An Ordinary Life

The glorious vaulted ceiling of Grand Central is an impressive 125 feet high and is 275 feet long by 120 feet wide. Every day, 750,000 people pass under its star constellations. On a holiday, this number grows to well over a million. Commuters rush through the terminal to catch Metro North trains to their destinations in Upstate New York and Connecticut or they go down the escalator to the modern Long Island Railroad Station.

I see the tourists gawking and taking pictures by The Clock as I rush with hundreds of commuters to gate 33 for the train to Cold Spring. The out-of-towners lift their eyes to the stars, searching the large space for a tiny 9 x 18-inch black rectangle that mostly comes from cigarette smoke. If they look long enough, they’ll find the sooty smudge in the corner where I exit to my gate. The ceiling is scrubbed clean of its grime except for the spot that shows how dirty the whole once was, a time when the stars did not shine.

I awoke this morning with the verse in 1 John 1:5 NIV: “This is the message we have heard from him and declare to you: God is light; in him there is no darkness at all.” On the heels of the verse came a picture of the small, small smudge on the Grand Central ceiling. The Spirit impressed me that there is no darkness if I walk in the light of God. None. Not even one tiny smudge.

Berniece

PS “Faith is leaving my loved ones problems to God to solve.” With this, the smudge disappears and there is only Light.

“Put your phone down.”

“You are so right,” I replied as I looked up into the face of someone who we became acquainted with years ago when she was an Elmhurst Hospital employee. Seventy-five year old Libby inquired about Laurence. She told me about her children, grandchildren, and how she worried about her daughter who’d lost her job. I could share freely with her about God and His ways, and she did with me, as we stood there outside Aldi where I’d gone to buy groceries. Libby told me to take care of Laurence. “Tell my friend, ‘hello,'” she said as I pulled the rolling backpack on to the bus stop.

I couldn’t ignore God’s benevolent providence in the chance meeting or in another small incident. I’d had an email saying a library book was due. I felt sure I’d taken it back before we went to Kansas. Before going to bed one night, I pulled a journal from a bookcase. It was a strange thing for me to do. The next morning when I put it away, I was surprised and glad to see the library book on the shelf where the journal went.

Today an amazing thing happened when I went to the Asian market for shrimp. Three cleancut bearded guys asked if I’d do a survey as I walked by the playground where they were. I asked them, “Are you Mennonites?” They weren’t. The others walked away and the man talking to me introduced himself as Bert. I agreed to do the survey: “What do you believe about truth, Jesus, God… What would you like to have prayed for?”

Bert quizzed me about the Mennonite community. We talked about living in Elmhurst. I then asked Bert where he lives. “In Alabama. Around Guntersville!” He knows my people there!

Bert asked if he could pray with me. It humbled me to say, “Yes, of course.” Bert removed his cap. He prayed for Berniece. He prayed for the community of Elmhurst. He prayed for the revival at Sugar Hill Mennonite Mission.

We’re on the train to the revival that God has begun in my heart.

Berniece

My husband is interested in the history of Columbus. Laurence found, while doing research, that Columbus was on a voyage that God planted in his heart. The main reason for his journey was to bring Christianity to the natives of the New Land.

Personally, we like Columbus Day because it’s a holiday. When the scent of fall is in the air, I want to flee the city for the Green Mountains of Vermont and the White Mountains of New Hampshire.

This year, it was not to be. Instead, we took the Metro-North train ride along the Hudson River to Poughkeepsie. It’s a beautiful ride. Fall color became more apparent the further north we traveled. “Last stop. Last stop. Everyone must get off.” The train station in Poughkeepsie is old and grand, having been designed by the same architect who designed Grand Central where we’d begun our journey.

The brilliant red-orange of maple trees lines the riverfront park, and we went down to the water before climbing back up to a Japanese restaurant to have a bento box and sushi for lunch. How pleasant it was to have Brother Reuben and Sister Bisi walk through the doors and join us!

Afterwards, Reuben went with us along the Riverwalk to where a glass-sided elevator carried us 212 feet above the river to the Walkway Over the Hudson. The world’s longest, elevated pedestrian bridge was a railroad bridge from 1889 to 1974 when a fire severely damaged it. The Walkway opened in 2009 with its amazing views of the Hudson River and of the Hudson Highlands. (And if you look in the right place on a clear day, you’ll see the Catskill Mountains.) Good company and beauty all around, including many shades of oranges, greens, and browns, made for a breathtaking, awe-inspiring walk. We continued a short distance on the Rail Trail on the west end before coming back to the smattering of picnic tables and food trucks. While munching cider donuts, an impromptu trio of Asians stopped and played “Amazing Grace on small instruments that I don’t have a name for.

After hanging out by the river and doing the Walkway a second time, we boarded the train for home. Often when we ride the train there are empty seats; however, this time every seat was filled both coming and going. The return trip stopped at Yankee Stadium, and the noisy fans departed. We continued on to Grand Central where we boarded the 7 train for home.

Laurence and I had the blessing of Columbus Day away from the city while enjoying the fellowship of Reuben and Bisi and of experiencing the beauty of fall in the Hudson Highlands.

Berniece

A tall scantily-dressed person stood in the corner of the subway car. I cannot tell you if they were created male or female, so it is early Saturday morning when the all-night parties end. (Mostly though it’s medical workers in uniform , construction workers in blue jeans, and people like me who clerk at a farmer’s market.) How, I wondered does God love this person? I picture him/her as a old woman: bent over, stringy gray hair, crazy.  Haven’t we seen many, many of her kind in their old age, shuffling down the sidewalk?

Then the Lord put another picture in my mind of the two of us leaving the subway car together. We both were bent over and had straggly gray hair.

Does the Lord look at us both the same, loving this person as much as He loves me?

Another day, we walked past the clock in the great room of Grand Central Station. People, people everywhere. “Lord,” I said, “Show me how much you love these people.”

He replied, “You couldn’t take it.” I understood that to see mankind running to and fro and not caring about the One who loves beyond my comprehension would be more than I could bear.

John 15:12: “This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” What kind of love is this?

Berniece

The slim, dark-haired woman strode into the coffee shop and threw her arms around my friends and me. Though we’d gained weight and had gray hair, she called us by name: Edith, Donna, Karen, Bev, Gaylene, and Berniece. We six Mennonite women had come to Halstead, Kansas, to meet four of our former classmates who we had gone to music, gym, lunch, and library together with at Halstead Public School. That was over 50 years ago. Still, we connected.

One of our former classmates had lost her husband in 2023. Another’s grandson passed away only a short while before we met. A third cried because her sister’s cancer has metastasized. Sobriety replaced the foolishness of childhood as each of us recounted life’s journey in the years since we’d walked across the gym floor to “Pomp and Circumstance” at eighth grade graduation.

Skip forward to today’s worship at Sugar Hill Mennonite Mission in the heart of Harlem. I can confidently say that nowhere in the conference  did such a diverse group meet to worship. (Ghana, Germany, Nepal, Nigeria, Maine, Michigan . . .) The pure Light of Heaven shone in the chapel as truth was preached and eager hearts drank from the well of living water.

Some of us sat in the backyard of the mission after lunch and listened to the cry of a seeking soul. The young woman with us softly prayed at one point when she wanted to explain what was happening in her life.

This past week I gathered with people from my childhood. Today, I met with these people of my present life in NYC.  Yesterday, I had the opportunity to be touched by and to touch the lives of a multitude of customers. Each person placed in my life by God’s providence for such a time as this (Esther 4:14). Berniece

P.s. Edith Koehn Jesser, Donna Dyck Wedel, Bev Johnson Base, Karen Koehn, Gaylene Smith Koehn, and myself along with our husbands had an Airbnb in Newton, Kansas, for three nights. We six girls who went to grade school together live in six different states.

Queens Night Market where thousands (20,000) of foodies meet and eat on a Saturday night is a sensory experience in the flavors of many countries. Prices capped at five and six dollars mean it’s possible to move through the market to purchase from different vendors: Mexico, Turkey, Venezuela, Philippine street food or Hong Kong, Venezuela, Ethiopia, and Haiti, Ecuadorian ceviche or Polish perogies. The list goes on. To order Burmese Bites, Tibetan momos, or Malaysian burgers means standing in a long line.

While you wait someone passes with a scrumptious-looking dish. Suddenly, I wonder if I am making the right choice. “Where,” I’ll ask, did you get that?” This question delights a foodie, and they’ll go into detail about where, what, and how good it is!

Conversations continue at crowded picnic tables. The Brooklyn girl with freckles and pigtails understands our love for the city. A couple about our age surprises us by saying that they are Antabaptists. Like us, they once lived in Upper Manhattan.

Last evening, Laurence and I visited with a group of Mennonite youth. Most of them were from Brooklyn. As we exited the market, we noticed a group of men wearing Gideon Bible t-shirts. What a blessing to see active Bible-placing Gideons. The blessing continued after we boarded the 7 train and the woman beside me commented on my dress. Turns out, she lived in Wichita and Salina Kansas for a couple years, but now resides in Long Island City with her husband and three wiggly daughters. (I’d tell you about Long Island City, but you have to live here to understand.)

Before leaving Night Market, we ordered a blueberry creme brulee. The smooth flavors of the custard entice me to return another Saturday.

Berniece

P.s. Written while riding the train to church.

“See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the elemental spiritual forces of this world rather than on Christ” (Colossians 2:8 NIV).

The above verse is enough. Nothing is more clear than the Spirit speaking through the Word of God – not Ann Voskamp or some other deceptive religious philosophy.

Laurence asks, “How many people are beginning the day with caffeine and Ann Voskamp?” It is tempting to take up reading material besides the Bible before moving into the day’s work.

Sunday morning in the sanctuary at Sugar Hill Mennonite Mission, Minister Paul Raber stood with the Bible held high in his hand while humbly encouraging us to say a small prayer before we begin to read it, asking God to give us the portion we need for the day. God will supply. Every time! (Personally, I am often amazed at what God knows about me that I hadn’t realized.)

Minister Shawn Becker’s wife, Bernice, asks, “What does 2 Corinthians 5:14 mean to you?”

“For Christ’s love compels us” (2 Corinthians 5:14). For this reason, I write this blog. The truth is in the Word of God, in the writings of our forefathers, and in present day writings of the brotherhood. These truths give a safe place for our soul. It’s drinking living water from a well that never runs dry.

We must be saved. We must not be deceived. May the peace of God be with you today.

Berniece

What does unity look like? It appears as a Light in an historic chapel in the Shaker Village of Enfield, New Hampshire.

We were twelve women along with our husbands (those who could make it) who spent three nights in the ‘retiring rooms’ of the Great Stone Dwelling built in 1841. The clattering of Shaker dishes filled the dining hall with its Shaker furniture. And talk. Though we were middle aged, a little bit old, and young; though we came from different parts of North America; though all of us had never known everyone gathered, the conversations flowed. Sunrise found Ed and Landon in the kitchen brewing coffee. Small group visits continued long after sunset in simple gathering places at the end of wide halls. (Early morning coffee for us and no late night visits.) The men toured in the White Mountains of New Hampshire and experienced fall beauty in Vermont while we ladies met in the Great Room to improve our writing techniques. (Which somehow meant we needed Kleenex boxes on the table.)

However, the most anticipated part of the day were the morning and evening devotionals – that time of singing and scripture – in the ornate stone chapel. The glory of the Lord literally filled that gathering place. (This happened the fall before the Pandemic. I often thought how God knew we would need this time of fellowship to reflect back on.)

The next summer during vacation, Laurence and I stopped at Enfield Shaker Village. Precious memories flooded back, and it hurt to be there without our friends. We toured the dwelling house before going up the steps to the chapel. To my surprise, instead of Light and Glory, a dark, dank sanctuary greeted us. Our brothers and sisters of like precious faith weren’t there.

God bless you with Light as you gather with His people today.

Berniece

P.s. A total of two members, down from thousands,  live in Shaker communities today.

My husband talks about these caffeinated folks who board the train with their coffee and yap, yap. I just walked through the Winter Garden and bought a pumpkin spice latte. Now, I can write. 🙂

(Overhead, “She has a four-sentence plan. It’s, run, Spot, run.” The two women walked on, and I heard no more of the plan.)

Yes, a pumpkin spice latte. Not apple, or chips and salsa, as I read on some statuses. I feel certain that the chips and salsa instead of everything-pumpkin guy would give most anything to be here where I am beside the East River at World Trade Center with an awesome view of Lady Liberty.

A FDNY fire boat and a police boat circle in front of me. Security has the 9/11 Memorial closed off for a service with those who lost loved ones on that day. We remember. I walked from the E train and into the Oculus over the same exit I’d always take to work at the WTC Farmer’s Market back in 2011. I went into the Winter Garden where I’d eat lunch on cold days. I remember.

The weather is gorgeous today just like it was on that 9/11. There’s a generation of people who weren’t born on that 9/11. If I could have looked ahead, I would have been surprised to see myself 23 years later still here. God has been so good to me!

If I am sad, it’s not because it’s 9/11. It’s because my dad died. This evening is Grandpa Night, but Dad won’t be there. Life moves on.

I remember the billowing river of rolling smoke we witnessed from a top floor of Elmhurst Hospital. I realized then that one day (soon) this city would be ashes. (We look) “for a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God.”

Berniece

P.s. What are your 9/11 impressions?

Tonight we walked on the beach at sunset. The sea lapped at my bare feet as I left footprints in the sand. We first noticed a NYPD helicopter circling above the sea. As we looked into the skies, we spied two drones. On the shore the lights of emergency vehicles suggested something amiss. As we drew closer, we could see a couple men paddling with surfboards. Emergency personnel and citizens all stood looking to the sea.

We asked a muscular Black man what was going on. He said he’d seen someone struggling a long ways out at sea. After more talk, he told us he’d taken a picture, and he showed it to us. He could not understand why someone would live so dangerously. He said, “That’s not how I want to to meet my Lord. I think my guardian angel would be disappointed in me.”

I replied, I just hope he was ready to go.” Our friend agreed.

Such a sad scene. (Not the first time we’ve been on Rockaway that someone has been lost at sea. The ocean and its rip currents are nothing to mess with.) Two police boats motored to the area.

We walked past the crowds facing the sea and onto the boardwalk. In astonishment we looked at the vast array of emergency vehicles, their lights on, lining the street. I have no idea how many to write that there were. Lots!

The effort to rescue the perishing was all encompassing.

“Rescue the perishing. Duty demands it. Jesus is merciful. Jesus will save.”  Berniece