Author Archives: Berniece

Sunshine glints through the trees onto the park bench where I sit. Birds chirp. The dogwood’s flowers are greenish now. However, it’s a city scene of small stores, Thai restaurants, a subway station, traffic, trash trucks, and parents walking their children to school.

In the park/playground, eight women dressed in red, exercise to music I don’t understand. The large group of South Korean ladies moves in harmony in another area to different music. Beside me, a lone Chinese man slowly points a sword in his alone dance. Behind me, music begins – a lonesome wailing. I hear a fan pop 🪭 and move to watch the five women, each with two fans, slowly wave, close, and pop open the deep blue, bright red and white, and yellow fans. Such a pretty sight!

Little children swing. The park employees clean. Lone people exercise. There are other groups. Music throbs. A bicyclist passes through, and (no kidding) a man trims his toenails (we live our lives in the open in NYC).

I used to bring Little Bee here. (I miss her.) One time her and I met a Christian outreach team from Guntersville, Alabama, here. They knew about The Barn that our friends rent out. Anything is possible in this small park just two blocks from home. Tibetans dance Wednesday evenings. Competitive basketball games happen on Sunday. The best hacky sack guys play here most evenings. There’s a volleyball net and a ping pong table. Drunk bums hang out here; church groups show compassion to these.

Come and see! Berniece

We’re on the Q53 bus, passing under the J train station at Myrtle Avenue. Laurence tells me that if we got off here, we could buy cheese perogies like grandmas at a European market. He went there one Saturday when I was working.

“Iglesia Christiana Jesus Vive,” reads the storefront church sign outside the window. The young husband and father besides me works hard and his head falls towards my shoulder as he slumbers on the bus. Laurence is bouncing in the back row. The family is exiting at the next stop, so he moved up beside me. Some get off. Others get on here at the A train stop, and a Muslim couple dressed in white walks down the street. I wonder what white signifies.

We’re coming to Howard Beach where we’ve stopped with friends at New Park Pizza after an outing to the sea. We’ve celebrated at Lenny’s an Italian restaurant in Howard Beach. The Italians are family oriented and fun, but sadly they also have a label for being prejudiced.

The Bay. O the Bay. I stop writing when we reach the bay. Across the way, planes take off from JFK. Fishermen fish and sometimes, we see kite sailing.

Next stop: “Jamaica Wildlife Refuge.” That wild, serene place brings peace to the chaos of city living. This is our destination tonight. Berniece

I do not know why we were gifted four days alone in Colorado. We didn’t anticipate such, nor did we desire it, but it happened. The plane landed in Denver, and we drove away from the airport to a state park in a new Toyota mini van. We spent our time outdoors, awed by the beauty of mountains and red rocks, gulches running with water, and hiking trails through Aspen groves. We walked on a mesa and saw rainbows. Lightning split across the sky. Old timers told us Colorado was greener than it had been in 15 years. The peace of God truly restored my soul in a place of such majesty and quietness.

We found God’s people in a Denver guesthouse where we worshipped on Sunday along with the houseparents and seven youth girls. It was a secure place and we’ll long remember the blessing of fellowship. (We relate to mission settings.)

Afterwards, we went to Kansas. That’s where the relatives are. It will always be home (to me). I like to sit on my folks’ front porch and ponder how l walked through the halls of the overgrown hospital across the way. The hospital’s windows are darkened and ghostly.

My dad came home from the hospital the day before we arrived. We spent quality time with them and also with Laurence’s parents at the Manor. Tea on Main, meeting the Penners twice in a barn setting, my family stopping by, visits with cousins, reading to the great nephews, biking around Halstead, and bumping into unexpected friends, etc., made for a wonderful time.

The plane landed at LGA and shortly we were home in Elmhurst. The best place of all. Friday we boarded the Rockaway Ferry at Wall Street for a 55-minute ride to the beach. We walked in the sand and ate empanadas on the boardwalk. Waves dashed against the shore; the grandeur of the sea made it seem like it is the best place to be.

The air has cleared. Customers at the farmer’s market today commented, “It was like the end of the world. The most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen.”

Now I need to take care of the two quarts of dill pickles I’m making with the small local cucumbers from the market. Thank you for being interested. Berniece

We are leaving the sea for the mountains. The sea calms me. I walked a mile on the beach and boardwalk one morning this past week. The blue expanse stretches into infinity. The tide rises and falls in a precision set in order at Creation; therefore, I am humbled by God’s order, and I’m able to believe in His control. Not only believe, but to rest and be still.

I recall the carefree days spent with Bee on Rockaway Beach: dipping in the water, building sand castles, flying a kite. I remember her saying while holding the kite string, “This is the funnest day of my life.” I could agree. Bee and I like to eat chicken empanadas at one of the colorful picnic tables on the boardwalk, overlooking the sea.

The full moon cast a luminous glow on the waves as we stepped onto the boardwalk. A young man said, “If only _ was here.” There’s a romance about the ocean. (He has been happily married for many years to that sweet girl.)

A sea sunrise should not be missed. Perhaps, it’s my favorite time to stand on the shore, and I remember gathering with the writing group, coffee mugs in hand, watching the orange ball rise over the horizon at Myrtle Beach. Beach time is bonding time. (Not everyone appreciated the sand drug into the vacation rental.)

Why go to the mountains? Look for me on the beach this summer. Berniece

Benn and Sundaymar brought their daughter, little Berniece, to the city to celebrate her nineth birthday. Last night we ate scrumptious cupcakes that Bee helped Grandma Marilyn decorate (I’m big Bee. She’s little Bee.) It was a fun party. However, I do not do Saturday evening supper company because I am completely exhausted after a work day at the market. But Bee is very dear to me, and I had exactly enough food left from Thursday evening’s supper guests for last evening. Happenstance? No. God knew.

The Benns came to church in the city today. (They live in Mifflinburg.) We have a friendly 10 year old young man in town with his mother. The mother, Beth, is a cousin to the missionary’s wife, Marilyn. The young man, Baine, is playing Michael Jackson on Broadway. (I think he must be a very good actor. I had the privilege of teaching him in Sunday School this morning.) The story I heard in the church foyer this morning is that Brother Benn picked up Baine and Beth from the airport when he had a call to transport a client last November when he came into the city. This morning Benn and Baine met at Sugar Hill Mission, and they both remembered that they’d met before. Coincidence? No. God’s plan. Amazingly, God also had Beth rent an Airbnb near the mission. Beth did not know when she rented it that she had a cousin in the city, nor how close she’d be living to her.

My father fell and couldn’t get up. My mom could not get him up. Just then my brother walked in. He called the ambulance. Did he just happen to walk in? No. God planned his steps. God is watching over Dad in Newton Medical. Tonight you can say a prayer for Dad.

Brother Benn told us this morning of his journey to the mission at Sugar Hill. His name was posted in a Liberian newspaper that he’d been shortlisted to come to America. He didn’t know. His sister-in-law read Benn’s name in the newspaper. God brought him and Sundaymar to America. He found Sugar Hill Mission online. He called. Sister Yvette answered and told him he is welcome to come to church. Benn and Sundaymar are our brother and sister and our friends. They gave me Berniece. We both love bubble tea and the beach. God’s providence is marvelous.

In what ways have you experienced God’s providence? Berniece

I’m looking past the red fire escape to rooftops with brown shingles, and on to the treetops wearing the new green of spring. I hear a siren near the hospital and small noise from the neighbor’s apartment. I visited with Carlos the neighbor one day this week. He told me his wife is a queen, that he sees how much Laurence and I love each other, and how he likes the singing coming from our apartment. Thank you for the music Jerrold and Jan, Todd and Donna, and Stan and Marilyn.

The Irishman in the elevator today told me, “It’s sure hot out.” Earlier the building superintendent inquired how I’m doing, and then he also remarked about the heat. Laurence says New Yorkers take to the cold better than the heat.

Laurence and I had chicken salad/cranberry wraps in Forest Park Thursday evening. Friday evening, we dined with friends at Kingsland Point Park in Sleepy Hollow. We talked and walked, ate and played there by the Hudson River. I am mystified at why two baseballs landed in the river. The sun slipped behind the hills and darkness fell as Laurence and I walked the mile alongside the river back to the train station at Tarrytown. Words do not suffice to write of the beauty of the view from a landscaped park by a lighthouse on the Hudson. Lights twinkled in the hills opposite the river and the lavenders (Laurence says blues) and greens of the Tarrytown bridge reflected in the water. These sights will keep us in NYC, I thought as we rolled along on Metro North into Grand Central.

I rode with Todd and Donna to the park last evening. I’d been in Poughkeepsie for a writing class with Elizabeth and Josiah Akinyombo. After two years of classes, we are finished. I am sad about this. Josiah got it right when he wrote, “It was fun looking at how we went from basically being lectured by Mama Berniece on the dos and don’ts of writing, to talking on closer planes and even having relatable writing experiences.” I learned right along with the children and stand in awe of the writings they produced. Where will they, and where will I go from here?

It’s been an eventful week. One that included telling Jerrold and Jan goodbye, having bubble tea with my sister-in-law Kris, making lunch for a former unit boy with a layover at LaGuardia Airport, and my very first ride on the Long Island Railroad out of Grand Central. Thanks to brother-in-law James for that!

I’ve enjoyed the ordinary of today: laundry in the basement laundromat, making French bread for Sunday lunch at Sugar Hill, cleaning the 755 square feet of this apartment, and dinner in our submarine kitchen with Laurence. This evening we’ll go for a walk – it isn’t hot!

Happy Mother’s Day to all the special moms in my life! Berniece

I leave the apartment early on Saturday mornings to take the subway to Roosevelt Island where I work at a farmer’s market. My boss is Israel Wengerd. At least he’s the one who hired me in 1999. Over 23 years later his son, the little boy who wore boots and a small version Amish hat, follows in his dad’s footsteps, so when Israel is gone, I listen to David. (They are not Amish anymore but Mennonite.)

I love walking along the East River to the market from the subway station in dawn’s early light. The Manhattan skyline awes me at this hour. The red tram might be gliding over the river beside the Queensboro Bridge. Often there’s a tug pushing a barge downriver to the bay.

Usually the Wengerd men are just about finished setting up when I arrive. Mrs. David, Kimbre, might be placing the many price signs behind fruits, vegetables, cheeses, baked goods, coffee, etc., and even freshly ground peanut butter. In the summer, Mrs. Israel, Sarah, will be busy filling pint boxes with berries. The market is beautiful in the early morning, and it’s the best time of day. (Coffee from the deli across the street might have something to do with this.)

In the beginning of my working at the market the other clerk, Mr. Kahn, and I used a scale. We held dollar bills and had change on the table. Who could have foreseen that we’d advance to cash registers and credit card machines and that we’d go from two clerks to seven or more?

Some of the customers from those beginning days have left us for Eternity. Children have grown and are away in college. Poor health and dementia has taken its toll on others. There are so many stories. I ask the father where his handicapped daughter is. He gives me a little smile that tells me he likes it that I’ve acknowledged seeing her and says, “She didn’t want to come out today.” The couple with backpacks and I talk about favorite hiking places. Others ask about my husband, acknowledging his fight with the long tail of COVID . . .

At the end of a workday, I drag back to the subway station. My feet are tired. I only want to be home.

If you’re in the city, stop by the market. Thank you for being interested. The comments are appreciated. And now I need to pack a lunch and check the train schedule for the market tomorrow. Berniece

Laurence works twelve hours on Monday. When he comes home around 8 pm, we eat a little supper, and call it a day. It’s good to have that behind us at the beginning of the week, so we can move on to more interesting things.

It isn’t that we don’t have any social life during the week, and especially now that the pandemic is behind us, we’re happy to spend time with friends. We did this week on Wednesday after a service at Sugar Hill. Food is the tie that binds, and we enjoyed a snacky supper with three other couples around the table of the missionary’s apartment. Even better than the food was the fellowship – the kind of conversation that feeds the spiritual person.

Tuesday evening, Laurence and I took the Q53 bus to Forest Park. We didn’t have a plan but decided after we arrived there to walk the orange trail. It mostly took us near the perimeter of the woods. We could have been on any woodland path except for the sound of traffic. Birdsong thrilled me as we walked deeper into the hardwood forest. As often happens, we walked further than planned, so Laurence says, “This can be a once a year outing.”

“Once a month,” I replied, because I was having such a good time. Laurence is right though because the list of places to go and things to see stretches from the shore of Rockaway to the East River. (That reminds me, we went to the ocean on Saturday and then ate lagman soup at Umas.)

Last evening, Laurence and I took the G train between Queens and Brooklyn to Greenpoint. Sadly, the G is the only train that doesn’t go through Manhattan. Last evening, it was packed with well-heeled commuters.

It’s been years since I was last in Greenpoint. I remember it as a gritty, Polish neighborhood. It was there, back in 1990, when I first learned the meaning of agnostic. A real estate agent driving Laurence and me around said, “It’s interesting that you are missionaries. I’m an agnostic.”

We came out of the Nassau subway station by a darling little coffee shop. I could hardly believe how gentrified the area has become. We went to check out a couple Japanese stores. I am not going to try and describe them to you. We did buy mochi and ramen soup, but we left the $89 pottery mug.

Gentrifying is ok. Until it’s not. We walked into a plant store with vintage clothes in the back. Music played and the forces of evil felt so strong that we could not leave fast enough. It took a prayer on the sidewalk to be free of that force.

A block over on a street running parallel to the other, were the ordinary, the gritty, the Polish stores. While we could not read the labels, we felt more at home among the beets and borscht. Laurence found his favorite cheese perogies.

Now I need to pack a lunch to take to market tomorrow, and I want to check the MTA site to see what the weekend trains are doing. They’re often not running normal due to track work. I like to have my work done before Laurence comes home, so that our evenings are free to walk and explore.

Thank you for being interested. Have a good weekend! Berniece

It’s the most beautiful time of the year! My view beyond the fire escape brightens with sunlight on brown-tiled roofs backed by treetops wearing the new green of spring. It’s time to stock chips, sandwich stuff, yogurt, and cookies for the evening picnic after Laurence’s workday at Elmhurst Hospital.

Pink cherry tree blossoms carpeted the lawn of Brooklyn Botanical Garden. The lilacs’ scent carried me ‘back home’ to a playhouse in the bushes west of (I say west because that’s how Kansans talk) the farmhouse. (The nieces and nephews also had a playhouse there. Will Emma Claire, Max, and Levi of the next generation?) Tulips circle the Dancing Maidens in Central Park. And a row of white redbuds bloom at the head of Juniper Valley where I walked alone one day this past week. Did you know there are white redbuds? The red redbuds look magenta to me and bloom as beautifully here as they did behind the Melvin Becker family vacation rental in the Ozarks.

My friends and I ate a packed lunch on the picnic lawn of Prospect Park. Olmsted and Vaux designed this park after doing Central Park. It’s said to be their crowning jewel. The park saw two million visitors in 1868, the year it opened.

It’s the time of year when the city cannot hold us, and we’ll go into Grand Central – that magnificent station – to ride the Metro North train to a stop in the Hudson Valley. Yesterday, after a writing class with the Akinyombo children in Poughkeepsie, I went with Todd and Donna Schmidt to walk a few miles of the wooded Aqueduct Trail near Sleepy Hollow (think Washington Irving and the Headless Horseman). Most notably, we spotted the 1.4 million mausoleum of Lenora Helmsley through the trees and also of Walter Chrysler. If beauty mattered, I’d ask to be buried at the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery.

Meanwhile, Laurence had arrived in Tarrytown, and was waiting for us in a park by the river. We picked him up, ate barbecue on Main, and then went back to the river to see the sunset. The fiery orange ball colored the sky and slipped behind the hills. The architectural wonder of the Tappan Zee Bridge glowed with lavender lighting. We rumbled back into the city on the train with its view of the Hudson River.

Soon now we’re going to meet friends in Flushing Meadows. I expect thousands to be there with their soccer balls and barbecues. It’s spring, and our small apartments cannot hold us.

Happy spring to you. Plant some radishes and garden lettuce for me. Berniece

The plane landed at LGA and quickly halted so as to not dump us into the bay. We walked and walked to exit the Delta Terminal and waited for the Q70 bus that brought us back to Roosevelt where we had a short walk home. I overheard tourists trying to figure out the bus and subway system. As Laurence pulled the suitcase home, he said, “It feels different than when we’ve been gone for two weeks.” We hadn’t gotten so disconnected.

However, I was lonesome for early morning on the deck with my great nephews: Carson, Max, and Ethan, or for the evening Peter, James, and John songs with these and Emma Claire, Drake and Bella. Or the time Laurence and I went with them to throw rocks into the lake. I missed my parents, my brothers and their wives, the grown up nieces and nephews, and the babies: Tobias, Hannah, and Levi. We’d just spent a few days with them in the Ozarks to celebrate my parents’ 65th wedding anniversary.

But then I took a walk, and a building superintendent sweeping sidewalk greeted me. I said, “It’s a beautiful day.” After he agreed. I replied, “I love it.”

He innocently replied, “I love you too.” There’s a lot of love in this city. The customers at the market today asked how I’m doing. Those who know about Laurence having had Covid inquire about his health. Today I could tell them we were married 41 years on April 11. I got coffee and joked with the young man how the other clerk thinks I’m old; “She gives me the senior discount.”

He said, “I think you’re young and pretty,” but then he gave me the senior discount too.

One evening this week we took our picnic supper to Forest Park, and then walked in the woods. Another time, we rode the bus to the wildlife refuge and walked there at sunset. We stopped to visit with a man and his son about the osprey nest. And the man wanted to show us the picture he’d taken of a swan on the lake. In the distance was the Manhattan skyline looking ethereal in the fading sunlight.

Laurence just made us tea, and we’re relaxing in our bedroom, happy to be home. Berniece