An Ordinary Life

The world is quiet here. No traffic. No sound of planes taking off from LGA. Even inside our building, I don’t hear doors slamming, shoes clomping, or music playing. The city seems to be asleep after the big snow (approximately 10 inches here).

I do hear the sound of snow shovels. The snowplows went continuously yesterday, pushing  the snow up against parked cars, further trapping them. Buses kept running, but you do not want to drive if you don’t have to. It would be a real mess to dig out of a parking space today. To find a place to park would not be fun. The parking garages will be full.

On our short walk around the playground last evening, we saw more than one vehicle spinning as they tried to move. One man’s broom looked ineffective for snow removal from where he was stuck.

There will be plenty of opportunities for the young men from the mission to volunteer their time with snow shoveling.

People were taking photos against snowy backgrounds in the playground near here last evening to impress their families in warm weather countries.  For some of these immigrants, perhaps many of them, it will be the first time they’ve ever experienced a snowstorm or even seen snow.

My husband put on his boots and walked to work at Elmhurst Hospital this morning. He offered to work 12 hours since not all the employees will be able to be there. Laurence says it will be a slow day as most doctor visits will be done remotely. (Thanks to the pandemic instead of a snow day, there will also be school via remote.)

The forecast is to be in the deep freeze all week, so this snow won’t be melting anytime soon. I’m going to the grocery store to get ingredients to make soup for lunch. When I look out the window, I see someone walking in the middle of the street where the snow is cleared away.

Soup and hot tea, puzzles and books. Alaska is not calling. Phoenix is.

Berniece

It is very cold the day before the storm, so I donned layers of clothes to go to the library to pick up some books I’d requested. (One of them is about Istanbul because I’m interested in that ancient city.)

When Laurence and I walked by a church on Broadway, we saw a sign about a Myanmar (Burma) bazaar. Spontaneously, we walked into the church hall and mingled among the hundreds of Burmese people. On the stage a girl sang as a band played. Vendors sold the foods of their country: noodles, meat, eggs, dumplings, fermented tea leaf salad, fritters, and more. (I cannot tell you the proper name for these strange-to-me foods.) We bought a sweet that was made with palm sugar and coconut. The vendor was sorry, but he didn’t know the English name. (I doubt it had one.) There were also vendors selling crafts.

I don’t know if you can relate to the deep feeling of satisfaction I had at experiencing a slice of Burma while in Queens. As we left, I told Laurence, “This makes me so happy.”

After leaving the library, we looked at the menu in the window of a Malaysian restaurant. We checked out the food buffet at the Chinese restaurant called, “Five Loaves and Two Small Fishes” (they have a box of gospel tracts), and then went into the large Asian market where they sell everything from rice to live frogs. In all our years of shopping there, which is several times a week, I have never seen so many people. Politeness is not the culture nor was it really possible among the thousands of customers besides the workers, pushing boxes of produce. (Like sweet potatoes from Livingston, CA. I don’t know for sure but we have seen them there.) Long lines stretched to the 10 cashiers. The only reason I can think of for the crowds is the predicted snowstorm.

The Chinese danced in the playground despite the cold. The homeless stood around with food and hot drinks that someone must have brought them.

I’m finishing this as we travel home on the Long Island Railroad. Laurence and I went to a Japanese restaurant in Port Washington for supper. I had sushi and Laurence shrimp ramen. They know us there. We have our table. While we ate, I enjoyed watching the sushi chefs with their white aprons and black cloth caps.

This has turned into a foodie blog. It must be the cold weather that makes me want to try all these different ethnic foods. Yesterday, I ate Greek with friends down by the bay, also in Port Washington.

I’ll close with a New York greeting on a day before a snowstorm: “Stay safe.”

Berniece

P.s. The trains will run, and we will go to church.

“You are brave,” the country girl said to me after my last post about taking the train for groceries and then stopping to donate blood.

Braveness is not what I feel when I’m on home turf. It’s normal life for me to take the train to buy groceries, to walk among hundreds of people when I’m going to market, or to tap an OMNY card for a bus ride to the sea.

Normal is climbing four sets of steps out of Elmhurst subway station. Then I trudge up three flights to our apartment. There are five locks on the door into our apartment, but we only use one deadbolt. We feel safe here. We also feel safe on the city streets in our neighborhood. I would not be afraid to walk alone at any time. (But one doesn’t walk alone in this city that never sleeps.)

The sounds of sirens, of planes taking off, and of the neighbor’s voices are around us, but usually they are not annoying. We hear apartment doors slam and people talking in the entry.

Normal is taking the train to church. Last Sunday some of our brothers and sisters were on the same train and in the same car as us. They did not know we lived here. We did not know they were in the city. Such a delightful surprise. It is not normal to run into our people in the city.

The sanctuary in Harlem fills with dear ones of different nationalities and cultures, so it isn’t the American typical Sunday school discussions, but God is present, and we are inspired. Afterwards, the routine is dinner in the fellowship hall. Truly, it is fellowship of the best kind, and there is no place we’d rather be.

The hospital where my husband works is a few blocks away from our apartment. Not only has it provided our living for many years, but it’s taken good care of our medical needs. We are not strangers there.

A few people say, “I could live here.” Many more tell me, “I could never live here.” Long ago I would have said that too, but that was before I knew the plans God had for us. The city is my home. I’m glad I live here, and while I’m here, I look for a city whose builder and maker is God (Hebrews 11:10).

Berniece

This is an interesting title for a bad experience. Stay with me to the end, to understand how I knew praise.

I remember the call to prayer before going out into the darkness to ride the train to Trader Joe’s for a few groceries. I’ve done this outing many times, so why a special prayer? I do not remember if I prayed or not, but I understand now why it would have been good to kneel down and pray.

I took the train to Forest Hills and walked to Trader Joe’s where I filled the rolling backpack with groceries and set off for the subway station. On impulse, I turned into a New York blood donor center and inquired about giving blood. Yes, I could. It would take 45 minutes. It was a brand new facility and the people were kind. I filled out a form and then relaxed as the blood flowed from me. Afterwards, I felt okay, but I did sit down to drink a bottle of juice and to have a cookie before walking back to the subway station.

Since I’d just given blood and because of the heavy backpack, I decided I’d use the elevator instead of stairs to go down to the turnstile entrance. I was surprised at how dizzy I felt while I waited. The elevator arrived. I made it to the train platform and onto the train. All would be well, or so I thought.

I rode several stops to our station, got off the train, and carried the heavy backpack up a flight of stairs, ignoring the instructions of no lifting for a day. I had three more flights to go before getting out of the station. I felt terrible. I could not go on, and I leaned against a pole. When I thought I could continue, I climbed a few steps and then realized that with my foggy state of mind I hadn’t brought the backpack along. I returned to my backpack. I knew then that I’d have to ask for help.

In desperation, I stopped a man coming down the steps and said, “Can you help me?”

He said, thinking I wanted in the subway system, “Don’t worry. I’ll open the gate for you.”

“No,” I said, “I gave blood. I feel like I’m going to faint.”

“You need to sit down,” he replied. I listened and sat down on a dirty step. “You need a drink of water. I’m sorry all I have is alcohol.” (God can use anyone! Even the partially drunk guy looking for shelter in a subway station. The man was so kind.) I told him that what I really need is someone to carry my bag up the steps.

“Don’t worry. I will carry your bag whenever you’re ready.”

My mind wasn’t clear, but I figured I was ready. The man picked up my bag, and we walked out. I even dug a couple dollars from my billfold to give him, saying, “Don’t use it to buy alcohol.” I assured him that I’d be alright, and he went back down into the station.

I took a few steps before fainting and falling onto the sidewalk. A young man asked if I’m okay. I thought I’d tripped, and as I got up, I told him I was fine. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, before walking on. I fainted the second time. (My mind wasn’t functioning too well and how it all happened isn’t clear to me.) At some point, I sat down by the entrance to an apartment building. I fainted a third time and I fell off the small pillar I was sitting on.

I realized then that though I was only a block from home, I was completely helpless. In my desperation, I called Laurence who by now was home from work. Laurence came and rescued me. He took the bag. He held onto me, and we got home where he made me lay down with my legs propped up. (He’s had some experience with people fainting after drawing blood.) I recovered my equilibrium, and I knew I’d survive.

Before going to bed last evening, I read how my friend chose praise for her word of the year. Praise flowed through me as I fell asleep and it did again this morning. When I was helpless, God kept me. He took care of me. “I will extol the LORD at all times; his praise will always be on my lips” (Psalm 34:1 NIV).

The experience was not pleasant, but the result could have been much worse. Next time, I’ll eat more snacks, have someone with me, and I will not carry anything heavy. Or maybe there won’t be a next time. Maybe I’m getting too old to give blood.

Berniece

We’re enjoying eggnog and Christmas goodies after an evening outing to Howard Beach here in Queens. The bus dropped us off near Danny’s, a favorite Chinese restaurant that fills with Italian families. After dining on pan fried noodles and dumplings, we walked through a few blocks of the residential area, looking at the Christmas lights. Words will not describe the magnificence of the displays. My favorite was a large nativity scene. We could go every night for a week but we still wouldn’t see it all.

The streets were silent as we walked behind Crossbay Boulevard except for the lone and lonely man who climbed out of his car as we walked by. He shook our hands, told us his name, and wondered if we’d heard him on the radio. He then recited a poem that he’d written about his mother.

The scene this evening was so different than when I walked on Roosevelt to Junction Boulevard today. Laurence says, “Take your passport when you go out there.” He means that it’s like another country and you won’t be seeing tourists. The streets were not quiet. Food vendors sold tacos, empanadas, hot drinks, fried goodies, charcoaled meats …

Out there you could do all your shopping at the sidewalk vendors. Tables full of gloves, Santa hats, ear muffs, stuffed animals, perfumes, jackets, shoes, knock off sunglasses, gift bags, Tupperware and more lined one beside another with people, people everywhere. Everyone was talking in Spanish. (Wouldn’t you like to be a missionary among those humble, lovely people?) The barber shops were full! “Corte de cabello.” The hairdresser was also out on the street, braiding a girl’s hair while the mother looked on with approval.

Families are celebrating Christmas tonight. We miss our families. But we get to be here and tomorrow we’ll be with friends at Sugar Hill Mennonite Mission in Harlem.

Merry Christmas! Berniece

Ps We fondly remember the year Nathan and Tori, Jesse and Heather, and Royce and Sarah came for a week at Christmas or when the James Koehn family did. We recall the Christmas day when the living room was filled with the Akinyombos and the Benns…so many memories.

“Loving Father, Help us remember the birth of Jesus, that we may share in the song of angels, the gladness of the shepherds, and the worship of the wise men.

Close the door of hate and open the door of love all over the world. Let kindness come with every gift and good desires with every greeting.

Deliver us from evil by the blessing which Christ brings, and teach us to be merry with clean hearts. May the Christmas morning make us happy to be Thy children, and the Christmas evening bring us to our beds with grateful thoughts, forgiving and forgiven, for Jesus’ sake, Amen!”

Advent: a. the coming of Christ at the Incarnation
b: second coming

Joseph led Mary out of the darkness of a Kansas night into the circle of light where I stood with the group we’d been assigned to by the young couple at the Lonetree Church. Joseph knocked on the door of the inn. “No room,” the innkeeper intoned, before having his son lead the couple to a stable. We next observed the youthful Mary and Joseph, as portrayed in a live Nativity scene, sweetly sitting with baby Jesus among bales of hay. Sheep munched on the straw. A cow mooed.

Out on the hills, shepherds watched their sheep. “An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid, I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord'” (Luke 2:9-11 NIV).

The Christmas story inspired me anew that evening in Kansas. I am a part of the vast number of people who know about the babe born in Bethlehem. We are God’s children. We celebrate the season with carols, programs, by giving gifts, and with eating peppernuts and other goodies. We share the good news on the streets and subways of New York City.

Christ has come. Someday, soon he is coming again. The Advent season not only looks at the babe born in Bethlehem, but it is also a time to be prepared for his second coming.

“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests” (Luke 2:14 NIV).

May the peace of God rest upon you this Christmas season as we remember Jesus’s birth, and as we anticipate his return.

Berniece

The GW Bridge and the NYC skyline come into view as we ride this Metro North train into Grand Central from Tarrytown.

Likely there were more tourists than commuters in the great room of Grand Central this morning when we left from the lower level of the station. Large Christmas wreaths artfully decorated the station.

We did not ride far along the Hudson River before getting off at Irvington and making our way up to the Aquaduct Trail. We only walked a portion of the historic 41-mile linear park that follows a 19th-century water tunnel. Through woods, past large, old homes we hiked until coming to the grounds of the Lyndhurst estate. The Greek Revival Mansion built in 1838 was added onto in 1864 by Jay Gould. Its 14,000 square feet has over 90 per cent of the original furnishings in its elaborate rooms.  We came here for the holiday tour. It was our first time in the mansion though we’ve been on the grounds.

(And now we wait along with another train for a drawbridge on the Harlem River to close.)

The tour group met in the carriage house. It went past the children’s playhouse. (It had a phone in it so the girls could call the servants to bring tea.) Before going in the guide told us that there are 75 Christmas trees in the house. It was a happy holiday thing to do, and we learned a thing or two about the history and the generosity of the richest man in America at that time.

Afterwards we walked another mile on the trail and into Tarrytown where we ate Greek food, including baklava. Then we went down, down towards the river to the train station.

We’re back among the buildings and trash, graffiti, and people of Harlem. There’s a building in Harlem where we worship. Tomorrow we’ll bring the subway back here and we’ll be glad that we get to live and worship in NYC.

But today we left the city for a Christmas outing. We said, “Let’s remember this outing, remember what we have. Someday, we’ll move from the city. Maybe we’ll spend Christmas with family then. However, now we have this, and we are glad.”

(The train still waits and while most passengers are chatty and patient, one young man loudly proclaims, “This is horrible.”)

Merry Christmas!

Berniece

It wasn’t Bethlehem but rather, on the Kansas plains where the story of our Savior’s birth came alive. The Roman census takers demanded our names and birth dates before allowing us to enter the market of Bethlehem with its bedlam of market vendors selling herbs, handwoven baskets, fruits, and vegetables. A young girl held a lamb, the money changers argued, and over a fire, a whole chicken roasted.

The inn had no room. A cow mooed and sheep munched hay in the crude stable where the youthful Mary sat sweetly holding the Christ child. White-robed angels sang from on high, proclaiming that a Savior had been born. The shepherds consulted and left their sheep to go find the baby.

The newly engaged King Herod did his best to appear stern and powerful when the Wisemen appeared. The girl guiding us held a lantern on the path lit by hundreds of luminaries. She encouraged our group to stay together as we followed her to the place where the Star hung over the house of Joseph, Mary, and our Savior. The royally-dressed Wisemen came offering their gifts. We petted the three camels.

Let’s sing, “Joy to the World,” the girl said. “Joy to the world the Lord has come.” We rejoiced together in the calm, peacefulness of the night air at the coming of the King of kings. In our hearts, we knew the birth of Jesus is true. However, on this evening the young people of the Lonetree Church gave special meaning to the reason for Christmas. Thank you!

I wished I could take my Muslim friends on the journey. We have a story to tell.

“Go, tell it on the mountain
Over the hills and everywhere
Go, tell it on the mountain
That Jesus Christ is born.”

Berniece

ps We enjoyed the cookies, hot chocolate, and visiting around the bonfires afterwards!

Jesus is everything to me. I’m thankful to know him and the power of his resurrection. I’m thankful for the Spirit that guides me into all truth. I’m grateful for God’s grace to me that I can be one of his children and a part of his church.

I continue to marvel at the beautiful church building we have in NYC. I’m thankful for the people who have served and are serving here. I’m thankful for the outreach these people do and for how the sanctuary fills on Sundays. I’m thankful for Queens gospel tract workers. I love that they have baby Willow Ann!

I’m also thankful for the church in Poughkeepsie, for our brothers and sisters there, and how they accept me as one of them. The God of heaven has blessed me with small insight into many of the cultures of the people he made. I’m especially grateful to have a Liberian granddaughter who shares my love for beaches and bubble tea.

I’m blessed to have known a country childhood on a simple farm with a loving family, with Sunday dinners at Grandpas’, and holidays spent surrounded by cousins.

I thank God that by going forth in faith, he’s provided for our needs. It’s because of him that we live here. He opened the door for Elmhurst Hospital to employ Laurence, and God knows how little I had to do with being placed in a farmer’s market on Roosevelt Island.

Tears of gratitude come for God’s call to Israel and Sarah and that they chose him. I’m thankful God will continue to draw people to him from the rising of the sun to the going down thereof.

Laurence brought me coffee this morning, like he does every morning. God spoke through his Word, like he does every morning. It’s all about him! To him be glory and power for ever and ever! In Jesus name, Amen.

Berniece