Post #1 of My Sixtieth Birthday Series: People Who Helped Shape Me (First Decade)

I turned 60 last week. On the approach of this milestone birthday and since, I've been thinking a lot about how I got here. How I came to be the person I am today. I believe I owe it to God, of course; it is in Him that I "live and move and have my being", as it says in Acts 17:28. But I am also indebted to the individuals He has placed in my life. So many people have influenced me in one way or another over the years. It's a delight to ponder this special group of contributors and their contributions. 

I've decided to do a blog series that documents some of my reflections as I consider this journey one decade at a time. Perhaps you will find yourself in one or more of the categories in the different decades, and if not, please know that I'm including you anyway. After all, I wouldn't be a blogger if it weren't for the people who actually read my stuff, so there you go. Thank you for your part in helping to shape me into who I am, as of June 14, 2025: Danette Martin, a brand-new sixty-year-old! 

First Decade: 1965-1975, ages newborn to 10 years old

My mom, Eva Kauffman Schrock 

Not only did Mom do her part in shaping me physically, she helped to build my character, and was a strong part of my spiritual formation in those early years. Because of her, I have freckles, I do household chores with precision, I inherited a propensity for getting into a giggle fit at inappropriate times, I talk to God about things as big as world leaders and as small as a lost toy, I get grouchy upon spending too much money, I love teaching, and my heart goes out to suffering creatures, human or otherwise. 

My dad, Daniel Schrock

He's the reason I am particular about doing things right even if it takes a long time. He's deepened my passion for words and The Word, for close family relationships, for good music, for creativity in photography, for learning new things, for taking an interest in people and remembering their names. Because of his example as a father who not only expected obedience but also offered much understanding, acceptance, and affection, (and still does, to this day) my concept of God takes on a similar shape. 

My twin sister, Annette Schrock Bechtel 

She's the one who taught me the joy of togetherness by living it with me as my look-alike in facial features, many expressions and actions, and dress (for the first sixteen or so years of our lives, anyway). With her as my co-experiencer of life in a myriad of ways, I learned to be as companionable and compassionate (hopefully) as I am competitive. Without her example, it wouldn't be as easy for me to be grateful, organized, discerning, and encouraging. I also wouldn't be so apt to hoot with laughter and get teary in the same minute during a phone call, to get a cold sore the same week she does, to buy her the same card or give her the same type of birthday gift as the one she gives me.

My brothers Todd Schrock and Tim Schrock 

As we were growing up, they gave me plenty of opportunity to hone my childcare skills, although they would give the talent a different title, such as Biggest Boss of Brothers, perhaps. While I appreciate their help in developing my ability to take teasing, I can thank them even more for forming my idea of brotherhood by their partnership in creative play, comradeship in work projects, and their fellowship around tables and in vehicles. (How many children can fit, a.k.a. squeeze/cram/squish, into one car on a school run?) By the value they place on staying connected with family, they continue to enrich my life and shape my sense of worth.

Grandpa LeRoy and Grandma Anna Schrock 

(L to R behind us twins in the photo: Grandpa Kauffmans, Great-grandpa Levi Schrock, Grandpa Schrocks) 

Grandpa Schrocks instilled in me the importance of church by their example of being there on time, sitting up front, Grandpa sharing a story (through tears) during testimony time and heartily joining in the singing (especially A Wonderful Savior is Jesus My Lord), and Grandma willingly and thoroughly cleaning the church building during the week. They influenced me through their generosity at home, too, sharing popcorn and pink peppermints, fun toys like Fisher Price little people and fun music such as the Medical Mission Sisters and Harmony Three on vinyl records, and speaking words of admonition and encouragement. 

Grandpa Andrew and Grandma Aletha Kauffman 

Grandpa Kauffmans, through no real intention on their part, gave me the experience of having one set of grandparents living far enough away to warrant a trip to get there, and often staying over a few nights. Visiting them taught me a love of country life, as well as pushed me into learning new things, what with opportunities to play by the creek, hike in the river bottoms, fish with a bamboo pole, mix up a pretend "stew" with field corn kernels and tiny pinecones, gather asparagus from the garden (and later try to choke down the compulsory bite or two of it, cooked) and pad barefoot through the straw (and squishy bits of chicken poop) in the hen house to gather fresh-laid eggs. I also watched Grandpa Kauffmans interact with neighbors and community people, which showed me what sharing Jesus' love with others looks like.

Other Relatives 

Uncles and aunts, especially the ones that weren't married yet or were newly married and not quite so involved with raising my cousins, became my heroes as they paid attention to me, inviting me into conversation, games, walks, or even - wonder of wonders - a road trip with them! Some of them taught me how to do new, frightening things like striking a match to light the fire on the trash in the burn barrel, and some were kind of scary (but kind of sounding just like mom) when they made threats like, "If anybody walks in that muddy garden one more time, they're going to get it!" But they sure produced some fun cousins to admire, make forts with in the snow, play rousing outdoor games with, and later, to confide in, attend Bible School with, and eventually compare parenting/grandparenting notes with.  

Church People 

I look back on the small group of people that comprised my church community, and feel so blessed to have had their influence in my life. Some left a posititve impression on me by the way they taught the Sunday School and Summer Bible School classes I attended, or had a memorable "children's class" in a Sunday evening service. Some led the singing engagingly, or interacted meaningfully with us children in the audience during a devotional at church. The informal times in their homes had an impact, too. Whether it was sharing their actually-too-big-for-me bike for riding on their amazing trails in the woods, delicious homemade food at sewing circle, a nut-cracking bee - a social event for all ages, or singing at the local nursing home, they gave me the joy of belonging. 

Schoolmates in Public School 

Although they only had one year to do it, my teachers and classmates at Hayward School helped to shape my views on education and the experience of learning in community. Because of them, I believe that Grade One teachers should have the gentleness and patience of Miss Bowman, that assistant teachers can foster learning by rousing curiosity and excitement (such as having students guess what you're shaking in a tin can and allowing each student to have one of the candies after you've disclosed that it's lemon drops rattling around in there), that girl drama happens early in school life but it can and usually does resolve at some point, and that first-grade boys, although popular opinion might lead you to believe otherwise, can be quite charming. 

Neighbors 

In my young life, our neighbors provided hospitality, entertainment, and wonder. They helped to expand my knowledge and to shape my sense of community. Because of them, I learned that there are different languages in the world, a variety of ethnic dishes, and there are various ways of adding humor to one's life. The Frys and Sperlings, the Phillips and Leffingwell (sp?) families, the Smiths and Dietz's, the Cormacks and Hamblins and Froemels, and so many more, all contributed something to our lives by being themselves and sharing their particular interests and abilities. I'm sure that our Northwoods Beach neighbors Earl and Grace had no idea that they inspired in me a lifelong love of word games when they introduced to our family the newest sensation in word-lover circles, a fascinating board game called Scrabble.  

Finitude and Gratitude

Finitude. It's not a word I come across very often in my reading or listening, and it is certainly not one that I've used myself in conversation. It came up as a theme in a podcast episode I heard this week, though. Author Kelly Kapic and Jonathan Rogers, the host of a writerly podcast called The Habit, used "finitude" numerous times as they discussed Kelly's book, "You're Only Human", published in 2022. 

We humans possess finitude which means we are finite, and therefore have limits or bounds. Kelly claims that our finitude is not a sin, but rather, it is a gift of being human. Thinking carefully about our "creatureliness", says Kelly, "will reveal limits, dependence, love, reliance on the grace of God, and worship." According to him, a proper view of finitude expands our joy of being a creature, and brings the freedom of resting on the promises of our Creator. 

Finitude. What a timely word for me to ponder this week, since the third of May marks the thirtieth anniversary of Mom-Eva's Homegoing. Cancer was a stark and cruel reminder of my biological mom's finitude. It pulled in her limits and bounds relentlessly, too tightly, too soon. She was 51 years old when she died. Finitude means that I have now lived a longer time without her than the amount of time that I knew her when she was alive. 

I shrink from the memories of her loss - the fading of her signature strength and vitality - and our loss - the fading of a beautiful light in our lives when she left us. I shrink from the realization that I, her daughter, have also inherited her finitude. It saddens me, this finiteness does, and sometimes my sorrow edges toward despair. Finite just sounds too much like...final. 

That's why I'm grateful for Kelly's reminder to think more carefully about creatureliness. Are we humans made earthen vessels, ordinary clay pots we might say, for the purpose of containing Treasure? The cracks of our finitude allow the light of God's excellence to shine through. What if our limits are to showcase His boundlessness? To remember we are creatures is to acknowledge that we have a Creator. We don't have to get it all nor do we have to be all, because He is. We are free to be finite because He is infinite. 

I wonder if Mom understood this better than I realized. I know she sometimes struggled with having high expectations of herself and then feeling frustrated when she couldn't meet them. But she definitely developed ways of expressing her joy of living. She also knew what it was to rest on the promises of her Creator. I can't think of a better legacy to impart. 

That's why, in my reflection on finitude, I come to gratitude. I'm grateful for Mom's example of doing both outer and inner hard work. She had lots of ambition and accomplished much, whether it was gardening, cleaning resort cabins, making Sunday dinners, raking the lawn, writing family histories, or raising us children to adulthood. 

She also recognized her need for intellectual and spiritual growth. Mom read widely, studied Scripture, participated in Sunday School discussions and meaningful conversations, and prayed (and got us children to pray) about everything no matter how large or small. And while I have no idea what all she and The Spirit discussed during His Training Sessions, I know she had definite marks of His beauty as a result. 

I'm grateful for the way that Mom loved life and how she demonstrated that love in spite of and in the midst of her limitations. A distinct memory I have of her illustrates this well. There was an open field in front of our place, from which hefty summer breezes would sometimes sweep across our yard. These winds would frustrate me with their power and persistence, and I would rather stay indoors than to go outside and be at their mercy in force and unpredictability. But Mom relished being out in the gale. She'd stand out in the yard, lifting her arms and grinning broad with satisfaction, exclaiming to anyone who cared to listen, "Oh, I just looove the wind!"

When the cancer had her in its tightest grip, Mom showed us what it means to have one's "inner man renewed day by day" even as the "outward man is perishing". (II Corinthians 4:16) Even as I remember her example all these years later, it helps me to "not lose heart". 

I remembered Mom's example again this morning during the sermon at church. The speaker emphasized the importance of having a firm foundation for structures in the physical world, and much more so in our spiritual lives. He pointed out that it is in hard times that the sureness of our foundation is tested. This also provides an opportunity to glorify the builder. If a house is still standing after a hurricane has gone through the area, people will notice, and say "That's the kind of foundation I want! Who built that house?" 

My Mom was an imperfect, finite human but she had a perfect and infinite Builder. I'm grateful to know that she experienced much joy in living for Him while she was on earth but my heart overflows with gratitude to know that she is now in His presence, where there is fullness of joy forever. 

An infinite Giver gave me a mother with finitude. I'm grateful to Him for the gift of being her daughter, and for the gift of remembering her. 

How To Treat A 57-year-old Woman

 

If you’re a lady ten years her senior and you don’t know her from Eve, but you talk to her anyway as you get up from your seat in a McDonald’s booth where you’ve been having a snack with your friend. You walk by the table where’s she’s sitting with her elderly friend, munching fries and chatting, and you say to her in a casual but friendly, sincere manner, “By the way, I really like your dress.”

If you’re an 8-year-old son in a family who has just welcomed a new baby and you’re impressed with the meal she made to help out your mom, you dig into the Butterfingers Delight for a second helping and exclaim, “This should be called ‘Hallelujah Dessert’!”

If you’re a young lady from her church and you’re taking part in the feet-washing aspect of a Communion Sunday service for the first time and she offers to partner with you at the water basin, you accept. When it is your turn to kneel and “gird the towel” for her, your glance takes in her skinny toes and cracked heels, but you look up and tell her, “I don’t know if anyone ever told you this before, but you have beautiful feet.”

If you’re her dad, and on her birthday you’re far away from her home and away from your own home at a church function, you take a break after lunch and go for a bit of a walk away from the noise and bustle of the event so you can phone her. In the conversation, you reminisce about the day she was born (It was just as brilliantly sunny as this day is, and you were so excited about being dad for the first time – to TWO baby girls – that you could hardly keep your feet on the ground) and ask her the familiar questions such as “Are you doing anything special to celebrate?” and then just before ending the call, you gather up your fatherly affection and advice and affirmation and roll it into one heartfelt statement: “Love you, Daughter.”

If she’s not your mom biologically or otherwisely, (after all, you’re old enough to be her mom) but she has mothered you in kind of a roundabout way, you send her a card and/or call her to wish her a Happy Mother’s Day. With genuine pleasure you enter into the joy of her family gathering ‘round and rising up to call her blessed. (This in spite of your personal never-to-be-fulfilled longing to have your own children and grandchildren.)

If you’re a peer of hers who knows your way around in the areas of food, art, politics, and nearly everything else better than she does, you enjoy hanging out with her anyway. When you ride with her to a ladies’ party at a restaurant in town, and she’s maneuvering the route in the city rather confidently, you declare, “You drive these back streets like a pro!”

If you notice her love of photography and you’re a noticer of beauty/lover of creativity yourself, you send her a note including the words “…thank you so much for faithfully taking and sharing your beautiful photos. It’s not listed as a spiritual gift, it certainly seems akin to being one, in my opinion. To realize the beauty of little moments and scenes, and then to be willing to pause and be present enough to take a photo of them…”

If you wear titles such as Prolific Writer of Books as well as The Ann Landers of MennoWorld, and you happen to have a little “writery” tete-a-tete with her at a conference, you (in the midst of your Opinions on a certain subject) listen to her piece of wisdom (that she’s not even giving as such), and then you turn around and quote her in one of your blog posts because her “What would you advise instead?” stinger of a question would not stop buzzing in your head.

If you’re a reader (male or female) of Dani’s Discoveries, you sometimes stop and tell her, when you see her and she’s least expecting to hear it, that you read her blog. And you make it sound like reading it is an enjoyable experience.

If you’re someone who has just read this blog post, instead of thinking that wow, now there’s one 57-year-old woman who is obsessed with affirmation, you acknowledge the impact of a word fitly spoken. You decide that when something impresses you favorably about someone, be they 7 or 57 or 97, you’ll take a moment to mention it to them in sincerity. You realize that they could get all shy or inwardly spluttery about it. (Pretty dress, what!? This ancient, faded, “pilly” thing? I wasn’t planning to wear it to town, but I forgot to change before coming to McDonald’s!) But you do it anyway, because you just might make their day. Or month. Or year. 

The Hidden Gifts of Change

Happy Thanksgiving Day to all my American family and friends! I live in Canada, where we celebrate Thanksgiving at the more appropriate time of year, if we're comparing, but since I come from The USA, I celebrate the too close to Christmas closer-to-Christmas Thanksgiving holiday as well. I can't quite get it out of my system, even after calling Waterloo, Ontario my home for considerably longer than I lived in Hayward, Wisconsin.

This way, I get to celebrate Thanksgiving twice in one year. I figure one can't go wrong being grateful a little more often in life. Typically, for the US Thanksgiving celebration in our home, I will make a turkey (or ham) dinner for the family and we'll have pumpkin pie (or maybe something apple-y) for dessert. Sometimes we play games or just enjoy visiting and laughing with each other. I feel so rich.

Once in awhile we actually have American family or friends at our house over the US Thanksgiving. That seems especially celebratory. This year, as the American Thanksgiving arrives, we are neither at home nor with our family (I'm talking the Kenites, or the Tribe of Dan or the applepeople) nor with American friends that we have known for years.

That's because we are half way around the world! Literally, we are 12 hours ahead of "home time". What brought us here to Chiang Mai, Thailand for a few weeks in November is the fact that Ken was put on the IGo (Institute for Global Opportunities) Board back in January of this year and the fact that the Board members are encouraged to visit the Institute at least once in the five years of their term on the Board and the fact that Ken was asked to teach the Life of Christ class during third term of first semester at IGo this school year.

I guess the Board and the other people that decide these things thought they're not going to waste any time having Ken do his once-in-five-years visit, so they decided to bam - ask him to teach a course only 10 months after coming on the Board. Essentially, they asked him to make the visit to IGo and to hang around for three weeks while he's at it.

So, Ken consented to teach, and here we are. We've had such a good time getting to know the staff and students these three weeks. It's a small term, with only seven students enrolled, which has its own particular benefits. If the group would be large, I'm not sure that we'd as easily find out that Byron is trying to learn Spanish, or that Marcus is passionate about developing discipleship in his local church, or that Carla has a quirky habit when it comes to putting away her socks after laundry day.

Or that Lori, the dean of women, can make a mean pot of pumpkin spice latte to serve for snack after chapel on Thanksgiving Day. There have been other acknowledgements of the holiday today since we are in the company of Americans. We spent some time in morning chapel collectively focusing on gratitude.

One aspect of that was audibly thanking God for who He is, Asian prayer style. This means that everyone prayed aloud, at the same time. (It's different than we're used to, and noisy, but powerful.) We also gathered around a Thankful poster that we had been adding items to all week, and verbally thanked God for what we read on the sheet.

On Wednesdays here at IGo, most of the morning chapel session is spent in prayer. The staff and students meet in small groups to share specific prayer requests with each other and to take turns praying about those needs. I found those times of prayer to be so refreshing. This week during our prayer group gathering, Secretary Janelle mentioned something that really struck me. In thinking ahead to Thanksgiving Day, she talked about wanting to be grateful for the gifts that come with change in our lives.

So often we lament the things that change takes from us, and fail to notice the blessings that change adds. For her, living here in Thailand has meant living far away from family, struggling with the language barrier, dreading the heat and smog of dry season. But it has also expanded her knowledge of other cultures, brought growth of character, provided a wonderful group of people to learn to know and work with.

I took that as my piece of inspiration for the day. It helps me as I process some of the losses that come with our being here. Like not being home to welcome daughter Kerra when she arrives there from Faith Builders. We don't get in on any of her long Thanksgiving Break. And I really hated it that we weren't there when Kayleen and Carlin came back from their honeymoon and opened their wedding gifts. It would have been so nice to ooh and ahh with them over the items and to help them pack up the gifts in our van for hauling to The Carleen House in Guys Mills, PA.

At the same time, we have enjoyed so many blessings that come with our being here. My list of things I'm grateful for this Thanksgiving includes numerous things that wouldn't be there, had we not come to IGo.

Here are some of them:

The flowers and plants around here are incredible! I could go crazy taking pictures of all the beauty.

It was our privilege to interact with and learn from these dear people. Allen was the other guest teacher this term. He was an excellent coach for Ken who was a rather newbie teacher. Carolyn encouraged me by her example of faithfulness and prayer.

I got to sit in on most of Ken's classes, joining the studious IGo youth in learning more of The Life of Christ, and the impact that has on our own lives. We have thoroughly enjoyed discussions with these young adults, both inside and outside of class. 

I looked after this young chap, Kai, a few days for an hour or so when his mom was in Allen's class on Church Planting. Kai helped to provide my grandma fix for the day!

IGo seems to be a place to make connections! We so enjoyed chatting with Renita, a friend (and relative) from back home, over lunch one Sunday. 

The variety of tasty fruits here is phenomenal. Those small-potato-looking things on the tray are longkong fruit. They have a soft, bland-colored interior that tastes pleasantly sweet and citrus-y.

Amphan, the Thai cook here at IGo made a special dessert in which she hollowed out little pumpkins and baked a custard right inside them. When they were cooled, she cut them into wedges, and we ate them, rind and all. This is as close as we got to having pumpkin pie this Thanksgiving week.

I'm not sure what this dish is called, but it involved pork two different ways and noodles two different ways. (Those "noodle pouches" there on the right had ground pork and seasoning inside.) With the broth and choice of toppings to add to my bowl, I ended up with the best pork soup I have ever eaten.

These young ladies from Compassion Home decided among themselves to hold up heart symbols on this pose. Aww, love you right back!

This market vendor was cutting up jack fruit to sell at her streetside stand. I didn't buy any, but I have eaten jack fruit other times and enjoyed it a lot. The taste is similar to strawberries, which is surprising considering the vast differences between the two fruits.

This photo shows some typical modes of transportation here in the city. The pickup-like vehicle parked along the street is a songtheaw (Thai, for two-bencher) which is used as a large taxi. Cycles, or bikes, as they are more commonly called, are plentiful everywhere you go. This particular bike has a cart attached, which isn't quite as common to see in the mooban (village) where IGo is located. When Ken and I walk in the mooban, we often see children riding with an adult on a bike like this. No helmets or other safety features are required, it seems!

This Post's Quote:

Since we are in Thailand, we've discovered a bottled drink that is currently trending here. The drink has chunks of fruit and little squares of gelatin-y stuff in it. When the IGo students were describing it and discussing its merits (and de-merits), one fellow drawled, "I prefer not to chew my drink."

This Post's Childhood Memory:

Our family would sometimes get asked to sing a song or two for an informal audience, such as in the living room of our friends' house when we were guests in their home and were preparing to leave, or some situation like that. We'd find a song that worked, and sing that one every time. For awhile, we were stuck on the song "Thank You, Lord, For Your Blessings on Me." (I think it was mostly Mom who kept us in that rut.) The chorus went like this: "There's a roof up above me; I've a good place to sleep. There's food on my table, and shoes on my feet. You gave me Your love, Lord, and a fine fam-i-ly, And I thank You, Lord, for Your blessings on me." I'm guessing it was that "fine family" line in there that made Mom pick it every time! (Winky face)