Pondside in Passion Week

My heart sang as I sauntered through the orchard and down to the pond. “Spring is coming! Birds are back!” Eager to check on the nesting Canada goose mama I had discovered a few days earlier, I approached the bank of the pond.

I was not prepared for what I saw before I even got within view of the nest. My heart sank with the scene – near the bank of the pond was a wide area of orchard grass thick with scattered feathers. A single large white goose egg lay off to the side, broken and empty.

Evidently a wild animal (or more than one) had raided the nest. Judging by the size and condition of the feather patch, a fierce struggle had ensued between the mother bird and the raider.  “Maybe,” I told myself, “one of the goose parents had even fought to its death.”

I also told myself that this is the way of nature. One animal species becomes food for another. This is simply reality within the creature world. Still, I ached for the mother.

I had seen her. She had seen me. Days earlier, I had inwardly squealed with delight the moment I spotted the settled mama goose marking this year’s nesting site. She had acknowledged my presence by half rising off her nest and opening her mouth to strictly forbid me to come any closer. When I took some pictures of her, she began calling to her mate in desperate honking tones. He had landed on the water near her just moments after I had turned toward home so she could nest in peace.

Now, looking at the pitiful jumble of feathers at my feet, I somehow felt her loss. I moved over to the edge of the pond to see if there was anything at all left in the nest proper. It was empty, except for some fragile bits of gray goose down impaled on nest straws and fluttering in the bleak breeze. Suddenly a comforting thought came to me. He sees. If one tiny sparrow can’t fall without the Father knowing, surely His eye had been on the mother goose and her in-the-making goslings, and had noted their demise.

Why did I feel so sad for the geese pair? Partly, I think, because I had been there. I had seen them and their nest and had noted their parental concern for their young. I had invested a piece – albeit a tiny little piece – of my time and energy, a part of myself, in this bird couple. I felt sorrow because of connection.

It was a little like my feelings upon receiving the news of Notre Dame – a grand building on fire at that very moment. I felt sadder at the news than I would have normally because I had been there. I had visited that famous Gothic cathedral in Paris, France. I had stood outside it, looking at the unique architecture, seeing the flying buttresses in real life after studying them in Grade 7 Social Studies and sketching a Notre Dame picture in my scribbler. I had stood inside it, looking at the tall, stained glass-windowed interior and feeling the reverent mood of the dim, hushed candlelit sanctuary. Picturing all this aflame brought me a more poignant ache because of having been there.

If I feel deeper sorrow because of connection, how much more must God sorrow with us in the brokenness and fire that we experience? I believe He cares most fiercely because of what He has invested in our griefs. He is present to comfort in any of our sorrows because He has experienced them already. He was there at Calvary. If ever anyone gave a piece of their time and energy to another, it was He. It seems paltry – almost sacrilegious – to describe it that way, because of how fully He was there. In Jesus, God gave Himself.

I wonder if Jesus felt all the hurt in the whole wide world for all time in the Cross experience. Perhaps that is why, in Lamentations 1:12, the invitation is given to “see if there be any sorrow like unto His sorrow”. And why, in Mark 14:34, it was called “exceeding… unto death.” Unlike my connection to the geese or the Paris cathedral, Jesus’ connection has purpose. His sorrow means something. He bore our griefs and carried our sorrows because Love rescues and redeems.

Not only was Jesus there on the Cross, He also was fully there in the resurrection – He IS the Resurrection! He is present in every joy, every great delight, every powerful victory over evil, every redemption that we experience. In every tinge and hint of hope, in every sprout, blade, and bud, every sprig and twig of new life, He was already present on the first Easter morning. Hallelujah! This also is a comfort.

Next spring, I look forward to scouting out the pondside for the Canada geese parents’ new nesting site.

This Post’s Quotable:

Kayleen was making a cup of tea for herself at bedtime and wondered if her sister wanted some, too. She must have been thinking of a phrase from Psalm 51 when she worded her question. “Kerra,” she asked, “do you desire tea in the inward parts?”

This Post’s Childhood Memory:

When I was a preschooler, and we still lived at “our first place” in Northwoods Beach, we sometimes kept chickens in the little shed out back. Here are some of my impressions of the baby chicks:

-       * Dad or Mom went to the feed mill in town to pick up the chick order.

-       * The wide and shallow cardboard boxes that the chicks came in had breathing holes spaced around the sides and in the lids.

-       * A small group of baby chicks in a box can make a large peeping noise.

-       * One quite new chick is the dearest sort of yellow fluff ball you will probably ever lay your eyes on.

-       * It is a very scary but thrilling thing to actually hold a chick in your hand. (It is not so thrilling if the chick goes to the bathroom on your hand.)

-       * A chick’s feet make the lightest of fine, cold pricks in your palm. Its dance kind of tickles your hand – and your heart.

-       * When the baby chicks are taken out of their box and carefully placed onto the straw-covered (or was it wood shavings?) floor, they huddle together under the red bulb of the heat lamp to keep warm.

-       * You can’t help but giggle when a chick darts out of its sibling cluster and zips around to nowhere in particular.

-       * After a chick takes a drink at the water fountain, it lifts its beak into the air. Mom told us this is the chick looking up to God and saying thanks.

What was especially meaningful to you this Easter? 

Ode to Siblings

                                                                                (Photo Credit: Danae Schrock)

Wednesday of this week, apparently, at least in some places, was a day in which to celebrate. The cause for celebration? Those brethren and sistren we’ve accumulated over the years. National Siblings Day, they call it, the “they” being not your sibs, but whoever the persons are that think up these Days and keep them going for annual celebration.

My siblings – all seven of them – are celebrate-able way more often than yearly, but it is good for me to ponder the superior lot in particular on Their Day. Hence, the grouping of some of my thoughts into rhyme and perhaps some reason:

The first of these scribblings

Goes to closest of siblings

Because she’s my twin.

From sharer of crib

To life-machine’s gib

My ally she has always been.

In my prose there comes dribbling

The bros aspect of sibling –

Five make quite a din.

And then I might ad lib

To speak of last sis-sib;

My circle of friendship she’s in.

When it comes to loud quibblings

On the matter of siblings

I’ll not join in.

Without trace of a fib

Or a fraction of glib

I’ll say mine are finest of kin.

So, if we’re feasting or nibbling,

Agreeing or squibbling,

Let the voting begin.

‘Cause I’ve got first dibs

On the Very Best Sibs.

Whatever you say, I win.

I didn’t always feel this way about my siblings. I used to get annoyed at the messiness of my brothers, and I was sure that Mom & Dad weren’t as strict with the boys in our family as they were with the girls. When my twin and I, as the eldest of the sibs, were put in charge of our bros when our parents went away for an evening, we couldn’t make “the boys” behave very well; they just wouldn’t listen to our orders promptly or thoroughly. How this did grr me.

My youngest sister, while she was terribly cute and snuggable, used to try my patience with all of her questions, the bulk of which she would seem to flood me with when I was trying to concentrate on something important like school teaching preparations. I sometimes wondered how long it would take for the 16-year age span between us to not seem like a whole generation. (It didn't take long at all!)

How, then, did we get to be this sib-bunch who respects one another, who acts goofy with each other as well as has serious talks together, who really and truly enjoys spending time with each other? Well, for one thing, we grew up. For another, we are intentional about keeping up to date with each other’s lives. We three sisters moved far from home (help, does this say anything about making it easier to get along??), but we stay in touch as a family, mainly through conversation in our TribeofDan group on WhatsApp, in person at family reunions held every two years, and in various other get-togethers/visits with family in between. Our in-laws bringing their uniqueness and strengths to the family circle has brought a wonderful dimension to our siblinghood, too.  

I also attribute our closeness as siblings to our parents’ influence in this area. Growing up, we weren’t allowed to speak disrespectfully to each other. Mom would tell us children, after some squabble we’d just come through, that there will come a time when we’ll be so happy to see each other that we’ll cry. “Yeah right, Mom,” I’d think. “Isn’t that going just a bit too far?”

Another factor contributing to our closeness is how we have learned to work together. Who knew that all those long-ago times of cutting firewood for the winter, making noodles, gardening, doing chores on our hobby farm, mowing the lawn, raking leaves, and making maple syrup were forging lasting familial bonds between us sibs?

I also think that experiencing hardships together has added to our closeness. Together we weathered the loss of our mom, as well as banded together in welcoming a new mom and two more siblings. Grief in the loss of a parent was something we had in common. Both family “fragments” committed to doing their part in making a blended family work, and this has helped to form a strong bond among us.

If humor is the oil that eases the friction in sibling gears, I’d say some of my brothers are plenty “oily”. They’ve teased me and my sisters pretty much ever since they learned how. (Well, I guess they good-naturedly poke fun at each other, too.) I’ve learned that, rather than trying to defend myself, it works best if I join in the fun and laugh at myself along with them.

I’m looking forward to being with my siblings at the next family gathering, even though I will probably be referred to as the bossy older sister at some point in the reminiscing. “Remember that one night when Mom and Dad were gone and we messed up the living room?” a brother will ask. “Yeah,” another bro will add, “There was Danette, barking out the cleaning-up orders.” I will smile, and agree with them. And secretly be glad that by the next reunion they’ll have forgotten, and my twin will be referred to as the bossy one!

                                                                               (Photo Credit: Danae Schrock)

This Post’s Quotable:

Recently, a friend of mine was telling me about the less than ideal circumstances in her life right now, and how she wishes not to complain about them. I like how she summed it up: “I want to be a Barnabas, not a barnacle.”

This Post’s Childhood Memory:

I remember how exciting it was to have Dad come home from a week of meetings he’d had in a far-away church. Sometimes he brought gifts for each of us children. One time on the way home from the airport where we’d gone to pick up Dad, I sat in the back seat of the car behind Dad and listened to him telling Mom about the gift he’d brought for my younger brother Todd, who wasn’t in school yet. Dad spelled out the word so he wouldn’t spoil the secret for Todd. I heard him say the letters of a long word, and in my head I read the word t-e-s-t-a-m-e-n-t. Suddenly, I knew what Todd would be getting when we got home – a little Bible! I was so thrilled that I could figure it out. I still remember hugging that secret to myself with great delight.

P.S. I’d like to also give a shout out to two other sibling groups I consider very important in my life – my husband’s sibs...

(I couldn't find a recent pic of my in-laws; this one was taken a number of years ago, thanks to Sarah Jantzi)

...and the siblings in our very own household:

Belated Happy National Siblings Day to these great bunches, too!

What do you like best about your siblings?

Within REACH

Can one visit 52 different conservative Anabaptist-run ministries (and talk personally with some of the people that make those ministries happen) all in one – or two – days? Is there such a possibility? Well, there is, and it’s within REACH.

In my last post, I mentioned that recently Ken & I had the privilege of attending REACH, which is a ministries convention put on by Faith Builders every two years on a weekend in March. It’s held at a huge Calvary Church near Lancaster, PA. By huge, I mean big enough in its main auditorium to seat the 2000-plus people that attend on Friday, the second day of the two-day event, when entire high school grades from some schools will cancel classes and come and add to the 1739 other people who are already there.

It also has the capacity to comfortably handle the 15 or so breakout sessions that take place simultaneously at different times throughout the day. What may not be so comfortable is navigating the foyers and halls teeming with attendees to get to the breakout sessions rooms on the four different levels of the building.

The first year Ken and I went to REACH, we went to separate workshops during the breakouts time – Ken to a basement room and I to a chapel smaller than the main auditorium on the same level. When we met up again, the first thing Ken said to me was, “There’s another whole church down there!” It’s good that current Faith Builders students were strategically placed throughout the church to assist the throng in getting to the proper rooms.

Another large room on the main level of the massive church was lined with tables where the 52 different ministries set up their displays of literature and “advertising” pens, handbags, candy, or, as in one case, office scissors. (score!) Typically, two or three people associated with the ministry manned the booth; someone was on hand to explain briefly what the ministry is about and to answer questions anyone might have about it.

It was also the room in which to figure on taking a long time to get from point A to point B on account of meeting up with people you hadn’t seen for years. Depending on where you were headed though, you may have chosen to streamline your encounters, narrowing them down to mere seconds: Hello, ____! Face lights up and big smile appears. How are you? Doing well, and you? Good too. So good to see you again. You, too! See you later. (maybe or maybe not, you think as you graciously slip away and go another few feet until bumping into the next friend or acquaintance)

One of my favorite things about REACH is listening to the speakers in the main assemblies and in the breakout sessions. Throughout the talks on God’s will in the Kingdom, the power of the Gospel, finding identity in Christ, being faithful in supporting roles, reflecting the image and glory of God as a woman, and bringing Light to darkness, I just kept thinking oh, this is so good. People at REACH are passionate about the King and being in His Kingdom service. There’s something very energizing about mingling with that many people who have the same focus – someone said you can “feel it in the air”, and I think I know what he meant. It’s not hard at all for me to imagine the Spirit moving through the place as a rushingmightywind.

I also got to feeling slightly overwhelmed by so many opportunities in ministry. After hearing the 20-second blurbs about each of the 52 ministries participating at REACH 2019, hearing longer explanations of a few of those during Ministry Focus sessions, and browsing many of the display tables set up in the Ministry Displays Room, I realized I could be involved in soooo many areas.

I could pray, counsel, camp, send money, stock books, visit prisoners, study, nurse, broadcast, support, fly, preach (okay, maybe some of these I couldn’t do since I’m not a pilot and since I am an Anabaptist woman), publish, train, sing, and bake. I could teach – how about in a city school? and I love language – it would be fun to get involved in Bible translation somehow, and that couple who turned their home into a haven for troubled Anabaptist young women inspired me (how could one not be intrigued by a ministry with a name like Aquila Villa?!) So many opportunities are within REACH!

And as if it wasn’t enough God-saturation (really, though, could one ever get too much?) to be at REACH for two days, on Saturday night we went and saw Jesus, what’s showing right now at Sight & Sound in Lancaster. I loved the emphasis placed on Jesus rescuing people, ordinary people, like me. I cried a bunch. There was a young girl – maybe 8 years old? – sitting with her family in the row behind us, and I heard her sniffles at times throughout the story, and her tearful explanation to her mom during the crucifixion scene: “I don’t want Him to die!” and felt I understood completely.

But even Ken joined me in crying joyful tears at the Resurrection scene. It was just so delightfully moving. Jesus didn’t end with the Resurrection, though; it went even beyond the Ascension, to the coming of the Holy Spirit and the transformed disciples writing and telling The Good News. (Right back to that ministry/witnessing theme we’d been hearing at REACH!)

So, yes, I came home from that weekend in Lancaster with my head and heart full. My devotion to Christ is deeper, my understanding of discipleship is broader, my longing to show and tell Him to others, greater. The question is Where do I start to put to practice what I have discovered?

Perhaps right at home is the place to begin. Around my kitchen table. Being gracious with family members in conversation. (I felt like you were interrupting me. Really? And here I thought I couldn’t finish what I was saying because you were interrupting me!) Listening long to a chatty neighbor lady on the phone. Engaging in friendly conversation with the checkout person who is tossing my groceries into the bags willy-nilly rather than me pointedly packing them my way while stewing inside.

I want to remember what I discovered in a recent Sunday School class on Power in God’s Kingdom. Our teacher pointed out that, while there is definite power in sudden, loud and blasty things, there is also power in the long, quiet, and unpretentious things of life, such as a seed growing into a tree that bears fruit. In ministry, I want to realize the slow power of God. “The kingdom of God is within you” Jesus said in describing to the Pharisees how the Kingdom would look. Slowly, quietly, faithfully, I can begin Kingdom ministry. This is possible only through the power of the Holy Spirit of God who dwells inside me – within reach.

This Post’s Quotable:

“They almost fit,” she said.

This Post’s Childhood Memory:

I remember what a treat it was to Go to the Bookmobile when I was a little girl. The bookmobile was a bus, a commercial-sized one, converted into a portable library. Every few weeks (in the summer?) this delightful books-on-wheels phenomenon made a stop at The Log Cabin Store, which was only a quarter mile or so down the dirt road from where we lived, and Mom would take us children to visit it. We’d take back the books we’d checked out on our previous visit, and spend time browsing for another set to take home this time. I remember entering the bookmobile through the tall, narrow, hinged doors and smelling the black ribbed rubber of the inside steps and aisles, as well as the paper and ink of the books. It was a hushed and enchanted world. We got to go to the children’s books section among the shelves and shelves of books, sit on the low circular metal stools and pull out some interesting-looking books to pore over right there and to, glory be, choose a few on our very own to enjoy at home – for a couple of weeks. I loved the large square books, with crinkly plastic over the covers and lots of pictures, such as the Richard Scarry series. It was also extremely fascinating to watch the librarian take the card out of the little pocket in each book we were checking out and ink the date on it with her little rubber stamp.

 Did you ever visit REACH or a bookmobile? What were your impressions of either?