An Ordinary Life

“With his (Jesus) stripes we (I am) are healed” (Isaiah 53:5). I stepped into the chapel of the Good Shepherd Church today to pray. I wanted to tell God, “I surrender all.”

I remember hiking a mountain trail with friends and being so tormented by the darkness that I could not see the beauty surrounding me. I asked Laurence to pray for me. Healing took time. A long time.

The assignment for the writing group I belong to is: “What affects your mental health, and how do you deal with it?” So, I’ve been thinking of a checklist for good mental health. I asked Laurence what to put on the list. What would you add?

• Holding no offense
• Spirit-led Bible reading
• Being thankful
• Applying the Philippians 4:8 principle
• Giving my loved one’s problems to God to solve; believing that He can take better care of them than I can.
• Stopping any and all fear the moment it enters my mind
• Going for a walk
• Work
• Enough sleep
• Spending time in the mountains, woods, the beach, or anywhere in God’s beautiful creation.
• Being moderate with phone time.
• Have good relationships
• Being unselfish
• Exercise
• Write

My experience on life’s journey is that the above list must begin with surrendering to God, saying, “Not my will but thine be done.” Then comes a peace that I can’t explain and my joy overflows.

Berniece

P.s.  It was a cold, windy market day but sales were good, and I enjoyed both co-workers and customers. It’s so wonderful that the F train is again stopping at Roosevelt Island.

New Yorkers get a lot of bad rap for being rude, pushy, and cheat you if they can. I could write that post, but this is my town, and there’s a lot of kindness among its people.

We got on this almost full bus and stood squished toward the front. I had a shoe that needed to be tied. The laces threatened to trip me; Laurence accidentally stepped on one of them. The bus jerked and swayed. My mom taught me to be ladylike, but all grace fled. Then a not so young lady sitting in front of me bent over and tied my shoe! I was so appreciative, and it humbled me.

I recall the Bangladeshi man who stepped back to hold his umbrella over me while we crossed an intersection in a downpour, or the strong businessman who lifted Little Berniece’s stroller and carried it several flights out of a subway station. Recently, another bus rider informed me that my cell phone was about to slip from my jacket pocket.

There are many more such stories, but we’re about to arrive at Ft. Totten for a picnic with our friends. Perhaps, you have some stories to share of encounters with friendly New Yorkers. Berniece

I picked up “The Eclipser” glasses for the 2024 Viewing Party behind the New York Hall of Science. Many people were there ahead of me, and I scanned the lawn for a spot, spying one at the top of a small ridge. I opened my picnic blanket beside a woman of my age who said this was her first time seeing an eclipse. People continued to swarm in with camp chairs, blankets, food, and drinks. A few of the Queens Night Market vendors had set up booths, and I planned to at least buy a drink, but the lines were much too long. (I got delayed while writing this as I saw an article about the Night Market – a foodie lover’s delight and cheap prices too. I can hardly wait for the season to begin on April 27.)

We put our glasses on and watched as the moon began to come between the earth and the sun. The live music could not be ignored, but far more impressive was the amazing order of God’s creation. Once, the music stopped because a small  boy wearing a gray T-shirt was lost. “Please, listen,” the DJ said, “His name is Luke. Look around for a boy in a T-shirt. Call for Luke.”

And a thousand people or more called, “Luke.” Then the DJ announced, “He’s coming from the bathroom. Luke was in the bathroom.” And a thousand people or more clapped.

On my back, my head propped up, I beheld the finale at 3:25 pm when 90 % of the sun was covered. It was truly amazing, and I’m so glad I went. I almost didn’t as it was only this morning that I decided I shouldn’t miss this spectacular event.

I soon picked up my blanket, told my eclipse friend good-bye, and walked into Flushing Meadows Park. I noticed the quiet, the birds singing, and the cows and sheep in the zoo. I walked on, stopping now and then to check out the sun. Others in the large park were doing the same. Some were having their own eclipse parties on the lawn under the trees. It’s spring and the park is beautiful. I meandered for maybe a mile before going up the ramp and bringing the 7 train home.

It was an unforgettable eclipse experience. Tell me about yours. Berniece

It’s noisy in the Elmhurst Station this morning. The homeless community at the entrance level carries on a lively discussion in Spanish. The R train rolled in as I typed that last statement, and I’ve already transferred to an F train that waited briefly at Roosevelt for the R train riders wanting to switch. I’m rejoicing this morning that after months of alternative routes, the F train will stop at Roosevelt Island.

Because I arrived at the Island very quickly – it’s early – I will finish this blog to you from my seat here beside the East River. Delicate white blossoms of cherry trees wave beside me. The architectural marvel of the Queensboro Bridge crosses the river with the tram rising beside it, carrying people to Manhattan. Sunshine reflects off skyscrapers, the sky tinged with a faint pink. A tug pushes a barge up the river. In the distance, I see the stately United Nations building. I listen to birds sing amongst the constant roar of Manhattan traffic.

This is my world this Saturday morning. God bless your day. My verse today: “I know that my Redeemer liveth.” Berniece

“What is your country?” I asked. I knew I likely was pushing the restaurant manager to tell me something that wasn’t easy, but I needed to know the answer. “We are Uyghur,” he replied.

“I know, but what is your country?”

“We came here from (northwest) China, but China,” and his voice trailed off. I understood why. The Uyghurs are a people and a culture without a country. Their beautiful land and peaceful lifestyle has been invaded; they have suffered genocide at the hands of the communist Chinese. The people we saw in the restaurant last evening seemed to me to be those who have experienced great heartache.

We’d been on the bus to Panda Express (how boring is that!?) when we saw an open sign on Uyghur Lagman House. “Shall we go there instead?” I asked Laurence.

“If you want.” We got off the bus at the next stop and walked back to the restaurant. We passed the Samarkand restaurant where we like to go for special occasions. It’s owned by Uzbek Jews so wouldn’t open until sundown. (It was the Sabbath.) We expected the Uyghur menu to be much the same as Samarkand since we’re talking Central Asia and it was. We had the most delicious lagman (noodles) dish with lamb and manti (dumplings) filled with lamb. The manti came with sour cream. Their unique stringed instruments decorated the walls, along with pictures of their homeland, and decorated prayer caps. A blue and white design running around the border made me think of Asia. I felt so glad to live here and experience this place. It was their opening day.

These gentle people are Muslim. There are not many of them in NYC. I feel small when I think about their need for Jesus. This morning, it came to me that I can pray for them. Our God is not small. He made them, and he loves them.

Berniece

“I’ve prayed more for them than I have for anyone else,” Grandpa told me when I called to tell him about our miracle meeting with a Haitian sister who had left the Fold.

We went to the large church in Queens to help friends with serving a meal to the homeless community. A Haitian youth girl and I chatted together while observing the crowd in that basement dining hall. After telling Jasmin about my grandparents’ service in Haiti, she said, “I’m going to tell my mother.” In a short time, the mother came and wrapped her arms around me in a hug. Madam had worked for my grandparents while they were missionaries in Haiti. Her and her husband had been members of the Church of God in Christ, Mennonite, in Haiti, but they had walked away from God and the Church.

It wasn’t hard for our God who hears prayer to bring two people from two different backgrounds and places together in a church basement in Jamaica, Queens. (It does look impossible to me!)

Since then, we have been witness to these miracle meetings a number of times: The Pakistani man who stopped his van where I stood on Broadway. He had often worshipped with us before moving to Toronto; the lady at a picnic table in New Hampshire who said she’d once wore a prayer covering; the sister who walked away from the Church but who fell into my arms when God put us  both on the second floor of Elmhurst Hospital. Recently, while in a park, a dad pushing his child in a stroller began talking to us. He looked quite shocked when I called him by name. Somewhere, Michael has loved ones praying for him.

I write this to give you courage today. God hears our prayers, and all power belongs to Him! “He is able.” Berniece

My uncle Dean said at the service for his retirement from the ministry last evening that this song sung at his ordination had guided his ministry. I believe it was also the theme of his dad’s, my grandpa Becker’s calling.

At a Becker picnic back in the good ole days Uncle Dean told me, “Home is where your husband is.” Honestly, it didn’t seem like good days to me as right then all our earthly goods were packed in a U-haul for the move from Idaho to Georgia. I had no clue how this path would take us to a lifetime in New York City, to the one of the most, if not the most, diverse counties in the world.

Home is Elmhurst, Queens, where my husband is. Last evening, we watched as the smiling Tibetans circled to the music of their homeland. Once, a young woman stepped beside me at an intersection. She said, “I recognize you from the Colombian restaurant where I used to work.” Coming into our building some years ago, a group of monks in the rust-colored robes of the nearby Thai temple stood waiting for the elevator. Today, (after an appointment for his eye (thank you for praying)), Laurence will take the vital signs on patients from Mexico, China, India, South Korea . . . He works with nurses from Uzbekistan, Nepal, Russia, Jamaica, and many other countries. Jesus says, “All power is given unto me. Go.”

How blessed we are to live and work among all God’s children. The Gospel story, “Must be told.” Are we telling it? Berniece

Dressed for cold and rain, I step from the entrance awning of our building on Layton Street and walk two blocks to the subway station. I’m glad to see the world is awake here: a station attendant emptying trash, other commuters on their way to or from work. The homeless person isn’t awake, but rather, completely wrapped in a blanket, he soundly sleeps. Lights shine in the tunnel, closer, closer, and the R train rolls into the station.

Passengers visit in languages that I don’t understand. Some doze. It appears the man beside me is reading the Koran. Because it’s Ramadan he, like my Muslim coworker, will fast between sunrise and sunset. (This means no eating or drinking.)

I’ve arrived at Queens Plaza to wait for a bus that will take me to Roosevelt Island. Motels, offices, and residential apartment buildings rise all around me. I remember when this was a derelict, high-crime area. It’s changed. Now, we could not afford to live here.

A lady greets me. We’ve waited here together before. She comments that April 1 the train will again stop at Roosevelt Island. We won’t have to take the bus like we’ve been doing for months now. A man asks us for directions to 39th Avenue. We try to point him in the right direction.

Rain falls. Overhead scaffolding protects us. Soon a bus will pull up to the stop. (If not, Uber to the rescue.)

Good morning! May your day be blessed. The verse the Lord gave me today is Proverbs 4:23, ” Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.” I’d like to hear your inspiration. Berniece

Our bedroom is a peaceful place. Laurence just served us hot tea with biscotti from special cups on a small blue and white tray that I received when the neighbor lady two floors below us died. The tiny electric fireplace burns and we talk a little. Sometimes we sit – me in the small armchair and Laurence in the rocker – and listen to a service, or do some light reading until we fall into bed. I often think, this is the best time of the day.

But in the morning when Laurence sets coffee for me on the antique desk beside the bed, and he sits in the rocker drinking his, while we both read the Word then I often think, this is the best time of the day.

Today, Laurence and I took the Q53 bus to Jamaica Wildlife Refuge. For some reason, MTA was using a short bus. An Asian lady moved aside to let me have the empty seat by the window. Young people stood in a pack around the exit door. So close to me that I looked into their brown eyes, checked out fake fingernails, and their hairdos. Forget personal space on public transportation where you ride with every tribe and race, saint and sinner, rich and poor, and a lot of hurting people.

So we rode and looked out at stores and residences, restaurants, the overhead train, and Forest Park. (Laurence went to the park earlier today to walk on the horse trail.) We passed by the bay and saw planes taking off from JFK. Finally, we pulled the stop cord for the wildlife refuge. No one else got off with us. It’s rare that anyone does. We took a trail through flora and fauna and a forest. It circled around by the bay. In the distance was the NYC skyline. Laurence watched the birds and the ducks on the freshwater lake through his binoculars. The osprey flew from its nest. In the two mile walk we met one couple and another birder or two. It was peace away from chaos.

It’s a wonderful life – this living in the city – but for good mental and spiritual health, we must spend time in peaceful places. Berniece

Today, I’m having a latte in “Over the Moon,” cafe. Across from me is “Artisan Tea and Coffee.” I never expected to see all these coffee places in our vicinity.

In my bag, I have fabric for a June wedding. I have looked for garden wedding fabric in a dozen fabric stores or more. Always, “Just looking.” Just before I reached the last store, I said a prayer. Not a prayer of faith because I’d been in this store many times before. I knew it would be a miracle if there was the piece for me. I’m sure you already guessed that God gave a miracle, and I didn’t have to pay Manhattan prices of $35 a yard or even $15.

You think that was a little miracle? God gives these to increase our faith that He hears our pleading prayers. Yesterday, our 22 year old nephew was baptized. A big miracle!

Tell me about your recent answers to prayer. (I just thought of another answer today, but it’s too personal to share.) We serve a mighty God!

🙏 Berniece