chartreuse as leaf buds burst forth
    To pink and white flowers in cloud-like halos
    Hovering on branches in glowing full bloom
    Swaying above carpets of undulating green.
     
    From rich azure sky with puffs of white-gray
    To pale blue horizon at forested hills
    With sun-streaked rays like fingers of God
    To lengthening shadows as light slowly fades.
     
    From velvet black night as moon rises full
    To glittering diamonds twinkling bright
    Up over hills on their path through the sky
    Gliding above trees with limbs reaching out.
     
    From earth’s colorful palette awakening clear
    To the crisp and bold and shades of pastels
    Shimmering and dancing to brighten our day
    Created by God, our pleasure to behold.
    ~~
     
  6. Linda Roorda
    Easter is always a special time of year.  It reminds us that warmer weather is arriving after the long winter’s cold, and spring is beginning to show its colors!  It’s a time of renewal as new plant life exemplifies rebirth by poking through the covering of a late snow, leaf buds begin to swell and emerge from their long winter’s sleep, and early flowers showcase their gorgeous colorful blooms. 
    It’s a special time for children as they have fun decorating eggs, enjoy the search for hidden eggs to fill their baskets, and savor scrumptious chocolate treats and marshmallow peeps.  I also remember a time, way too many years ago, when it was fashionable to buy a new spring dress and white bonnet for Easter service at church.  When the Covid pandemic kept many of us from attending church, I drew Easter chalk art on our sidewalk to celebrate the joy of Resurrection Day.  And I also admire the Polish/Ukrainian Pysanky a friend makes – gorgeous delicate painted artwork on eggs.
    But, there’s so much more to the meaning of Easter.  Each year we are reminded again of all that took place about 2000 years ago.  That precious little baby whose birth we celebrated just a few short months ago grew up with a purpose.  As my husband’s niece, Rebecca, once said, “That God would become a man and understand our struggles on earth just blows my mind.  [That’s] true humble love.”
    Yet, in contemplating God’s love, I sometimes find it hard to think of such unconditional love for me...  After all, what about that little thing I did?  Was it really wrong?  Maybe I can just excuse it away.  Will my family, my friends, or even God, forgive me for certain errors I’ve made?  I know He has, as have friends to whom I’ve apologized over the years.  How could God still love me when my temper flares… again…?  What does He see in me?  I can never measure up…  Well, actually, none of us can.  We all sin and fall short of the glory of God… “for the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 3:23) So, why would God care so much for me… for each of us? Because of one man, Jesus…
    That one man, perfect in all he did or said, willingly took my unworthiness, my shame, my heavy load of sin, and endured the penalty of the cross, just for my soul, is overwhelming.  I cannot repay such a debt!  Wait… I don’t have to? My debt is paid in full? Because Jesus gave His life that I might live, all I have to do is believe and accept His free gift? Jesus really loves us that much? Yes! That’s the grace and mercy of God’s love… it does not define and cancel us for our failures, but rather shows that we are each created unique by God, worthy of His love and forgiveness, redeemed through Christ from a life of sin. (Colossians 2:13-14) Now that’s unconditional love… as He blesses us with His wisdom, courage, compassion and peace.
    I am reminded of Johnny Hart’s “B.C.” cartoon column.  He was a good friend of my husband’s Uncle Mart and Aunt Tilly and their family in Ninevah, NY, members of the same Presbyterian Church where Hart also taught Sunday School.  How succinctly Hart put the thoughts of this holy week into perspective in his comic strip:
    “I hate the term, Good Friday.” 
    “Why?” 
    “My Lord was hanged on a tree that day.” 
    “If you were going to be hanged on that day and he volunteered to take your place, how would you feel?”  “Good.” 
    “Have a nice day!”  [Johnny Hart in B.C., 04/09/03]
    Which brings to mind a similar thought-provoking cartoon I had also saved years ago from “The Wizard of ID”, a joint venture written by Johnny Hart and Brant Parker, illustrated by Parker:  
    Friar:  “Happy Good Friday Sire!”
    To which the king grumbles:  “What’s so good about it?”
    The friar replies:  “It took an act of God, but they finally found somebody willing to die for you.” ...with  the king left standing there speechless.  [Copyright Creators Syndicate Inc.]
    But, after the brutality and agony of Jesus’ crucifixion and death, His friends are devastated. All their hopes and expectations for Jesus as the earthly king of the Jewish nation appear to be dashed.
    Yet, envision with me the beauty of an early morning sunrise.  Birds are beginning to sing as the sun’s first rays appear.  The dew has settled gently on the flowers in the garden as they open their buds to the sun’s warmth.  According to Mark 16:1-5, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome quietly arrive at the tomb just after sunrise on the first day of the week.  They carry spices with them to anoint their beloved friend and teacher, Jesus, who had died a horribly painful death on a cross… only to see in astonishment that the great stone has been rolled away from the entrance.  Upon entering, they see the tomb is empty.  Already sad, now they are also afraid. 
    Suddenly, two men stand before them in brilliant light.  Knowing their fear, an angel speaks gently to reassure them.  “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified.  He is not here; he has risen just as he said.  Come and see the place where he lay.  Then go quickly and tell his disciples…” (Matthew 28:5-6)  Trembling and bewildered, the women run from the tomb.  Despite their confusion and fear they run to tell the disciples.  Peter and John arrive after hearing Mary Magdalene’s report, look into the empty tomb, and also see only the burial cloths which lay neatly in place. (John 20:3-8)  They wondered and believed.
    As the others return to their homes, Mary Magdalene stays at the empty tomb, crying, missing her Lord.  As a man she presumed to be the gardener speaks to her, she asks where he put him.  On hearing the man speak her name, “Mary,” she recognizes him as her dear friend, Jesus, and calls out, “Rabboni!” (Teacher).  After their conversation, Mary hurries to share the good news with the disciples that she “has seen the Lord!” (John 20:10-18)  Jesus truly is alive!
    And to think that with a simple child-like faith in Jesus who willingly gave His life for me… for each of us… He will live in our hearts now and for eternity. As John 3:16 reminds us, “God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him, should not perish but have everlasting life.”
    What pain there is to realize that I fall short of His tender love every day.  But what joy in humbling myself to recognize and confess my sins, and to ask for forgiveness for the errors of my ways from those around me and from my Lord, and then to feel the forgiveness… as the Lord’s love and peace with mercy and grace surround my soul.  That’s what Easter is all about…  God’s great love!  Hallelujah!!  Christ is risen!!  What a Savior!!  
    Besides… I love you!
    Linda A. Roorda
    Who am I?  My soul doth ask.
    What am I worth? And to whom?
    I see only failure as I take the reins
    And do not give my Lord the lead.
    ~
    How can you love the me who I am
    When all I see are my struggles?
    Yet, Lord, You do love even me
    In ways that I cannot comprehend.
    ~
    To sight unseen You guide my path
    Ever at my side, gently calling.
    And as you wrap loving arms around
    You cover my soul with tender mercies.
    ~
    For You opened wide Your arms on a cross
    Giving Your life that I might live,
    And in return You ask for my love
    With all my heart, my soul and my mind.
    ~
    But you didn’t stay within that tomb
    For on day three You rose from the dead.
    Seen by many, in the hearts of more,
    Eternity waits Your Gift of Love.
    ~
    Where once I felt the crashing waves
    That overwhelm and burden my soul,
    Now peace and joy have filled my heart
    With love to share for those on my path.
    ~
    Your presence surrounds me with Your peace
    As You offer grace to light my way,
    And then I hear You whisper soft
    Besides… I love you!
    ~
    A Happy and Blessed Easter to all!
    ~~
  7. Linda Roorda

    My Advocate

    By Linda Roorda,

    We’ve all heard the old adage that there are two sides to every story, and a classic trial brings that point out vividly.  I’ve served on three juries in the past – one clearly guilty, one given a lesser settlement than pursued, and one clearly not guilty.  It’s an honor to be selected to sit with peers to carefully review and ponder the facts of the case as presented by the respective attorneys, and to be responsible for the right verdict.  Certainly, some have abused the trial-by-jury system and condemned truly innocent folks, but it has been more often than not an equitable and viable justice system.
    The legal teams for the defendant and the plaintiff each present salient points to be considered, arguing their case convincingly with evidence and witnesses.  Once the case has been handed over to the jury, it’s up to the 12 jurors of peers to discuss the evidence presented and determine guilt or innocence.  For the most part, at each trial, we jurors could tell early on where the truth lay.  We also brought along our own life experiences and knowledge which helped weigh the evidence from both sides.  In one trial, for example, the farming background I and another gentleman had made all the difference in helping others understand more fully the veracity of certain aspects which had been presented during the trial.
    But sometimes it seems that a trial with its accusations is like that voice in my head reminding me of how guilty I am.  It’s Satan pointing out all my sins… one after another, stacked high, like a mountain tall.  The right way to live is spelled out in the Ten Commandments, in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, and scattered all throughout Scripture.  But, I’m also very aware that I cannot keep God’s commands and expectations to live a pure and holy life.  I have a serious debt which I can never repay.
    So, what am I to do?  Go to the Lord, admit my sins and failures, and accept God’s love and forgiveness, for nothing I could ever do will wash away my guilt.  My favorite verse since childhood has been – “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”  (John 3:16 KJV)  
    Jesus took the punishment I deserved on that fateful day we call Good Friday.  He was whipped, mocked, and nailed to a cross… not for anything He had done.  He was sinless, faultless, perfect.  Yet, He did that for me.  He willingly took my place, giving His life to purchase my right to join Him in heaven forever.  His mercy and grace brings me to tears.  Someday I will stand before Almighty God, my judge, to give an account of my life, and I will have nothing to say in my defense… except that my advocate, Jesus, will be standing at my side, declaring me guiltless because He already paid for my sins… with His own life. 
    My Advocate
    Linda A. Roorda 
    With accusations I’m now confronted
    No plea have I but guilty as charged
    I hang my head to litany stark
    And with quiet shame my accuser I face.
     
    It once had seemed the world was my own
    I learned the games to lie and to cheat
    I did not care if others were hurt
    As long as my will and goals were achieved.
     
    But in the spiral of downward tumble
    I lost the vision I’d once beheld
    A purer focus, others before self
    Humble respect in tangled webs lost.
     
    And one by one as charges were read
    I clearly recalled the past with deep pain
    Regret now for words carelessly spoken
    How could I ever repair what I’d done?
     
    In my despair while under scrutiny
    My only hope was to beg for mercy
    That maybe some good done along the way
    Would balance the book, the ledger of sin.
     
    But, alas, I heard the judge declare
    Guilty as charged; no mercy be shown.
    Like rock upon rock my sins were stacked high
    As I stared upon the mountain of debt.
     
    Just then the doors were flung open wide
    And striding forth came a man in white robe
    Boldly he exclaimed, “This debt has been paid!”
    “I hung on the cross, and took all the shame.”
     
    Slowly I sank to my knees in awe.
    Who was this man who gave all for me?
    How could he give his life for my debt?
    For I can’t repay such a merciful gift.
     
    Reaching out gently he pulled me up straight
    And showed me his scars and nail-pierced hands
    He held out his arms in welcome embrace
    As he dried my tears and declared me free.
     
    I love you my child… I did this for you.
    I carried your shame upon my beaten back.
    I purchased your soul with life-giving blood
    That you might have life with mercy and grace.
     
    Now all I ask is by faith you walk
    Bring to the world compassion and peace
    Carry my light to the corners dark
    Open your heart to love and forgive.
    ~~
  8. Linda Roorda
    During the season of Lent, we tend to reflect a little more intently on Christ's mission and sacrifice for us.  Since He gave so much in giving His life to redeem us, it seems we could easily give up even a little for Him. Though the traditional idea of giving up something for Lent has not been something I have done, my friend and distant cousin, Carolyn, got me thinking more deeply about the season of Lent.
    A few years ago, as Carolyn read her “Catholic Weekly” magazine with its daily devotionals, she shared with me a Lenten focus on the Roman Catholic perspective of the “seven deadly sins.”  These sins can lead us away from God… away from that close relationship we long for.  Unfortunately, I/we often exhibit the pride of self, a greed as we exclude others to serve ourselves first, jealousy in coveting that which is not ours, wrath or inappropriate anger, sloth or laziness when we could and should do something constructive, lust of a sinful nature, and gluttony or self-indulgence in so many ways.  Yet, we know that each one of these sins is absolutely forgiven on confession and repentance to God; and, under His tender mercy and grace, our heart is renewed as we follow in His footsteps.
    In synchrony with the above, we also recall that Solomon wrote in Proverbs 6:16-19, “there are six things the Lord hates, seven that are detestable to him: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked schemes, feet that are quick to rush into evil, a false witness who pours out lies, and a person who stirs up conflict in the community.”
    Some also say there is an unpardonable sin, the blasphemy against God and His Holy Spirit.  As Jesus was performing miracles and driving out demons, the religious leaders’ unpardonable sin was in claiming Jesus’ power came from the devil rather than acknowledging He had the power because He truly was the Son of God. (Mark 3:28-30, Matthew 12:31-32)
    If we turn away from the Spirit’s convicting promptings that what we’ve done is wrong, we may harden our heart, turn our back on God and not repent, willfully continuing in sin.  Yet, upon conviction of our sin, confession and repentance, we can be assured of God’s welcoming arms and loving forgiveness… for nothing can separate us from the overwhelming love of God.  (Romans 8:34-39)  May I always be convicted of my sins, confess them, and ask for forgiveness from God and those I’ve offended.
    As I continued to ponder the above Lenten theme mentioned by Carolyn, and the variety of themes from many churches for spiritual renewal each year, my own failings came to mind.  Sadly, it can be said that I/we betray our Lord’s love in so many ways because we are far from perfect.  Yet, as a reminder of Christ’s love for us, and living within us, there are familiar virtues we can strive for.  As the Holy Spirit leads, guides and helps us live out our faith, we exude “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.” (Galatians 5:22-23)  These fruits evidence the Holy Spirit’s work within us, as God transforms us to be more like His Son. (II Corinthians 3:18)  Because He loved us first (I John 4:19), even in our sinfulness, we can live a grateful life of holiness, bringing honor and glory and praise to God for all that He has done… because to this we were created. (Revelation 4:11)
    We can demonstrate our love for God and those around us with our faith or reliance, hope or trust, and charity or love as shown in I Corinthians 13, the “love chapter”.  We can share this joy and peace in living out our faith in God by showing such loving kindness in our interactions with others.  With courage and wisdom from the Lord we can face those difficult painful trials.  Just as God has granted mercy and grace to us, we can show the same to others, forgiving them as we’ve been forgiven, acting with moderation and self-control, with honesty and integrity in our dealings.  Against these virtues there would be no complaint as we respect others, bring glory to God, and become a beacon to point others to Christ… not only during Lent, but always.
    Though our Lord was mocked and betrayed as He walked this earth, may we never forget the depth of all He suffered in His great love for us despite knowing our wayward ways.  For it’s only thru Jesus’ shed blood that we have forgiveness and reconciliation with God.  As I prepare myself spiritually this Lenten season to focus more intently on Christ’s sacrifice and resurrection, Carolyn’s words echo the thoughts of my heart when she wrote that “these are the things we could all reflect on during the 40 days before Holy Easter, and maybe change our hearts and minds to reflect more of Christ’s love.” 
    From Betrayal to Beacon
    Linda A. Roorda
    There is One who felt the heavy hand
    The slap to the face, the mocking abuse
    The glib excuses, lies begetting lies
    Betrayal by friends, abandoned in need.
    ~
    For there was a man who took this and more
    A man who never responded in wrath,
    The Son of God, who sought us in love
    Who lay down His life that we might live.
    ~
    The Light of this world, a rejected man
    Scorned by His own and scoffed by scholars.
    Still there were those who pondered His words
    Words that were new and words that gave hope.
    ~
    Bless those who misuse, pray for their soul
    Just as our Lord, the servant of all,
    Dwelt here in peace and drew us to His side
    To offer us hope with redemption’s gift.
    ~
    Be that beacon to a world needing hope
    Bring peace and comfort with welcoming arms.
    Offer your love to the soul in pain
    Become a servant to meet the needs.
    ~~
    Initially published on The Network,
    the website of the Christian Reformed Church of North America
    2017
     
  9. Linda Roorda
    Remember the halcyon days of youth, with hours upon hours of making your own fun?! Where’d they all go? Sit back, close your eyes, and let your mind transport you back to another time, another place, long ago… or maybe not so long ago for some of you!
    I wish I could remember life in a 12x20 foot cabin at Delta Junction, Alaska.  Our mom took me and my baby sister to join our dad for his last seven months at the Army’s Fort Greeley – a foreign assignment, prior to Alaska statehood.  We flew out of New York City with several stops enroute to Seattle.  The plane for the last leg needed engine repairs, catching fire after leaving Seattle, but we finally landed safely in Fairbanks.  I do have a few photos, including of buffalo out behind the cabin and the day my dad bundled me up for a photo in the dog sled at -30! 
    When Army service ended, dad wanted to homestead, but mom was not keen on the idea, so back to the states we went.  They enjoyed the beauty of the Al-Can Highway through Canada on the drive back to Seattle and a train trip east, and the scary cliffs without benefit of guardrails, especially when the car’s steering wheel briefly locked up, again, as my mom struggled to turn the wheel… thankfully, just in time!
    Being 15 months apart, my sister and I were inseparable, inevitably together, dressed “alike” when our Grammy V. got to sewing or knitting for us.  The only dress I didn’t like was the white crinkly organdy with an itchy crinoline slip – the memory still gives me shivers!
    But, we knew how to have real childhood fun, especially on the farms!  We grew up without a television until our dad brought one home after we moved to Clifton, NJ in the mid 1960s.
    My earliest memories begin at about age 3 in Sodus, NY when my dad worked for Wychmere dairy and apple orchards… and we took trips to the beach at Chimney Bluffs on Lake Ontario.  I remember my grandparents arriving with special gifts… my favorite Dolly, clothes sewn and knit by my grandmother, and a table made by my grandfather.
    Next favorite memories were on the Breemes farm in Marion where my dad farmed and our first brother, Charlie, was born.  I remember the house, barn and land so clearly.  Stopping there a few years ago, I was given a tour by Mr. Breemes’s now-elderly son who graciously showed me inside the barn, both upper and lower sections, though the old milkhouse is gone.  Oh, the memories that came flooding back!  It was a New England bank barn, i.e. built into a bank with the upper level even with the road, with all the old beams, grain bin and haymow still intact.
    I’m not ashamed to admit that tears began to flow as I recalled standing on a bale of hay, moving an old teakettle along on the narrow ledge of wall just below the road-side windows.  I milked “my cows” while dad milked his real ones.  We girls were warned sufficiently for a healthy fear of the bull at the end of the barn by the door and kept our distance from him. 
    I even got to drive the tractor when the manure spreader broke.  My dad set me up on the old Minnie-Mo (Minneapolis-Moline) as I took the huge wheel in my hands.  I was to steer it straight ahead while he forked out the manure.  Right!  As we slowly crept along, every time the wheel turned, I let it… until we headed for a tree… at which time my dad jumped off and stopped the tractor just in time to avoid a big wreck – though he has said I was never even close to crashing.  But, I can still see it all so vividly!
    And how well I remember the morning we opened the garage door at the side of the house. We girls stood at the top of the steps, face to face with two giant golden-brown Belgian draft horses!  When Charlie was born, my dad milked alone while we “twins” roamed around looking for our next adventure.  We found it all right – in the back barnyard… throwing rocks into muck puddles… until little Carol fell in still holding her rock, pulling me in as I tried to get her out.  Oh pooh!  Our dad had to stop chores and take us girls in for a bath, filthy stinking dirty from head to toe… but we washed up nicely!
    Another time we were waiting to cross the road to the barn with dad.  A car drove by just as one of our kittens shot out in front of us and met his demise.  The kind gentleman stopped, and walked over to apologize.  Instead of bursting into tears, my dad said I replied, “First Geppetto!  Now Mickey!  That’s the way it goes, right Dad?!”  As dad told the story, the poor man walked back to his car shaking his head.
    After my dad had an extended illness, we left the farm for Clifton, NJ where his parents lived. There we spent my kindergarten year, next moving back to Marion, NY. Gerald DeVries helped us move, my Dad having known him and his wife Joann in Sussex, NJ where he’d worked as a dairy herdsman after high school graduation in Clifton.
    In Sussex, my Dad had been herdsman for Walter Titsworth after he graduated high school.  It was Walter’s elderly spinster daughters we loved to visit in our early teens.  Walter was a direct descendant of Willem Abrahamse Tietsoort who, with his family, had survived the 1690 Schenectady, NY massacre by Indians.  Removing to what is now Sussex/Port Jervis area of NJ, Tietsoort purchased thousands of acres from the Indians and built a new home.  Interestingly, in researching my mom’s genealogy several years ago, I learned she was related to Willem Tietsoort!  If only we’d known that years ago!
    Living upstairs in the DeVries house, my sister and I meandered the farm and pastures with Betty and Fran, helped them ready the milking machines a few times, watched their dad blow silage into the silo (with the old tractor and belt that ran from the tractor to the blower, heeding their dad’s warning to stay clear in case the belt flew off the flywheel), and shared many good times together.
    Moving to Musshafen’s tenant farm half a mile up the road, we found more to explore.  My dad drove a feed truck, delivering Purina feed to local farmers, being awarded top N.Y. State Purina Feed Salesman for ’61 and ’62, winning a trip to the Thousand Islands with mom!
    We traipsed all over the fields and through the woods, never minding the heifers and dry cows in the field, and walked fearlessly up the road to visit Fran and Betty.  I saw my first Baltimore Oriole nest in a bush alongside the fence line of their father’s field.  Nearby neighbors had a beautiful home filled with beautiful antiques; their large bed of snapdragons fascinated me so much they remain one of my favorite flowers, and her custard pudding was out-of-this-world delicious!
    Our chores included dust mopping the floor, so I pushed my sister around on top of the mop and in the baby carriage we’d found in the big house.  We had a steer and a flock of chickens to care for, and I remember trips to the butcher in Marion, Pembroke’s, with a gleaming white board fence around the pasture where he kept animals waiting to be butchered. 
    We sisters ran and played between the rows of vegetables rather than weed. We shelled peas and snapped beans – dumping some under the lilac bushes when we’d had all we could take of that chore! We grew pollywogs in a jar, returning them to the creek when they showed signs of becoming frogs.  We fried eggs on the hot road – after all, we’d heard that it was so hot you could, so we had to try! And, didn’t understand why they stayed raw…  We licked cow salt! We practiced with our new fishing poles, casting the lead weight toward a bucket – though my aim wasn’t too accurate!  We lay on our backs, gazing at puffy clouds.  We shared everything, including chickenpox and mumps (and later the two-week measles in NJ), even with our new baby brother, Mark. 
    We had a steer we named Elmer (after Elmer’s Glue!) and a flock of chickens to care for, and I remember trips to the butcher in Marion, Pembroke’s, with a gleaming white board fence around the pasture where he kept animals waiting to be butchered. 
    I also remember we sisters, about 7 and 8 years old, chased brother Charlie as he pulled a length of chain.  Wanting him to stop so we could catch up to him, we stepped on the chain.  Charlie stopped all right… abruptly… and down he went with his chin hitting the concrete step, cutting it open with blood all over.  He needed sutures, and we got another scolding for that one.  I’m so sorry, dear brother!
    I remember a small private plane landing in a field across the road from our house.  Never fond of naps and loving the outdoors even then, I played outside while everyone else napped on a Sunday afternoon.  I stood in awe to see a plane come down in the hayfield, saw the pilot checking something out, and watched as he taxied and took off again.  What a sight!  But then, my napping family thought I made it all up…
    One evening we asked to sleep out in the yard under the stars. Setting out blankets and pillows, we turned in early – this was special and exciting!  And saw a shooting star for the first time.  But, in the middle of the night, we got scared. No longer having fun, cold and damp, we quietly crept back into the house to sleep on the couch.
    Next, as tenants on the Bouman farm, we joined Ruth and Annette for a new foursome of fun and games.  We traipsed around their farm, over the fields and through the woods.  Once, I narrowly missed being run down by an angry mother for coming too close to her newborn calf, sliding under the barbed wire fence with barely seconds to spare as her hugeness charged after me! 
    We sled down the barnyard hill and built snow forts in a hayfield.  We played in the upper level of the bank barn, sliding down the pile of oats in the bin.  We ran around the haymow - until I tripped, catching my foot on baling twine.  Pitching over the edge, I fell to the floor below, landing with my head not more than a foot away from an upturned pitchfork, sustaining quite a concussion. Living here, their sister Grace taught me to ride a bike, falling and scraping my knees a few times.
    Without ice skates, we tried roller skating on the pond, only once, but that was enough to know it was not our best idea!  We played Red light/Green light, Mother May I, Hide and Seek, Telephone - we all sat in a circle, whispering the message to the next person… only to find out how different it was at the end from how it started! We often walked to town where our Christian school and church meant everything to us, as did the time spent playing at the homes of so many other friends.
    And then… on February 3, 1965, we moved back to city life in Clifton, NJ near my dad’s parents and his siblings’ families once again.  How I missed my classmates and friends in East Palmyra.  I cried for weeks.  Though moving on in life, I never really got over that loss, retaining special friendships from both home towns and renewing a few more since.  
    But, in the city once again, my sister and I made new friends and new fun, walking and biking everywhere with bikes our grandfather repaired for us.  Our dad took us on day trips around northern Jersey, to train yards, shipping docks, and into New York City. My sister and I made frequent trips to the public library as we were both avid readers, played in Weasel Brook Park, the park at Racies Pond, and Nash Park along the Passaic River, never fearing for our safety.  She and I were also responsible for the family’s laundry every week at the laundromat, enjoying our reward – money for yummy treats!  And we acquired a third brother, Andy.
    In the summers of 1967 and 1968, Dad took us camping at his cousin Howard’s farm in Nichols, NY, setting up camp in the pasture with horses.  Let me tell you, dinners cooked all day in a Dutch oven over coals in a ground pit were the most delicious ever!  Loving the country, farm fresh air, and absolutely everything about horses, I was on cloud nine!  The next summer, I was the happiest girl alive to move back to New York… the tiny hamlet of Lounsberry just east of Nichols.  On August 18, 1969, we drove out of Jersey on Rt. 17 through zillions of congregating hippies… the one and only incomparable Woodstock!  Except, I led such a sheltered life I had no idea at the time we were eye witnesses to part of an historical event! 
    Back in the country, we found all new learning experiences as I helped Dad remodel and reroof the chicken coop, and build a stall and pasture fence for beautiful War Bugg, a granddaughter of the famous race horse, Man O’ War.  And, a fourth brother, Ted, joined our ranks.
    I treasure my childhood - a time of innocence, a time of making our own simple fun, a time of learning… something I think many of today’s children miss out on as they play with the latest computerized gadgets and phones… or they’re overbooked in sports and extracurricular programs all year ‘round. 
    My sister and I, lacking the current “in” toys, were out and about with little adult supervision – definitely not something available to current generations.  And I think that’s a shame… for the lessons we learned were priceless and invaluable… pieces of which you will find scattered throughout my poetry and blogs.  Oh, the halcyon days and blessings of youthful innocence! 
    Halcyon Days of Youth
    Linda A. Roorda 
    The halcyon days of adventures past
    Of dreams and schemes and youthful machines
    Unsupervised fun, roaming freely safe
    Absorbing life with innocent ease.
     
    Where did they vanish, those carefree days?
    Though ever near in faded mem’ries
    The stirring heart can recall at will
    All that once was from time without cares.
     
    There was no fear to childhood games
    With all of outdoors the playground of choice
    No worries or frets to grip the young heart
    Trust was paramount and your word was gold.
     
    Could we have known that the games we played
    Would form the basis of adulthood mores
    For lessons learned in the days of youth
    Were meant to achieve maturity’s morn.
     
    Values thus learned bring a depth to wisdom
    They form foundations to live a life well
    They penetrate deep the essence of our soul
    That should steps falter deep roots will hold firm.
     
    For where leans the mind so is the treasure
    Youthful innocence in the child at play,
    Where imagination takes hold of the heart
    To grasp youth’s best on the journey of life.
    ~
  10. Linda Roorda

    Respect

    By Linda Roorda,

    Taking notice of some issues lately, decided this blog from the past bears repeating today.
    Oh, that we lived in a perfect world! … but we don’t. Not everything goes our way, but our response can make a difference. So, why am I hesitant to express my opinion? There's a place for respectful disagreements, including of each other's faith, or lack thereof as espoused a few years back by Joy Behar of “The View” and those who admire her. They mocked former Vice President Mike Pence for his Christian faith and talking to Jesus, even calling a “mental illness” his listening to Jesus’ voice. I, too, have heard the "voice" of God... sometimes loud and clear as if someone were next to me uttering the words, other times nothing more than a gentle nudge in my soul. Prayer is a powerful communication.
    But, in re: school and public mass shootings, Ed and I have long felt there's something eating away at society, like a cancer. A shooting near a school happened in Binghamton this past week. It’s doubtful if stricter gun laws will make a big difference in overall statistics of violence, since criminals always manage to get them. Though we do believe some laws strengthened may be more of a deterrent than others, it’s interesting that cities with the toughest gun laws have not curbed their gun violence. But you know, my Dad's guns were freely available to me and my brothers as teens, after training in appropriate use and cleaning, and we never considered using them wrongly.
    As crime rates increase, we see an obvious lack of respect for the value of another human being… with an increase in bullying and rage issues, taunting, mocking, and blatant killing of our law enforcement officers. We can argue gun crime stats, but I don't believe access to guns by teens or any criminal is our main issue. We have seen over time that any manner of weapon can be used besides guns - knives, a heavy object to bludgeon the victim, vehicles, even a rock by Cain to kill his brother Abel in a fit of jealous rage in earliest biblical times. Even in states and cities with the strictest gun control laws, crime rates have risen considerably recently, especially when “catch and release”/so-called bail reform allows criminals to walk with great leniency… including repeat offenders. There are no real consequences for bad behavior.
    Many at-risk youths have not learned how to appropriately redirect their losses, upsets or rages other than to lash out at those around them - especially when adults use violence to release their own anger. There seems to be a lack of discipline – some kids know what they can get away with and readily test the limits. And, sometimes, kids lack appropriate role models as we adults can also be poor models.
    We witness or become the target of bullying, verbal attacks, abuse and harassment in many forms. Amidst the violence, angry rhetoric, and sexual harassment and misconduct in our society, something seems to be missing. What happened to the respect we once showed each other? Showing courtesy, consideration and honor to others fits together under that one term – respect. Displaying an attitude of humility with respect shows the depth of our own character and integrity. Yet, it seems that mocking or hateful vitriol is the language preferred from many directions. Like you, I find it appalling.
    Anger against sin and abuse is not wrong, but a righteous emotional response which God gave us. When anger stems from a heart with sinful intention, therein lies the abuse and lack of respect. And it should make us stop and think.
    Perhaps, instead of taking a knee to the American flag and finding fault with America, those with ability, financial or otherwise, could help the underprivileged within current charities or create new ones. Perhaps, simply from their own heart of love, instead of violence and destruction to have their demands met, they could become a mentor to show the disadvantaged a better way. I grew up without much of what my peers had. I earned my way in life. I’ve been mocked and ridiculed. But also grew up with parents who cared enough to discipline. I grew up with kids of all races, including black friends and those of international heritage, and they and their parents did all they could to accomplish their goals with respect and gratitude within the community.
    Where has morality gone? Why are certain “politically correct” attitudes condoned while those who disagree are held in disdain? With the push to set God aside as irrelevant in our lives, to live as if we are unaccountable to anyone or anything, I think we have also brushed moral ethics and values aside. After all, if we do not believe we’re created in the image of God, but simply exist because a few cosmic molecules exploded with a bang, then of what value is another person’s life. I find it ironic that huge fines are levied for killing animals, yet our unborn children are aborted/killed because they might be defective or an inconvenience.
    Is a conscience or a moral obligation obsolete? Do we do whatever seems right to us alone? Without moral absolutes and the ensuing guilt regarding what is or is not considered sinful behavior, we don’t have to hold ourselves accountable to God and His word. Still, how often don’t those who hold to a belief in God tend to live by certain moral standards that have their very foundation in Holy Scripture.
    With so many accusations of sexual misconduct/harassment among public officials coming to light, has this pattern of behavior become prolific because of Bill Clinton’s ability to “get away with it” during his past presidency? I remember someone saying to me then that it was no big deal, “Everyone does it!” Oh really? Does everyone lie to cover up the truth, or only abusers? What’s lacking in one’s character to cause such rampant abuse? The predator or abuser knows how to shame his victims into silence. Silent no more, many are speaking out more readily, calling attention to the abuse and harassment suffered quietly for too long. The victims are trying to bring accountability into the picture for restitution and a better way to live responsibly. Yet, too often victims are still silenced and looked upon as the problem.
    We feel free to disparage and mock the opposition of our dearly-held beliefs, yet we’re appalled if our own perspectives are attacked. Once upon a time, we honored each other… despite our differences. Once upon a time, we agreed to disagree. We were able to debate and argue our points in a respectful manner, but now it seems that mocking, hate-filled rhetoric, and even violence is “de rigueur.” Why?
    I’ve pondered the societal denigration which brought about the November 2008 Black Friday shopping stampede. The epitome of greed fed that mad rush, pushing and shoving throughout the crowd, just to satisfy selfish desires… for Christmas gifts no less… resulting in the trampling death of a Wal-Mart employee. I remember hearing this story on the news then, saddened and appalled that such a tragedy could have even happened.
    But, isn’t it greed and selfishness which results in any crime, whether it be robbery or murder? We’re jealous. We dislike. And we allow minor slights to fester. We have our rights, hold grudges, and can’t forgive. Someone has what we want so we take it to satisfy our pleasure, or destroy the one who owns it. How unutterably sad that society has stooped to this level, even to condemning those who bring attention to abuses they’ve dealt with. Yet, there’s nothing new under the sun, as Solomon once said. (Ecclesiastes 1:9) Even Adam and Eve’s son Cain killed his brother, Abel, out of jealousy that festered and grew into a murderous hatred. (Genesis 4:4-12)
    These thoughts reminded me of the vitriol espoused by and against various public officials, particularly during election time. There’s a hatred and cancellation of the opposition, those holding and expressing conservative and/or Christian biblical values. Whether by, or against, the president of our nation or any of our local officials, including law enforcement officers, such words seem to be the norm lately. With hatred and anger fueled perhaps by abusive rhetoric, and a loathing of that with which we disagree, passions are fed and all manner of evil erupts from the human heart… rather than allowing the opposition time to express their opinion.
    In the Summer of 2017, many thought it was “the right thing to do” by taking down statues erected in memory of our nation’s historical past. We cannot rewrite history by destroying that with which we disagree, and instead are setting a dangerous precedent. In removing what is considered a negative, perhaps we miss the opportunity to learn from past mistakes… personal and collective, national and international. Perhaps there are teachable moments that would draw our divergent beliefs together in common ground. In the slippery progression to remove more and more references to our historical past, what’s next? Think long and hard of the consequences… because it just might be us next… me and you…for our beliefs.
    A contrast to such rhetoric and violence can be found in Jesus’ teachings that we call The Beatitudes, especially one simple phrase we all know as the Golden Rule. “So, in everything, do to others what you would have them to do you…” (Matthew 7:12 NIV) As the physician Luke expressed in his gospel (17:3), “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him.” What better way to show Christ’s love to our neighbor or enemy than by lending a helping hand with courtesy and forgiveness… while respecting our differences.
    When an expert in the old Jewish law asked, “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” (Matthew 22:36-39 NIV) With such love, we “encourage one another and build each other up”. (I Thessalonians 5:11)
    Wow! What a depth of perfect wisdom we find in Jesus’ words! In taking them to heart, there’d be no more abuse, petty fights or squabbles among us, or even great wars. We’d be so in tune to each other’s needs that our selfish ego and desires would vanish. All out of a simple respect for each other and their needs. May God bless each of us as we practice that kind of true humility.
    Respect
    Linda A. Roorda
    It seems we’ve mislaid respect and value.
    We want what we want, and deserve it now!
    We’ll step on your toes, fight and destroy
    Not caring to pause and treasure your worth.
    ~
    Entitled am I, my wants come first.
    I rush and push, and trample on through.
    How dare you think that I could be wrong
    I have my rights! Get out of my way!
    ~
    Oh, to our shame, what have we done…
    We once shared love but now foster hate.
    We once treasured folks for who they are
    And valued their rights as much as our own.
    ~
    Common courtesy, we salute your ways
    With manners polite and outstretched arms
    Welcoming others with civility’s mores
    Regarding humility as our tone of grace.
    ~
    With deference and honor we highly esteem
    Others before self with gratitude’s praise
    Rendering tribute where homage is due
    Tactful and kind, we respect you for you.
    ~~
  11. Linda Roorda
    I’m sure we’ve all heard of Johnny Appleseed and those apple seeds he planted “everywhere.”  The 1948 Disney movie, “Melody Time,” and their 2002 version, “American Legends,” both include a short story about him with a simple upbeat song:  “The Lord is good to me, And so I thank the Lord, For giving me the things I need, The sun and rain and an apple seed, Yes, He’s been good to me…” 
    But who was this legendary man?  Not many Americans know the real story behind the myths perpetuated in film, song and verse.  And, since I didn’t know much more about Johnny Appleseed other than the fact that he went around planting apple seeds, I thought it was about time I did a little research.  
    John (not Jonathan, his youngest half-brother’s name, as some websites call him) Chapman was born September 26, 1774 in Leominster, Massachusetts.  But, he died far from his birth home, an apparent pauper, near Fort Wayne, Indiana in mid-March 1845.  He may have died the 11th, or the 18th, or was it the 17th?  Accounts vary, rather indicative of his life, but his obituary was dated March 22, 1845 in the “Fort Wayne Sentinel” of Fort Wayne, Ohio. 

    John Chapman's Birthplace - Leominster, Massachusetts
    He was a simple man, walking virtually everywhere in bare feet, even in inclement weather, wearing baggy pantaloons and a coffee sack from which he’d cut holes for his head and arms.  He often wore one or more hats on his head, including a cooking pot with a handle, and carried his belongings in a satchel on his back. 
    Then, one dreary evening when the precipitation coming down was a bitter cold mixture of rain and snow, he appeared at the door of the William Worth home, friends with whom he’d stayed before.  After satisfying his hunger, he shared his usual news “right fresh from heaven” with the family (Means, p.1) –  the truths within the Bible as seen through his eyes and those in the teachings of Emanuel Swedenborg as was his favorite past time.  He was a faithful disciple of Swedenborg’s religious philosophy, carrying the church’s books and pamphlets with him and eagerly expounding upon his favorite issues to anyone available to listen, for this was “…in many ways, the driving force of his life.”  (Johnny Appleseed:  The Man, the Myth, the American Story, Howard Means, p.6) 
    Chapman apparently awoke the next morning with a fever from an infection which seems to have settled in his lungs.  He died within days, or was it just hours, of what was then called the “winter plague” which could have been anything from pneumonia to influenza.  And, apparently he died with his face the picture of serenity as the Worth family and their physician later pointed out.  (Means, p. 2) 
    Chapman was a simple and gentle man, not one given to drunkenness or fighting.  He was very much at home in the wilderness, preferring the untamed wild country to the inside of a cabin.  But, at times he did appreciate the hearth of those who welcomed him inside their home - that is, when he chose to enter.  Interestingly, he was accepted by virtually everyone with whom he came in contact despite his odd and uncouth appearance - from the Native Americans to the domesticated early settlers and the wilderness frontiersmen.  He was respected as an odd eccentric, a larger-than-life character wherever he went.  He had an uncanny ability to be “here one minute, gone the next.”  (Means, p. 3) 
    The famed Civil War general, William Tecumseh Sherman, born and raised in Lancaster, Ohio, may have known Chapman, or perhaps just knew of him, as Chapman passed through the area while Sherman was still in his teens.  After Chapman’s death, Sherman is purported to have said, “Johnny Appleseed’s name will never be forgotten… We will keep his memory green, and future generations of boys and girls will love him as we, who knew him, have learned to love him.”  (Means, p. 4) 
    Born in 1774 as above, Chapman was the second child of Nathaniel and Elizabeth (Simons) Chapman.  His father was a member of the Minutemen Militia and fought at Bunker Hill.  Both families have ties to the very early New England settlers, with descendants of Chapman’s mother’s extended Simonds/Simons family known to include the George Bush family. 
    While Nathaniel Chapman was off fighting the war for independence that summer of 1776, his wife gave birth to their third son, Nathaniel, on June 26.  On July 16, however, Elizabeth succumbed to an illness already affecting her as she had written in a letter to her husband earlier that month.  Barely two weeks after her death, her tiny infant son also died.  There must have been intense heartbreak felt by the two young siblings left behind.  With their father at war, it has been presumed their mother’s family took them in.
    With very little documentation of their early childhood, we only know that little Johnny and his older sister, Elizabeth, are next found with their father and step-mother in Longmeadow, south of Springfield, Massachusetts by about 1781.  Into a very small house, about 400 square feet, Nathaniel Sr. moved with his new wife, Lucy.  In time, ten more children joined the family.  The assumption can only be that of a home in utter chaos and squalor as the older children helped to care for the newer infants.  From this noise and chaos, it appears John Chapman escaped with his half-brother, Nathaniel, Jr.
    Again, though we know very little of Chapman’s growing up years, he and Nathaniel Jr. are found about 15 years later (about 1796) in far western Pennsylvania.  The western frontier was just beginning to open up with wilderness land ready for settlement by Revolutionary War veterans.  How fortuitous when, in 1792, the Ohio Company of Associates (actually formed in Massachusetts, among other companies with land deals) began to offer one hundred acres of land free to anyone desiring to settle the “Donation Tract.”  This land encompassed about one hundred thousand acres of wilderness beyond Ohio’s first white settlement in Marietta, used to help create a buffer zone between the white settlers and the warring Native Americans.  There was one catch, however, to obtaining this free land:  you had just three years in which to plant 50 apple trees and 20 peach trees as proof of your intention to settle the land.  (Means, p.8-9)
    Chapman, with his uncanny ability to know where frontier settlements were likely to spring up, would trek into the wilderness, often along fertile river bottoms, stake out his claim and clear several acres to plant the apple seeds he had obtained from cider mills.  He usually surrounded his plantings with a brush fence, though that did not always keep the small seedlings from being destroyed by critters and river flooding.  In a few years, a small apple orchard would be waiting the arrival of settlers.  However, he did not profit much from property he sold.  Quite often, he simply used up whatever profits he’d made to buy and care for abused horses he saw on his travels.  He also had a habit of just giving away seeds or young trees to those who couldn’t afford to pay much, if anything, for them.  (Means, p.9)
    Chapman’s eccentricities abound, promoting a mythical aspect to his life story.  Supposedly, he had been kicked in the head by a horse, perhaps in his twenties, suffering a skull fracture that required he be trepanned – that is, he had a portion of skull bone removed to alleviate pressure on his brain from internal hemorrhaging.  Some have contended there might be validity to this story to explain some of Chapman’s oddities.  Again, even this accident cannot be proven beyond that which W. M. Glines of Marietta, Ohio claimed.  (Means, p.13)
    And so, into Pennsylvania, John (23 years) and Nathaniel (about 16) traveled – whether by foot, by horse, or by canoe no one knows for certain. Nor can various authors’ claims of various routes be proven beyond doubt.  Regardless of how they arrived, John and Nathaniel planted apple seeds in the ground which they’d obtained in apple mash at cider mills; their intent was to plant seeds to prove their land throughout the wilderness.

    Their first plantings were made in what later became Warren County of northwest Pennsylvania during 1796 to 1799.  Proof of their travels here is recorded in various journals and records at trading posts along the Allegheny River between Warren and Franklin.  At some point before the turn of the new 19th century, John and his half-brother Nathaniel parted ways for reasons unclear to historians.  John Chapman is recorded in various land deals, buying and leasing, signing promissory notes to family members, and selling land and apple seedlings all through the early part of the 19th century. 
    It should also be noted that, by planting apple seeds, Chapman’s trees would not grow fruit true to the parent apple.  Unless limbs are grafted onto sturdy root stock, apple seeds will revert to growing into one of thousands of varieties from their unique genetic coding, making apple tree propagation by seed totally unreliable.  Among logical explanations for Chapman’s planting of apple seeds for fruit trees have been his desire to quickly establish ownership of the land his seeds were planted upon, knowing that whatever type of apple was produced would simply be pressed into cider.  This beverage was consumed more often as hard cider at a time when liquor, hard cider and wine were used in large quantities by adults and children alike.  Thus, Chapman’s apple trees would be a welcome addition to any homestead on the frontier.  (Means, p.97)
    Another important part of Chapman’s mystique was his religious devotion to Swedenborgianism and the so-called New Church founded in 1787 in Britain after Swedenborg’s death.  In fact, after visiting Ohio settlements in1801, Chapman became a convert and devoted disciple, leaving literature for settlers, often announcing himself with the words, “Here is news right fresh from heaven for you.”  (Means, p.121)  Armed with his own philosophy of not harming anything or anyone, plant, animal or human, Chapman was ready to share his religious beliefs with anyone who would listen… an avid missionary, as noted by the New Church.
    Briefly, Swedenborgianism was founded by the Swedish scientist and philosopher, Emanuel Swedenborg (1688-1772).  In 1768, Swedenborg was tried for heresy.  In 1770, he and his followers were ordered to cease their teachings.  Swedenborg claimed to have psychic gifts, saw visions, and believed he was given special revelations directly from God.  He imputed his own philosophy into the divinely inspired words of Scripture to propagate his own beliefs.  Swedenborg also denied the triune character of God, believed that Christ was born with inherent evil from His mother, denied the personality of Satan, denied that Christ’s death was a substitution or atonement for our sin, and denied that Christ arose from the dead.  (Sanders, p.167)  Thus, he was in opposition to the doctrinal tenets which are the substantive foundational components of the Christian faith.
    Moving over into Ohio not long after the turn of the 19th century, Chapman is found planting his apple seeds from Steubenville and Wellsburg near the eastern border of Pennsylvania to Dexter City north of the Ohio River, Marietta on the Muskingum River to Newark on the Licking River.  He purchased or leased land in several northern counties as well, including Knox, Richland and Ashland.  Later, he also covered ground in Indiana.
    Chapman roamed far and wide in wilderness territory, always with an eye for a good place to put his seeds in the ground, having that keen ability to discern where new settlements were most likely to spring up.  In early September 1812, he began to merge into myth during a period of hostile Indian attacks with counter-attacks by the white settlers.  Chapman apparently ran 26 miles each way, in bare feet, from house to house in the middle of the night through the wilderness to yell out a warning to settlers that the Indians were on the warpath.  He, more than anyone else, knew the trails like the backs of his hands from his own meanderings and plantings.  With this singular feat, he alerted settlers of an impending attack by the Indians; though the Indians lay low for a brief period, they eventually overtook the settlers in a deadly surprise attack.
    Ohio was then a wilderness fraught with an overabundance of wild animals to be on the lookout for, along with murders and scalpings by Indians in retaliation for various events by the whites as they saw the loss of their territory.  It was also a time of hard, back-breaking physical labor for settlers to get their acreage up to par in order to earn a living from the land.  In this lifestyle, men and women both lived, on average, only to about age 35, though occasionally much longer.  In this wilderness, Chapman lived as a modern, unkempt “John the Baptist.”  He was dressed in assorted rags, with long and scraggly hair and beard, with not exactly a pleasant aroma about him, and with dark eyes that seemed to sparkle and glow in the excitement or passion of his conversations.  In the wild, he typically ate “honey, berries, fruit, some cornmeal for mush, [and] milk whenever it was available.”  (Means, p.168) 
    He was seen to walk barefoot in snow and on ice; he stuck pins and needles into his feet without flinching.  In fact, the mid-19th century poet, novelist, and Ohio native, Rosella Rice, wrote that neither she nor her childhood friends made “fun of the man [or had] sport at his expense… No matter how oddly he was dressed or how funny he looked, we children never laughed at him, because our parents all loved and revered him as a good old man, a friend, and a benefactor.”  (Means, pp. 176-177)
    In 1805, Chapman’s father and step-mother moved with several of their younger children from Longmeadow, Massachusetts to Duck Creek on the Muskingum River near Marietta, Ohio.  If they had hoped for it, the welcome mat was not put out by their “long lost” son.  Chapman’s father died only two years after arriving, but there had not been the usual happy family visits one would have expected between father and son.  Instead, Chapman appears to have continued to keep his distance from his family except on rare occasions.  Many thoughts fuel the speculation as to why, including the fact he had signed two promissory notes to family members without any documentation as to whether he paid his debt off or not.  Perhaps he and his step-family did not get along.  No one knows for sure why he kept his distance from them.  Let it be said, however, that being with his family wasn’t anathema to him; rather, his on-the-move personality simply didn’t fit to make him into someone he was not, as in someone who would stay on the homestead, tending to the fields, animals and family. 
    In his later life, Chapman’s work of planting both apple seeds and the New Church’s “fresh news” was considered to be that of an “extraordinary missionary…” by the Swedenborg church hierarchy.  “Having no family, and inured to hardships of every kind, his operations are unceasing.  He is now employed in traversing the district between Detroit and the closer settlements of Ohio…”  (Means, p.192)  In an 1821 letter regarding Chapman’s desire to trade land for religious books of the faith, something the church could not do, a Daniel Thunn called him “the Appleseed man…”  A Reverend Holly wrote in a letter dated November 18, 1822 that Chapman was a man in Ohio “…they call…John Appleseed out there…”  This is considered the first written record of the name given to an eccentric man who gradually evolved into the myth we call Johnny Appleseed.  (Means, pp.192-193)

    As elusive and eccentric as he was in his lifetime, so he was in death.  While the actual circumstances and date surrounding his death are somewhat sketchy, it comes as no surprise that his actual burial plot is also now unknown.  Several witnesses stepped forward and claimed they knew where he was buried, including a self-proclaimed grandson of his half-brother Andrew - until it was determined John Chapman did not have a half-brother by that name.  Not until 1916 did the Indiana Horticultural Society chose an area at the top of a grassy knoll to forever be known as Chapman’s burial site.  Here, in Fort Wayne, an iron fence was erected with a plaque that reads as simple as the man was:
    John Chapman
    Johnny Appleseed
    Died 1845
     Near Dexter City, Ohio is another monument.  It stands seven feet tall, and is built with stones brought from every state in the nation.  This plaque reads:
    “In Memory of John Chapman,
    Famous ‘Johnny Appleseed…’
    Without a Hope of Recompense,
    Without a Thought of Pride,
    John Chapman Planted Apple Trees,
    And Preached, and Lived, and Died.”
    (Means, p.227)
    After his death, his estate was appraised with salable assets including one gray mare, 2000 apple trees in Jay County, 15,000 apple trees in Allen County, and multiple parcels of land.  With the sale of all he had to show for his life, Chapman’s estate was valued at $409 (about $9,300 in 2011), not exactly pittance.  However, every cent of it was eaten up by back taxes along with other unpaid bills owed to family and friends.  Rather symbolic of how Chapman lived his life… with little true income or money in his pocket, living off the land and largesse of friends and strangers, nothing ostentatious about him.
    It is also interesting to note that Howard Means (author of Johnny Appleseed:  The Man, the Myth, the American Story) was able to trace several plots of land on which Chapman had established orchards, but which have now become part and parcel of very modern cities, minus the orchards, of course.
    Many stories of Chapman/Appleseed have been proven false by Means’ extensive research as he ferreted out the details behind the stories.  Various contemporaneous writings have also set forth romanticized versions of Chapman’s life which were then carried on into the 20th century, perpetuating the myths about the man.
    In attempting to explain an element of Chapman’s eccentricity, Means recalled that he had once worked with a psychiatric response team in Washington, D.C.  Here, he found legally insane people often dressed in odd rags and tattered clothing and who smelled terrible – as eyewitnesses claimed of Chapman.  Means found it interesting that the eyes of many seemed to glow as they talked, just as it was said Chapman’s did.  These people clearly heard voices in their heads, often with acting-out behavior in response to the voices.  Chapman also told his listeners he was given revelations directly from God.  Means feels that Chapman meets the modern definition of insanity and shared “the old adage [that] if you talk to God, it’s prayer.  If God talks to you, it’s schizophrenia.”  (Means, p.274)   Whether Chapman/Appleseed was schizophrenic or otherwise insane is not mine to determine, but merely to pass along as explanation.
    This was not the direction I expected Johnny Appleseed’s story to take.  However we look at the life of Johnny Appleseed (aka John Chapman), he was a man who respected everyone he met, who harmed no one, not even a mosquito (putting out at least one fire rather than cause the death of more insects, per one eyewitness).  He was an eccentric man who has loomed larger than life, yet a man about whom we have known very little… with often that little bit being erroneous.
    Among other authors who have worked at fleshing out the myths and stories behind the elusive Chapman/Appleseed, Means has done a remarkable job to give us the clearest picture possible of John Chapman’s life.  While pointing out what is merely conjecture versus documented fact, to prove or disprove various and sundry reports, the colored stories and facts of Chapman’s life come alive.  And therein we discover the enigma of one for whom truth has evolved into romanticized myths regarding a simple man we’ve all admired… Johnny Appleseed.
  12. Linda Roorda

    Abusers Among Us

    By Linda Roorda,

    Learning that last Sunday, 09/19/21, was Abuse Awareness Day in the Christian Reformed Church (in which both Ed and I grew up), I am sharing my blog which was posted to their website in 2017. 
    There once was a man who appeared on the scene.  Suave and debonair with confidence bold.  Flattery oozed like syrup sweet.  And despite her protests, he flattered yet more.  After all, he said, she deserved the praise for she was worth it.  Despite her protests, she absorbed the attention… until she understood his world of deceit.
    Abuse encompasses an array of distorted behaviors and abuses within friendships and marriages, destroying God’s gifts. Lacking respect, those with self-centered narcissistic and/or predatory traits have a need for power and control over others. They are confident and prideful.  Their goal is to exploit, crossing boundary lines with intimidation to prove their superiority, having a need to diminish the worth of others to feel good about themselves.  They claim repeated mocking put-downs are jokes.  If you attempt to break the cycle, they contend you can’t take a joke, are too emotional, and too sensitive.  “Like a maniac shooting flaming arrows of death is one who deceives their neighbor and says, ‘I was only joking!’” (Proverbs 26:18-19  NIV)
    With callous disregard, they lie when faced with truth.  They may abuse emotionally, verbally or physically. Their story changes to suit confrontation as they feign innocence, create confusion, and claim they don’t understand what you’re talking about.  In attempts to hold them accountable, they skillfully play the innocent hurting victim, project blame onto the true victim, and will not take personal responsibility for their own issues. They don’t feel a need to apologize, claiming they did nothing wrong – evidence of a hardened heart.
    Predatory grooming, done in specific stages, is universal against children, teens and adults to control with a perverted form of trust to the perpetrator’s benefit.  After targeting someone perceived as vulnerable, they reel in an unsuspecting heart with the flattery of false love.  Keying in on filling an emotional need, they try to isolate their victim in secrecy from those who would realize what’s happening divide-and-conquer technique).  Innocuous sexual advances are made which gradually become bolder until the abuser thinks control can be maintained to score the ultimate goal.
    Grooming also manipulates the victim’s responses to garner increased affection.  If you desire to please others, you’ll meet their needs.  In time, you will be manipulated into doing more of their bidding.  They’ll make excuses and manipulatively use Scripture so you’ll accept their abuse, thwarting your protests.  When they think they’ve got you under control, emotional destruction begins.  You are despised for having qualities of love and joy which they cannot feel, necessitating an endless pursuit of new victims to manipulate in order to fill their heart’s void.
    If you back away from their chaos, they may use threats, turn angry or violent, quickly revert back to a loving persona to throw you off balance, and resort to stalking behavior.  Unless they show and express true sorrow and repentance for their behavior with evidence of genuine change, walk away from their abuse… and stay away. 
    For we read, “There are six things that the Lord hates, seven that are an abomination to him: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans, feet that make haste to run to evil, a false witness who breathes out lies, and one who sows discord among brothers.” (Proverbs 6:16-19 ESV)
    The opposite of such discord is a love which embodies all that is good.  “Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude.  It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth.  Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”  (I Corinthians 13:4-7 ESV)
    As we speak with such love, we encourage each other.  “Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.” (Ephesians 4:29-32 ESV)
    Typically, those who trust others have a heart of empathy, are naively innocent (without “street smarts”), and are more easily taken advantage of.  Predators know this and zero in on their target like a hunter on its prey.  To realize that someone would target you for their advantage is to feel a range of emotions from guilt and shame for having been used, to anger at another’s attempts to destroy you.  Genuine love is not in the abuser’s heart despite claims to the contrary.  With evil intent, you are used for their benefit - a lack of respect for your worth.  When that is recognized, you are on your way to recovery and healing.  I know… I was a victim. Sadly, several times because I simply forgave and moved forward, trying to make the relationships work. Not until after I had walked away from them and no longer allowed any contact, did the abuse end.  Yet, out of the experience came wisdom from God.
    Mutual friends who have never fallen under the blinding spell of narcissistic and/or predatory deception, nor suffered attacks of retaliation, do not see the abuse.  They see only the passive mask, the public face of supposed innocent humility, and often excuse and enable abusers.  After all, they’re so kind and loving, so good to everyone – until, behind the scenes, you cross them, buck their mistreatment, and begin to confront their wrongs with truth privately or publicly.
    Yes, these types of abuses are found within the church, the perfect cover with our Christ-like love for, and generous forgiveness of, one another.  As the body of Christ, we should listen, believe, respect, and support the victim who dares step forward. The abuser only recovers when the façade of innocence is removed by admission of wrong, repentance, and proves the desire for a changed heart.
    To the youngster or adult being swayed by abusive pressure or bullying - hold tight to your convictions, ideals and honor.  Don’t allow anyone to take these from you.  Respect yourself enough to say “No” and walk away – whether it be “No” to drugs, “No” to someone wanting to take away your innocence, “No” to emotional or physical abuse, or “No” to sexting, sexual abuse, or sex trafficking.  Walk away and seek advice from a trusted, qualified professional to help you stand firm against such unwanted pressure.  Respect yourself as a child of God.  Don’t be taken down.
    Taken Down
    Linda A. Roorda
     She was taken down the garden path
    And showered with seduction’s prose,
    Sweet words of praise and silken flattery
    That touched her heart to follow his goals.
     
    She trusted him and his glowing words
    Though his zest for life held deceitful charm,
    As her heart of love for all in her world
    Was purposely swept by grooming words smooth.
     
    How easily swayed is a trusting soul
    Who believes and thinks the best of her friends,
    Yet who is misled by the foxy wiles
    Of one who claims humility’s garb.
     
    Why the conquest instead of friendship?
    Why the seeking to own gentle hearts?
    Why the pleasure in taking away
    That which is not yours to alone enjoy?
     
    How can you claim a God-honoring life
    As you betray a friend’s trusting heart?
    Such evil flays the inner soul
    And leaves a wound not easily healed.
     
    But comes reality when the truth sets in
    And she regains boundaries once lost
    As true emotions with selfless empathy
    Emerge once again to prove her value.
     
    For in disrespect concealed by flattery
    Lies the evil of a planned defeat.
    He cannot abide reality of love,
    And must destroy the one with a heart.
     
    As she unravels the disillusions
    And begins to heal her eyes are opened.
    Emotional depths of her heart and soul
    Are restored in full, her peace made complete.
    ~~
  13. Linda Roorda
    Despite all the work to get ready, I really enjoyed being part of our Spencer-Van Etten Farmers Market yesterday, with a surprise video made (by a friend of my high school friend!) which introduced each of us vendors, shared to my Facebook page. It was great to meet friends I haven’t seen or talked to in a good while! One of our vendors introduced herself, saying she remembered me and my sister from high school in Owego, and graduated with my sister! Amazing! But what deeply touched my heart was when a precious young lady and I shared smiles and greetings as she told her grandfather she knew me from school! As a sub this spring, I’d always worn a mask; yet as a pre-K student, she recognized me without a mask! It reminded me that we truly can make a difference in the world…
    Laughter is good for the soul, they say.  It can lift us up when we’ve had a down day, when nothing seems to be going right… hearty laughter, giggles over the silliest of things, and laughter that brings tears of joy to our eyes… it’s all like a song of love in our soul.
    So often I see my husband’s love and care for me like that of our Lord’s above.  In praising and thanking God, the One who sustains me and you day by day, I felt a song of love rising within my soul.  In every way, every day, He is there… even when I fail to see Him or thank Him. Unfortunately, sometimes, I take my Lord for granted… just like I do with my husband and others at times.
    Yet, in the depths of His loving care, you and I are not taken for granted by our gracious Lord.  If He so cares for the birds that fly around us, providing their next meal and the means by which they make a nest and raise their little ones… then surely He will care for you and me with His great love.  And, if He also cares for the beautiful wild flowers of the field and the hybridized delicate and hardy flowers of our cultivated gardens, surely He will also provide for all of our needs in the way He knows best!
    “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?  Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?  Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?
    “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?  So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”  (Matthew 6:25-34  NIV)
    Today’s poem and theme come from one of my favorite section of verses since childhood. Our God cares so much for us - when life runs along smoothly and even in the most difficult of times when we struggle. Sometimes we forget their source and take our blessings for granted… but may the beauty and blessing of this new day remind us how greatly we are loved. And may you find joy and laughter in the simplest of things today! God bless you!   
    Your Love is a Song
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Your love is a song bringing joy to my heart
    For all I need, Lord, is found in you,
    And carried on wings to Your throne above
    Are prayers of praise from my grateful soul.
     
    Your love is a song that gives me reason
    With You at my side my life has purpose,
    You assuage my fears and calm worried brow
    And lighten the load of burdens and cares.
     
    Your love is a song in the morning dews
    For all You do to meet daily needs
    That I would know how great is Your care
    In giving me strength to face each new day.
     
    Your love is a song within the trials
    When my heart cries out in deepest despair
    Your answering voice calms my weary soul
    As Your gentle hand brings comfort and peace.
     
    Your love is a song in laughter’s therapy
    From giggles and grins to snuggles and hugs
    You care for me like birds of the field
    With a gentle hand as you hold my heart.
     
    Your love is a song that frees my soul
    With mercy and grace to cover each day
    Your welcoming arms delight in Your child
    And guide my steps along wisdom’s path.
    ~~
  14. Linda Roorda

    Laundry Day

    By Linda Roorda,

    Starting my early Saturday morning chore of laundry, I couldn’t help recall this article I wrote a few years ago. Doing the laundry is everyone’s favorite chore, right?  Ummm… no!  Even with modern conveniences, it’s a task I don’t think many of us look forward to.  Sort the darks and lights, delicate linens from the jeans, pre-treat stains, use various cycles and water temperatures, to bleach or not to bleach, does it go in the dryer, on a hanger or the clothesline outside, does it need to be ironed or can it get by with some wrinkles, etc.  You all get the idea! 
    Actually there was a time my sister (age 10) and I (age 11) did all the family laundry at the city laundromat at the top of the block after my third brother was born and our Mom was laid up with health issues that summer. We pulled the "little red wagon" with one or two baskets of laundry piled up, and learned pretty quick how to do the laundry on our own without being taught, using those big washers and driers. With teamwork, we folded the big sheets and everything else to the admiration of older folks doing their own laundry. But the best part was the incentive in that we also had some money to buy treats each time!
    I remember as I grew up that my dad’s mother did laundry on Monday and ironed on Tuesday, without fail.  Both she and my mother had old wringer washers, which fascinated us kids.  My sister and I actually enjoyed putting the laundry through the rollers to “wring” out the excess water, heeding the warning to keep our fingers away from those menacing rollers!  I’m sure many of my readers remember those antique washers, too!  With perhaps a few fingers painfully scrunched between the rollers.
    So, imagine what it must have been like doing laundry in colonial days without washers and dryers.  The fabrics were wool, linen, cotton or silk, without permanent press.  It was a major undertaking back then, and not an effort completed every week.  I found it interesting to learn that most items laundered were “body linen.”  These garments (undershirts, shifts, chemises, etc.) were worn next to the skin to protect the fancy outer shirts and dresses from skin oils and sweat.  Clothing from a few centuries ago was not laundered often because the undergarments protected them, in turn being the very reason that antique clothing has survived the centuries.  Removable cuffs and collars also protected their shirts and dresses from dirt, along with the full bib aprons which I recall my mom’s mother always wearing over her dresses in the old farmhouse.  My dad’s mother seemed to wear mostly a below-the-waist type apron over her every-day dress.  Wearing pants, or jeans, was out of the question for my grandmothers’ generation!
    But, to wash all the laundry, soap was needed.  One of the annual fall chores was to make soap, typically done after the fall butchering of hogs.  Virtually every part of a butchered hog had a purpose with the lard being used for cooking or making soap.  Soap making began well in advance by burning hardwoods down to white ash.  Next, a tall wooden barrel was set up with holes in the bottom for drainage.  Small stones were placed in the bottom of the barrel, and covered with straw.  A good layer of white ashes was put in with naturally soft rainwater poured on top of the ashes.  Then followed a slow drainage of the water down through the ashes, straw and stones before the liquid leached out of the holes in the bottom of the barrel and into a separate wooden or glass bucket.  This effort produced liquid lye.  Aluminum containers were not used as the lye would destroy them.
    Sometimes an ash hopper was used to make lye rather than the tall wooden barrel.  By keeping the ash hopper in a shed to protect it from rain, fresh ashes could be added periodically with water poured on top every so often to obtain a steady supply of lye.  Again, the lye would drip slowly into a bucket beneath the hopper. 
    To test the strength of the lye, either a potato or an egg was floated on top.  If it floated with about a modern quarter-sized area of its surface above the liquid, the lye was ready for use in making soap.  If it was too weak, it could be boiled down more, or poured back through more ashes.  If it was too strong, a little more water was added.
    To make old-fashioned soap, water, lye and tallow/animal fat is needed.  One recipe I found online uses 2 gallons of rain water, 10 ounces of lye by volume (not weight), and 5 lbs of tallow/lard (animal fat).  Trim the fat into about 1-inch cubes, removing anything that looks like meat or is not white.  Start a fire under a cast iron pot (split pine apparently works best as it heats quickly and the heat is controlled easier).  Place the tallow cubes into the pot to render (cook) the fat into a liquid.  Once the fat has cooked down, strain it through cheesecloth in a funnel-shaped container.  The liquid should be a nice amber color. 
    Then, measure and weigh 5 lbs of liquid fat, putting it back into the cast iron pot (again, aluminum will be eaten by the lye).  Slowly add the water to the fat, which cools the fat down to solidify it into a greasy cream.  Make sure the mixture is well blended.  Carefully measure out 10 oz. of lye into a glass container.  (Red Devil Lye brand can be purchased, and was often used by our ancestors if they did not make their own lye from ashes.)  Carefully add the lye into the tallow/water mixture using a wooden paddle to stir it gently.  Be careful - since lye is extremely caustic, it can burn your skin and eyes on contact. 
    Cook the soap mixture for 30-60 minutes, stirring occasionally, adjusting the heat to keep it from boiling over.  After cooking, the mixture should be similar to a creamy chicken soup.  When the wooden paddle removed from the mixture has “sheets” that look like hot wax hanging from the paddle, it’s ready to pour into wooden, glass or cast-iron molds that have been lined with plastic wrap or waxed paper.  Allow the soap to harden for a few days before cutting it into bars.  It may take a week or more to harden for use.  (Online Source:  Shepherds Hill Homestead, Making Lye Soap – no longer available online.  Try Daves Homestead, How to make the easiest lye soap ever.
    Before washing stacks of laundry, the ladies would have sorted the clothing, soaking some overnight in soapy water.  Sounds similar enough, doesn’t it?!  But the difference starts with their gathering enough firewood to feed a large fire under each huge copper (which did not rust or stain like iron) or black cast-iron kettle.  You’ve seen those kettles in front yards either upright or on their side as a large flower urn.  The Iron Kettle Farm in Candor takes its name from their large black iron kettles on display.
    Next, water had to be hauled from the well to fill the kettle(s) and any other wash or rinse basins.  About 20-40 gallons of water were needed per wash load, with perhaps 10 gallons more for the scrub and rinse basins.  Remember, they had no running water back then either; and, if they did not have a water source close at hand, walking a distance with heavy shoulder yokes to carry buckets of water would have been the norm.  My mom’s mother raised a large farm family of 12 children, not having running water in the house until the early 1930s, 20 or so years after my grandparents married (my mother, child #11, was born after running water was available).  Are we tired yet?!
    After starting a good fire under the kettle to boil the water, some lye soap was put into the water.  Clothes were then dunked into the boiling water and agitated by using a 2-3 foot long wooden paddle.  Some garments might be removed to a smaller basin where they could be scrubbed more thoroughly to remove dirt and stains.  Remember the antique wooden shutter-like washboards?  They were put to good use as the clothes were rubbed over the “shutters” to loosen dirt.  Chalk and brick dust were often used on greasy stains.  Alcohol could treat grass stains, kerosene, and blood stains.  Milk was believed to be helpful in removing fruit stains from clothing and urine stains from diapers.  Lemon and onion juice were often used for bleaching. 
    Colored garments were not washed with lye soap in order to prevent fading.  Instead, they were scrubbed by hand in cold or lukewarm water.  Need something starched?  Great-great-grandma simply put that garment into water that had been used to cook potatoes or rice, making sure the water had not soured or turned moldy before putting the clothing in it.  If the used potato or rice water was not used for laundry, it was often used to make bread.  Nothing went to waste back then. 
    Once boiled, washed and rinsed, the laundry had to be wrung out before drying.  If you were wealthy, you might own a “box mangle” which wound the laundry around rollers, and then rolled a heavy box over them to squeeze out excess water.  Normally, water was simply wrung out by hand by twisting each garment.  Then, the clothing was hung on a clothesline (without clothespins), spread out on bushes, hedgerows, fences, wooden frames, or even spread out over the lawn.  And, oh my!  If the farm animals or pets got into the clothing, one had quite a mess and had to start the process all over again.  If it was not good drying weather, everything was dried inside the house or up in the attic.  A good hot fire in the fireplace or cook stove would help dry the clothes very well.
    After the laundry was done and dried, the ladies would need to iron the clothing.  That required heating up heavy irons in the fireplace in order to press each garment.  What a hot chore that must have been!  And all the time they were taking care of the laundry, they had other household chores and meals to prepare, children to care for, and barn chores if the man of the house was out in the fields clearing land, planting or harvesting.  It was definitely not an easy life for our ancestors…
  15. Linda Roorda
    Approaching Memorial Day, my thoughts are of all who gave their lives in war that we and so many around the world might live in freedom.  Their battles on the field and in the mind are not what we who have never been there can truly fathom.  We can listen to or read survivors’ stories, hear of their fears amid tales of bravery, empathize with the sadness and trauma as they share the loss of buddies and who and what they might have become, consider questions relating to the whys and wherefores of war and the lessons learned, but we can never fully comprehend unless we’ve been there.  I’m very thankful for all who have served for the sake of freedom, but especially remember those who made the ultimate sacrifice.
    Yet, even this season of corona-virus pandemic has been compared an invisible war.  Here and around the world, we’ve battled an infection that struck unexpectedly.  Our medical professionals grew weary on the battlefront, facing daily unknowns, while being the sole comfort of those dying without family present.  We faced the loss of family and community members, not to mention the toll among the greater world community.  We saw unemployment numbers skyrocket, houses of worship closing for a time, businesses being shuttered forever, long lines of the weary waiting patiently for free food, arrests of those trying to open their business to normalcy while hardened criminals are released from jail only to commit crimes again, and we’re left with doubts and fears.  Will life ever be normal again?
    I have doubts and fears, too.  If we’re honest, we all do.  We think we’re not good enough and will never measure up.  We may doubt our abilities or skills, fear a lack of control in certain situations, or fear the unknown future.  We look for accolades to prop us up, to make us feel better about ourselves, trying to prove that we really are someone of some importance.   
    But I have to ask: whose voice am I listening to?  That inner voice which berates me for every mistake, every misstep, every poor choice or selfish deed, even looking for praise… or, am I listening in humility to God’s gentle nudging, that quiet voice in my soul from His deep and tender love?  A number of times I’ve been nudged with a gentle inner whisper, while other times I’ve heard His voice speak loud and clear.  Unfortunately, I have not always listened and reacted as I should have.  My will, my desired outcome, got in the way of God’s voice.  I need to remember to “be still, and know that [He is] God.” (Psalm 46:10a)  For when I quiet my frantic ruminations and sit still, humbly and quietly waiting to hear the Lord’s guiding words, it’s then that my heart is receptive, and my doubts and fears subside.  
    Open to profound wisdom and examples of Christ’s love in the world around us, I recall “Blood Brothers” from M*A*S*H (April 6, 1981). https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0638258/  This episode is a classic, my favorite about the medical unit’s priest, Father Francis Mulcahy.  I appreciate his quiet gentle ways, words of wisdom, and deep humility, yet I also appreciate that he is not so “holier than thou.”  Like the rest of us in many ways, he reveals a temper flare at times.  Knowing his superior, Cardinal Reardon, is scheduled to visit and review what Mulcahy has accomplished at the 4077th, the good Father wants everything and everyone around him to show perfection… including his own sermon.  Instead, Mulcahy becomes cranky and frantic with constant interruptions from side issues.  Oh, so like me at times!
    In the midst of feeling sorry for himself, Father Mulcahy learns that Capt. Pierce has just diagnosed one of his patients with an incurable disease.  Offering his own blood for his severely wounded best friend, a young soldier is told he has leukemia and can’t give blood.  Arguing about plans to send him out the next morning to the hospital in Seoul, Pvt. Gary Sturgis insists to frustrated Capt. Pierce that he wants to stay.  A matter of days won’t bring him a cure, and it’s more important that he be at his buddy’s side when his wounded and unconscious friend wakes up.  Ultimately, Father Mulcahy sits down and talks with Sturgis.
    The next morning, Cpl. Max Klinger searches for and finally finds the Father still in his pajamas and bathrobe, engrossed in conversation with Sturgis.  Suddenly realizing the entire night has passed them by, Mulcahy is self-conscious and visibly upset at himself.  Totally unprepared to face the Cardinal and his congregants, Mulcahy enters the mess tent used for the worship service.  Stumbling over apologies for his lateness and disheveled appearance, and lack of a well-written sermon, Father Mulcahy decides to simply tell the truth. 
    “I want to tell you about two men.  Each facing his own crisis.  The first man you know rather well.  The second is a patient here.  Well, the first man thought he was facing a crisis.  But what he was really doing was trying to impress someone.  He was looking for recognition, encouragement, a pat on the back.  And whenever that recognition seemed threatened, he reacted rather childishly.  Blamed everyone for his problems but himself, because he was thinking only of himself.  But the second man was confronted with the greatest crisis mortal man can face - the loss of his life.  I think you will agree that the second man had every right to be selfish.  But instead he chose to think not of himself, but of a brother.  A brother!  When the first man saw the dignity and the selflessness of the second man, he realized how petty and selfish he had... I... I... I had been!  It made me see something more clearly than I've ever seen it before.  God didn't put us here for that pat on the back.  He created us so He could be here himself.  So, He could exist in the lives of those He created in his image.”
    What great words to live by!  We truly have a purpose in life!  We can learn so much from others around us in examples of Christ’s love… even as we’re in the world, but not of it. (John 17:14-16)  Just as our “faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1), so should our doubts and fears disappear in the presence of our Lord.  “You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in You.  Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord…is the Rock eternal.”  (Isaiah 26:3,4)
    It’s not the inner negatives nor the adulation I hope to hear that matters.  It’s where my heart resides in humility as I seek our Lord’s approval.  As we each grow in faith, we look to God to guide us through our fears, doubts of inadequacy or inferiority that plague our thoughts, the negativity which so easily berates us… remembering and recognizing that we belong to God, and are loved beyond measure by Him.  Christ lives in us as we become His hands and feet to reach others.  In bringing Him our praise, we will hear His still small voice in our hearts, removing all doubts and fears that assail no matter what we face. 
    When Doubts Assail…
    Linda A. Roorda
    When doubts assail look up beyond self
    Focus on truth from wisdom above.
    Take heart from His words spoken in peace
    And know He holds you in the palm of His hand.
    ~
    When doubts assail know you’re not alone
    There’s Someone who cares, your burden to bear.
    He’ll give you His peace and provide a way through
    As darkest of nights emerge in new dawn.
    ~
    When doubts assail and plague your heart
    Thinking your worth isn’t good enough,
    That you could never measure up in life,
    Know there is Someone who believes in you.
    ~
    When doubts assail and fears haunt your path
    Speak softly in prayer and listen for His voice,
    That gentlest nudge stirring in your soul,
    As He guides your steps in the way you should go.
    ~
    When doubts assail be eager to learn
    At the feet of Him whose wisdom excels,
    Bask in His love and dwell in His presence
    Building your faith to prosper in truth.
    ~
    When doubts assail lift your voice in song
    Glorify His name with reverence and awe,
    For Holy is He, full of mercy and grace…
    As a child of the King, you’re loved beyond measure.
    To listen to this blog in podcast format, go to Balms for the Soul Podcast by Carla Cain, and scroll down to "When Doubts Assail", click to listen, and find others with my name.
    ~~
  16. Linda Roorda
    As we travel life’s path, we all manage to lose a few things… like special trinkets, and perhaps a few friends from another time and another place as life moves on.  We even lose our patience a few more times than we care to admit.  Though losing something special can be painful, it’s different from giving it away… releasing that treasure on our own is a whole other story, a gift of love.  In this season of graduations, my thoughts began to travel in the direction of releasing our treasured youth with love.
    Letting go of what we hold dear can be difficult, perhaps even bittersweet, yet the release can leave us with a warm glow in our heart.  It’s a process that takes time.  As Corrie ten Boom, one of my favorite authors and evangelists, once said, “I have learned to hold all things loosely, so God will not have to pry them out of my hands.”  Like a mother hen, we lovingly protect and keep our little ones safe, and try to impart some of our hard-earned wisdom over time before letting them take off on their own.  After all, we truly want the best for them! 
    But, as our little ones grow up, they mature with a wisdom found only by taking some of life’s most difficult steps.  Learning to walk, falling down is a frequent occurrence as they learn how to get back up and try again.  Then, as they continue to grow and mature, they also benefit by failing a few times, learning how to pick themselves up to try again.  At times, though, I was over protective of my children, a hover-mother, not wanting them to face some of the difficulties I did… not my best parenting idea.  I loved my children and wanted to be involved in every aspect of their little lives, encouraging them to be all they could be.
    We all know parenting has its challenges, and every so often I’d say, “It’s hard to raise a mother!”  Raising our children was a joint learning venture, especially since they managed to arrive without an individual instruction manual in hand.  But, now we have the pleasure of watching our children raise their children.  And hearing their stories holds extra special meaning.  Like when our daughter, Emily, was trying to put her middle son down for a nap.  He had every excuse in the book as he fussed around.  Finally, she let him know how frustrated she was getting with him.  Patting her arm, 3-year-old Sam gently said, “It’s ok, Mom.  You’ll get used to it!”  And Em had to tuck her face into his blanket so he wouldn’t see her laughing.  There’s more wisdom in those words than little Sam could have ever known!  For out of the mouths of babes comes wisdom sweet.
    Should we hold too tightly to our children and their childhood, we may not allow them the freedom they need to grow with life’s changes.  They may not become the well-adjusted mature adults they are meant to be.  And, if we fail to help them discipline their own actions, they won’t know the rewards of self-control.  Each child is a unique individual, a most precious gift from God to be treasured and loved as we guide them in starting their journey of life. 
    My friend, Mimi, once shared a quote from her stitchery with me – “There are two lasting gifts we can give to our children – one is roots, the other is wings.”  How true!  May we love our children enough to provide them with the deep roots of a sturdy foundation, laughing and crying alongside them, while giving them wings and freedom to fly out into the great big world on their own.  And may we learn the gift of releasing with love… allowing us all to see the beauty deep within their heart. 
    Releasing With Love
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Along life’s journey we lose a few things
    Like fancy trinkets and friends of the heart
    Even some time, and patience, too
    All that holds meaning through our hands will slip.
    ~
    Losing possessions with meaning attached
    Shows how futile to retain our grip
    As respected wisdom gives true perspective
    That where grace abounds we hold but loosely.
    ~
    When losing our self for a greater good
    We follow a path of godly wisdom
    And in giving thought to what holds our heart
    Is found the key essential to life.
    ~
    For the years of youth build up to the time
    When wisdom is gained and freedom earned,
    We’ve gently led and helped them to know
    It’s time to fly on wings of their own.
    ~
    By clutching firmly life’s fleeting passage
    We cannot grasp the beauty within
    For in the act of releasing with love
    We’ll come to treasure each moment’s sweet gift.
    ~~
     
  17. Linda Roorda
    Maybe we don’t say it enough… those little words that mean so much - “You made a difference…” or “I appreciate you…” or “I love you!”  Along with the words, there are ways we can show how much we care, and here are a few I’ve been pondering. 
    Since retiring, I have totally enjoyed a second “career” - subbing in our public school district, and noticed something right away that has been consistent… the welcoming words and smiles from staff on up to the principals and superintendent – words of appreciation and thanks for coming in and helping out, for being there for the kids, no matter their age, from pre-K thru high school.  And it got me to thinking about us as family and friends.  I appreciate each of you for who you are, for your being a very special part of my life, for your kind loving words, for words of wisdom and words that teach me… Thank you! You’ve made a difference in my life! And I love you! 
    In thinking about others, one of the best ways we can express how much we care is by simply serving them, expecting nothing in return.  As the Apostle Paul wrote, “Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.” (Philippians 2:4)  Ask how they’re doing, and truly listen when they express life is not going so well.  Make the effort to really understand what someone else might be feeling, or what they might be going through.
    Volunteer your time, that often rare commodity in our hectic schedules.  We can help those in a difficult situation, or recovering from surgery or illness.  We can provide a meal, or simply give attention to a shut-in to let them know they’ve not been forgotten.  Perhaps we could volunteer in a program where serving will benefit many… such as the local fire department, ambulance squad, an emergency department, or a local food cupboard.  There are so many ways we can share our time to show how much we care.
    Be a mentor to others.  Encourage them in their endeavors.  Help them succeed.  Lift them up emotionally.  Listen to their concerns.  Cheer them on!  Perhaps helping to widen their horizon in a favorite hobby might lead them into a fulfilling life-time career.
    Be there for the grieving.  Many words aren’t necessary.  Simple silence with a hug in sitting with them brings comfort.  Listen to their heart as they express their sorrow.  Share their pain.  Show you care.
    Give a smile to those you meet along your daily path, even strangers!  Watch their face light up knowing that you care enough to share a simple smile to brighten their day! 
    Be joyful for each other!  Praise them for even their smallest accomplishments, and express how happy you are for them in their greater successes. 
    Let someone know you'll pray for them.  Make someone a gift using your special talents, or gift them something unique to their interests.
    Greet others with a genuine friendly tone.  Share a positive attitude.  Make others feel wanted and welcomed.  Let them know how much you appreciate them and all that they do.
    With the passing of a friend’s daughter this past week, the age of my children, who shared my March birthday, I shed tears of sadness for her family in their deepest loss.  She had become a dedicated funeral director, comforting those who grieved their loved ones.  She moved on to a new job, showing those in need, and those she took care of in group homes, the depths of love from her heart.  Loved by family and friends, she made a difference in the lives of others. 
    I also learned this week that a friend, a distant cousin found when I was seeking to fill in my Mom’s ancestry, is in serious condition in ICU.  And my heart breaks for her and her family, as we pray for her recovery.  Treasured like a sister, we bonded right away, learning we had so much in common when we first met online.  We shared family ancestry data that we had gathered, as I learned much from her.  A former nurse, she next found fulfillment as a teacher’s aide, assisting special needs children.  In so many ways, she makes a difference in the lives of those with whom she comes in contact from her own caring and generous loving heart.
    Last month, I shared some of our daughter Jenn’s writings for a college psych course, as a memorial to who she was.  Passing away too young at 25 in 2003, she had much to look forward to, but God knew her days before even one of them came to be… and she made a difference in the lives of everyone around her with gentleness, wisdom, and a kind and caring heart of love.
    And I know that you, too, can name many examples of how others made a difference in the world around them, even in your life… just as you share this same loving kindness to make a difference in someone else’s life… someone in need of your compassion, comfort, kindness and generosity.  Feel free to share your thoughts with us all below.
    We can each make a difference wherever we are in whatever we do!  Shining our inner light as a reflection of Christ’s love within us, we let others know how much we care about them.  Be the one who makes a difference in the world today!
    You Made A Difference…
    Linda A. Roorda
     You made a difference in the world today…
    You gave a smile to someone in need
    Your face truly showed you cared from the heart
    For your love was felt wrapped up in the glow.
     
    You made a difference in the world today…
    You lent an ear to someone hurting
    You listened to tears and heard their story
    You held their heart in the depths of your soul.
     
    You made a difference in the world today…
    You walked the path where a friend was plodding
    You carried their burden, you went the extra mile,
    You eased their stress and brought hope to their day.
     
    You made a difference in the world today…
    Your hands rough and worn, were held out with warmth
    Bestowing attention, you covered their needs
    As your arms enveloped to guard and protect.
     
    You made a difference in the world today…
    You spoke words of truth with gentle kindness
    You showed concern, asking how they were
    And shared their dreams scattered in the storm.
     
    You made a difference in the world today…
    You took the time to sit in silence
    You held their hand bringing peace and comfort
    When their life was torn apart in sorrow.
     
    You made a difference in the world today…
    You shared their joy with laughter’s ring
    You praised them for a job well done
    As your love and hugs showed the depth of care.
    ~~
    03/14/21 – 03/19/21
  18. Linda Roorda

    Be My Tower

    By Linda Roorda,

    I wish every Mother a very Happy Mother’s Day, including those without children who mother other children!  Below is another different reflection, but written out of the blessing from within life’s difficult reality.  Nor is it my very first poem, but close enough. It was written at an extremely difficult and stressful time in my life after my mother had a stroke on Christmas Day 2011.
    My mother was different. As I grew up, we didn’t get along well, and that continued as I raised my own family. I envied friends whose mothers talked easily with their kids, were involved in their lives, and who enjoyed doing fun things with their family. Growing up, I picked up on little cues from those who didn’t seem to like her or made fun of her in subtle and, sometimes, not-so-subtle ways.  She was mocked and belittled.  She was beaten up, twice, by the same hand that physically lashed out at me but not my sister. I hurt for her, and didn’t understand what was wrong...
    She was always “there” with us, but I/we couldn’t talk with her. She didn’t play with us as kids; but, then, neither did her mother, who had been involved with raising, feeding and clothing 12 children, feeding groups of farmers as they all went around helping each other with crops and butchering animals for food, growing a huge garden, helping with farm chores for a large dairy and several thousand chickens – all without running water until a year or so before my mother was born.
    My mother was distant, not someone I could share my heart with, confide in, or seek help from for my problems.  Simply put, I felt she was not a good mother.  And, as the oldest of six, I dreaded the day when I would have to “take care of her,” especially after my dad left and remarried.
    The call came the evening of Christmas Day 2011.  It was my mother.  I could barely understand a word she said, her speech was so garbled, but I managed to make out, “…stroke… need help…”  That sent a shockwave of fear and sadness through my heart.  Oh no!  My poor mother!  But, what do I do?  I’m ashamed to say it, but I wanted to turn around and find someplace to hide.  Why did I have to be the oldest child?  Why did I have to feel so responsible for everyone and everything, always?  Suddenly, I felt very alone.  The time had come for me to take care of my mother, and I was not prepared. 
    Thank God for her sister, my Aunt Lois.  I contacted her and she willingly offered to go with me to visit my mother in the hospital and later the nursing home in Rochester, nearly three hours away.  A city… that alone struck fear in my heart – I don’t like driving in cities.  During our trips to and from Rochester, Aunt Lois and I had some great talks, a time of sharing and understanding.  My mother is the 11th child in an old-fashioned farm family, while Aunt Lois is the youngest.  They were aunts to nieces about the same ages they were.  I don’t even know all my relatives! 
    Visiting my mother brought me up short to the realities of life.  As a medical transcriptionist, I saw this all the time in my work – folks are fine one minute, but the next minute their life is altered by a sudden change in health.  My mother, at 78, still worked as a part-time toll collector on the thruway.  Not only was her life suddenly and unexpectedly changed from being active to being an invalid, but my life was in the process of being totally turned upside down, too.
    Over the years I had asked my mother to let me know where she lived – “Yeah, I’ll send you directions,” she’d say, but she never did.  I’d asked her to make a list of important papers, where she did her banking, etc., just in case something ever happened – “Yeah, I’ll write it down,” she’d say, but she never did.
    Now, something had happened, and I was forced to take charge of her affairs with no clue of where or how to begin.  I signed papers to be her Power of Attorney and Health Care Proxy.  But I had no idea about what to do!  I didn’t even know where she lived!  I felt so utterly overwhelmed.  I already had so much on my plate caring for my husband with his blindness and multitude of health issues, working full time from 3-11 a.m. at a hospital, and taking my husband nearly every afternoon of every week for so many years to so many medical appointments, plus taking care of most all household chores.  I literally wanted to turn around and walk (no, run) away from everything I faced… but I knew that was not an option.  I felt so helpless.
    And so I prayed.  And a poem, a desperate plea really, wrote itself in my mind and it became my prayer to God, over and over:
    Though I may weaken and crumble
    Beneath the strain of stress,
    Be there, Lord, to guide me safe
    O’er crashing waters near.
    Be my tower of mighty strength
    Firm and strong to lean upon.
    When I think impossible
    Help me take that other step.
    Aunt Lois helped me find my mother’s apartment and van.  The neighbor ladies shared they’d heard my mother’s calls for help and saw her fingers poking out from under the door.  My mother managed to reach her keys and pushed them under the door so the ladies could unlock it.  They found her sprawled on the floor, unable to get up.  She absolutely refused to let them call an ambulance to take her to the hospital; all they could do was help her back to bed.  They apologized to me that they hadn’t called an ambulance anyway, but I reassured them I was not blaming them.  This was out of their hands; my mother had vehemently refused their assistance, even though they should have called an ambulance anyway.  But I was not into blaming.  The next day, Christmas Day, my mother knew something was terribly wrong and had called the ambulance herself.
    I scheduled more time off from work to spend a few days with my friend, Sue, now living in Rochester, who willingly offered to help me start taking care of my mother’s affairs.  She, too, was a blessing from God.  She knew just what to do, and kept me calm!  She helped me find the banks my mother used, and establish my Power of Attorney with them so I could take care of the necessaries.
    On returning to my mother’s apartment and opening the door, I was shocked at what I saw as reality sank in.  Actually, I was ashamed and angry!  “How could she live like this!” I cried.  She was a hoarder.  There was a narrow path through the debris of her life scattered around the apartment.  I knew what her van looked like inside over the years, but had no idea her apartment was this bad, too!  Tears rolled, and hugs were given as Aunt Lois and her daughter, Donna, joined me and Sue to help with the cleanup.  With their sense of humor, they kept my head above water with laughter as we spent hours sorting through every piece of mail, every box, and every bag of stuff to keep or toss.  And, unfortunately, a lot of her life had to be tossed.  I simply had no room at my home.
    Then, another friend, Elaine, a retired legal secretary, willingly came alongside to assist.  She helped me clean out the van, and sort through the stash of important papers we’d found strewn around the apartment and van.  With a small filing box and file folders, she organized the papers by labeling and sorting.  In my frustration, I made the comment about the unbelievable mess, especially after finding papers that she had not one, but two, storage units full of more stuff that needed to be cleaned out!  In her gentle way, Elaine reminded me of what the doctor had said, “Your mother has been mentally ill for a long time.  That is why she was a hoarder and lived the way she did.” 
    Elaine’s comment hit me hard emotionally, but they were words I needed to hear.  I was so overwhelmed at having to blindly pick up the pieces of my mother’s life that I hadn’t seen what was obvious to the doctor and others – she really had been mentally ill for many years, if not her whole life.  That’s why we and others thought she was odd.  That’s why she couldn’t relate to us kids.  Now, after being properly diagnosed by her physicians, and being put on medication, she’s so much better emotionally.  With Elaine’s gentle comment, I finally came to terms with, and understood, my mother’s emotional fragility, and thanked Elaine for the awakening in my heart.  I came to understand that my Mom had lost her husband and her children to divorce, and all her stuff was the balance of what she could control by desperately holding onto it all.
    Through the difficulty of picking up the pieces of my mother’s life, sorting blindly through her affairs that I’d known nothing about, making a ton of phone calls to her employer and banks, etc., getting her into my first-choice nursing home near me, filling out the application and gathering copies necessary for the massive Medicaid application process, and handling several legal judgments and subpoenas against her for debts, God was with me every step of the way.  He answered my desperate plea more abundantly than I ever expected! 
    Every time I felt utterly overwhelmed, God put someone there to walk with me, guide me, and help me over each new hurdle.  Even to the card which arrived from my daughter-in-law’s mother, MaryEllen, on the very day I got the letter from the department of social services with its overwhelming huge list of requirements for the Medicaid process, some of which we never did find and which DSS granted a special waiver with understanding, and then to having Elaine’s experience guide me through it.  And I must give special thanks to my husband, Edward, who has been here every step of the way, supporting me and guiding me with his quiet words of wisdom while being unable to help physically.
    In visiting with my mother at the nursing home, our relationship has grown. So, I decided to do something special for her – to make a quilt.  Since I was a teen, I’ve loved to sew clothes and quilts for myself and family, but hadn’t made time to sew in ages.  Around this time, I’d made Ed and myself each a log cabin design quilt using our old jeans, followed by a quilt for each grandchild.  On asking my mother what her favorite color was, she replied, “I don’t know.  I never had a favorite color.”  I felt a stab to my heart.  How could someone not have a favorite color?  So, I decided that since she was a September baby, I’d use shades of sage green and golden browns.  Making her quilt was a labor of love and I couldn’t wait to give it to her that upcoming Easter Sunday.  And she absolutely loved it! 
    But, you know what else special happened?  On our walk one evening back then, Ed told me I’d begun calling her “Mom” - she wasn’t just “my mother” anymore!  God used her stroke to work a miracle in my heart, and I have come to love the Mom that He blessed me with!  And God has given me one more blessing in the aftermath.  My Dad, who had walked away from me for a time, began corresponding with me again after I sent a Christmas card.  He even voiced approval for how well I’d handled every difficulty in life that was tossed my way, including a compliment on how well I was taking care of my mother. And, when I broke the ice by saying words I don’t recall ever hearing while growing up, Dad and Mom both responded by saying “I love you” every time we talked!  Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!  I love you!  (Photo above of my Mom holding me, her first precious baby.)
    Be My Tower
    Linda A. Roorda
    Though I may weaken and crumble
    Beneath the strain of stress,
    Be there, Lord, to guide me safe
    O’er crashing waters nigh.
     
    Be my tower of mighty strength
    Firm and strong to lean upon.
    When I think “impossible,”
    Help me take that other step.
    ~
    12/31/11
  19. Linda Roorda
    Yesterday afternoon as I meandered around our yard, checking the gardens, transplanting new offspring, I see all is growing well.  The trees show leaf buds in various stages of growth, and perennial flowers and bushes are growing nicely with more daffodils this year than usual it seems!  The snow with bitter cold winds and temps in the high 20s a week ago left little lasting damage, even to the fragile bleeding hearts.
    I gaze in awe at the beauty of creation on full display all around us.  While contemplating, it becomes clear that this world and we within it are amazingly and uniquely created.  The sun rises in a brilliant display as its rays peak over the horizon, and later that same golden globe slowly disappears on the opposite horizon in a different, but no less dazzling display as the shadows deepen. 
    Then, as the velvet of night envelopes us, to gaze upward at a sky filled with twinkling diamonds while the moon reflects a small fraction of the sun’s radiance is simply heavenly.  But, to know there are more planets and solar systems beyond ours, with more galaxies and individual stars, each established within a specific order, is just too much for my simple mind to comprehend.
    I enjoyed hunting as a teen, with my Dad and on my own.  But, when I shot my first (and only) squirrel, I cried so hard I could barely see to find him on the ground when he fell out of the tree.  After I skinned him, my Mom cooked him up so deliciously.  I did not hunt after I married for the simple reason that my husband was not fond of game, and I don’t believe in mindlessly killing an animal.  But what I enjoyed even more than the hunt was to simply be outside in the fields and woods, even in the deep snow… which led me to share nature walks with our kids, hoping they’d enjoy all of nature in its quiet solitude as much as I do.  Except, I really wasn’t alone… 
    For there all around me were hills covered in various types of underbrush and trees from delicate ferns and flowered weeds to the tallest trees and evergreens.  On stepping inside the shadows of the woods on my cousin Howard’s farm in Nichols, there were deer as curious about me as I was of them.  And, no, I did not bring one home; I missed every time - learning years later from my brothers that they had figured out the old shotgun’s sights were not aligned correctly!  There was a fox trotting along casually, steering clear of that upright stranger invading its territory.  Rabbits were quietly darting and zipping along to hidden homes within the hedgerows, squirrels were chattering, and birds were singing their hearts out to share their joy of a new day. 
    I have enjoyed the seasonal view from my kitchen windows, especially as tom turkeys would strut and display their colorful feathers while the hens strolled and pecked and scratched around the field at the base of the hill behind us, or as an eagle perched on the branches of a dying maple along the creek’s edge.  When we farmed the property, I enjoyed watching the cows and calves go out to pasture, especially on their first spring outing as they ran and jumped with joie de vivre!  And, not long after we moved into our newly-built house in 1982, I saw a black bear lumbering away from the electric fence back to the sheltering protection of that forested hill. 
    I’ve watched the blue and green herons in the creek below us, and the ducks, geese and mergansers paddling around as they stopped for a swim on their migration route.  I’ve seen and heard thousands of snow geese many years ago when they landed in the harvested corn field across the road from us – what a joyous honking they made!  And, I’ve enjoyed the wide variety of birds within my own back yard along with seasonal migratory birds that stopped in for a bite to eat at my feeders, a drink of fresh water, and a brief rest. And then it’s another treat as newly-fledged nestlings are brought to the feeders.  It’s exciting to watch and listen to the youngsters as they wait for mom or dad to feed them, sometimes not too patiently!
    Farther beyond our town, I have waded into the cold waters of both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans – and watched the beauty of waves as they form and roll inward to break along the shore, lapping at the sand, retreating to whence they came – and appreciated and felt the power of those waves and their undertow, an even more dangerous force when whipped into a fury by stormy winds.  I discovered the fun in picking up the variety of shells poking out of the beach sand and admired their stunning colors and differences in shapes and designs.
    I have flown above the clouds, gazing down at the puffy layers of cotton strewn below.  But, mostly I’ve gazed upward from this terra firma to appreciate the many types of summer clouds scattered in a sky of purest blue with clouds that form shapes of animals and more, clouds that look like wispy mares’ tails, clouds of purest white with just a hint of gray, towering clouds with dark shades of gray and black in their underbellies warning of a storm about to break, clouds with rays of sun streaming outward from behind them and through them, clouds which form a solid sheet to shield the blue sky from view, clouds with a corrugated appearance, and clouds which form as jets leave their trails behind.
    I have stood in awe at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, and been amazed at the view beyond each twist and turn of the road as my daughter drove with me along for the ride, only to be in awe at an even more beautiful vista than the one from the turn before.  I have gazed upward in awe at the rocky sheers from the floor of a narrow canyon, the outer western extent of Arizona’s Grand Canyon.  I have admired alpine grassy meadows with mountain peaks jutting precipitously upward as they break the smooth, green, valley-like floor high up along the Continental Divide. 
    I have stood in awe and gazed at endless beauty from the ranger station atop the Glacier Mountains in Montana.  My daughter, Emily, and I had driven upward on the Going to the Sun Road from the valley floor below with its lake and streams and waterfalls amid the forested hills with unbelievable vistas opening anew at every turn of the road.  I saw a mountain goat resting on the bare rocks of a precipitous mountain ridge, so close I could have reached out the car’s window to touch him.  I have admired the high rocky peaks still beautifully snow covered in early August.  I gazed at a hill once covered by thick forest before a fire consumed its vegetation, but which now reveals vibrant new verdant undergrowth of plants, bushes and young trees, the promised renewal in a never-ending cycle of life and death and rebirth.  And, I stared in wonder at the Dakota “badlands,” the many colors of rocky slopes, and at the endless sea of flat prairie grassland and cropland. 
    I am awed by the development of life, whether it be that of our children or of plants and animals.  I am amazed at how life is formed from unseen cells as the tiniest and finest features develop into the minute intricacy of the nerves in our brain which serve every function of our body.  I am in awe of how delicately we are created, from eyes which see to brains which think in complexities.  I am amazed at our ability to view new life forming via the technology of sonograms.  I do not, even for a second, give credence to the postulation of evolution.  I do not believe that from some “big bang” our lives with our fine and complex unique inner structures slowly and gradually evolved over millions or billions of years, or that we then somehow broke off from some lost link into a new line descending from apes. 
    Instead, I stand amazed at our great God of the universe who created each of us to be the unique beings we are.  From the growth and development of those tiny cells as our life begins, to birth, toddlerhood, adolescence, and on into adulthood, He knows us intimately.  He’s numbered the hairs on our head, and is there to care for us at each step of our path.  “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.  My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.  When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body.  All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (Psalm 139:13-16)
    I am awed as I ponder each beautiful tiny snowflake.  The unique design within the structure of each and every single snowflake that has ever fluttered down from the sky is truly amazing.  Like our individual and unique DNA patterns, no two snowflakes are alike…ever… from the beginning of time and on into the future. 
    I stand amazed to watch earth’s transformation from winter’s dreariness into the beauty of spring as new life emerges.  I marvel at the progression of spring’s beauty rolling into summer’s bounty before sliding into the brilliant colors of fall, and then stand transfixed as winter’s first snowfall descends to blanket our earth in pure white.  Once again, I am in awe to realize there are no two leaves, flower buds, plants or trees alike… ever.  For they, too, are created unique in their design by their intricate and delicate cell structures.
    Quietly thinking, I am reminded of God’s questions after being confronted by the suffering Job.  Job was brought face to face with a God whose ways and wisdom are beyond our finite comprehension as reflected in His creation.  “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?  Tell Me, if you have understanding.  Who determined its measurements?  Surely you know!  Or who stretched the line upon it?  To what were its foundations fastened?  Or who laid its cornerstone, when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?  (Job 38:4-7)
    And so, I stand in awe of a Creator who has designed and formed the vast universe, this earth and all its inhabitants, and so much more.  Sometimes I think He had an absolutely grand time creating this world with a wonderful sense of humor - for the variety of animals and plant life, their shapes and colors, each uniquely speaking of the vastness and limitless of His power, glory and love. And with all of this in mind, I bow my head in awe at how He created and knit us together in our mother’s womb, each with our individual uniqueness and idiosyncrasies, gifts and skills.  What an awesome God we serve!
     Creation’s Glory
    Linda A. Roorda
    I gaze around at nature’s splendor
    And cannot miss the beauty displayed
    From universe large to tiniest cell
    Designed with love that we might enjoy.
     
    Come sit with me and take it all in
    As just above trees light pierces the dark
    While breaking of dawn disperses the night
    And morning awakes, in bright vivid shades.
     
    How could the earth, the planets and sun
    Know where to ride their orbits precise?
    For if they move a fraction aside
    Chaos erupts, destruction ensues.
     
    Vast is the world and universe deep
    With fragile life and delicate cell
    Order precise, especially planned
    By One who knows all future and past.
     
    Majestic peaks their beauty display
    In granite sheer and towering summit
    Over valley floor with meadow calm
    And flowing rivers by trees standing tall.
     
    A cell divides, the journey begins
    Its code ordained, embedded within
    And as it grows unique in design
    Soon shall emerge, the miracle of life.
     
    A bud that grows will open in time
    From something plain to grandly transformed
    Dazzling beauty with colorful hues
    Each petal soft in splendor arrayed.
     
    Birds on the wing, a marvel of grace
    Delicate form yet strength beyond ken.
    They do not fret, no worry they keep
    For God doth hold the key to their ways.
     
    Fluttering leaves swaying in the breeze
    With tender veins and edges serrated
    Each leaf unique in color and shape
    Intricate plan, intention divine.
     
    Tiniest flakes among a zillion
    Descend arrayed with no two the same
    Delicate form, beauty artistic
    He alone framed their structured design.
     
    As daylight fades and night settles down
    In twinkling stars and moon rising bright
    Order displayed with balance supreme
    Your hands made all with forethought and plan.
     
    For Thou alone in glory arrayed
    The great I Am, forever Thou art
    ‘Twas Your pleasure this world to create
    As praises we bring to honor Your name.
    ~~
     
  20. Linda Roorda
    We previously briefly touched on the importance of your ancestor’s Last Will and Testament, an excellent source of family documentation.  Wills are filed at surrogate court or county clerk’s office along with estate records for those who died intestate (without a will), inventories of estates, letters of administration, and guardianships, etc. 
    Some older wills may be found online at Sampubco Wills as posted by W. David Samuelson from whom you may purchase documents.  This site includes wills, guardianships, surrogate’s records/probate files, naturalizations, letters of administration, and cemetery listings.  Records are available for several states via alphabetical name search by county.  From my experience, mostly older wills are available, but not all of them.  I can, however, recommend this site as I purchased several ancestral wills more reasonably than from surrogate’s court or county clerk’s office.  However, it is still advisable to go to the appropriate office to search for and copy complete records, which I also did.
    One drawback can be old style writing and language.  Having begun my secretarial career in an Owego law firm, researching and copying old deeds and wills in shorthand, I was familiar with most of the standard language.  After transcribing eighteenth and nineteenth century ancestral wills I’d purchased, I submitted several online to respective county genweb sites.  They provide an opportunity for future researchers to use this gift, a way to pay back the gifts others have freely placed online to aid in research.  It’s all about helping each other on the journey.
    As for the old language of bequeathing one’s estate, I share excerpts in original format from the wills of a few of my ancestors – original spelling or misspelling retained. 
    Henrich/Henry Kniskern, signed 1780, probated 1784:  “In the Name of  God Amen. I, Henrich Knieskern at Shoharry [Schoharie] in the County of Albany [before Albany became several counties] farmer being at present weak in Body but of Sound Mind and Memory… considering that it is appointed for us all once to Die do this Eight Day of May in the Year of Our Lord Christ One Thousand Seven Hundred and Eighty make and Publish this my Last will and Testament in manner and form following that is to Say I recommend my Soul unto God that gave & my body unto the Earth from whence it came to be decently Interred… I give and bequeath unto my eldest Son… five Pounds Lawful money of New York (I Mean and Understand good hard Silver Money) for his birth Right… it is my will and Ordre that my Wife… shall have her supporting and Maintainment yearly and Every Year for her Life Time of my Estate in Knieskerns Dorph… [Kniskernsdorf is a now-extinct hamlet established on the Schoharie Creek by my ancestor, Johann Peter Kniskern, the Listmaster of one of the original 1710 Palatine settlements on the Hudson River.]  …I Give unto my Two Sons… together Equally my farming utenciels and Tools as both or Two Waggons & Two Sleeds Ploughs and Harrows with all the Tackling and furniture thereof… axes hoes & other Implements of husbandry… I Give to my Two Daughters, as bed Goods, Pewter Goods, Iron pots, Cooper goods & other goods… I give to my Two Sons… Equally my Loom and all & Every articles that belongs to Weavers…”
    Adam Dingman, a prosperous freeholder of Kinderhook and Albany, wrote “...know all men that in the year seventeen hundred and twenty and twenty-one, the twenty-first day of January, in the seventh year of the reign of our sovereign lord, King George, I, Adam Dingeman, born at Haerlem, Holland, sick and weak of body, but having the perfect use of my senses…”  Unfortunately, he did not name his children from whom I have proven descendancy.
    George Hutton, son of Lt. Timothy Hutton, listed all children, with daughters by their married names, a very helpful will.  An interesting inventory with values was attached to his wife Elizabeth’s will from 1845.  Numerous items were listed, including “1 feather bed $7.25, 1 blue and white spread $4.00, 1 straw bed tick $.25, 1 brown calico dress $.37, 1 black cashmere shall $.75, 1 pr morocco shoes $.50, 1 rocking chair $1.00.”
    Other wills bequeath hereditaments (one of my favorite words), i.e. land, crops, tools, animals.  A McNeill family will “allows” an unmarried sister to use half of the house for life.  And an inventory made in 1758 for the estate of John McNeill, an apparently wealthy mariner (father of John C. McNeill), includes “1 Jacket of Cut Vellvet & 1 pair of Black Vallvet Britches, 1 paire of Lether Buckskin Britches, 1 Great Coat of Davinshire Carsey, 1 fine linnin Sheet x3 coarse ones, 1 45 weight of fetther, 1 paire of carved Shew buckells & knee buckells of silver, 1 paire Sleve buttons of gold, 2 Small Bibells w/one Silver clasped, 1 book called fishers Arithmitick, 1 seet of Harrow teeth, 1 Seet of plow Irons.” 
    Old documents do make fascinating reads! 
    COMING NEXT:  Genealogy Websites
  21. Linda Roorda
    A Scottish castle on the Hudson?  Drawn to the hazy beauty of this photo, I was mesmerized by the castle’s classic lines… so reminiscent of centuries-old castles scattered around the British and Scottish moors and highlands, intrigued to know it sat upon American soil.  After researching and naming my Mom’s maternal Scots-Irish, I am proud to say that they, too, hold a special place in my heart amongst all my Dutch ancestors.

    Photo of Bannerman's Castle  by Will Van Dorp, on his blog, Tugster.
    Think back with me to an earlier day when the adventurous Europeans followed Henry Hudson’s momentous sail north on a river now bearing his name.  It was an era of exploration, a prosperous time for the Dutch and their friends as they established a considerable presence in the settling of Nieuw Nederlands… and traveled freely up and down the North River with its invitingly peaceful, and beautiful, sylvan surroundings.
    Now envision a fairy-tale castle of Scottish design built upon a solid rock foundation, entirely surrounded by a pristine and placid river as its moat.  At times though, depending on the season and storm, the waters become riled and treacherous, perhaps evoking images of an ancient castle set upon the lonely and stormy seacoast of bonnie Scotland.  Such a sighting embodies the ambiance of castle life in the Middle Ages…  a time of chivalry when knights in shining armor went out to battle, bravely protecting their sovereign and his empire, returning home with honor to win the heart of a certain fair young maiden…
    Roughly 50 miles north of New York City lies an island comprising about 5-1/2 or 6-1/2 acres (depending on source) along the eastern shore of the Hudson River as you head north.  Pollepel Island is a lush growth of trees, bushes, flowers and gardens, clamoring vines, weeds, bugs, ticks, snakes, and rocky ground.  Not surprisingly, the hardy Dutch left their influence on our language and place names all throughout the new world in both New Amsterdam proper and environs of the greater New Netherlands.  Naturally this little island, Pollepel (i.e. Dutch for ladle), was named by these hardy early settlers, situated in an area designated as the “Northern Gate” of the Hudson River’s Highlands.  Just like in the Old Country, the island’s natural harbor provides the perfect setting for a castle… Bannerman’s Island Arsenal, to be exact.  Arsenal, you ask?  Yes, a place where knights could well have donned shining armor for their king and perched behind the battlements with all manner of arms.
    Long before there was a castle of dreamy old-world architecture, it was said that Native Americans refused to take up residence on this mound of rock.  Believing the island to be haunted, the Indians rarely dared set foot upon it in daylight, if at all, while their enemies flaunted that fact by seeking refuge on the rocky shore…
    The hardy mariners who once sailed Hudson’s North River left a legacy of legends and tales of this little island.  Washington Irving of Tarrytown told with skillful imagination the story of “The Storm Ship”,  also known as the “Flying Dutchman”.  Fear of goblins who dwelt on Pollepel Island was as real as that of their leader, the Heer of Dunderburgh.  It was well known that Dunderburgh controlled the winds, those furies which provoked the waters, making safe passage of the Highlands a thing to be envied.  With the sinking of the famed “Flying Dutchman” during an especially severe storm, the captain and crew found themselves forever doomed.  And, if you should ever find yourself traveling the river near Pollepel in such a storm, listen closely… for in the howling of the winds which whip the sails, you just might hear the captain and his sailors calling for help.
    Another legend which early Dutch sailors spoke about was that of Polly Pell, a beautiful young lady rescued from the river’s treacherous ice.  Romantically saved from drowning by the quick wit and arms of her beau, she married her rescuer.  Such are the dreams of the romantically inclined…
    From a more practical perspective, Gen. George Washington used the strategically placed Pollepel Island during the American Revolution in an effort to prevent British ships from sailing north.  “Chevaux de frise” were made of large logs with protruding iron spikes which, when sunk upright in the river, were intended to damage ships’ hulls and stop the British from passing through.  However, these particular obstructions, set up between the island and Plum Point on the opposite shore, did not deter the resourceful British.  They simply sailed with ease past the sunken deterrents in flat-bottomed boats.  Washington also planned to establish a military garrison for prisoners-of-war on Pollepel Island, but there is no proof extant that his idea was ever implemented.
    According to Jane Bannerman (granddaughter-in-law of the castle’s builder) in “Pollepel - An Island Steeped in History”, the island had just five owners since the American Revolution era:  “William Van Wyck of Fishkill, Mary G. Taft of Cornwall, Francis Bannerman VI of Brooklyn, and The Jackson Hole Preserve (Rockefeller Foundation) which donated the island to the people of the State of New York (Hudson Highlands State Park, Taconic Region, New York State Office of Parks, Recreation and Historic Preservation).”
    Francis (Frank) Bannerman VI, the island’s third owner, was born March 24, 1851 in Dundee, Scotland.  His ancestor was the first to bear the honored name of Bannerman seven centuries ago.  At Bannockburn in 1314, Stirling Castle was held by the English King, Edward II.  Besieged by the Scottish army, however, Edward II’s well-trained troops were ultimately defeated in a brutal battle.  Less than half the size of England’s army, the successful brave Scotsmen were commanded by the formidable Robert the Bruce, King of Scots.  During that battle, Francis VI’s ancestor rescued their Clan Macdonald’s pennant from destruction.  In reward, Robert the Bruce is said to have torn a streamer from the Royal ensign and bestowed upon Francis’s ancestor the honor of “bannerman,” the auspicious beginning of the family name.
    Fast forward a few centuries and, interestingly, we learn that two years after the February 8, 1690 Schenectady (New York) massacre by the French and Indians, there was a similar massacre in Scotland.  Barely escaping the Feb 13, 1692 massacre of the Clan Macdonald at Glencoe in the Scottish Highlands by the Campbells, , Francis Bannerman I and others sailed to Ireland.  With the family settling in Antrim for the next 150 years or so, it was not until 1845 that Francis Bannerman V returned his branch of the family’s presence to Dundee, Scotland.  There, Francis VI was born into this distinguished family.  When but a lad of 3 years, his father brought the family across the pond to America’s shores in 1854.  Settling in Brooklyn by 1856, the Bannerman family has remained with a well-respected presence.
    Francis V earned a living by reselling items in the Brooklyn Navy Yard which he’d obtained cheaply at auctions.  A few years later, on joining the Union efforts in the Civil War, his 10-year-old son, Francis VI, left school to help support the family.  Searching for scrap items after his hours in a lawyer’s office, young Frank VI also sold newspapers to mariners on ships docked nearby.  In the evenings, he trolled or dragged local rivers and searched the streets and alleys, ever on the lookout for profitable scrap items, chains, and other odds and ends, even sections of rope, all eagerly bought by local junkmen. 
    Returning from war an injured man, Francis V saw how successful his son had become with his scrap business.  By realizing that items he sold held more value than ordinary junk, young Frank had made good money.  To handle the growing accumulations of items his son had collected, and the military surplus purchased in 1865 at the close of the Civil War, Bannerman’s storehouse was set up on Little Street.  Next, a ship-chandlery shop was established on Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn.  Returning to school with his father at home, young Francis received a scholarship to Cornell University.  However, owing to his father’s disability, family loyalty won out and he declined to pursue the halls of higher education in order to help run the family business.
    In 1872, 21-year-old Francis VI took a business trip to Europe.   Visiting his grandmother in Ulster, Ireland, he met Helen Boyce whom he married June 8, 1872 in Ballymena.  Two of their sons, Francis VII and David Boyce, eventually joined their father in the family business.  A third son, Walter Bruce, took a different path by earning his medical degree.  Sadly, their only daughter died as an infant.  Charles, grandson of Francis VI, married Jane Campbell, a descendant of the ancient Campbells who had attempted to destroy the Macdonald clan (from which massacre Francis I had escaped).  Their marriage showed love was the impetus to rise above the ancient rivalry between the families, reminiscent of the Appalachian’s storied Hatfields and McCoys. 
    Considered the “Father of the Army-Navy Store”, Frank Bannerman VI opened a huge block-long store on Broadway by 1897.  Here, his large building of several floors housed untold numbers of military supplies, munitions and uniforms from all around the world.  Francis/Frank was the go-to man in equipping soldiers for the Spanish-American War.  At that war’s end, the company bought arms from the Spanish government and most of the weapons which the American military had captured from the Spanish.  Printing a 300-400 page mail order catalog from the late 19th century through the mid-1960s,  collectors found a large array of military surplus and antiquities.  As city laws limited Bannerman’s ability to retain his massive holdings within the city proper, a larger facility was sought to store their collection of munitions.  
    As he relaxed by canoeing the Hudson River around this time, David Bannerman observed an inconspicuous little island.  Finding Pollepel Island perfectly suited to their needs, his father, Frank VI, approached the Taft family and purchased the island in 1900.  Designing a Scottish-style castle to honor the family’s legacy, they built an arsenal to store their vast munitions supplies, with a smaller castle providing a family residence.  On the side of the castle facing the Hudson River, “Bannerman’s Island Arsenal” is embedded in the castle façade, clearly informing all passersby of its purpose to this day.
    As the largest collector of munitions in the world, buying and selling to many nations, including Japan during the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-1905, and to private citizens like you and me, even Buffalo Bill Cody, military memorabilia collectors, theatrical establishments, and artists needing props, Mr. Francis Bannerman VI held an in-depth knowledge of the military supplies and ordnance in his possession.  But, not being a man of greed, he refused to arm revolutionaries and returned their money on learning their intention.  At the opening of World War I, he reportedly shipped 8,000 saddles to the French Army and delivered thousands of rifles and ammunition to the British at no cost. 
    Though extremely successful selling munitions, Francis/Frank Bannerman VI considered himself a kind and generous man, “a man of peace”.  It was his intention that such a vast collection of arms as his would eventually be considered “The Museum of the Lost Arts.”   Energetic and devoted to his church and public service, he also taught a boys’ Sunday School class.  He enjoyed bringing friends to the island to experience his family’s hospitality.  His wife, Helen, who loved to garden, had paths and terraces constructed throughout the property.  Even today, tour guides point out the many flowers and shrubs she planted which have survived the decades, the beauty of which enhance the antiquity of the castle ruins.
    With the death of Francis Bannerman VI on November 26, 1918 at age 64, building on the island stopped and many setbacks seemed to befall his estate.  Two years later, an explosion of 200 tons of stored shells and powder destroyed part of the castle. With State and federal laws controlling the sale of munitions to civilians, sales began to plunge for Bannerman’s Arsenal.  Family continued to reside in the smaller castle on the island into the 1930s; but, for the sake of their customers, sold their goods more conveniently from a warehouse in Blue Point, Long Island into the 1970s.  In 1950, a pall fell over the island and its castle when the ferry “Pollepel” (named for the island it served) sank in a storm.  Then, when the island’s caretaker retired in 1957, Bannerman’s island remained abandoned and untended for years. 
    Frank VI’s grandson, Charles, wisely predicted in 1962  that “No one can tell what associations and incidents will involve the island in the future.  Time, the elements, and maybe even the goblins of the island will take their toll of some of the turrets and towers, and perhaps eventually the castle itself, but the little island will always have its place in history and in legend and will be forever a jewel in its Hudson Highland setting.”
    Ultimately, New York State bought the island and its buildings in 1967 after all military supplies had been removed, and tours of the island and castle commenced in 1968.  Unfortunately, a devasting fire on August 8, 1969 destroyed the Arsenal along with its walls, floors and roofs making the island unsafe, and it was closed to the public.  Though the castle now sits in ruins, much of the exterior walls are still standing, accented with climbing ivy, and held up in the weakest sections by supports.  Since virtually all interior floors and walls were destroyed by fire, “vandalism, trespass, neglect and decay”   have continued taking their toll over the decades. 
    In more recent years, the island once again made headlines with a tragic story.  On April 19, 2015, Angelika Graswald and her fiancée, Vincent Viafore, kayaked to Bannerman’s Castle Island.  Attempting to return from their outing in rough waters, Viafore’s kayak took on water and overturned, resulting in his drowning.  Graswald, charged with Viafore’s murder, admitted to removing the drain plug.  Arraigned in Goshen, Orange County, NY, a plea deal was later reached before the case went to trial.  Pleading guilty to a lesser charge of criminally negligent homicide, she was released from prison not long after, having duly served the time of her reduced sentence.
    Few people know and remember “Bannerman’s Island” during its glorious past like Jane Bannerman (wife of Charles, Francis VI’s grandson).  Assisting The Bannerman’s Castle Trust and the Taconic Park Commission to repair the buildings, Jane has noted, “…it all comes down to money, and if they don’t hurry up, it’ll all fall down.  Every winter brings more destruction.”  Unsafe conditions on and around the island are due to both underwater and land hazards, not to mention unstable castle walls.  Due to these conditions, it is advised you do not attempt to visit the island on your own.
    The Bannerman’s Castle Trust has initiated “hard hat” tours along with other entertainment venues.  By making island visits possible, it is the Trust’s hope they will be able to restore the castle, smaller castle home, and gardens for the public to enjoy more fully.  In the interest of preserving the rich history of this Scottish Castle on a small island in the Hudson River, we hope The Bannermans’ Castle Trust is successful in its restoration endeavors.
    Hudson River Cruises advertise a tour from Newburgh Landing: “Ruins of a 19th century castle on Bannerman’s Island can be seen on special guided history and walking tours departing from Newburgh Landing and Beacon.”  For information on 2-1/2 hour guided tours held May through October call:  845-220-2120 or 845-782-0685.
    With my own maternal Scots-Irish McNeill and Caldwell heritage (the Irish only because they settled in the northern Protestant section of Ireland), I was intrigued by the photos of such an old-world castle built on a small, seemingly insignificant island.  The fairy-tale ambiance of this Scottish castle stands out, visible by boat and train, amidst the New Netherlands’ Dutch influence up and down the Hudson River.  I hope someday to take a guided tour on Pollepel Island and see Bannerman’s Castle; but, for now, the photos and articles will have to do. 
    Many thanks to Will Van Dorp, a family friend from childhood, who initially piqued my interest by posting his photos and synopsis of the island, castle, and its environs on his blog, Tugster.  See Hudson Downbound 18b, April 12, 2018 - and scroll down to photo of Bannerman’s Castle prompting my story.
  22. Linda Roorda

    Respect

    By Linda Roorda,

    Oh, that we lived in a perfect world! … but we don’t.  Not everything goes our way, but our response can make a difference.  So, why am I hesitant to express my opinion?  There's a place for respectful disagreements, including of each other's faith, or lack thereof as espoused a few years back by Joy Behar of “The View” and those who admire her. They mocked former Vice President Mike Pence for his Christian faith and talking to Jesus, even calling a “mental illness” his listening to Jesus’ voice.  I, too, have heard the "voice" of God... sometimes loud and clear as if someone stood next to me uttering the words, other times nothing more than a gentle nudge in my soul. 
    But, in re: school and public mass shootings, Ed and I have long felt there's something eating away at society, like a cancer.  It’s doubtful if stricter gun laws will make a big difference in overall statistics of violence, since criminals always manage to get them.  Though we do believe some laws strengthened may be more of a deterrent than others, it’s interesting that cities with the toughest gun laws haven’t curbed their gun violence.  But you know, my Dad's guns were freely available to me and my brothers as teens, after training in respectful use, and we never considered using them wrongly. 
    As crime rates increase, we see an obvious lack of respect for the value of another human being… with an increase in bullying and rage issues, taunting, mocking and killing of our law enforcement officers. 
    We can argue gun crime stats, but I don't believe access to guns by teens or any criminal is our main issue.  We have seen over time that any manner of weapon can be used besides guns - knives, a heavy object to bludgeon the victim, vehicles, even a rock by Cain to kill his brother Abel in a fit of jealous rage.  Even in states or cities with the strictest gun control laws, crime rates have risen a good deal lately.
    Many at-risk youths have not learned how to appropriately redirect their losses, upsets or rage other than to lash out at those around them - especially when adults use violence to release their own anger.  There seems to be a lack of discipline – some kids know what they can get away with and readily test the limits.  And, sometimes, kids lack appropriate role models as we adults can also give inappropriate signals.  Too often we, as a society, have given our youth too much, causing an "entitlement" syndrome where no effort is put forth to earn what one desires to gain.
    We witness or become the target of bullying, verbal attacks, abuse and harassment in many forms.  Amidst the violence, angry rhetoric, and sexual harassment and misconduct in our society, something seems to be missing.  What happened to the respect we once showed each other?  Showing courtesy, consideration and honor to others fits together under that one term – respect.  Displaying an attitude of humility with respect shows the depth of our own character and integrity.  Yet, it seems that mocking or hateful vitriol is the language preferred from many directions.  Like you, I find it appalling. 
    Anger against sin and abuse is not wrong, but righteous, an emotional response which God gave us. When anger stems from a heart with sinful intention, therein lies the abuse and lack of respect.  And it should make us stop and think.  
    Perhaps, instead of taking a knee to the American flag and finding fault with America, those with ability, financial or otherwise, could help the underprivileged within current charities or create new ones.  Perhaps, simply from their own heart of love, instead of violence and destruction to have their demands met, they could become a mentor to show the disadvantaged a better way.  I grew up without much of what my peers had.  I’ve been mocked and ridiculed.  But I also grew up with parents who cared and who disciplined.  I grew up with kids of all races, including black friends and those of international heritage, and they and their parents did all they could to accomplish their goals with respect and gratitude to the community.
    Where has morality gone?  Why are certain “politically correct” attitudes condoned while those who disagree are held in disdain?  With the push to set God aside as irrelevant in our lives, to live as if we are unaccountable to anyone and anything, I think we have also brushed moral ethics and values aside.  After all, if we do not believe we’re created in the image of God, but simply exist because a few cosmic molecules exploded with a bang, then of what value is another person’s life.  I find it ironic that huge fines are levied for killing animals, yet our unborn children are aborted/killed because they might be defective or an inconvenience. 
    Is a conscience or a moral obligation obsolete?  Do we do whatever seems right to us alone?  Without moral absolutes and the ensuing guilt regarding what is or is not considered sinful behavior, then we don’t have to hold ourselves accountable to God and His word.  Still, how often don’t those who hold to a belief in God tend to live by certain moral standards that have their very foundation in Holy Scripture.
    With so many accusations of sexual misconduct/harassment among public officials coming to light, has this pattern of behavior become prolific because of Bill Clinton’s ability to “get away with it” during his past presidency?  I remember someone saying to me then that it was no big deal, “Everyone does it!”  Oh really?  Does everyone lie to cover up the truth, or only abusers?  What’s lacking in one’s character to cause such rampant abuse?  The predator or abuser knows how to shame his victims into silence.  Silent no more, many are speaking out more readily, calling attention to the abuse and harassment suffered quietly for too long.  The victims are trying to bring accountability into the picture for restitution and a better way to live responsibly.  Yet, too often victims are still silenced and looked upon as the problem.
    We feel free to disparage and mock the opposition of our dearly-held beliefs, yet we’re appalled if our own perspectives are attacked.  Once upon a time, we honored each other… despite our differences.  Once upon a time, we agreed to disagree.  We were able to debate and argue our points in a respectful manner, but now it seems that mocking, hate-filled rhetoric, and even violence is “de rigueur.”  Why? 
    I’ve pondered the societal denigration which brought about the November 2008 Black Friday shopping stampede.  The epitome of greed fed that mad rush, pushing and shoving throughout the crowd, just to satisfy selfish desires… for Christmas gifts no less… resulting in the trampling death of a Wal-Mart employee.  I remember hearing this story on the news then, and being saddened and appalled that such a tragedy could have even happened.
    But, isn’t it greed and selfishness which results in any crime, whether it be robbery or murder?  We’re jealous.  We dislike.  And we allow minor slights to fester.  We have our rights, hold grudges, and can’t forgive.  Someone has what we want so we take it to satisfy our pleasure, or destroy the one who owns it.  How unutterably sad that society has stooped to this level, even to condemning those who bring attention to abuses they’ve dealt with.  Yet, there’s nothing new under the sun, as Solomon once said. (Ecclesiastes 1:9)  Even Adam and Eve’s son Cain killed his brother, Abel, out of jealousy that festered and grew into a murderous hatred.  (Genesis 4:4-12)
    These thoughts reminded me of the vitriol espoused by and against various public officials, particularly during election time.  There’s a hatred and cancellation of the opposition, those holding and expressing conservative and/or Christian biblical values.  Whether by, or against, the president of our nation or any of our local officials, including law enforcement officers, such words seem to be the norm lately.  With hatred and anger fueled perhaps by abusive rhetoric, and a loathing of that with which we disagree, passions are fed and all manner of evil erupts from the human heart… rather than allowing the opposition time to express their opinion.
    In the Summer of 2017, many thought it was “the right thing to do” by taking down statues erected in memory of our nation’s historical past.  We cannot rewrite history by destroying that with which we disagree, and instead are setting a dangerous precedent.  In removing what is considered a negative, perhaps we miss the opportunity to learn from past mistakes… personal and collective, national and international.  Perhaps there are teachable moments that would draw our divergent beliefs together in common ground.  In the slippery progression to remove more and more references to our historical past, what’s next?  Think long and hard of the consequences… because it just might be us next… me and you…for our beliefs.
    A contrast to such rhetoric and violence can be found in Jesus’ teachings that we call The Beatitudes, especially one simple phrase we all know as the Golden Rule.  “So, in everything, do to others what you would have them to do you…” (Matthew 7:12 NIV)  As the physician Luke expressed in his gospel (17:3), “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him.”  What better way to show Christ’s love to our neighbor or enemy than by lending a helping hand with courtesy and forgiveness… while respecting our differences.
    When an expert in the old Jewish law asked, “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’  This is the first and greatest commandment.  And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’  All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”  (Matthew 22:36-39 NIV) With such love, we “encourage one another and build each other up”. (I Thessalonians 5:11) 
    Wow!  What a depth of perfect wisdom we find in Jesus’ words!  In taking them to heart, there’d be no more abuse, petty fights or squabbles among us, or even great wars.  We’d be so in tune to each other’s needs that our selfish ego and desires would vanish.  All out of a simple respect for each other and their needs.  May God bless each of us as we practice that kind of true humility.  
    Respect
    Linda A. Roorda
    It seems we’ve mislaid respect and value.
    We want what we want, and deserve it now!
    We’ll step on your toes, fight and destroy
    Not caring to pause and treasure your worth.
    ~
    Entitled am I, my wants come first
    I rush and push, and trample on through.
    How dare you think that I could be wrong
    I have my rights!  Get out of my way!
    ~
    Oh, to our shame, what have we done…
    We once shared love but now foster hate,
    We once treasured folks for who they are
    And valued their rights as much as our own.
    ~
    Common courtesy, we salute your ways
     With manners polite and outstretched arms
    Welcoming others with civility’s mores
    Regarding humility as our tone of grace.
    ~
    With deference and honor we highly esteem
    Others before self with gratitude’s praise
    Rendering tribute where homage is due
    Tactful and kind, we respect you for you.
    ~~
  23. Linda Roorda
    Anything but a boring read, military records are another invaluable source of documentation.  The first step is to determine when and where your ancestor served.  Often clues to an ancestor’s military service are found in family stories, old photos, death records and obituaries, grave markers and/or cemetery records, local town histories, and other family records or correspondence.
    Many military records are available at Ancestry.com.  You will find draft registration cards for WW I and WW II, enlistment and service records, soldier and prisoner lists, casualty lists, pension records, etc.  In searching Ancestry’s records for this article, I found the Revolutionary War pension application file for my ancestor, John C. McNeill.  I had purchased the complete file several years ago through the national archives at NARA.gov.  So much more data has been placed online at repositories like Ancestry.com than was available when I began researching in the late 1990s. 
    When you search for records at the website for National Archives, click on the Veterans’ Service Records section to begin.  You will find military service records, pension records of veterans’ claims, draft registration records, and bounty land warrant application files and records available.  I found the WWII enlistment records at both Ancestry and NARA websites for two of my paternal grandfather’s brothers.  They had served in Europe and the South Pacific.  NARA’s website allows you to download free forms in order to purchase the full military records which may not be available elsewhere.
    Military records can provide a good deal of genealogical and historical data about an ancestor.  The various records may include date of birth, birthplace, age, date of enlistment, occupation, names of immediate family members, and service records listing battles fought, capture, discharge, death, etc. 
    However, bear in mind that military records may not include all data you seek.  My John C. McNeill did not note a date of birth or age in his Revolutionary War pension application affidavit, and stated only that he had “nine children…5 sons and 4 daughters”, without listing any of their names.  Talk about frustration!  However, Jesse McNeill, my ancestor, verified in his signed affidavit that he was a son of John and that was key evidence.  Thankfully, John’s wife, Hannah, noted their marriage date, town, name of the Justice of the Peace who married them, and her sister’s name in her affidavit when applying for her widow’s pension.
    With military records, you can take a little data and round it out with further research.  My John C. McNeill answered the call of fellow patriots to serve with the New Hampshire Line at Bunker Hill (aka Breed’s Hill) in June 1775.  He was a Sergeant under Captain Daniel Wilkins in Colonel Timothy Bedel’s regiment of rangers, in charge of pasturing cattle to feed the men.  In 1776, Bedel’s regiment was ordered to join the Northern Continental Army in New York to reinforce the military presence in Canada.

    McNeill’s pension file affidavits note capture at The Cedars, a fort west of Montreal on the St. Lawrence River, where they were plundered of all possessions.  They were taken to an island and left naked, without shelter and scant rations for eight days.  At The Cedars, “Bedel left the fort, either [to]… seek reinforcements or convey intelligence.  The command devolved on Major Isaac Butterfield… who on the 19th of May [1776] disgracefully surrendered his force of about four hundred men to the British and Indians [who were] about five hundred in number.”  (History of Goffstown [N.H.] by George Plumer Hadley, page 124.)
    Morris Commager’s “The Spirit of Seventy-Six” (pgs. 212-220) provides further corroboration of this capture with many injured, killed, taken prisoner, or dying of disease.  McNeill was among survivors exchanged and returned in a cartel between the British Captain George Foster and American Brigadier General Benedict Arnold.  McNeill then served out his military enlistment at Saratoga, NY.  McNeill’s cousin and friends sign an affidavit in his pension application file stating they survived the ordeal with him, celebrating their release annually thereafter.
    Another excellent source, a great read which confirmed the information I had on Bedel’s New York Regiment, is found in “Benedict Arnold’s Navy:  The Ragtag Fleet that lost the Battle of Lake Champlain but Won the American Revolution” by James Nelson, 2006, The McGraw-Hill Companies. 
    I further assume that, having served in New York for a time, McNeill later sought fertile land in what historians call the “Breadbasket of the American Revolution” – Schoharie County, New York.  After settling in my mother’s home town of Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York in the mid-1790s, one of his neighbors, and likely good friend, was Thomas Machin, whose farmland I have seen on a side road just into Montgomery County and very near Schoharie County.
    Maybe you don't know the significance of Thomas Machin who “supervised the making and laying of The Great Chain across the Hudson River near West Point.”  “W. Thomas Machin, Engineer, Washington’s Staff, Founding Father of Masonry in Schoharie County…Member Boston Tea Party; 1744-1816.”  (Personal view of two New York State plaques commemorating Machin at Carlisle Rural Cemetery, Carlisle, Schoharie County, NY, just a short distance up Cemetery Road from the farm fronting Rt. 20 on which my mother grew up.)  However, Machin was not likely to have been part of the Boston Tea Party per my additional research.  Living in close proximity to each other, I am sure there must have been a good friendship between the two military men and their families – Machin’s grandson, James Daniel Machin, married John C. McNeill’s granddaughter, Lucy Jane/Jeanette McNeill, in 1852.
    There is so much to be gleaned from in-depth research of ancestors, learning about their lives, extended family, and the historical era in which they lived!
    COMING NEXT:  #10 - Last Will and Testament…
  24. Linda Roorda
    Who was the carpenter’s son they called Jesus, and what was He really like?  He lived, breathed and walked the face of this earth some 2000 years ago, but how well do we really know Him?  What would it have been like to be around Him, listening to Him, and following Him?  Beyond what we read in our Holy Bible, or what others have written to express their understanding of Scripture’s portrayal of Him, we might wonder what He was like as a child or as an adult facing mundane day-to-day life issues. 
    So, I paused to think about the man named Jesus in a more personal way… like a neighbor would watch this young man’s life from a distance.  Because, sometimes, we may take our faith for granted.
    What made the life of Jesus special?  Why did thousands of people seek him out while others spoke against him?  Why did some ask questions intended to trick him while others clamored for more of his wisdom?  Every time, though, Jesus amazed the questioners, and even pointed out their thoughts. 
    I don’t think I’m alone in seeing myself among the various descriptions of His 12 disciples and their attitudes, nor among the attitudes of the crowds which followed him.  I honestly don’t know how I would have reacted as a contemporary of Jesus.  Would I have believed His message then… like I do now?  Would I have stood on the sideline as a skeptic and mocker?  Would I be afraid to affirm my love of Jesus like Peter did that night beside the fire?  Perhaps these are among the issues any one of us might ponder. 
    Yet, He was so much more… for the other side of the carpenter’s son was Holy.  He had a wisdom, a knowledge, a divinity about Him that was evident to those who believed His message.  He claimed to be the fulfillment of the ancient prophesies about the coming Messiah… in other words, He was born as one of us, yet He was fully God.  Sometimes it may be hard to wrap our finite minds around that concept. 
    He calmly and quietly took the punishment of death on a cross for something He did not do… to pay for my sins… for your sins…  And my heart is forever grateful to the carpenter’s son, the Holy Son of God, for the mercy and grace He extends to each of us on our confession and repentance. As the Apostle Peter affirmed, “Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved.” (Acts 4:12)
    May you be truly blessed this Palm Sunday as we look toward Good Friday and Easter, and contemplate together all that our Lord has done for us.
     The Carpenter's Son
    Linda A. Roorda
     I watched him grow, the carpenter's son.
    He was lucky, the boy who survived.
    Herod killed them, all boys under two
    But Joseph moved and saved his firstborn.
     
    Back from Egypt to Nazareth town,
    Joseph’s wood shop not far from my dad's.
    Jealous was I of one with no wrong.
    How could this boy always be perfect?
     
    I saw his work, quality unequalled.
    Though younger than I more skilled were his hands.
    His work in demand, mine not so much.
    Frustrated was I; like him I did not.
     
    Found debating the elder rabbis,
    Who was he really, this carpenter's son?
    How could he know such truths at age twelve?
    Puzzled was I, as I watched him grow.
     
    His father died young, with Jesus the oldest,
    Leaving their mother to raise them alone.
    A godly woman, without doubt was she
    A humble woman, with wisdom gifted.
     
    But there came a day when Jesus left home
    Leaving skeptic brothers, the carpenter's sons.
    Now he gathered a group of twelve men
    Teaching the crowds, with miracles, too.
     
    I have to admit my conscience was pierced
    For as I listened among noisy crowds
    I often wondered how had he become
    A man of wisdom, this carpenter's son?
     
    I began to listen a bit more closely
    His words made me think in ways I hadn’t before.
    He knew the Scriptures and taught to our hearts
    Once I disliked him, now I wanted more.
     
    What was the draw?  Why such attention?
    His message simple, to love each other.
    But most of all with heart, mind and soul
    To love our God above all others.
     
    For three short years, I put aside self
    To understand the carpenter's son.
    I had not liked him, but he drew me near
    He opened my eyes to depths of my heart.
     
    But then I heard they’d arrested him!
    What was the crime?  He had done no wrong!
    ‘Twas then I learned false charges were made
    Against our Teacher, the carpenter's son.
     
    The servant of all stood calmly as charged
    When asked who he was, confessed to be God.
    Without fair trial, they mocked and whipped
    And like a meek lamb, faced his own death.
     
    We stood and watched as nails were hammered
    His cross raised high between mocking thieves.
    Taunted was he, called King of the Jews
    Yet humbly forgiving was the carpenter's son.
     
    When they determined death had overcome
    We quietly left to contemplate all.
    How could this happen, we wondered aloud
    As he was buried behind a great stone.
     
    The man of wisdom with a heart for peace
    He who preached mercy was gone from our midst.
    Who could replace the man we once followed?
    Like no one else, our hearts he had touched.
     
    Three days later news came to our ears.
    He was risen, though how I don't know!
    Mary first saw Him in the garden alone
    Our Master and Savior, Redeemer and Lord.
     
    He then appeared to the gathered friends
    To show his scars and express His love.
    But He also spoke of a message now ours
    Of mercy and grace from the carpenter's son.
    ~~
  25. Linda Roorda
    As we noted previously, studying census records plays another key role in searching for ancestors.  Census records track families as they grow, move to new frontiers, into the cities, or perhaps just stay put on the farm with family members scattered within walking distance nearby.
    Study the old handwriting, compare unknown names or words to letters and words which you clearly know.  But, know that the old fancy cursive is different from what we’re familiar with in today’s handwriting.  I became familiar with it when researching and copying old deeds as a young secretary years ago, learning the old language of legal documents in the process.
    I use two methods for keeping census records – one is to write all data on 4x6 lined index cards, and the other is using blank 8x10 census forms.  I eventually acquired several hundred index cards filed alphabetically in a handy large shoebox.  I find them easier to refer to than the large census forms which, admittedly, are the more accurate, though they can be placed alpha order in a 3-ring binder.  The large blank forms are also used as a guide to what data to include on index cards from each census. 
    Before searching census records, you should also know they, too, may contain errors.  At times, the enumerator may have been given wrong information, or misspelled first and last names depending on his own abilities.  When copying data, be sure to include the way names were misspelled, along with the known correction.
    For example, I tracked a McNeill descendant whose father had removed his family from Carlisle to Decatur, New York and later to the state of Maine.  I knew his daughter, Appolonia Livingston McNeill, by baptism record.  She married William Smyth(e) and lived in Bangor, Maine.  By census records, her unmarried sister, Sarah McNeil(l), lived with them.  I followed the Smyth(e) family in Bangor by census, and the family’s billiard hall by city business directory.  I could not locate Appolonia in the important 1900 census, assuming she died after 1880.  Searching for her sons, I was surprised to find Appolonia as a widow, listed on the 1900 census by her middle name as Livingston A. Smyth.  She then resides with her twin sons in Portland, Oregon where she dies and is buried per death record I purchased.  Wondering what brought them to the far side of the continent, I can only speculate that perhaps they later enjoyed Portland’s 1905 Lewis and Clark Exposition.  I have not had time nor funds to pursue further research on the family among Maine or Oregon records, though I did obtain a few free cemetery records online. 
    Every ten years since 1790, our federal government has gathered a national census.  Very few records remain of the 1890 census as most were destroyed by fire and water damage in 1921.  In 1934, rather than make attempts to restore the balance of records, they were destroyed by the U. S. Department of Commerce despite a public outcry.   The 1890 census was different from previous with in-depth questions about each family member and Civil War service, and would have been invaluable to researchers!
    State censuses are equally as important.  Taken randomly, they are a little-known or seldom-used resource.  Typically collected by states every ten years, in years ending in “5,” New York did so in 1790, 1825 through 1875, 1892, 1905, 1915, and 1925. 
    For privacy reasons, census records are not available to the public until 70 or so years later, the 1940 census being released in April 2012.  Records available to the public from 1790 through 1940 are found at a county clerk’s office, online by subscription at Ancestry.com, on microfilm through the Family History Center of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, with some census records transcribed and placed online at county genweb sites.  As a way to pay back other generous contributors, I transcribed the 1810 census for Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York.  I’ve wanted to do more, but have not had time to go back and transcribe additional census records for online usage. And that was back when I had the slow dial-up internet, not my fast click’n-go high speed!
    Initial census records provide limited data.  The 1790 census includes city, county, state, page, date, name of head of household, males under and over age 16, free white females, all other free persons, and slaves.  
    The 1800 census begins to break down age groups by years, with 1820 including occupations in agriculture, commerce, manufacturing.  The 1830 census includes the deaf and blind, but no occupations.  The 1840 again includes age groups for males, females, free colored persons and slaves, but also occupations of mining, agriculture, commerce, navigation of ocean, canals, lakes and rivers, learned professional engineers; pensioners for Revolutionary or military services; the deaf, dumb, blind and insane; data regarding one’s education, and those who cannot read or write.
    The 1850 census is also a key census as it’s the first to list the name and age of every household member along with numbering the dwellings/houses and families of a town.  From 1850 through 1940, data may include the name of each household member, age, sex (which helps when a given name is not gender specific or is illegible), number of children born to a mother, marital status, years of marriage, state or country of birth, birth places, year of immigration, street address, occupations, value of the home, etc.
    The 1880 census is free at both Ancestry.com and the LDS Family Search website.  The 1900 gives month and year of birth along with other family and professional data.  The 1910 through 1940 are more in depth than previous.  Regardless, all census records contain a wealth of vital information on your ancestors!
    COMING NEXT – Military Records
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