Author Archives: Berniece

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.

New Yorkers get a lot of bad rap for being rude, pushy, and cheat you if they can. I could write that post, but this is my town, and there’s a lot of kindness among its people.

We got on this almost full bus and stood squished toward the front. I had a shoe that needed to be tied. The laces threatened to trip me; Laurence accidentally stepped on one of them. The bus jerked and swayed. My mom taught me to be ladylike, but all grace fled. Then a not so young lady sitting in front of me bent over and tied my shoe! I was so appreciative, and it humbled me.

I recall the Bangladeshi man who stepped back to hold his umbrella over me while we crossed an intersection in a downpour, or the strong businessman who lifted Little Berniece’s stroller and carried it several flights out of a subway station. Recently, another bus rider informed me that my cell phone was about to slip from my jacket pocket.

There are many more such stories, but we’re about to arrive at Ft. Totten for a picnic with our friends. Perhaps, you have some stories to share of encounters with friendly New Yorkers. Berniece

I picked up “The Eclipser” glasses for the 2024 Viewing Party behind the New York Hall of Science. Many people were there ahead of me, and I scanned the lawn for a spot, spying one at the top of a small ridge. I opened my picnic blanket beside a woman of my age who said this was her first time seeing an eclipse. People continued to swarm in with camp chairs, blankets, food, and drinks. A few of the Queens Night Market vendors had set up booths, and I planned to at least buy a drink, but the lines were much too long. (I got delayed while writing this as I saw an article about the Night Market – a foodie lover’s delight and cheap prices too. I can hardly wait for the season to begin on April 27.)

We put our glasses on and watched as the moon began to come between the earth and the sun. The live music could not be ignored, but far more impressive was the amazing order of God’s creation. Once, the music stopped because a small  boy wearing a gray T-shirt was lost. “Please, listen,” the DJ said, “His name is Luke. Look around for a boy in a T-shirt. Call for Luke.”

And a thousand people or more called, “Luke.” Then the DJ announced, “He’s coming from the bathroom. Luke was in the bathroom.” And a thousand people or more clapped.

On my back, my head propped up, I beheld the finale at 3:25 pm when 90 % of the sun was covered. It was truly amazing, and I’m so glad I went. I almost didn’t as it was only this morning that I decided I shouldn’t miss this spectacular event.

I soon picked up my blanket, told my eclipse friend good-bye, and walked into Flushing Meadows Park. I noticed the quiet, the birds singing, and the cows and sheep in the zoo. I walked on, stopping now and then to check out the sun. Others in the large park were doing the same. Some were having their own eclipse parties on the lawn under the trees. It’s spring and the park is beautiful. I meandered for maybe a mile before going up the ramp and bringing the 7 train home.

It was an unforgettable eclipse experience. Tell me about yours. Berniece

It’s noisy in the Elmhurst Station this morning. The homeless community at the entrance level carries on a lively discussion in Spanish. The R train rolled in as I typed that last statement, and I’ve already transferred to an F train that waited briefly at Roosevelt for the R train riders wanting to switch. I’m rejoicing this morning that after months of alternative routes, the F train will stop at Roosevelt Island.

Because I arrived at the Island very quickly – it’s early – I will finish this blog to you from my seat here beside the East River. Delicate white blossoms of cherry trees wave beside me. The architectural marvel of the Queensboro Bridge crosses the river with the tram rising beside it, carrying people to Manhattan. Sunshine reflects off skyscrapers, the sky tinged with a faint pink. A tug pushes a barge up the river. In the distance, I see the stately United Nations building. I listen to birds sing amongst the constant roar of Manhattan traffic.

This is my world this Saturday morning. God bless your day. My verse today: “I know that my Redeemer liveth.” Berniece

“What is your country?” I asked. I knew I likely was pushing the restaurant manager to tell me something that wasn’t easy, but I needed to know the answer. “We are Uyghur,” he replied.

“I know, but what is your country?”

“We came here from (northwest) China, but China,” and his voice trailed off. I understood why. The Uyghurs are a people and a culture without a country. Their beautiful land and peaceful lifestyle has been invaded; they have suffered genocide at the hands of the communist Chinese. The people we saw in the restaurant last evening seemed to me to be those who have experienced great heartache.

We’d been on the bus to Panda Express (how boring is that!?) when we saw an open sign on Uyghur Lagman House. “Shall we go there instead?” I asked Laurence.

“If you want.” We got off the bus at the next stop and walked back to the restaurant. We passed the Samarkand restaurant where we like to go for special occasions. It’s owned by Uzbek Jews so wouldn’t open until sundown. (It was the Sabbath.) We expected the Uyghur menu to be much the same as Samarkand since we’re talking Central Asia and it was. We had the most delicious lagman (noodles) dish with lamb and manti (dumplings) filled with lamb. The manti came with sour cream. Their unique stringed instruments decorated the walls, along with pictures of their homeland, and decorated prayer caps. A blue and white design running around the border made me think of Asia. I felt so glad to live here and experience this place. It was their opening day.

These gentle people are Muslim. There are not many of them in NYC. I feel small when I think about their need for Jesus. This morning, it came to me that I can pray for them. Our God is not small. He made them, and he loves them.

Berniece

“I’ve prayed more for them than I have for anyone else,” Grandpa told me when I called to tell him about our miracle meeting with a Haitian sister who had left the Fold.

We went to the large church in Queens to help friends with serving a meal to the homeless community. A Haitian youth girl and I chatted together while observing the crowd in that basement dining hall. After telling Jasmin about my grandparents’ service in Haiti, she said, “I’m going to tell my mother.” In a short time, the mother came and wrapped her arms around me in a hug. Madam had worked for my grandparents while they were missionaries in Haiti. Her and her husband had been members of the Church of God in Christ, Mennonite, in Haiti, but they had walked away from God and the Church.

It wasn’t hard for our God who hears prayer to bring two people from two different backgrounds and places together in a church basement in Jamaica, Queens. (It does look impossible to me!)

Since then, we have been witness to these miracle meetings a number of times: The Pakistani man who stopped his van where I stood on Broadway. He had often worshipped with us before moving to Toronto; the lady at a picnic table in New Hampshire who said she’d once wore a prayer covering; the sister who walked away from the Church but who fell into my arms when God put us  both on the second floor of Elmhurst Hospital. Recently, while in a park, a dad pushing his child in a stroller began talking to us. He looked quite shocked when I called him by name. Somewhere, Michael has loved ones praying for him.

I write this to give you courage today. God hears our prayers, and all power belongs to Him! “He is able.” Berniece

My uncle Dean said at the service for his retirement from the ministry last evening that this song sung at his ordination had guided his ministry. I believe it was also the theme of his dad’s, my grandpa Becker’s calling.

At a Becker picnic back in the good ole days Uncle Dean told me, “Home is where your husband is.” Honestly, it didn’t seem like good days to me as right then all our earthly goods were packed in a U-haul for the move from Idaho to Georgia. I had no clue how this path would take us to a lifetime in New York City, to the one of the most, if not the most, diverse counties in the world.

Home is Elmhurst, Queens, where my husband is. Last evening, we watched as the smiling Tibetans circled to the music of their homeland. Once, a young woman stepped beside me at an intersection. She said, “I recognize you from the Colombian restaurant where I used to work.” Coming into our building some years ago, a group of monks in the rust-colored robes of the nearby Thai temple stood waiting for the elevator. Today, (after an appointment for his eye (thank you for praying)), Laurence will take the vital signs on patients from Mexico, China, India, South Korea . . . He works with nurses from Uzbekistan, Nepal, Russia, Jamaica, and many other countries. Jesus says, “All power is given unto me. Go.”

How blessed we are to live and work among all God’s children. The Gospel story, “Must be told.” Are we telling it? Berniece