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Number 7 train to Flushing Main Street.

Squeak. Doors open.  “The next stop is Court Square.”

“Ride inside. Stay alive.” This announcement is meant to discourage subway surfing, a dangerous sport.

Several hundred commuters ride this train in the city that never sleeps. (“Never sweeps,” says the subway ad for Swifer).

We’re passing the Amtrak train yards. Your train starts here.

“Remember the best way to get out to the Billie Jean King National Tennis Center is with the MTA.” The US Open is going on and the 7 train will take you there.

The Queens tract workers are on this train. They were also on the Metro North train going to Peekskill earlier this evening. We’re happy about other Mennonites in Queens.

“This is Woodside.” Woodside. That’s where it all began in 1988 when we first came to the city.

“This is 69th Street.” Here you’ll find the Filipino stores and restaurants. “74th Street, Broadway.” Many people change trains here. The people of India, Bangladesh, Tibet, and Nepal come to this station and exit to the ethnic stores and restaurants they’re acquainted with.

“This is 82nd Street.” This is where we leave the 7 train and walk through well lit, throbbing streets to our quiet apartment on Layton Street.

Good night! Berniece

“It’s kinda like heavenly places,” Laurence says to me as the bus crosses Jamaica Bay, the water a dark blue out the window. The city skyline is silhouetted against a canvas splashed with the fading oranges of sunset colors.

We’re on the bus home from Rockaway Beach where we ate wood-fired pizza at a pink and green picnic table on the boardwalk with ambience provided by the restless roar of the sea. Hurricane Erin is out there somewhere and tonight the waves were wild and high, as high as we’ve ever seen them.

The surfers who gracefully rode the waves mesmerized us while we enjoyed the camaraderie of our fellow New Yorkers who were also awed by the sight.

We witnessed Glory when rays of the setting sun caught the waves just as they curled and crashed.

We’ve been to the desert, the plains, and the mountains, but tonight, I will take the beauty of the sea.

Berniece

I met a man coming from the subway station. Not a good sign. The R train platform at Elmhurst is empty. Not a good sign. The F train roars through on the express track. Not a good sign as I’ll want it at the next station down the line where I’ll board it for Roosevelt Island. Missed trains. Last evening on the way home from Forest Park, it was missed buses.

How much of our 30 years here have I spent waiting on public transportation? It doesn’t matter to me this morning. After being out of town for most of three weeks, I am happy to be back in the city I love. The city, my home!

My heart clapped when I landed at LGA on Thursday. I peered out at familiar sights as the plane descended. I pulled my suitcase and squeezed into a crowded bus. It didn’t matter. I was home. People bumped and shoved while getting off at Roosevelt Avenue. I walked past the Asian market, a bar, Thai restaurants, and more. People, people everywhere.

Laurence welcomed me into our apartment. He served up momos (Tibetian dumplings) from the street vendor outside the playground on Broadway. “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Yesterday, I cooked and baked in my tiny apartment kitchen, a most peaceful place. Our miracle God but a kitchen tool that I left somewhere in New Hampshire back in the drawer right where it belongs.  (If God answers these little prayers then surely He hears my ‘big’ ones.)

The R train came, and so did the F train. I rode it to Roosevelt Island. The East River flows below where I sit on a bench beside it. Sunshine glints from a Manhattan hospital. Seagulls call. Traffic roars. The red tram glides beside the Queensboro Bridge, and I am home.

Berniece

Berniece

This morning here on Grand Isle, Vermont, from Adirondack chairs beside Lake Champlain while watching car ferries traverse back and forth between Plattsburgh, NY, and this island, my mind keeps going to an oddity we saw near where we stayed in Tamworth, New Hampshire.

Past the summer home of the 22nd and 24th president, Grover Cleveland, a massive 20 foot tall hunk of  rock sits beside the road. Crumbling stone steps lead to the top of this massive boulder  with a tall white obelisk rising even higher. After passing by several times, we one day decided to stop. We expected the rock to be associated with the cemetery across the road; therefore, we were quite surprised at what was written on the obelisk. The Congregational Church of Tamworth had its beginning here when Samuel Hidden was ordained on the rock on September 12, 1792. Samuel served in the War of the Revolution from 1777-1781. He attended Dartmouth College. “He came into the Wilderness and left it a Fruitful field,” reads the north side of the monument.

A rock. Only a rock. Jesus says, “Upon this rock, I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it” (Matthew 16:18). “How firm a foundation, O saints of the Lord, is laid for your faith in his excellent Word!”

The Reverend Samuel Hidden was a minister for 46 years. He died in 1837 at age 77.

The ferries keep going back and forth. Back and forth. We plan to ride one later this morning, but right now Laurence is rather impatient with his wife’s blogging because he wants to go for a walk on Lake Shore Road. A good day to you.

Berniece

“May we share this table with you?” the woman asked as she set her picnic lunch beside us at the lone table overlooking the gorge with its humongous rocks and rushing water. We had pulled over on the Kancamgus 34.5 mile National Scenic Byway to have lunch on that summer day.

While eating, we chatted with the woman and the teenager who she said she mentored. After visiting about the usual things of where we live and so forth, the girl wondered if she could ask a question.

“Sure,” I said, knowing what was coming.

“Why do you wear that on your head,” she asked, referring to my prayer covering.

I’m not bold like Paul, and I wondered how to answer. I did not want to offend the friendly lady we’d been talking with.

Before I could say anything, the lady said, “I should know. I used to wear one.” She then proceeded to give a clear answer straight from 1 Corinthians 11. She did it honestly and humbly, and I felt in a better way than I ever could have. Without a doubt God put this lady in this place, at this time for a reason. Before we parted, the girl asked, “May I give you a hug?” 🫂 We hugged and said goodbye.  We did not exchange phone numbers.

This incident happened many years ago. Last evening, Laurence and I stopped to eat our picnic supper at Rocky Gorge on the Kancamgus Highway. (It must be one of the prettiest places in all of America.) Laurence asked, “Isn’t this where we met the woman?” Ever since we arrived my thoughts had been with the dear lady. My prayers too.

God, who sees the sparrow fall, knows her name and right where she (and I) are. He can direct her steps. He doesn’t need a phone number.

Berniece

ps Today we plan to take the cog train up Mount Washington. Last time we did this, my parents were along. I want to do it in memory of Dad. He enjoyed it so much and said someday he’d return. Instead, he went Home to the most beautiful place of all.

Part.Two

Laurence helped me carry the blue kayak to the water’s edge last evening. I paddled some. It didn’t take much effort. Part of the time, I just floated on the placid waters of Lake Champlain.

Imagine our surprise, when we opened the door to the deck this morning and looked out over the lake. “I won’t be kayaking,” I told Laurence. We poured coffee and went to the Adirondack chairs down at the lake. The wind roared and waves beat ferociously against the shore. The azure blue of yesterday turned more muddy brown. Whitecaps churned.

Life’s like that. Jesus then comes on the scene and says, “Peace be still. Why are you so fearful? How is it that you have no faith” (Mark 4:29,30)?

It was a good day yesterday with going to the Vermont Islands and Mt. Philo. Back at the cottage, Laurence grilled peanut chicken for supper. Afterwards, we drove Lake Shore Road again and stopped at Happy Pike for ice cream with a view. Today, we’re thinking Mt. Jay in Vermont.

The disciples said, “What manner of man is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” It’s Jesus who gave His life for me. Because of Him, I have peace.

Berniece

I awoke this morning with the poem titled, “The Peace of the Wild Things” by Wendell Berry. “I come into the presence of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water.”

We poured ourselves coffee and walked through the dew-laden grass to the lake where the sun shone brightly on the azure blue ripples. The lake is calm this morning, and I’m tempted to get into a kayak, not to paddle madly, but rather, to experience the quietness of nature.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid” (John 14:27). The gift of peace from God this morning passes all understanding. It comes to the here and now in spite of the tumultuous circumstances of the past. It asks me to live in the moment and to face the future with hope.

We came up to a cottage on Lake Champlain on Monday. We’ve been here before. We’ll likely come again to this area beside the lake with the Green Mountains of Vermont rising in the background. The views from Whiteface Mountain in the Adirondacks were amazing yesterday. Laurence grilled supper on the deck. In the evening, we drove Lake Shore Road and stopped for ice cream. We turned in at a farm to see the antique John Deere tractors, and then had a long visit with the farmer’s wife.

Monday we drove a few miles to Rouses Point on the Canadian/American border and took Route 2 across Lake Champlain into Vermont. Laurence grew up by Route 2 some 2,000 miles away in Northern Idaho.

Today, we’ll likely explore the islands of South and North Hero. There’s an abandoned park with wonderful views on North Hero where we may eat our packed lunch, or maybe we’ll do this at the top of Mount Philo in Vermont with its expansive views of  the Champlain Valley.

God gift you with His peace today wherever you are. We wish you were here.

Berniece

I’ve been pondering what makes friendships. By living here I’ve been given a great variety of friends that I would never have known had I married the Kansas farmer. Instead, I married my best friend and said, “Whether thou goest I will go.”

Gisela Gracia became my first best friend here in the city. Our personalities were so much alike that even now writing about her, I stop and remember and miss her, but she went Home many years ago when we were both still young.

I spent today with Shelly from Brooklyn. She introduced delicious Trinidadian food that we ate in her little apartment by Prospect Park before walking through the Brooklyn zoo. Shelly gets me, like my childhood friends never can, in that she understands city living.

The mission sees a constant turnover of staff, but the Akinyombo family remains. We have a background: revivals, communions, Mama’s passing, sickness, school programs, Bible School. These and more bring “ties that bind.”

Can brothers and sisters with Amish backgrounds share the deepest things of life with the Holdeman Mennonite raised in Kansas? Brother Louie Wengerd offered that we could buy a cottage at Homestead Heights. I believe we’d feel right at home with these Pennsylvania people – our family here in the East. (No plans!)

I have a little sister in Virginia. Anyone who knows both of us thinks that we don’t look anything alike, but her and I went through a heap of trouble that drove us together. (Love you Kari.)

The one who calls Laurence, “Papa,” doesn’t share his skin color. Helen Berniece will always be a part of us as will her parents and grandparents.

I cannot forget my childhood friends. They were there then. They’re here for me now.

We care about the young men who lived with us in the Woodside apartment. They are friends. We’re proud of them.

This list is a long way from finished, but I’m going to quit. It’s been a good exercise to realize how blessed I am as we sit alone – so often alone – in our apartment.

What makes a friendship? How can we have more friends?

Berniece

“The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry” (Robert Burns). This quote repeats itself in my mind after a “plans-go-awry weekend” and again today while we wait in a doctor’s office. Laurence took off work a week and a half ago to come here. First, we couldn’t get in the building, and then when we did, the door to the doctor’s office stayed locked. Frustrated, we went home. Laurence found the appointment card. I’m the one who put the wrong date on the calendar.

Back up to the wedding weekend. Sam had a car booked. I’d get off from work early. We’d arrive in PA in plenty of time to prepare for the pre-wedding activities, a seamless plan that eased all anxiety.

“The best laid plans go awry.” No rental cars were available. Zero! (Sorry, we didn’t check Turo.) It’s Sam’s story to tell how they arrived in PA. Plan B: We’d ride with the Reuben Akinyombo family, which included Dad and Mom, three children, and Papa. I contacted Laurence, but once more gave him the wrong information. Laurence is not connected to his phone, a good thing except when I’m trying to reach him.

My anxiety mounted. The two Akinyombo children who I work with and I did manage to meet hubby with the luggage. I should not have fretted. We four reached the mission. All the while, I’m calculating time. It looked like we were doing okay. Reuben said they’d be at the mission soon. However, they were on African time or maybe, held up by traffic going to the Yankee game.

Laurence said, “I’m not going if I’m squished.

I said, “I’m not going if you’re not.” Staying home looked appealing, but when the bride’s parents messaged, I did feel quite wanted at the wedding so . . .Time marched on. The Akinyombo children merrily ate lunch.

Mid-afternoon, we all climbed in with the driver for PA. Laurence wasn’t too squished. We traveled at a good speed. I was hopeful. I did not take into account restroom breaks, change clothes stop, and then when we’re already quite late, someone needed a pharmacy. Mostly, I’d decided to roll with it, trying not to think how we’d get home after the wedding.

We made it to the pre-wedding supper while the guests were still going through the line. We rode with the Daramolas to the motel where we spent the night, had breakfast with them the next morning, and they took us to the wedding. (Thank you!)

The wedding was truly lovely. We were so happy to be there. Afterwards, we hung out at Brother Benns with some of our favorite people. Sundaymar made us supper. (Vicki Eck and I are craving more Liberian food!) This all means that it was late afternoon before Sams and we climbed in with Brother Benn. Traffic going into the city was heavy. Benn entertained us with his skillful driving, and I laughed more than I likely have in years.

Nothing went as planned, but we made memories that will last forever, and perhaps I learned a lesson.

Berniece

Laurence took me to Spicy Shallot for supper. He wanted to do something special as it’s been a year since Dad left us. We shared memories of Dad while eating pad thai and spring rolls.

It’s been a beautiful day. I left the apartment earlier than necessary to eat breakfast of blackberry loaf and cheese beside the East River on Roosevelt Island, a peaceful place across from Manhattan. I watched the red tram move beside the Queensboro Bridge as it took commuters across the river in this city that never sleeps.

We didn’t win the tickets to watch the fireworks from Brooklyn Promenade last evening. Though it’s an amazing show we’re past that and rather, went to bed, but there was plenty of noise and it was still going when I got up early this morning.

Traveling to the Catskill Mountains with friends made yesterday a special holiday. We saw Kaaterskill Falls, but we weren’t the only ones there. In fact, the parking area was full. Several enterprising people had signs by their yards saying, “Parking $10.” Roger paid and parked. I laughed when we went by the same place mid-afternoon, and they were charging $20!

Catskill Mountain House Overlook was much quieter than the falls and breathtakingly lovely. The Hudson River meandered far below while we looked out to New York, Pennsylvania, Connecticut, Massachusetts, and Vermont! Before heading back to the city Tony and Shelly, Roger and Elsie, Clay and Dana, Eric, Laurence and I had supper at Five Guys. I thought how these people that I’ve had such a good time with today will likely never celebrate a Fourth of July together again.

It is the way of life here. We make good friends, but then they leave and are replaced by new good friends. The connections remain though. Benn, Sundaymar, and Bee were back last week. It was so comfortable being with them. Sam and Vicki Eck are coming this week. Sam was one of our boys and we already know we’ll share about many things.

A year ago, Laurence had emergency surgery for a detached retina, and he could not go to Dad’s funeral. 😢 This led to him having cataract surgery last week. This long eye journey is about to be behind us. We are glad!

It’s time for tea. Love, Berniece

(To have my Muslim coworker say, “We love you, Berniece,” was so startling that I’m motivated to write, “Love.”)