An Ordinary Life

“You are brave,” the country girl said to me after my last post about taking the train for groceries and then stopping to donate blood.

Braveness is not what I feel when I’m on home turf. It’s normal life for me to take the train to buy groceries, to walk among hundreds of people when I’m going to market, or to tap an OMNY card for a bus ride to the sea.

Normal is climbing four sets of steps out of Elmhurst subway station. Then I trudge up three flights to our apartment. There are five locks on the door into our apartment, but we only use one deadbolt. We feel safe here. We also feel safe on the city streets in our neighborhood. I would not be afraid to walk alone at any time. (But one doesn’t walk alone in this city that never sleeps.)

The sounds of sirens, of planes taking off, and of the neighbor’s voices are around us, but usually they are not annoying. We hear apartment doors slam and people talking in the entry.

Normal is taking the train to church. Last Sunday some of our brothers and sisters were on the same train and in the same car as us. They did not know we lived here. We did not know they were in the city. Such a delightful surprise. It is not normal to run into our people in the city.

The sanctuary in Harlem fills with dear ones of different nationalities and cultures, so it isn’t the American typical Sunday school discussions, but God is present, and we are inspired. Afterwards, the routine is dinner in the fellowship hall. Truly, it is fellowship of the best kind, and there is no place we’d rather be.

The hospital where my husband works is a few blocks away from our apartment. Not only has it provided our living for many years, but it’s taken good care of our medical needs. We are not strangers there.

A few people say, “I could live here.” Many more tell me, “I could never live here.” Long ago I would have said that too, but that was before I knew the plans God had for us. The city is my home. I’m glad I live here, and while I’m here, I look for a city whose builder and maker is God (Hebrews 11:10).

Berniece

This is an interesting title for a bad experience. Stay with me to the end, to understand how I knew praise.

I remember the call to prayer before going out into the darkness to ride the train to Trader Joe’s for a few groceries. I’ve done this outing many times, so why a special prayer? I do not remember if I prayed or not, but I understand now why it would have been good to kneel down and pray.

I took the train to Forest Hills and walked to Trader Joe’s where I filled the rolling backpack with groceries and set off for the subway station. On impulse, I turned into a New York blood donor center and inquired about giving blood. Yes, I could. It would take 45 minutes. It was a brand new facility and the people were kind. I filled out a form and then relaxed as the blood flowed from me. Afterwards, I felt okay, but I did sit down to drink a bottle of juice and to have a cookie before walking back to the subway station.

Since I’d just given blood and because of the heavy backpack, I decided I’d use the elevator instead of stairs to go down to the turnstile entrance. I was surprised at how dizzy I felt while I waited. The elevator arrived. I made it to the train platform and onto the train. All would be well, or so I thought.

I rode several stops to our station, got off the train, and carried the heavy backpack up a flight of stairs, ignoring the instructions of no lifting for a day. I had three more flights to go before getting out of the station. I felt terrible. I could not go on, and I leaned against a pole. When I thought I could continue, I climbed a few steps and then realized that with my foggy state of mind I hadn’t brought the backpack along. I returned to my backpack. I knew then that I’d have to ask for help.

In desperation, I stopped a man coming down the steps and said, “Can you help me?”

He said, thinking I wanted in the subway system, “Don’t worry. I’ll open the gate for you.”

“No,” I said, “I gave blood. I feel like I’m going to faint.”

“You need to sit down,” he replied. I listened and sat down on a dirty step. “You need a drink of water. I’m sorry all I have is alcohol.” (God can use anyone! Even the partially drunk guy looking for shelter in a subway station. The man was so kind.) I told him that what I really need is someone to carry my bag up the steps.

“Don’t worry. I will carry your bag whenever you’re ready.”

My mind wasn’t clear, but I figured I was ready. The man picked up my bag, and we walked out. I even dug a couple dollars from my billfold to give him, saying, “Don’t use it to buy alcohol.” I assured him that I’d be alright, and he went back down into the station.

I took a few steps before fainting and falling onto the sidewalk. A young man asked if I’m okay. I thought I’d tripped, and as I got up, I told him I was fine. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, before walking on. I fainted the second time. (My mind wasn’t functioning too well and how it all happened isn’t clear to me.) At some point, I sat down by the entrance to an apartment building. I fainted a third time and I fell off the small pillar I was sitting on.

I realized then that though I was only a block from home, I was completely helpless. In my desperation, I called Laurence who by now was home from work. Laurence came and rescued me. He took the bag. He held onto me, and we got home where he made me lay down with my legs propped up. (He’s had some experience with people fainting after drawing blood.) I recovered my equilibrium, and I knew I’d survive.

Before going to bed last evening, I read how my friend chose praise for her word of the year. Praise flowed through me as I fell asleep and it did again this morning. When I was helpless, God kept me. He took care of me. “I will extol the LORD at all times; his praise will always be on my lips” (Psalm 34:1 NIV).

The experience was not pleasant, but the result could have been much worse. Next time, I’ll eat more snacks, have someone with me, and I will not carry anything heavy. Or maybe there won’t be a next time. Maybe I’m getting too old to give blood.

Berniece

We’re enjoying eggnog and Christmas goodies after an evening outing to Howard Beach here in Queens. The bus dropped us off near Danny’s, a favorite Chinese restaurant that fills with Italian families. After dining on pan fried noodles and dumplings, we walked through a few blocks of the residential area, looking at the Christmas lights. Words will not describe the magnificence of the displays. My favorite was a large nativity scene. We could go every night for a week but we still wouldn’t see it all.

The streets were silent as we walked behind Crossbay Boulevard except for the lone and lonely man who climbed out of his car as we walked by. He shook our hands, told us his name, and wondered if we’d heard him on the radio. He then recited a poem that he’d written about his mother.

The scene this evening was so different than when I walked on Roosevelt to Junction Boulevard today. Laurence says, “Take your passport when you go out there.” He means that it’s like another country and you won’t be seeing tourists. The streets were not quiet. Food vendors sold tacos, empanadas, hot drinks, fried goodies, charcoaled meats …

Out there you could do all your shopping at the sidewalk vendors. Tables full of gloves, Santa hats, ear muffs, stuffed animals, perfumes, jackets, shoes, knock off sunglasses, gift bags, Tupperware and more lined one beside another with people, people everywhere. Everyone was talking in Spanish. (Wouldn’t you like to be a missionary among those humble, lovely people?) The barber shops were full! “Corte de cabello.” The hairdresser was also out on the street, braiding a girl’s hair while the mother looked on with approval.

Families are celebrating Christmas tonight. We miss our families. But we get to be here and tomorrow we’ll be with friends at Sugar Hill Mennonite Mission in Harlem.

Merry Christmas! Berniece

Ps We fondly remember the year Nathan and Tori, Jesse and Heather, and Royce and Sarah came for a week at Christmas or when the James Koehn family did. We recall the Christmas day when the living room was filled with the Akinyombos and the Benns…so many memories.

“Loving Father, Help us remember the birth of Jesus, that we may share in the song of angels, the gladness of the shepherds, and the worship of the wise men.

Close the door of hate and open the door of love all over the world. Let kindness come with every gift and good desires with every greeting.

Deliver us from evil by the blessing which Christ brings, and teach us to be merry with clean hearts. May the Christmas morning make us happy to be Thy children, and the Christmas evening bring us to our beds with grateful thoughts, forgiving and forgiven, for Jesus’ sake, Amen!”

Advent: a. the coming of Christ at the Incarnation
b: second coming

Joseph led Mary out of the darkness of a Kansas night into the circle of light where I stood with the group we’d been assigned to by the young couple at the Lonetree Church. Joseph knocked on the door of the inn. “No room,” the innkeeper intoned, before having his son lead the couple to a stable. We next observed the youthful Mary and Joseph, as portrayed in a live Nativity scene, sweetly sitting with baby Jesus among bales of hay. Sheep munched on the straw. A cow mooed.

Out on the hills, shepherds watched their sheep. “An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid, I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord'” (Luke 2:9-11 NIV).

The Christmas story inspired me anew that evening in Kansas. I am a part of the vast number of people who know about the babe born in Bethlehem. We are God’s children. We celebrate the season with carols, programs, by giving gifts, and with eating peppernuts and other goodies. We share the good news on the streets and subways of New York City.

Christ has come. Someday, soon he is coming again. The Advent season not only looks at the babe born in Bethlehem, but it is also a time to be prepared for his second coming.

“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests” (Luke 2:14 NIV).

May the peace of God rest upon you this Christmas season as we remember Jesus’s birth, and as we anticipate his return.

Berniece

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.