An Ordinary Life

The GW Bridge and the NYC skyline come into view as we ride this Metro North train into Grand Central from Tarrytown.

Likely there were more tourists than commuters in the great room of Grand Central this morning when we left from the lower level of the station. Large Christmas wreaths artfully decorated the station.

We did not ride far along the Hudson River before getting off at Irvington and making our way up to the Aquaduct Trail. We only walked a portion of the historic 41-mile linear park that follows a 19th-century water tunnel. Through woods, past large, old homes we hiked until coming to the grounds of the Lyndhurst estate. The Greek Revival Mansion built in 1838 was added onto in 1864 by Jay Gould. Its 14,000 square feet has over 90 per cent of the original furnishings in its elaborate rooms.  We came here for the holiday tour. It was our first time in the mansion though we’ve been on the grounds.

(And now we wait along with another train for a drawbridge on the Harlem River to close.)

The tour group met in the carriage house. It went past the children’s playhouse. (It had a phone in it so the girls could call the servants to bring tea.) Before going in the guide told us that there are 75 Christmas trees in the house. It was a happy holiday thing to do, and we learned a thing or two about the history and the generosity of the richest man in America at that time.

Afterwards we walked another mile on the trail and into Tarrytown where we ate Greek food, including baklava. Then we went down, down towards the river to the train station.

We’re back among the buildings and trash, graffiti, and people of Harlem. There’s a building in Harlem where we worship. Tomorrow we’ll bring the subway back here and we’ll be glad that we get to live and worship in NYC.

But today we left the city for a Christmas outing. We said, “Let’s remember this outing, remember what we have. Someday, we’ll move from the city. Maybe we’ll spend Christmas with family then. However, now we have this, and we are glad.”

(The train still waits and while most passengers are chatty and patient, one young man loudly proclaims, “This is horrible.”)

Merry Christmas!

Berniece

It wasn’t Bethlehem but rather, on the Kansas plains where the story of our Savior’s birth came alive. The Roman census takers demanded our names and birth dates before allowing us to enter the market of Bethlehem with its bedlam of market vendors selling herbs, handwoven baskets, fruits, and vegetables. A young girl held a lamb, the money changers argued, and over a fire, a whole chicken roasted.

The inn had no room. A cow mooed and sheep munched hay in the crude stable where the youthful Mary sat sweetly holding the Christ child. White-robed angels sang from on high, proclaiming that a Savior had been born. The shepherds consulted and left their sheep to go find the baby.

The newly engaged King Herod did his best to appear stern and powerful when the Wisemen appeared. The girl guiding us held a lantern on the path lit by hundreds of luminaries. She encouraged our group to stay together as we followed her to the place where the Star hung over the house of Joseph, Mary, and our Savior. The royally-dressed Wisemen came offering their gifts. We petted the three camels.

Let’s sing, “Joy to the World,” the girl said. “Joy to the world the Lord has come.” We rejoiced together in the calm, peacefulness of the night air at the coming of the King of kings. In our hearts, we knew the birth of Jesus is true. However, on this evening the young people of the Lonetree Church gave special meaning to the reason for Christmas. Thank you!

I wished I could take my Muslim friends on the journey. We have a story to tell.

“Go, tell it on the mountain
Over the hills and everywhere
Go, tell it on the mountain
That Jesus Christ is born.”

Berniece

ps We enjoyed the cookies, hot chocolate, and visiting around the bonfires afterwards!

Jesus is everything to me. I’m thankful to know him and the power of his resurrection. I’m thankful for the Spirit that guides me into all truth. I’m grateful for God’s grace to me that I can be one of his children and a part of his church.

I continue to marvel at the beautiful church building we have in NYC. I’m thankful for the people who have served and are serving here. I’m thankful for the outreach these people do and for how the sanctuary fills on Sundays. I’m thankful for Queens gospel tract workers. I love that they have baby Willow Ann!

I’m also thankful for the church in Poughkeepsie, for our brothers and sisters there, and how they accept me as one of them. The God of heaven has blessed me with small insight into many of the cultures of the people he made. I’m especially grateful to have a Liberian granddaughter who shares my love for beaches and bubble tea.

I’m blessed to have known a country childhood on a simple farm with a loving family, with Sunday dinners at Grandpas’, and holidays spent surrounded by cousins.

I thank God that by going forth in faith, he’s provided for our needs. It’s because of him that we live here. He opened the door for Elmhurst Hospital to employ Laurence, and God knows how little I had to do with being placed in a farmer’s market on Roosevelt Island.

Tears of gratitude come for God’s call to Israel and Sarah and that they chose him. I’m thankful God will continue to draw people to him from the rising of the sun to the going down thereof.

Laurence brought me coffee this morning, like he does every morning. God spoke through his Word, like he does every morning. It’s all about him! To him be glory and power for ever and ever! In Jesus name, Amen.

Berniece

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference” (Robert Frost).

I liked my home by the pecan orchard. It hid under the shade of leafy branches, and I thought of it as a treehouse. I liked having a clothesline. I liked a garden. I liked walking to the neighbors, and how their children would come visit me.

Then I took the road less traveled. I exchanged quiet country paths for taking small steps on crowded sidewalks. The road led to an apartment building, to skyscrapers, bustling markets, to sirens, and strange languages. Trains and buses rush down this less traveled road. It is noisy and has bright lights. In place of bird song on this road, I hear the cry of the soul. Instead of the congregation of the saints, there’s a mission church of broken people.

God directed me to the less-traveled way. Because of him, this road has become home. I like it here in a city of brick and asphalt. I like seeing the cultures of the world dance around me. I like tasting the foods of many countries. I like hearing the stories of the people on this road.

“I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”

Berniece 11/17/2025

“This famous poem contrasts two literal paths, but the symbolic meaning reveals a deeper juxtaposition—the decision between two different choices.”

A plane roared into the skies from LaGuardia Airport. I checked the time: 6:01 am. So it did wait until the law said it’s ok. I hear another and another as I stand on the gum-splattered R train platform. An E train roars through and now the beep, beep and the arrival of the Manhattan-bound R. The tattooed arm of another passenger moves in beside me. There is no fear; I’ve rode this train a 1,000 times before.

It’s my lucky day as an F train pulls in just as the R reaches Roosevelt. Big men, younger than I am crowd in front of me. They take the few vacant seats. Can’t they see, I’m a senior? I got a reduced-fare card this week. I’ve quit pushing to be in front, but I’m still working on being angelic in my feelings.

The train stopped at Roosevelt Island. Someone held the elevator door open in the station for me, and I rode to the top of one of the deepest stations in the subway system, and then walked along the river to market. I had market customer discussions on the marathon, favorite New Hampshire sites, faith over fear, vegetables for soup, how to dress for church, the little girl who dances, how big Juju is getting, chemo treatments, and then there was the customer who can’t talk but made a happy grunt when I told him David is going to be a daddy.

And now it’s tonight after eating Greek food and then standing on the beach in the darkness. The waves that lapped against the shore were long and wide. Someone had a fire in the sand where they roasted marshmallows. Little children played around them. We bounced home on the bus. Laurence was jolly. He suggested I write about the drones on the beach in the summer.

The truth is that I am tired, and sad, and lonely. I’m sure life will look brighter in the morning when Laurence brings me coffee, and I read the Word.

Berniece

P.s. My friend Sarah texted saying, “Love is vulnerable,” so I wrote the last paragraph.

Though it hardly compares to the race of life that Paul refers to, I do have some interest – as a New Yorker – in the 26-mile marathon being run through the five boroughs today. I’ve enjoyed talking with a customer who’s ran in the past. I asked him if he’s running this year.

“No, but I’m going to be cheering for the seven runners from Roosevelt Island who will be running. This is like Christmas for a marathon runner.” He told me he’d be going to the Bronx to show his support. “That’s where the race gets hard.” The customer’s eyes gleamed with the enthusiast’s sparkle as he told me how that two time Olympic champion Eliud Kipchoge, age 41,will be running what is expected to be his last major marathon.

I doubt we will watch today but we have. I recall the time I unexpectedly felt my eyes well up with tears upon seeing a woman running in remembrance of a friend who died on 9/11. There’s a kinship with New Yorkers that only they understand.

I’m interested in who wins. However, I’m more interested in the race of life, so off we go to worship at Sugar Hill Mennonite Mission.

God bless you in your race. I’m cheering you on.

Berniece

Dull greens and rust-colored trees rise above brown rooftops. A dove settles on the red fire escape. I hear steam rising in the wall heaters. It’s the fall time when I begin to add layers for work at the market. First a sweater and now a jacket and leggings. The customers buy root vegetables to make soup

The air is crisp. The sea off of Cape Cod softly dashed with the sky blue colors of fall, something different than the wild waves of summer.

Off-season Cape Cod is a delightful place. The beaches aren’t crowded. Seniors hang out at the  lighthouses. They offer interesting information like the man who told us the boardwalk in Sandwich was first built to haul bricks from a factory to building sites.

It was warm enough that first morning to have coffee on the upper deck of the Cape Cod-style house. We stopped in Plymouth where we had lobster bisque and clam chowder with a view of the harbor. We walked by the Mayflower, Plymouth Rock, and past the Sparrow House built in 1640 to the old grist mill. The last day we toured the crude homes of Plimoth Plantation where there’s an awesome view right down through the village to the sea.

A fun fall memory is of riding the Metro North with friends along the Hudson River to Poughkeepsie where we ate a Japanese lunch and did the Walkway Over the Hudson. The hills were decked in fall beauty though they did not have the brilliant reds of last year.

It’s Bowery Sunday. A group is coming from Fleetwood, PA. The heat of summer is gone from the subway stations, and it will be comfortable to sing and pass out tracts at the Times Square Station.

Our dining table is set with a Thanksgiving runner.  I plan to serve soup to the friends coming for supper.

I’ll close with the benediction of the harvest Psalm:

Psalm 65:4-11 NIV – 4 Blessed are those you choose and bring near to live in your courts!
We are filled with the good things of your house,
of your holy temple.
5 You answer us with awesome and righteous deeds, God our Savior,
the hope of all the ends of the earth
and of the farthest seas,
6 who formed the mountains by your power,
having armed yourself with strength,
7 who stilled the roaring of the seas,
the roaring of their waves,
and the turmoil of the nations.
8 The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders; where morning dawns, where evening fades, you call forth songs of joy.
9 You care for the land and water it;
you enrich it abundantly.
The streams of God are filled with water
to provide the people with grain,
for so you have ordained it.
10 You drench its furrows and level its ridges;
you soften it with showers and bless its crops.
11 You crown the year with your bounty,
and your carts overflow with abundance.

Berniece

Step with me into the main room of Grand Central Terminal where Brandon Stanton, author of Humans of New York, has installed his visual love letter to New York. For two weeks, all ads in the whole terminal have been removed and the ordinary New Yorkers from each of the five boroughs are displayed to the world.

The people of the world have flocked to view the art installation as massive photos flash onto the pillars and hang silently on the walls. Seeing people, people from everywhere – maybe more than we’ve ever seen in Grand Central before – is in itself an eye sensory experience.

Dear New York: Shabby, chic seemed to be the style of the lady applying makeup on a crowded train this morning. The little girl talking into a plastic cell phone could be an Asian princess. I’d hire the man with a backpack and paint-splattered jeans. The older woman in a pink-knit sweater top calculates her Con Edison bill after reading the New York Times. The mother with a child on her back and the shaggy, black-haired older son walks by selling candy. A two some dressed for the office seriously discuss the partner who isn’t playing fairly. The bearded Muslim Uber driver tells me about community in his country of Algeria. The waiter talks about the police in his country of Nepal.

New Yorkers of every tribe and race, we love you.  God does too, a lot more than I do.

Berniece

Heaven is calling, and I want to go. I wonder if you think I’m strange. It’s not that life is burdensome. How could it be when the two of us are having hot tea and pumpkin biscotti? Laurence had the day off since he’ll work at the clinic tomorrow. I did cleaning and laundry yesterday, so I felt carefree today.

We took the train to Cold Spring, NY. It traveled beside the Hudson River. The river has its moods and today it was a peaceful blue. The hills on the opposite side wore early fall colors, which is really the drab green of late summer. Soon they’ll be dressed in their best orange, yellow, and red brilliance.

We walked to Little Stoney Point and hiked to the top where the view of the river and the hills is magnificent. We ate our lunch on a green lawn by the trail center, toured Main, had ice cream from Moo Moo Creamery, and dallied (Wordle players) a long time at Dock Park doing nothing. Dock Park faces Constitution Island where the two sisters lived who wrote the song, “Jesus Loves Me.”

I fell asleep on the train home until the conductor made a loud announcement, “Put your bags on the overhead rack and have only your seat on the seat!” A group of Westpoint cadets boarded the train at Garrison besides there being a Yankee game, so the train was full. After I awoke, I just stared out the window at the beautiful scenery.

However, the loveliness of today doesn’t compare with the beauty of Heaven. That’s why I say, “Even so, come Lord Jesus.”

Berniece

PS The weather looks good for tomorrow, and I’m happy to be going to work at the farmer’s market.

“Therefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight and sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1).

When I read the above verse this morning, I thought how Minister Wayne Amoth has joined that great cloud of witnesses whose faith I want to emulate. I can picture him hanging a garment bag in the hall closet of the Washington Heights, New York, apartment and telling Letha, “That’s all we have.” He hoped that the thief who broke into Reuben Shirk’s van and stole his Bible would read it. I remember deep discussions around the table in the open dining area of that apartment, and the time Wayne and Letha went with us to Brooklyn after our friend Cynthia’s husband had just died in a horrific automobile accident. In that desolate apartment with dogs barking just outside the closed kitchen door, Wayne offered words of comfort. He told Cynthia that we would be there for her and her young son.

So many memories . . .

Time skipped along and years later, we met Wayne and Letha in Arizona. I have a mental picture of Letha standing against the kitchen wall of our Airbnb in Tucson, encouraging our dear friend Ady to let go of what’s behind and to travel to her home country of India with courage. None of us who were there will forget how the evening ended with Wayne’s prayer. Afterwards, Waynes, Eds, Kyrons, Ady, and we continued to stand in that sacred space as the youthful Ady shared about her conversion and of being led to the mission in NYC.

These last years when we’d see Wayne, he’d always tell us about the evening he was elected to the ministry. How he did not know what name to put down for the deacon. As the congregation knelt to pray, the name Richard Penner came to him. Wayne and Laurence’s dad were ordained the same evening.

Wayne has joined that great cloud of witnesses. I will meet him and Letha there someday soon.

Berniece

p.s. There is something I must add. I went to my diary just now and saw that on January 28, 2024, Wayne had the sermon at Phoenix. He spoke on “inexpressible joy” – joy that can’t be expressed.