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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.”)

I belong to the sisterhood of African women braiding hair. Membership doesn’t come easily to someone with White skin, but after years of acquaintance, I’ve been accepted. Having a child who shares my name bonds me with my African sisters and truly it is the most wonderful thing ever. It’s a chosen family where I find community and support.

Only my African sister would message me with, “Mama we’re coming over. We’re hungry. You better start cooking.” I’ve always said, “The worst thing about having company is inviting them,” so this makes me happy.

When I broke my leg and couldn’t cook, my African sister took over the kitchen – my White sisters did too. The best fish I ever ate came from her Liberian table. I even dared a bit of the very spicy pepper to add more flavor.

If possible Laurence and I will seat ourselves with the Africans in the fellowship hall. The discussions might get a bit too noisy for Laurence, but his wife delights in them.

Last evening, Sundaymar sat in the recliner doing her daughter’s hair. I lazed on the couch across from them. While Mama moisturized and braided,  we had the opportunity for storytelling, sharing wisdom, and strengthening our friendship.

I caught Bee nudging her mother when she thought Mom overstepped in talking about the Whites.  No offense on my part. I’m happy if I can be thought of  as one of them.

Berniece

We pulled suitcases down Broadway as employees left from the night shift at Elmhurst Hospital. In the meantime, my boss and his crew set up the market on Roosevelt Island. The Q70 bus waited for us, and 20 minutes after leaving home we were walking into LaGuardia Airport. Voted number one airport in the USA, we marvel at how quickly we’re through security and walking past the dazzling fountain to our gate.

We’re excited to be going to my niece Leah’s wedding, and a little sad to miss the service for Papa Isaac Akinyombo’s retirement from the ministry. Since arriving here in 1998, Papa has been our minister, guidance counselor, and a prayer warrior. He checked in often when Laurence had Covid. We bonded over many worship services and fellowship dinners, at school picnics, communion services, holiday gatherings, and all the heartwarming discussions in Papa’s small apartment. We cried together when Mama left us.

A special service was when some of the writing group I belong to gathered to worship in the mission on Cherry Street in Poughkeepsie before going to a writer’s retreat. That day Papa encouraged us to write, that words, beginning with those Moses was inspired to write, are important in God’s kingdom.

Papa’s contemporaries will be there today -.those wise, grey-haired brothers and sisters. It blessed us to spend a short time with a few of these ordinary people last evening in a picnic shelter beside the Hudson River. Four of us ladies sat on a bench by the Sleepy Hollow Lighthouse as the sunset glow reflected off the water. Walking back to the park, I saw Roger Penner and Ed Warkentin (present and past NYC missionary) talking together on a bench by the river while Laurence stood on the lawn visiting with his cousin Rol Loewen. Elmer Swareys and Franklin Wengers had left by then for their motel in Fishkill.

The sun set behind the hills and the lights of the magnificent Tappan Zee Bridge came on as Rodgers and we boarded the Metro North train for NYC.

“Beyond these hills lies Home.” Prepare for takeoff.  Berniece

I began the day by remembering my grandparents, the uncles, aunts, and cousins and how we’d gather at Camp Hawk on Memorial Day. I remembered my dad going up to bat in an early Memorial Day gathering when the Paul Becker family met at Harvey County Park.  As a cousin wrote on Sunday, Dad has hit a home run. This Memorial Day, we put flowers on his grave. On July 5, 2024, Dad joined his parents, brother, sisters, and nephew Clayton in Glory.

Instead of breakfast, ball, lunch, and homemade ice cream at Camp Hawk this year, Laurence and I met Roger and Elsie Penner, Ron and Carol Becker, and Eric Pobee on the Metro North train. We took it from Grand Central. Rons and Rogers found us on the third to the front car when they got on at Harlem-125th, and Eric boarded the same train at Stamford, Connecticut. Eric knows Connecticut, so when we reached Bridgeport, he gave us a quick tour before we went to the ferry.

Laurence and I are acquainted with ferries; however, we were not prepared for the mammoth one awaiting us. We boarded, and I watched as the vehicles drove on. The ferry can hold 1,000 passengers along with 100 vehicles. As we found our seats, Eric offered us each a can of coconut water. He said, “You didn’t ask me what I’m pulling this (a rolling backpack)for.”

I told him that I had wondered but my Canadian friend says that she is amazed by the personal questions we ask here in the USA. He laughed, understanding what I meant. “I like it,” Eric, who is from Ghana, said, referring to the questioning.

The hour and a quarter ride to Port Jefferson on Long Island was fabulous. As we pulled into the New York harbor, the verdant green hills came into view, the many boats docked, and a bustling harbor town.

Afterwards, we ate seafood (most of us anyways) in an open air restaurant near the water. I asked the busy waiter why the wooden cross on his label. He said, “It’s my way of honoring Him.” We wandered down by the water, walked, and sat on a bench. No picture could do justice to the beauty, and the best way I can describe it is the Power and the Glory with the sunshine and clouds over the blue of the sea.

A little girl showed me the seashell she’d found. Her bearded dad said, “If we find another, we’ll bring it to you.”

“We’ll be at the ice cream shop,” I replied.

“Don’t say that word around us, he said. 😀

Our group each chose their favorite ice cream, and enjoyed it while sitting around outside the shop. (Most of us anyways 😉.) And then it was time to leave the touristy part of town to climb steeply for a mile and a half to the Long Island Railroad Station. Eric walked part way with us before turning around to take the ferry back to Connecticut.

I fell asleep during the train ride into the city. Laurence and I got off at Jamaica to catch the subway home. Rogers and Rons went on to Penn Station. Never before have we rode Metro North, a ferry, and the Long Island Railroad on the same day, but we’re already dreaming of when we can do it again.

Laurence and I appropriately finished the day by eating dumplings on Broadway in Elmhurst. It wasn’t homemade ice cream at Camp Hawk but then and now, life is good! Berniece

How did you spend Memorial Day?

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.