Author Archives: 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

“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 Aquaduct Trail, and 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.”

I’m anticipating hiking mountain trails with Laurence in 2024!

Happy New Year! Berniece

The Roosevelt Island bus pulled to a stop before rounding the corner and heading down the ramp to Wengerd’s Farm Market. In the darkness just before dawn, the light of electric candles shone from the apartments outside the bus windows.

“The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined” (Isaiah 9:2).

Saturday evening, Laurence and I walked for a couple miles in Howard Beach, Queens, past the most elaborate of light displays. Here and there, we passed nativity scenes that proclaimed, “Jesus is the reason for the season” – words of light.

Many of our customers responded on Saturday with, “Merry Christmas!” However, there was the man who said, “The thing to be concerned about is if there will even be a United States a year from now,” – essentially saying that there wouldn’t be. These words came from darkness. Jesus came to give light and hope.

Last evening, we walked on a horse trail in the woods (yes, in the city!) of Forest Park. Light reflecting from the clouds lit our path. This morning, Laurence tells me that like the clouds reflecting light, so we want to be a reflection of the Light.

Laurence sits in a rocker across from me, the Bible in his lap. In the dimness of our room the flame from a kerosene lamp gives light. God sent His Son to light our world with peace in 2023.

God bless you with light this Christmas day. We’ll be going to the mission for dinner. Merry Christmas. Laurence and Berniece

Laurence wants me to write about our Christmas meal at Samarkand, an Uzbek restaurant three bus stops and then a walk from our place, but unless you’re a foodie who’s interested in other cultures, I fear I’ll bore you. The lamb kebab was delicious. The plov, over the top and the baba ghanoush with their warm bread, totally satisfying. We very much enjoy the ambience of the restaurant with its waiters and waitresses wearing native dress, and to observe the long tables filled with Uzbek Jews. Laurence works with a Jewish nurse from Uzbekistan. When he told Lana that we were going there, she said that her brother-in-law David owns the restaurant. (David! Of course, he’s Jewish) Samarkand closes at sundown on Friday and opens after sundown on Saturday. (As we well know after once having reservations for after sundown on Saturday and waiting in a downpour with Randy and Leanna for it to open.) The thing that puzzled us Wednesday evening was a big screen showing a fireplace with a flickering fire and a Christmas tree beside it while Christmas songs played. Observant Jews do not celebrate Christmas.

Neither do Muslims, Buddhists, atheists, and many others in this city. The liberals do not name the name of Jesus. Instead they say things like, “Happy Holidays,” so imagine our delight at hearing “Away in manger no crib for a bed, the little Lord Jesus lay day his sweet head” by the skating rink at Bryant Park. I leaned forward to the Spanish mother near me and said, “Your daughter skates so beautifully.”

She replied, “It’s been a year. She practices every day.” I wonder if she’s going for the Olympics.

Laurence and I like to walk the streets of Queens and take bus rides to see the wonderfully decorated yards and houses lit for the season. Once again, it thrills us, because many in this city are not Christian and don’t celebrate.

Did you listen to the Christmas program streamed from Sugar Hill Mennonite Mission last evening? It’s a highlight of the year for me. My favorite thing was visiting with the people who attended, but I did love the carols and the food!

I most enjoy the good old-fashioned carols and wish we’d hear more of them. I’m going to sing them at the market tomorrow. You’re welcome to join me.

Christmas Day we plan to be at the mission. I understand the young Michael Jackson actor is back in the city and will join us with his mother. Long ago, Bernice (Mrs. Shawn) Becker had a penpal in Russia. Today this penpal lives in Brooklyn. She wants to come to Christmas dinner. Some of the Akinyombos will come from Poughkeepsie. Maybe the doctor from Nepal will come.

We’ll be a merrily diverse group, and I’ll be home (in NYC) for Christmas.

Merry Christmas! Love from the Penners

PS Tell me about your Christmas.

Pss Sorry if you keep getting this is your inbox. I may be an author but I’m prone to error. It helps to keep me humble. 😊

The man beside us at the Uzbek restaurant sat alone. “How long you been together?” he asked Laurence and me.

“Forty-one years.”

“It’s beautiful. So beautiful.”

Together is beautiful in a home. Together is beautiful in the Church. Brothers and sisters of like precious faith came to market today. Some I knew; others I hadn’t met before. The youth sang carols. The customers responded by clapping and videoing. An older lady, Sherry, said, “Will you please sing one more,” and they sang, “Silent Night” just for her. Then they walked off towards the tram TOGETHER. Together, not just as a group, but also as one in heart and spirit. The beauty of this togetherness shone as a beckoning light on Roosevelt Island today.

Tomorrow a few of us will worship together at Sugar Hill Mennonite Mission. We were not all raised in the same culture or country, but we are one in the body of Christ. We are together.

I’ll always remember the glory of singing “Redeemed, how I love to proclaim it” (my eyes get teary just thinking about it) with the 11,000 brothers and sisters together at the 2022 Confidence.

There’s a beautiful place of Together with the people of God.

The customer beside us in the restaurant left to go alone to a bar and watch football.

Berniece

Beneath the steel beams of the overhead train, I observe the faint orange of a sunrise crisscrossed by black electrical wires. In the City That Never Sleeps, I hear the rumble of trains, Muslim prayers, horns honking, and, when I listen closely, birdsong. The sari-dressed woman on a bench in the park-like median beside me leans over to say that it’s 22 minutes until the next bus. I reply, “I know.” I decide to wait and not spend the money on Uber. However, just then a bus rounds the corner onto Queens Boulevard, and we both cross the street and board it for a ride to Roosevelt Island.

That’s as far as I got this morning. Now it’s the western sky that is tinted with the sunset. Market was good. Ordinary. Normal. It felt routine to go out early this morning to commute, and to work at market. (Meanwhile, Laurence had a dentist appointment, and he walked in Forest Park.)

Why was I thinking these thoughts? Unexpectedly this last week, I spent several days in Kansas. I flew out for the funeral of Jim Kehn at Ulysses. His wife, Anita, is my cousin. I’m glad I went. I don’t think I’ll ever forget standing in the warm sunshine (70 degrees, no wind) at the cemetery, seeing the brilliant yellows and reds of the casket bouquet, and hearing the choir sing, “Somewhere in the skies . . .” Truly, I was lifted to Heaven. I’m glad for Jim’s testimony. I saw so many friends and relatives. I could spend time with my parents.

But then the plane landed at LGA, and I was home where life is normal.

Berniece

“But his father was Greek” (Acts 16:1). I wonder if the apostle Timothy looked like the husky, black-haired waiter with a full beard in the restaurant where Laurence and I dine alone among the Greeks. It is said that the Greeks are fickle, petty, partisan, passionate, and competitive.

The blue and white of the Greek flag are mirrored in the colors of the restaurant with blue trim and beams, white walls, and off white vintage lace curtains. There’s a worn wood floor, white tablecloths, and a screen showing pictures of Greece. The Greek mother and restaurant owner moves between tables, visiting with the diners or she stands quietly to the side observing. Around her neck is a chain with a gold cross. The cross on the Greek flag symbolizes Christianity. (1 Corinthians 1:24, “But unto them which are called, both Jews and Greeks.”)

We begin with warm pita and an olive oil dip. So satisfying! Laurence orders the moussaka and I ask for a gyro. Moussaka is to the Greek what lasagna is to Italians. It’s a rich tomato meat sauce layered with eggplant and potato and topped with a thick layer of sauce. My first bite of the lamb and beef gyro amazes me (not being such a meat fan), and I tell Laurence, “You have to try this” as I drop some of the slivered meat onto his plate.

Long tables fill with elderly looking Greeks. (Well, they might be our age, but they look older. 😊) The noise level rises. The Timothy-looking waiter hugs the ladies. The man across from us greets everyone that comes in as if he/she is a good friend. He steps over to us and says, “I’ve had a heart transplant. I’m 69, but my heart is 32.”

The waitress is too harried to bring our bill, but finally gets it to us. Laurence pays, and then we step across to where the man with a young heart sits. We visit with his table of people about the restaurants in Elmhurst, the food, and about friendships. The man tells us this large group (maybe 50 people) gathers here every other week. “You could give me your number and join us.”

It’s tempting to join the Greeks. We would not have to dine alone. But we also want to dine with the Uzbeks, the Indians, Colombians, Japanese, Italians, etc.

We walked from the restaurant into the quiet of the city. “That was an experience,” I said to Laurence.

“Was it a good one?” asked the Greek on the sidewalk.”

“Yes,” I replied.

Berniece with input from Laurence 11/2/2023