An Ordinary Life

Somewhere in South India I have a sister. She wears a sari, a scarf covering her long black hair. Her name is Ady. One evening, Ady nervously walked into the mission at Sugar Hill in Harlem to attend the Bible study. When we knelt for prayer, she knew she had found home. Her husband, James, eventually followed her through the church door. Baby Rachel joined the family. Ady’s mother brought curry to the baby shower. The husbands decided they would not miss out on the spicy meal and so gathered in the church fellowship hall. That evening we all learned a lesson of God’s amazing power. A young man from South India came to the gathering with his (our) friend David. Much to the surprise of James, Ady’s husband, he realized he had taught this young man as a lad in Sunday school in South India!

If my big God could bring two men from South India together in a small church in Harlem then He must know where Ady is at this moment. Ady, who knocked on our bedroom door in her Tuscon, Arizona, home to serve us tea. Ady, whose husband prayed for safety every time we drove even if we’d only stopped for gas. Ady, who after prayer stood in a circle with Ed and Yvette, Kyron and Melanie, Wayne and his late wife, Letha, and Laurence and me and told us her experience of finding God and the Church. Our hearts melted together in that circle; we were one.

That night, many years ago, we said goodbye. Will our big God someday bring Ady, my sister, and me together in the same room? I believe in miracles.

Berniece

P.s. The thoughts for this post began with reading Psalm 103:2, “Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits.” Ady taught this verse to her small, small daughter, Rachel. I haven’t had any contact with Ady for many years.

I am not a mother, but I am part of a village. And what a fun village it is! I’ve been teased mercilessly by some of the young men of this village. Now these are all grown up with children of their own who they’re soberly teaching the ways of God.

I’ve been surrounded at times by the little ones of this village. I’ve enjoyed bubble tea with my favorite Bee, and we’ve flown a kite on the beach at Rockaway. (Bee declared, “This is the funnest day of my life!”) There have been many special moments with these children: eating mangos on a park bench with Jacob; listening to Hannah play church in the magnificence of the Winter Garden; ball games with Joshua during recess at Hudson River Christian; climbing up to see a scary skeleton in Wichita with the great-nieces and nephews . . .

The grown up children of this village like to return to NYC where we carry on long conversations while eating ethnic foods, touring, or hanging out in our apartment. They share their blessings with us, and their hurts and sadness too.

I am glad, thankful, and humbled by being a part of this village. I love you all. Be faithful to the end. Let’s pray for each other.

Happy Mother’s Day! Berniece

“She writes well because of the difficult things she’s been through,” Laurence informed me when I spoke of my admiration for the late Margaret Penner Toews’s writings. While I didn’t say it aloud, I determined in my mind – those many years ago when I first began to write for publication – that would not be my lot.

I smile now at my younger self that wanted the quiet Miss Read life. 9/11 came unbidden. Relationship difficulties affected my mental health. We did not want to be the Pandemic Epicenter or have to deal with long COVID. Today, I walk with a rod in my leg. We’ve spent more hours than I want to count in the Elmhurst Hospital emergency room, and then last Sunday found Laurence and myself alone with two super nice surgeons at the Eye Infirmary in Manhattan. (Laurence continues to recover from surgery for retinal detachment and a large tear.)

In these difficulties, we have been brought into the presence of God. Over and over He has made “the storm a calm” (Psalm 107:29). Yesterday, we stood under a blue, blue sky beside the blue, blue waters of Oyster Bay on Long Island. All seemed right with our world. “Hitherto hath the Lord helped us.”  Berniece

P.s. Happy birthday to Abbygirl!

The MetLife building is below the cloud cover but clouds obscure the top floors of the Empire State Building. These buildings show me which way is north; I am south of them. The streets of Lower Manhattan were quiet when we came here before seven this morning.

I’ve noticed that not many people are on their cell phones during early morning commutes. Instead, they catch a little shut eye while riding the train to their day jobs. Bikes along with their riders took space in the train cars we rode on. Today is the Five Boro Bike Tour.

That’s where I quit writing quite a number of hours ago. They brought Laurence back to the hospital room where I waited for him while he had surgery to repair a tear in his eye along with a detached retina. It’s not how we planned to spend Sunday morning. The surgery was a success and now we, especially Laurence, will need to follow doctor’s orders and be patient so that his eye will heal properly, and his vision be restored. Please pray.

Your love, support, and prayers mean a lot. Minister Isaac Akinyombo and the Daramola family stopped by after church at Sugar Hill Mennonite Mission. We sometimes might think we’re alone in the city, but in times like these, we realize, that we aren’t. (I was quite cheered by the people who streamed in here when I broke my leg in January 2021).

Actually, we are so blessed. Last night, we relaxed while watching the waves roll in at Rockaway Beach before having yummy raman soup filled with noodles, seaweed, bok choy, ginger, mushrooms, bamboo shoots, chicken, and a hard boiled egg in miso broth. It was a nice bus ride home from the tiny restaurant on Rockaway.

So for Laurence to do nothing but keep his head face down for a short while should be tolerable. During this time, we can and will pray for others. 

Berniece

The p.s. will come in a few weeks. 👁️

I’m not a coffee shop blogger like so many are, but there is a sense of community in this environment, so here I am in Elm Rostery with a lavender latte. These people of Queens are my people. I don’t pretend to understand the various cultures surrounding me, speaking in languages I don’t know, but I feel at home here with these humble, hardworking people, many of whom came to Queens from war torn countries and Communist regimes.

Yesterday, I went to Domino Park on the Brooklyn waterfront. The old Domino Sugar Factory facade still stands, the inside converted to luxury apartments. There are awesome views of Brooklyn Bridge, Statue of Liberty, and the Manhattan and Brooklyn skylines from the park. However, I did not feel at home. I walked quickly through the park, trying (not with complete success) to focus on the beauty of the sunshine glinting on the East River rather than on the wealthy liberals sunbathing. (Yes, God loves them as much as he loves me, and I count some of them as friends!)

This blog took off in a completely different direction than I planned. And now I’m not certain where to go with it. I sigh a prayer.

God feels at home with the humble. I remember the patron near us in a crowded Italian restaurant. All mealtime, he visited about his brilliance, his expensive car, and the beautiful woman he dated – everyone in the room turned to look when he walked in with her.

As I type those last words, I hear, “Lord, I pray that you bless our community.” I look to the table beside mine and observe two young men and a young woman praying. It’s so beautiful.

“Lord,” I pray, “Clothe me with humility.” Berniece

P.s. I moved over to have a heart to heart visit with these young people – two from South Korea and one from Malaysia. A barista (he owns the coffee shop along with David, one of the South Koreans) came over to meet me and offered me a free coffee. (“Thank you, but I’m sufficiently caffeinated.”) God is working in Elmhurst. 😌

We do not have to go to Nigeria to worship with our African brothers and sisters. (Truthfully, they’re all American, but I expect there is that conflict with them, like it is with so many, about where home is.) Instead of a flight from JFK, we get a train ride along the Hudson River.

“Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!” I can easily wax nostalgic about the blessings we’ve shared in that lovely city beside the River. Let’s begin with the mission house on Cherry Street. My most outstanding memory is of a communion blessing, of sitting in the back row by the bay windows and sharing with Mama Akinyombo. She crossed over to the Other Side after that. We’ll meet again in Heaven.

I hold the memory of introducing the writing group to the worship service on Cherry Street. Papa encouraged us by saying words are powerful; the Church needs writers (brethren who write is what I say). That’s the day we surprised sisters Christianah and Yvette with a birthday party, and when I was thrilled to hear brothers Landon and Dayo discussing something electrical. (It made no sense to me 😊.) (The Nigerians always refer to me as, “Sister,” to Laurence as, “Brother,” to the preacher as, “Minister.” I’m trying.)

Bible school with Abigael, Anne, Madelyn, Elizabeth, Josiah, and Joshua, and others holds forever memories of a carefree time – of devotions, singing, playing, laughing, and eating. (Lunch was important.)

So many holiday celebrations.

The crew did the walkway on a Christmas when Tyson, Kari, and Jacob were there. We sat around a fire at the end, and someone got snow down their back. 😅 The schoolteacher memories are many: writing classes, recesses, programs, Elizabeth and Josiah’s excellent speeches, hiking, tea . . .

Today, we see dreams coming true with Abigael and Brandt’s June wedding in Poughkeepsie – Lord willing. “God makes everything beautiful in His time.”  Berniece

(All my memories would fill a book. You’re welcome to add yours.)

Let me take you on an excursion through a part of Queens that even I know little about. On our way to the 7 train, I’m excited to see that the Fa Da Bakery opened. I know you haven’t sampled these Chinese breads and pastries but I feel sure you would like them as much as we do. I’m tempted to buy mochi but the peanut ones are sold out, so I resist, and we walk out the door and past the Mexican mothers selling tamales until we reach the aboveground train station. The ride takes us by apartment building windows and the Mets Stadium. We observe planes descending over the bay and others taking off from LGA. Just before the last stop at Flushing, the train snakes underground.

A long escalator comes out at street level and lands us in China(town). This is not our destination, so we’ll save the tour of Chinese culture for another day. I know about a walkway that leads to the next block, and we’ll cross through there to wait for the Q13 bus. I’m feeling quite confident because I’ve done this part of the journey with Laurence. However, from now on, we’ll rely on Google Maps. It says 29 stops to our destination of “Turn the Page Again,” a used bookstore. Forgive me for not talking with you; there’s so much to see out the windows. Cherry trees are in full bloom in the landscaped yards of beautiful large homes that could be Anywhere, USA. Colorful restaurants draw me in. Churches. A large Chinese temple. The stops pass quickly and we reach our destination. Many small stores line this street. The one we want is the smallest of all. The little place lined with books makes my heart smile. One of the mentally challenged clerks operating it asks, “Are you doing okay?” I hear him suggesting books to a child – books that are beyond the child’s reading level. I buy the book, A Disappearance in Damascus, Friendship and Survival in the Shadow of War. (I recommend it.)

Do you think we should go on to Ft. Totten? The bus is coming that takes us there, so yes, let’s! It isn’t far. When we arrive, we walk to the Bay instead of into the Fort. We walk along the heavenly blue waters towards the graceful towers of Throgs Neck Bridge. I let Laurence know where we are. He replies with the Google Map address of a Little Free Library. (He understands my love of books.) Before catching the bus back, we’ll sit on this bench overlooking the bay. Can you think of a more beautiful place than right here: the water, the bridge, the distant hills, the lighthouses, and the old fort?

So ends the telling of yesterday’s outing. It’s home for us. I look around in wonder that we get to live here. Why us? Why don’t you? (You don’t want to?!) It’s too big for me to figure out. Berniece

P.s. Help! I switch between past and present in this article. Writing is hard work. I still have things to learn.

This morning I am in awe of the power of God, the One who is, “far above all principality, and might, and dominion” (Ephesians 1:21). He’s the One whose voice breaks the cedars of Lebanon (Psalm 29:5)

These thoughts came to me after a conversation in the basement laundry room yesterday. With dryer parts strewn on the floor, the repairman leaned against the white top of a table while I stood with my hands on my cart of clothes that were ready to fold and put in drawers. I asked Emmanuel (we were a long way into the conversation before we exchanged names) where he was from. His reply of “Haiti” led to a discussion of the chaos in his country, and of the situation in America. Finally, I said, “God is in control. He can do anything.”

“I am so glad you said that,” he replied. Later, he told me: “So, every morning,” he put his hands together in prayer and looked up beyond the ceiling pipes, “I say, ‘thank you God that you are in control.'” I waited to hear his prayer requests, as that is how I tend to pray, but there were none; only a thank you for God’s control.

I continue to think about good mental health. In my Bible I have a bookmark. On the back I’ve written, “Psalm 29: When we understand the sovereignty of God and worship Him, we can let go of stress, worry, depression, and anxiety. We can trust that God is in control.” (I do not know where I copied this from.)

I hear Laurence singing as he gets ready for another day of work at Elmhurst Hospital. Somewhere a mourning dove calls, making me think of my Kansas home. I’m going to make Indonesian noodles for breakfast with fried eggs on top. Many people in this world have noodles for breakfast. You should try it.

Have a blessed day. God is in control. Berniece

The white cherry trees bloom in Plane View Park tonight. Delta, Spirit, American Airlines fly low over the narrow strip of lawn before landing at LaGuardia Airport on the runway just across Grand Central Parkway.

In 1988, as new missionaries in the city, we’d stand by the bedroom windows in the Woodside apartment to watch the planes descend towards the airport. I recall standing by the windows that first week along with Reuben and Lydia Shirk. Today, we often walk the two miles to the park across from the runways.

We pass through residential neighborhoods on this walk. The lilacs are beginning to bloom. The smelling of them gave me a longing for a farm in Kansas with a playhouse behind the lilac bushes.

At 35th Avenue, I looked up to the top floor, corner apartment where Mrs. Balash resided. Five mornings a week for two years I walked to her place to make her breakfast, do her shopping, clean her tiny apartment, and get lunch on. The income helped pull us through those difficult first years of living here.

We brought the bus home tonight. I remember the first bus ride from the park in 2020 after that terrible time of lockdown when the streets became quiet and people died. How we climbed in the back door of the bus without paying a fare. A sign said, “What are you doing on here? Are you an essential worker?” Everyone was scared. We survived but Covid changed our lives.

Today began with a blessing. Israel and Sarah traveled from PA to have breakfast with us. It’s been 22 years since Israel hung his Amish hat on our hall tree. The Lord has been good to them and us, and we are so grateful!

Now it’s almost bedtime. May your night be restful.

Berniece

P.s. I appreciate those Whatsapp comments on the blog, but go ahead and post on here, my friends.

“With his (Jesus) stripes we (I am) are healed” (Isaiah 53:5). I stepped into the chapel of the Good Shepherd Church today to pray. I wanted to tell God, “I surrender all.”

I remember hiking a mountain trail with friends and being so tormented by the darkness that I could not see the beauty surrounding me. I asked Laurence to pray for me. Healing took time. A long time.

The assignment for the writing group I belong to is: “What affects your mental health, and how do you deal with it?” So, I’ve been thinking of a checklist for good mental health. I asked Laurence what to put on the list. What would you add?

• Holding no offense
• Spirit-led Bible reading
• Being thankful
• Applying the Philippians 4:8 principle
• Giving my loved one’s problems to God to solve; believing that He can take better care of them than I can.
• Stopping any and all fear the moment it enters my mind
• Going for a walk
• Work
• Enough sleep
• Spending time in the mountains, woods, the beach, or anywhere in God’s beautiful creation.
• Being moderate with phone time.
• Have good relationships
• Being unselfish
• Exercise
• Write

My experience on life’s journey is that the above list must begin with surrendering to God, saying, “Not my will but thine be done.” Then comes a peace that I can’t explain and my joy overflows.

Berniece

P.s.  It was a cold, windy market day but sales were good, and I enjoyed both co-workers and customers. It’s so wonderful that the F train is again stopping at Roosevelt Island.