Author Archives: Berniece

My world is quiet this morning except for the sound of a shovel scraping on the sidewalk. The superintendent clears a path for those who must go to work. Snowflakes fall against a gray background. White layers the rooftops outside our bedroom window and softly piles on the narrow ledge of a red fire escape.

It’s such a contrast from two weeks ago when we hiked the dusty, narrow trails of Sabino Canyon in Tucson with James, Kris, Caleb, and Daniel. How good it felt then to cool my feet in the cold waters of a small pool at the bottom of the canyon.

Laurence looked out from under his jacket hood to where I stood by the living room window and waved goodbye this morning. He’s off to work in a clinic at Elmhurst Hospital. Likely, patients will cancel appointments, and the usual chaos of Medical Primary Care will know a rare calm. I have a dress to sew today, some proofreading for a friend, food to cook, and the Spanish language to study.

I marked Psalm 51:7 in my Bible this morning: “Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.”

Have a good day! Berniece

Today is Laurence’s birthday. I stop writing to look out at rooftops with the bare branches of trees rising above them. Because I married Laurence, I get to live in this place.

I smile to myself, recalling those first years here when we roamed the city from Bronx to Brooklyn, from brownstones to large apartment complexes, from the J Train at Woodhull Hospital to the last stop on the D Train at Coney Island. We carried tracts everywhere we went: “Would you like a Gospel tract to read?”

I felt quite pleased to be his wife when in 1999, Laurence graduated valedictorian, giving a speech that had his classmates laughing and nodding in agreement. His 26 years at Elmhurst have not been without stress, but he continues to take patients vitals and to listen to their complaints and praise. He skillfully draws my blood when I’m the patient and checks to see that I’m moving through the system. His coworkers greet me, “You’re Penner’s wife.” Laurence gets to come home for lunch with me.

Covid was hard! At times, the symptoms still bother. However, we continue to walk city streets and climb mountain trails. Tonight, we’ll dine at an Uzbek restaurant. With Laurence, I get to experience the cultures of the world.

Laurence is not planning to retire this year.

Happy Lunar New Year! Lunar New Year is a big deal in Elmhurst where we live. Berniece

Sorry about the bold letters. It didn’t work to copy and paste the article below. Anyway, what I want to say is that I am open to your direction! Increasingly, these authors are being read by my sisters. This morning, I typed, Why are Sarah Young’s books deceptive?” What I read further alarmed me. Do I have wrong thinking about these books??

I threw Jesus Calling by Sarah Young into the trash at the Chicago O’Hare Airport. I felt empty, bereft after the garbage can swallowed the book. I’d had a similar experience with Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts when I’d checked it out from the library. I’d just gotten into the book when God asked me to leave it alone and return it.

Why did the Holy Spirit whisper that I shouldn’t read these books?

As a little girl, I’d sleep with a Raggedy Ann doll wrapped tightly in my arms. This illustration came to me as I thought of devotional books written by those who teach another Jesus (2 Corinthians 11:4). “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me” (Matthew 16:24). Modern day devotionals often craftily teach an independent spirit that says, “How I live is between me and a Jesus who loves me intimately.” This spirit does not need a brotherhood.

Sarah Young says in Jesus Calling, “When your Joy in Me meets My Joy in you, there are fireworks of heavenly ecstasy.” Or again, “Wear my Love like a cloak of Light, covering you from head to toe.” Is this Jesus speaking? No! These are the words of a modern, liberal woman. This teaches another Jesus and delves into the occult.

The same goes for Ann Voskamp in One Thousand Gifts. The message of “In everything give thanks” (1 Thessalonians 5:16) is biblical and important, but her book teaches false doctrine. Voskamp says, “Mystical union. This is the highest degree of importance. God as Husband in sacred wedlock, bound together, body, and soul, fed by His body, quenched by His blood. . . God, He has blessed – caressed. I could bless God – caress with thanks.

The last chapter of the Bible says, “For I testify unto every man that heareth the words of the prophecy of this book, If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book: And if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life, and out of the holy city, and from the things which are written in this book.”

The Bible is a safe guide. Let’s read it and other sound teachings printed by the Church. Truth unites us with our brothers and sisters. “Buy the truth and sell it not.” Berniece 8/29/22

“Jesus came to give life and to give it more abundantly. Abundance is more than enough. Do you know what it means to sacrifice everything so that you can have . . . more than enough? More than enough joy. More than enough peace. More than enough satisfaction. More than enough hope. And finally, more than enough assurance of a home in Heaven.”

These are words from the sermon preached last Sunday in Phoenix by Minister Wayne Amoth. Today, because of Jesus, I am experiencing “more than enough” in a desert place. Along with Laurence’s little sister and family, we have walked the streets of Nogales, Mexico, hiked miles through a canyon, ate delicious barbecue, spent time around a fire while Sister roasted marshmallows, heard coyotes, and had javalinas walk through the patio of our vacation rental. However, I can testify from experience that if it were not for the peace that comes with the absence of fear and turmoil, I would not be so happy here.

We are blessed with being able to leave city chaos to see these places of natural beauty, of mountains and desert, the sea and lakes. The devil likes to follow us to these places; I know what it is to be tormented on a canyon hiking trail. However, thanks to Jesus, today I’m experiencing “more than enough.” You can too. God bless! Berniece

P.s. What happens when a football hits a Saguaro cactus?

Small home where God dwells. Plants and a worn Bible grace the antique desk beside the bed. Two chairs sit in the bedroom. This room is a sanctuary; peace washes over me as I walk through the bedroom door.

We have a small table in the tiny kitchen where we take our meals. The countertop is big enough to shape loaves of bread and to roll out a pie crust. (However, I don’t feel peaceful rolling out pie dough, so that rarely happens.) The one window in the tiny kitchen looks into the tiny kitchens of other apartments.

Just now, my sewing machine sits on the dining table with an unfinished dress beside it. That room is a dining room, living room, spare bedroom, and sewing room. It’s been a church room. So many memories with so many people have been made in that room.

I’m glad we have a little foyer. The cupboard from Coca who died is there along with the great-grandpa bench from a sod house, my grandma’s sewing rocker, and the Bible from Laurence’s grandpa Dyck. The quilt with the New York skyline that Jennifer Messian made for me when I broke my leg is on the rocker. A quilt from Laurence’s mother is on the bench. My wedding china is in the cupboard. My favorite books are in the built-in bookcase.

We also have a tiny bathroom with a maroon bathtub. A metal hamper and medicine cabinet attached to the wall were put there when this building was built in 1938.

We are content with small.

And with neighbors on the other side of the wall. As I type, I hear their laughter. May your mouth be filled with laughter. (Psalm 126) Berniece

I am a New Yorker. I feel one with the people of every tribe and nation around me in the Long Island City courthouse. I’m a New Yorker in this little cafe, eating a Greek salad with lots of chickpeas while totally ignoring the attorney beside me, the one in whose courtroom I sit as they select a jury.

The ever so familiar 7 train pulls into the Court Square Station near here. I rode it to arrive at the courthouse this morning. I rode smashed and crushed while totally ignoring the people in my personal space. New Yorkers know how to ignore.

When I’d finished lunch, I stepped through the slush back to the courthouse. We had our first snowfall this morning. It would have been a good day to hole up in our apartment with a book.

I ended up in a court room with the same woman I sat by in Central Jury. We seemed destined to sit together as we found ourselves side by side for a second time. I glanced at her info and pointed out to her that we’re the same age. After taking a phone call, she confided in me that her son is in the emergency room. She was so worried. I told her I would pray. Just now, as I walked by, she said, “He’s much better,” the burden lifted from her countenance.

“Thank God,” I replied.

Ignoring. Caring. Riding trains. Walking city streets. I’m a New Yorker.

More than this, I’m a child of God; therefore, I cannot serve on a jury. Say a prayer for me. I will for you. Berniece

If you could have walked with me the two blocks to the Chinese bakery for some breakfast buns this morning, you would have seen that truly this is the city that never sleeps. (All these people, give me a sense of security!)

The playground was alive with colorful Asian groups exercising, along with the silent protesters of the Fulan Gong cult. (Labeled such by the Chinese government. I cannot say if it is or isn’t.) You will see these groups in the playground every morning of the week, so I did not detour to watch the Asians dance though it’s interesting enough.

I went because I saw the Word being preached. I heard, “Repent. Jesus saves.” I saw a line of ragged homeless men respectfully listening while “being warmed and filled” with hot soup. Along with a salvation banner, there was a South Korean and a United States flag.

There are large South Korean churches in our community. If I understand correctly, these churches are themselves the result of missionaries to South Korea in the latter 1800’s.and early 1900’s. Isaiah 55:11 So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.

I am thankful for the Word being spread with compassion in our community. Have a blessed Sunday. Berniece

P.s. Meanwhile, North Korea is a closed and a dark country. There aren’t many North Koreans in NYC. (Maybe only two!) Pray for the North Koreans.

Don’t you love today’s Sunday school lesson? Jesus showed compassion to a crazy man. Someone who wasn’t asking for healing, but who rather, told Jesus to leave him alone. Jesus healed him anyway, and he was forever grateful. The modern picture I get in my mind just now is of one of today’s elders in warm conversation with his brethren, relating the story of his craziness, and then, how Jesus changed him.

“I love to tell the story!” As a child, I listened to my Grandpa Becker’s enthusiasm for telling the story, especially in the Haiti and Mexico missions. A favorite song of grandpa’s was, “It Must Be Told.” He did not approve of, “all because we do not love them millions fill the heathen grave.” Grandpa loved the souls of mankind.

I’ve been given the opportunity to let the Light shine among the masses of humanity. What should be my reaction to the ‘crazy’ people begging on Broadway? The customers at the Farmer’s Market have endeared themselves to me. It’s such a wonderful opportunity to let the Light shine. Laurence too has many chances to witness for Truth to both patients and coworkers.

There’s snow on tree branches and mountains as we rumble along on the train to worship in Poughkeepsie. “Lord,” I pray, “Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.” Jesus in me, and I have a story to tell. “Go tell it on the mountain.” Berniece

P.s. We just passed the island where the sisters lived who wrote the song, “Jesus loves me.”

I’ve finished the weekly cleaning of this small apartment. French bread bakes. I plan to take it to Poughkeepsie for Sunday dinner with the Akinyombo family.

Evenings, Laurence and I walk. The walk we’ve done most often is to Plane View Park. It’s a nice two mile walk through Jackson Heights neighborhoods. This week, homes and yards were still decorated with Christmas lights. The planes roared for take off from the runway at LGA. When it’s cloudy, we can count on them swooping down just over our heads before screeching to a stop lest they land in the bay. (It has happened.) We walk to the park but ride the bus back.

Bus rides are almost as enjoyable as the walk, mainly because its relaxation with a view. Often we ride the bus to Forest Park and walk there. We did it again this week. This time, we didn’t walk in the woods but rather, went to the side where the picnic tables are. Laurence shone a light on the wooded path around a pond, but we didn’t need it once we made our way out to where park lamps light the way. Thanks to bare tree branches, the lights in the distance defined Rockaway and the Jamaica Bay. We’d always wondered if we could see out to the ocean. Now we know that it’s possible.

A walk this week took us from this neighborhood to the former one where life in NYC began for us. So many memories come with walking to a small triangle park in Woodside. We recall crossing it that very first evening in August 1988 along with Reuben and Lydia Shirk to eat seafood at the corner restaurant (now an Irish bar). The emotions of the unknown of that time would have wondered to know that 35 years later, we would truly feel at home on a park bench beneath the 7 train. (How young we and Reubens must have been.)

The God of then is the God of today. This comforts me. Laurence will soon be home for lunch. He will probably ask, “Do you have plans for the evening?” Likely, we’ll walk somewhere. And now I need to walk to the Asian market for some fish for lunch.

Have a good weekend and keep walking. Berniece

“Good morning, folks, and a Happy New Year,” the conductor says. The red digital letters at the front of this train car read, “Yankees – E 153rd St.” I imagine Randy and Rachel, Roger and Elsie, Layne, Zach, Tristan, and Jared on the platform outside of Yankee Stadium, waiting to board car 4207. What better way to start the New Year than to walk into Grand Central, to meet up with friends to hike the Aqueduct Trail, and to eat hibachi in Tarrytown!?

On the way into Grand Central, a lady from nearby Jackson Heights told me, “You know, I feel like I’m beginning the new year by climbing a mountain.” We continued visiting. I told her that we’re going hiking. “So,” she said, “You’re looking forward to climbing a mountain.”

January 2, 2024

Our friends walked into the train car, and I cut this post short by publishing it, and engaging with them in conversation while enjoying the view from the train car windows. We had a memorable day together that ended with a walk beside the Hudson River, past the lighthouse, and on to a park with unbeatable views of the river, the hills, and the graceful Tarrytown bridge. When Laurence and I passed through Grand Central on the way home, we thought we’d hardly seen the great room so filled with people – mostly tourists.

Today, I cannot help but remember a year ago: of waking up in a cabin at Bear Mountain and seeing out the window, Abigael and Elizabeth leaving for the river at sunrise. A maintenance man walked into the cabin just at devotional time. I opened my eyes after Papa Akinyombo’s lengthy New Year’s benediction to see the man had joined the large circle of brothers and sisters praying. With his cap in his hand he told us how that morning in the cabin with us, he had been in church.

Afterwards, some of us hiked up the mountain. There, at the top, with a view that reached to the Manhattan skyline, my phone rang. It was a doctor calling from Elmhurst Hospital to tell me our neighbor Coca had died. I cried. On the way down, I stepped off the trail to call Jose, another neighbor, who was vacationing in Colombia. We discussed Coca’s life and death and the arrangements that needed to be made. Jose spread Coca’s ashes in Central Park. Her apartment sits empty and will soon come up for sale.

We climbed other mountain trails in 2023. We anticipate climbing some in 2024, if time continues. God’s presence has been and will be with us literally and figuratively on the trails of life. We anticipate the view from the top.

Happy New Year! Berniece