Author Archives: Berniece

I see the green of a sprawling philodendron against the red of the fire escape, the brown of a roof, the blue of the sky. Inside, a bright bouquet of flowers in an old vase of Grandma’s sits on the nightstand.

I hear the 7 trains rumbling on aboveground tracks, an airplane taking off from LGA, a bird chirping, and the distant noise of traffic. Inside, a fan hums.

Laurence didn’t want breakfast this morning. He’ll have bagels, fruit, and boiled eggs at work as some of his coworkers are leaving the Medical Primary Care Clinic. I put hamburger to thaw on the kitchen counter. We’ll have meatballs for lunch. The apartment needs cleaning. It doesn’t take much to clean 755 square feet. I have pulled pork prepared in case the out of town brethren here sightseeing with their sons want to come for supper.

The recycle bag is full but the basement is closed for painting, so I can’t take it down. Yesterday, I couldn’t do laundry down there and had to go out to a Laundromat – like I did all the time in our mission years, but now I’m spoiled so I grumbled a bit and forgot the laundry soap at home and had to trot two blocks back to get it.

I expect an ordinary day, but God alone knows. I want to be clay in His hands, doing His will. May your day be blessed. Berniece

It is early morning, and I am drinking coffee and reading the Word. No beautiful view inspires me this morning. Instead, I see three house roofs and treetops with a brick apartment building peeking out between them. The cloudy sky lets me know that the sun is not shining. We never see a sunrise or sunset from our windows, but the sky colors tell us of the weather.

Today we will worship with the mission staff and the attendees at Sugar Hill Mennonite Mission in Harlem. A youth sister from the Dominican plans to be there. The small chapel has been a refuge for many a wayfarer, including me. The Church shines in Harlem. In that sacred place Teresa and Dawn, Benn and Sundaymar, Bisi Akinyombo and her two children were baptized. There, blind Henry saw the Light, Israel and Sarah saw the Church, and others heard the call to repentance. God has heard and answered the sincere prayers prayed in Jesus’s name in that sanctuary with its blue chairs, carpet, and walls. The long windows at the front of the room face an apartment building. Many of you have worshipped there. There’s a nursery, a tract room, and a fellowship hall.

There is no place I would rather be than at home in Queens. There is no place I would rather worship than with our home congregation in NYC. God bless you in your worship today. Berniece

“Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against thee” (Psalm 119:11). This verse inspires me this morning from where I am on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic. Below me, “breakers dash against the rocks with turbulence and din” (MPToews). I hear the soft ding dong of warning bells near the shore. Small craft glide on the waves in front of me, and the Portland Head Light stands tall and enduring. The sweet scent of wildflowers washes over me as the sun breaks through the clouds, beaming a pool of light on the ocean.

I am gifted this moment alone with God early this morning as Laurence and I begin a day in Portland, Maine, a place we’ve never been before. The rugged shore here is much different than the one we know of in Rockaway, Queens.

I will return now to the tiny studio Airbnb where we are staying. We’ll have breakfast there before taking a trolley tour and eating clam chowder. (How many bowls of clam chowder have we eaten!?)

“Thou shalt write them upon the posts of thy house, and on thy gates” (Deuteronomy 6:9). And so I write these words for you. May your day begin with God. The place where He meets us is always beautiful. Love, Berniece

Upon seeing the missionary wife’s status of Chinatown and of the Brooklyn Bridge, I am thankful: thankful to be here in the Great Whites with the pinkish hues of the sky and the mountains in shades of grey blues as the sun sets. Laurence will soon bring hot tea to drink here on the deck, and I’m wishing for my sweater.

We rode the 1950s-era Mountaineer train today over the Saco River, through the woods, on trestles to the Crawford Notch station, a 4 1/2 hour ride. On the way back to the vacation rental, we stopped at Crawford Notch State Park to grill hamburgers. It’s one of those prettiest spots and interesting to see the notch from the mountain ridge and then from the valley floor. This beautiful place is even lovelier in fall.

Yesterday we visited the former home of the poet Robert Frost. Maybe I could write poetry if I could sit on the porch where he sat with such a magnificent view of the mountains. (Seriously, I could not!) We also saw where the Old Man fell off the mountain in 2003. Who remembers when he fell?

The only meal we ate out in the past week was last evening when we had pizza. I feel certain it was God’s providence that brought us to a place in Lincoln, NH, where two other Mennonite families (each with 11 children) were gathered around outdoor tables. We easily made all kinds of connections.

This makes me think of how we drove from the Vermont Islands to the White Mountains, coming within four miles of Minister Dale Becker’s Vermont home. We dropped in on them right at supper time. Bless Dale and Lucinda as they had a place in their hearts and home and enough food for us. This too, felt like God’s providence. Tomorrow we will worship with the Vermont/New Hampshire brothers and sisters. We are eager to be with ‘our people’ and to hear the Word.

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.” -Robert Frost

A blessed Sunday to you! Berniece

Greetings from Point Au Fer. Yes, it’s a French name; we’re in New York, a few miles from the Quebec border. The couples’ conversation in front of us in the ice cream line last evening could not be understood. They called someone over to translate when the girl at the window asked, “Is that all?”

Thankfully, God speaks my language. I awoke this morning to the verse, “Freely you have received, freely give” (Matthew 10:8). Yesterday, I felt the Father’s presence as Laurence and I kayaked on Lake Champlain: little me on this great expanse of blue blue water with the Green Mountains of Vermont rising to the east. After rounding a bend on the lake, we spied the Adirondack Mountains of New York.

Yesterday, we toured the Wilder place of the book Farmer Boy in Malone, NY. It’s eleven miles from the Canadian border in beautiful farm country. Afterward, we drove an hour to hike only to find a bridge out right before we reached the trailhead, so then an hour’s drive back to here. But there was beauty all around. Did you know New York has the most designated wilderness area of any state?

After the ice cream, we joined a few friendly strangers at the lake’s edge to watch the super moon rise above the Green Mountains. This morning the sun in all its splendor is so dazzling on the water that we faced the Adirondack chairs south to easier read the Word (and drink coffee). (I’m wearing a jacket. This isn’t Kansas.)

I expect the reader wants New York City stories. God is there among the skyscrapers and chaos. This morning He is here where the waters of Lake Champlain lap gently at our feet. I pray that He is in the boat with you. If so, you have a beautiful life.

Love, Berniece

My husband, Laurence, numbers with the few hires among 4,000 employees who have worked over 25 years at Elmhurst Hospital. He began there as a volunteer during our houseparent days in the Woodside apartment. In the last months under USA Missions, he was hired as an escort in the hospital. We were young then, and he’d often climb steps rather than take an elevator to reach the patients he’d been called on to transport. (Years before, I worked with friends doing this at Halstead Hospital!)

Then, after two years like God parting the waters for the children of Israel, a supervisor opened the way for Laurence to qualify for three months of schooling in order to receive the title of Patient Care Associate (PCA). Laurence graduated at the top of the class and gave a superb speech at the graduation. (Ok. I may be biased, but none of our church family were there to hear. It’s been an alone journey.) PCA is no highfluten title. Laurence’s job consists of doing lots of vital signs, asking questions (have you ever thought about hurting/killing yourself?), making appointments, doing blood work, EKGs, eye photos, and a zillion other things that have been added over the years, making the job much more complicated and stressful than in the good ole days when he started. Laurence works in the Medical Primary Care Clinic.

Sometimes patients think he’s a doctor and will tell him their problems. He’s not anxious to hear them. He does know that with his nature, it’s good to interact with people. He comes home with stories, like about the mother with two little children who said her husband was abusive. He marveled at how quietly the children sat.

My clinic and emergency room visits have been smoother because my husband is an Elmhurst Hospital employee. He draws my blood when necessary. I’ve been stopped on the street so an employee can express their appreciation for Laurence. My time spent in the hospital room (broken leg, burst appendix) was punctuated with, “You’re Penner’s wife.”

Yesterday, I attended the ceremony honoring the employees who’d worked 25 years at Elmhurst Hospital. (Elmhurst Hospital is one of the top ten trauma centers in the country. Laurence says, “If they can’t save your life there, they can’t save it anywhere.) Afterwards, we ate the barbeque from Dinosaur’s that they served us. Elmhurst Hospital has been good to us! (I will refrain from the negatives. They are plenty. But Laurence has one and a half blocks to work and can leave the stress behind to come for lunch.) Berniece

P.s. Another blog written while having a lavender latte at Elmhurst Rostery.

Today I gathered with my sisters in a quiet cove besides the Hudson River. Seven of us sat around a picnic table under a shade tree by the water to celebrate Bisi’s birthday. Her 16 year old daughter joined us. (Gives you a hint about her age.) Donna prayed a beautiful blessing for Bisi and for the food. Donna brought grilled chicken and taco salad. That was one good (and big) salad and we cleaned it out. I hauled potato salad up on the train. The birthday cake consisted of boughten cookies.

The scene of the river and hills, green lawn and trees, white house with a porch overlooking the river, and fenced in decks with Adirondack chairs could not have been more lovely, a scene conducive to sharing hearts. Seven sisters from seven different backgrounds. We came not only from different states but from different countries: two from Nigeria, from Michigan, Kansas, South Dakota, and Elizabeth was born in London. I am a New Yorker. Bisi and her daughter were baptized at Sugar Hill Mennonite Mission. Today, we helped to lift each other’s burdens. We shared joys and sorrows, trivial things and deep. These ladies understood me!

“By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:35). I’m thinking if this verse is true (it is!) then those few other people in the park must have known that we’re followers of Jesus. It’s not likely that we seven will ever be together in this way again. (The group here is ever-changing.) This then is the blessing of being of one body and of one Spirit.

I reflected on these things until I fell asleep as I rolled beside the magnificent Hudson River on the two hour train ride back to Grand Central. (A Yankee game this evening meant the train was full, and I shared a seat with a young man. He said it was ok that I had my stuff piled on it and took up two-thirds of the space.)

Thanks Donna, Bisi, Elizabeth, Christiana, Marilyn, and Rachel for being here. And to all those sisters who have touched my life: thank you! God bless you! Berniece

Brooklyn vibes swirl around this patch of grass with bright-colored flowers bordered by long rows of old brick warehouses. Ferries, boats, barges, and tugs ply the waters of the New York Harbor. We ate baba ganoush and naan (picked up from the nearby warehouse turned grocery) in this little park with it’s excellent view of the Statue of Liberty. Behind the grocery/warehouse is an old trolley. Once filled with commuters it now sits sadly abandoned, its windows broke out.

The G train cuts through Queens into Brooklyn, avoiding Manhattan, and it dropped us off at Smith and Ninth. (I eyed the riders: a child hopping onto a seat and having the stranger beside give him a smile, workmen, a woman with a dog, a monk in red robes, a young woman with an ornament of two-inch spikes around her neck. A young Mexican woman with a baby on her back went through selling candy. A war veteran begged for money. Young. Elderly. Fat. Thin. Red, brown, yellow, black and white. I saw Laurence and my reflection in the window and thought we didn’t look ordinary either.) The Smith and Ninth train station supposedly has the best view of any in the city from its platform. We then boarded a bus (that goes by the largest of city housing projects) for Ikea. After tramping through Ikea’s maze, we walked through weedy lots to Steve’s Key Lime Pie. It’s a dinky hole in the wall place in a warehouse. Even though it’s famous, I’m amazed that we found it. We had a frozen key lime pie popsicle covered in chocolate while sitting by a picnic table and took a small key lime pie to go. Yum!

The cranes on the New Jersey shore stand ready to unload ships. Staten Island rises across the bay. Laurence says to tell the Kansans about the grain elevators in Red Hook. They were a financial disaster from the time they were built in 1922 and were finally decommissioned in 1965, but they still stand. The Lehigh Valley Railroad Barge No. 79 bobs beside us. The historic barge was built in 1914 to move cargo around the New York Harbor and along the lower Hudson River.

I wanted to give you a picture of this place that none of you will likely ever see. You are blessed to live where you do! Berniece

The “Rain” topic eludes me as I sit here waiting for the guy to finish making the lavender latte I ordered. Instead, the rhythms of our community play in my mind. (That patron looks like Jefferson Smith. I see they’re actually working on the big coffee roaster. Hopefully, they’ll be roasting soon.)

On the way over, I observed that the Korean women exercising to music wore white and black. Yesterday, they all had red skirts with white tops. I wonder how they coordinate. Do they Whatsapp each other, decide today what to wear tomorrow, or have a leader who tells them what outfit to put on?

I followed but never quite caught up with my neighbor who was taking her little boy to nursery school. In Moore Park there was ping pong, basketball, people exercising, and bums. Many commuters disappeared down into a rabbit hole. I mean subway station. After all it’s real life!

The Asian market’s door buzzed with shoppers. Its large fruit displays are pushed against the outside wall. Since the Pandemic, the City hasn’t put the brakes on sidewalk vendors, and the Chinese spread out displays of cheaply made household items or racks of used clothing on the sidewalk where I walked to come here. There’s also an old-fashioned shoe cobbler doing a brisk business. The tools of his trade are in a wooden box. And a Chinese food cart with skewers that I am not brave enough to sample.

When I return home, I’ll pass by the Mexicans with their fresh fruits and vegetables and flowers. Every morning, a truck stops nearby to deliver the flowers. The bouquets are reasonably priced and long-lasting – a bright spot in an apartment!

This coffee shop is the only place in Elmhurst that could almost be Kansas. A place where I can leave my money and laptop on the table while I go to the restroom. I look around and realize I’m wrong: The one patron could have been a brother from Kansas, but everyone else looks like multi-cultural Elmhurst.

What are the rhythms of your life? Love, Bee (In here they call me Bee, and it always startles me. It’s my fault. I put that as my name. Someday, I’ll bring little Bee in here. I imagine she’ll be carrying a bubble tea, which she much prefers to coffee.)

Israel pays me to clerk at the farmer’s market; not to write blogs, but it’s cool in this church and quiet and peaceful. I came here to the fellowship hall to eat my lunch. It’s empty now, but I remember Gwynne serving cookies in this room after a candlelight Christmas carol service. Gwynne, a rather famous Black novelist, humbly became a part of the Mennonite writing group that I belonged to. She passed away in 2015. I attended her memorial here in this church. Gwynne’s publisher told the crowd that day about how the lady from the farmer’s market would visit Gwynne in the room where she lay dying. (She didn’t know how I’d experienced the light of Heaven in that Island bedroom.)

Earlier this morning, I knelt in the chapel to say a thank you prayer. I thought about little Jethro who said the favorite part of his NYC trip a few weeks ago was singing a song with his family in the beautiful old sanctuary (built 1888) of this church with its stained glass windows. I wish I would have heard them sing.

Tomorrow we will worship in the sanctuary at Sugar Hill Mennonite Mission. There is no place I would rather be for a Sunday service. However, God is here. May you find yourself in the sanctuary of the Lord today and forever. Love, Berniece