Author Archives: Berniece

Good morning from our apartment in Elmhurst, Queens. Lately, there have been a bunch of new subscribers to this blog. This humbles me for who am I, what is there about my ordinary (to us) life that interests you? Who are you? I would like to know your names and how we’re connected.

We never witness a sunrise or a sunset from our apartment, but this morning the sun’s rays beam on the red of the fire escape and the brown of rooftops. Laurence walked to his job at Elmhurst Hospital a few minutes before 8 a.m. Lately, he’s been working in Senior Care. At breakfast, he told me about a bus driver who was there yesterday and was having stroke-like symptoms so Emergency was called.

If I’d walk a couple blocks to the small playground just now, I could watch the Chinese and Korean groups exercising to music, some in uniform, and one group might be using swords or popping colorful fans open. Recently, a young man told me, while riding the elevator together, that his mom dances there in the morning. “It’s a competition. You should join them.” They are all slim and trim! Likely, a volleyball game is going on, basketball, and ping pong. The drunks are sleeping and some Asian men gambling. However, we are not all godless in this community. The Gospel story is being told, tracts passed out, and prayers offered. This too happens in the playground.

To step into our apartment is to see a Mennonite home. Though small, our home is not much different than yours. I often thank God that I get to live here. My restless spirit finds fulfillment in walking these streets, in browsing the Asian markets, and tasting the ethnic foods all around us. I am most interested in the cultures of the people we live amongst. I like living by one of the busiest libraries in the nation – a people who enjoy reading.

We worship at Sugar Hill Mennonite Mission in Manhattan. I feel a little sorry for those who don’t know what it is to worship there, how the Spirit brings people from multiple nations to sing, pray, and share together. On Sunday, there is no place I would rather be.

This is not to say that we don’t miss the country. I do get lonesome. I long for more fellowship with sisters and brothers of like precious faith. I do miss family.

But for now, God wants us here. It is home.

Thank you for reading.  “Soli Deo Gloria” (to God be the glory).  Berniece

Happy Mother’s Day to all my friends and relatives who are mothers, and especially to my own dear mother. She’s the best!

The email read, “She is childless.” I’d done some editing for this well known writer in Mennonite circles. This was how she described me to several hundred other writers. I didn’t mind, but it did make me wonder. Is this what defines me: no children?

I thought and thought and the more I thought, I realized it is true. I wouldn’t be writing this blog if the Lord hadn’t put me in an alone place and given me words. We never would have considered living in Queens if we’d have had children. With children, my life would be so different:

No days on the beach with my namesake Bee. I wouldn’t know Sundaymar’s laughter or call Kari my little sister. I would have never seen Ellen’s shoe collection or discussed an African woman’s love of pretty cloth. Jesse and Frank with their families would not have recently graced our home with their presence. And perhaps the biggest blessing of all came because of working at the farmer’s market and of the boss, Israel, and his wife, Sarah, who transformed from darkness to light. I would not have received a Mother’s Day bouquet from Greg, Shawn, and Jerry.

That paragraph could go on for a book length, telling of foods, of places, of the sea, young men, former missionaries, and many more blessings sent our way because God knows best.

Lastly, we would not have had the experience on the E Train that happened this morning when a Muslim woman, covered in black except for her eyes, called out, “Beautiful lady, come sit by your husband.” I moved to sit by Laurence. The woman stood by me, asking about my faith. I explained that I’m a Christian. “Have you heard of Mennonites?”

“Once, about five years ago a woman named Sonia tried to explain to me.”

Sonia. I know Sonia. The same Sonia who lives far from where we’re riding the train. God’s providence caused us to miss a train, so we could ride this train and visit with this sweet lady. God’s amazing providence kept me ‘childless’ so that I would be blessed with this amazing life.

You too are being led into beautiful places by God’s loving providence.

Berniece

Dear Stranger on the R Train,

You sat across from me reading a book. I sneaked a peek at the title and saw it was, Seven Years in Tibet. As I rode, across from you, I googled the book reviews. The five-star ratings along with the acclaim caused me to request it from the local library.

It is a travel book written by Austrian mountaineer and Nazi SS sergeant Heinrich Harrer based on his real life experiences in Tibet between 1944 and 1951 during the Second World War. How strange is that?!

I recognized you as being Tibetan. After asking you if the book is good; you told me that it is, and  said, “I was born in India. My story is complicated.”

I asked if like the Dalai Lama your family was exiled to India.

“Yes,” you replied. “I’ve never seen my country that’s why I’m reading this book.”

I am interested in you. I care about your people. They are my neighbors. Your restaurants are around us. You dance in the nearby playground. Thanks to you, I now know you dance on Wednesdays because it is the day when the Dalai was born. I see the prayer flags. I enjoy momos, those delicious little dumplings. Your people smile a lot. They make caring and friendly nurses at Elmhurst Hospital.

Your slogan is, “Free Tibet.” Because Tibet isn’t free, you live by me. I like this. I ate Yak Sha Bakleb (yak meat dumpling) this evening at the Queens Night Market because of meeting you on the train early this morning.

“You will really enjoy the book,” you told me as the doors opened at Roosevelt Island, and I stepped off the train.

I’ll long remember the conversation. Thank you!

Berniece, a conservative Mennonite woman who’s interested in the peoples of the world.

How did life’s journey bring us to a quiet office in Bayside, Queens, where Laurence will have a medical procedure? After riding the 7 train to Flushing, we wound through quiet shopping streets, through Little Korea, and to a pleasant residential neighborhood with green lawns and blooming azaleas.

We could be at this office’s medical practice in the chaos of Manhattan, so I thank God for the calmness of Bayside, a place away from the subway, but not from the public bus system. When you leave the MTA rails, NYC becomes Anywhere Big City USA with small, medium, and large houses, including mansions, with landscaped yards. Bayside has become one of the most sought-after neighborhoods to live in New York City.

I too dream of living here until I think of the inconvenience of everything. Laurence wouldn’t be walking five minutes to work and coming home for lunch. I couldn’t go to the corner store when I’m making cookies and run out of brown sugar. The Asian market wouldn’t be here to wander in when I’m feeling blue.

Ahh, but Fort Totten is here, that beautiful park with the crumbling fort along the bay. It’s the most picturesque place, especially as the sun sets behind the Throgs Neck Bridge.  It’s a photographic scene where we once watched a young man propose among strewn rose petals to his beloved. There are other green spaces and a marina in beautiful Bayside.

After the appointment, we stopped at a favorite bookstore that’s operated by handicapped adults. We had lunch at Mad For Chicken. The large restaurant with its wood floors and long wooden tables certainly wasn’t Elmhurst.

The Long Island Railroad stops in Bayside, so that’s an option. However, we took the bus back to the throngs of Flushing and then the 7 train to 82nd Street. We returned to the city’s brick and asphalt, to home in Elmhurst – our favorite place!

Berniece

“Your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.'”

“I want you in the city.” The Voice I heard behind me as I leaned against the upper deck railing of the ferry wasn’t literal; however, it was so clear that it could have been. God spoke, and I could rest in His direction, laying aside the turmoil of mixed messages from human tongues.

Years before, at home in Georgia, I’d heard the same words of affirmation for city living when they came ‘out of the blue’ one day as I walked through the back door of our mobile home by the pecan orchard.

This morning, after being questioned once again (or rather told by someone who says they know) when we’re leaving the city. I wonder. Soon? In a few years? Never? Will the Lord return before moving day?

I am thankful that God does not leave us clueless.  His Spirit speaks, correcting me, encouraging me, and He gives direction for the moment, for the day, and for life.

Laurence left to walk the two blocks to his job at Elmhurst Hospital. I am going to put ingredients in the bread machine (since the bread I had was all scarfed up at lunch in the fellowship hall yesterday), cut out a dress, go to the market, etc. This is direction for today. It is enough.

Berniece

P.s. In no way do I want to take away from consulting the brotherhood for direction. This is wisdom!

On this morning

When I just miss the local R train

I wait.

Finally, it comes

But just then

An F train buzzes through on the express track.

At Roosevelt it pulls out as we pull in.

Now I wait

Again.

God knows I pray about trains and timing.

So I stand here “redeeming the time”.

Berniece

Saturday morning on my way to work.

(This is not the sort of thing I write. Feeling foolish, I deleted it as soon as I posted. Here it is the second time.)

The young lady dressed in a lovely green sari with intricate embroidery laid her produce on the table where I stood checking out customers. She was beautiful too. Her toddler’s big brown eyes watched me and he smiled at me. Children are a conversation opener, and he gave me the nerve to ask the young woman where she’s from.

“Kashmir.”

“Did you say Kashmir? I want to go there.”

She replied, “You want to go there? You know about Kashmir? You are the first person I’ve met who knows about Kashmir.”

I shrugged. How do I know about Kashmir? I’ve probably read about it. “I’ve heard it’s the prettiest place on earth. I want to go to a houseboat in Kashmir.”

“It’s so beautiful,” she told me, “How shall I say it?” she twisted her hands, trying to explain. “It’s something more than beauty. It’s a feeling…” Words failed her. About then her husband came up. Short with a full black beard, he didn’t necessarily look like he belonged to this stunning lady. He picked up his little boy, and I could tell he was kind. The lady told her husband how I was the first person she’d met who knows Kashmir. He explained a little of the history to me. (In 1947,  the former princely state of the British Indian Empire became a disputed territory, now administered by three countries: China, India, and Pakistan.)

I’d read about the unrest, but they assured me that it’s safe to visit. I told them that  my husband probably would not be interested in going there. The man said that I could tag along with them IF they go back.

Do you want to join me to see Kashmir? Maybe you’ve been there and can tell me about it.

If there is paradise on this earth, it is here, it is here, it is here” (Amir Khusrau).

Berniece

Philippians 3:10, “That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection.”

I walked through the playground after buying buns from the Chinese bakery on Easter morning. “Truthfulness, compassion, and forbearance,” proclaimed the banner beside where the Fulan Gong group stood in a mediative pose. Several more Asian groups, some in uniform, moved to exercise music. I’d give it to them for their being fit. Further on a large group of young men played a fierce game of volleyball. Others were on the basketball court. The homeless hung out on the playground benches, cans and bottles of alcohol beside them.

Welcome to Easter morning in Elmhurst. Likely, if I would have walked on, I could have witnessed worshippers at the South Korean churches. Not all in Elmhurst are heathen but many are. I wiped a tear as I entered our building. God’s love is there for His creation in our community.

“Happy Easter,” I greeted customers at the farmer’s market yesterday. Many responded with the same, “Happy Easter.” One older Christian (?) couple told me they were going to Manhattan to join a protest. It made no sense to me. Another lady said she couldn’t comprehend what Christ did. I told her that’s me. I said, “I feel like my friends get it, but I don’t understand.”  This dear customer and I accept by faith Christ’s blood shed on Calvary.

I saw and heard evidence of the Resurrection in the service at Sugar Hill Mennonite Mission this morning. The young men sang. The youthful tract couples shared songs and an essay. Attendees from different countries know the risen Savior and they will freely tell what He’s done for them.

Christ is risen! Matthew 28:18-19 says,  “All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth.
19 Go ye therefore, and teach all nations.” Many nations come together in Queens. Oh, that all might know the Resurrection Power.

Berniece

Our anniversary celebration took place at Kabul Grill on Long Island. From the Midwest to the capitol of Afghanistan is a far distance in country, climate, and culture. We had no plans of a dinner place when we rode the train to Long Island, but it wasn’t an accident that after a morning spent touring Old Bethpage Village, we chose this place for the Uber driver to drop us off.

We could not have chosen better. Rafi greeted and seated us, showing the hospitality that the Afghani people are known for. We made our choices of eggplant with yogurt, naan, chicken kebab with its mild seasonings and saffron, and rice with raisins and carrots.

Rafi, the owner, wanted to know what brought us here. When he heard we were celebrating our 43rd anniversary, he brought a second salad.

“Are you Muslim?”

“One hundred percent. What about you? Rafi asked.

“Christian.”

Later a man came in to get catered food for a Passover meal. He explained to us that this is the traditional food his Jewish grandmother made. (There were once tens of thousands of Jews in Afghanistan. Now there are none.) The Jew, the Muslim, and the Christians had a most amiable conversation in this peaceful country far from the turmoil in Kabul.

Above our heads hung the famous National Geographic picture of the 12-year-old Afghani girl in Pakistan. I mentioned we’d seen the same picture in a favorite restaurant near our place, but sadly, the restaurant closed. Rafi said the owner had died. I told him we’d met the man who started Edible Arrangements at the restaurant. “Do you know about him?”

“I know all about it,” he said looking down and giving a little kick that said, we don’t want to talk about this. Instead, I commented about the large, homemade kites decorating the walls. “Do these symbolize kite fighting?”

Rafi lit up. Kite fighting, now that was something he loved talking about. It’s the sport of their country. We once passed by a park with a sign, “No kite fighting!” Rafi couldn’t explain why Mayor Giuliani outlawed the sport of trying to cut your opponent’s kite string. Rafi said that it’s a colorful scene that people like to watch.

We don’t usually get dessert in a restaurant, but we were celebrating so we ordered baklava.

“Do you want baklava or custard?” Rafi asked.

Custard? That tempted us, but we stuck with the baklava. “You’re going to make us fat,” I said when I saw the large serving of the layered filo pastry, nuts, and syrup.

Finally, we finished and paid. As we walked toward the exit, Rafi appeared with custard. He handed it to Laurence saying, “You take good care of that wife of yours.”

A short train trip away on Long Island we experienced the food and culture of Afghanistan.  Berniece

Laurence had Monday, April 7, off. We took the train to Philadelphia. With speeds up to 125 miles per hour, we arrived there in only an hour and 15 minutes after leaving Penn Station. My cousin Gaylene with husband, Charles, met us at the train station. First stop was the Reading Terminal Market, a busy, bustling place with many food choices and not enough tables to seat the crowds. We, of course, had Philly cheesesteak sandwiches. Afterwards, we threaded our way through the aisles, stopping for donuts from Beiler’s. Laurence and I also purchased sausage from our go-to place, an Amish vendor. I appreciated visiting with the two older Amish ladies running the stand.

We dumped luggage off at an Airbnb before going down to the site of the immigration station along the Delaware River where the SS Vaderland landed on December 26, 1874. My great grandparents (likely along with your ancestors) came ashore in the New World there. Broken down pilings poke from the river; otherwise, we use our imagination at what it must have been like to set foot on land and walk into an unknown future. (As you know, it didn’t go good for a long time for them. Do I need to say how blessed we are?)

From there, we took Laurence back to the train station since he had to work today. Charles, Gaylene, and I went on to Germantown to the birthplace of the Mennonite Church in America. We couldn’t get into the church, but we walked around in the cemetery, thankful for the faith of our fathers!

Supper was at a Mexican restaurant before going back to our Airbnb. I messaged the host that there were no coffee pods. He responded by having Uber Eats deliver some from an hour away; that’s service for you! (I wrote him a nice review.) I felt rather loathe to leave the cute little house this morning, but we had places to go and things to see.

First stop was Independence Hall where the park rangers did a great job of explaining the writing of the Constitution. The original chair with the “rising sun” where George Washington presided is there. (Ben Franklin sat in the chamber wondering if it was a rising or setting sun and declared it a rising sun after the constitution was written.) Charles and Gaylene went to the Liberty Bell. I met them afterward at the Visitor’s Center. A lady there helped them plan the rest of their time in the Philadelphia Historic District.

We said goodbyes, and I parted ways with Charles and Gaylene. They went on to the Betsy Ross House, Christ Church Cemetery, and the Museum of the Revolution. These are all places we’ve been to numerous times. I walked to the Pennsylvania Bible Society. Founded in 1808, it’s America’s first Bible Society. It isn’t very impressive, but I like to go to that little place with Bibles. The older lady volunteer manning the desk shared with me how America needs to turn back to the Word.  Amen!

An Uber driver picked me up there and dropped me off at the train station. Less than two hours after leaving Philadelphia, I walked in at home – glad to be here, but so very happy we could appreciate the rich history of our forefathers and of our country together with Charles and Gaylene.

Berniece