TRAIL MIX
1 cup M&M’S
1 cup raisins
1 cup sunflower seeds
1 cup peanuts or assorted nuts
1 cup milk chocolate chips
1 cup dried fruit of your choice (banana, apricots, etc.), cut into small pieces
Mix all ingredients together, and store in an airtight container.
From Cindy
My Old Order Amish friend Rachel made an entire wedding meal for me during one of my visits. She invited some mutual friends, and we had a marvelous time! The food and fellowship were outstanding, but I’ve yet to get comfortable with her sacrifice of time. Of all the foods she’d prepared as part of the typical Amish wedding feast, I saw one I hadn’t expected to like—cooked celery. I like celery, but I’d never eaten it cooked. It was so good I had a second helping. Rachel’s mother even prepared a bowl of it for me to take back to Miriam’s so I could have more at lunch the next day.
COOKED CELERY FOR SIX
2 quarts celery, cut into bite-size pieces (Note: 1½ to 2 stalks of celery equal two quarts, and a stalk consists of approximately a dozen individual ribs.)
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup water
½ cup sugar
butter, the size of a walnut
2 teaspoons vinegar
2 cups whole milk, approximately
½ cup evaporated milk
2½ tablespoons brown sugar
2 tablespoons flour
Slowly bring the celery, salt, water, white sugar, butter, and vinegar to a low boil. Cook ingredients for about 10 minutes or until celery is soft. Once the celery is soft, cover with whole milk, and slowly heat to almost boiling. (Don’t bring to a second boil.) Then in a separate bowl, mix the evaporated milk, brown sugar, and flour until the mixture is smooth, and slowly add it to the rest of the ingredients. Stir until thoroughly heated, and serve it warm.
KITCHEN TABLES
Part 2
Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine house: thy children like olive plants round about thy table.
—PSALM 128:3
From Cindy
Adding a baby to a family is not new upon this earth. It’s been a regular occurrence since Adam and Eve had their first child. Yet each newborn is a fresh start, not just for the infant, but also for the family.
Usually by six months the little one is sitting in a highchair at the family table. A lot of growing up takes place at the kitchen table. Here weary, hungry bodies are refreshed. Manners are learned. Laughter is heard. Tears are spilled as the weight of the day is shared with those around us. Lessons are taught. Fears are conveyed. Confidence is built.
A kitchen table holds far more than bowls, plates, and platters. Even now, with my youngest almost grown, I hear laughter at the table … often when my adult children recall all the unsuccessful new recipes I set before them during their childhood. And I hear lively discussions as we each want the others to see some aspect of life from a different perspective—because learning about life at the table is something we should never outgrow.
From Miriam
On Monday morning I stood at the kitchen table looking at the piece of furniture I was about to replace. I ran my hand over the top, feeling all the dents and scratches from years gone by, gazing at the splatters of tole paint left behind from countless crafts. Each mark had a story.
A lot had taken place around this table in the past twenty-five years. I served my first meals to my new husband here. After our fourth child arrived, we added a leaf. This was where we’d celebrated all their birthdays and taught them to pray at mealtime.
Many Thanksgiving, Easter, and Christmas dinners had been shared as we gathered around this table. We added yet another leaf when we welcomed our two daughters-in-law, and we extended the table again recently to make room for our dear grandchildren.
This is where we as a family have gathered not only to take in food to nourish our bodies but to partake of spiritual food for our souls as we have celebrated life, God’s love, and our love for Him and for one another. Here we have shared our disappointments and heartaches.
The more I thought about it, the idea of a new table became less appealing. In spite of its wobbly ways, I held off making that trip to Zimmerman’s.
Spring planting gave way to summer chores and activities. Soon we were into the fall harvest, with the holidays just around the corner. My unsteady old table had to be replaced before the next huge family gathering.
But when my good English friend Katrine offered to help refinish the old table, I eagerly agreed. We sanded for days, removing the old finish, the dents, and the scratches. We took the extension runners apart and sanded each one smooth, then securely reattached them. Then came the staining and coats of polyurethane. My beat-up old table was transformed into a beautiful heirloom.
On Thanksgiving Day, as my family gathered around my “new” table, I felt extremely grateful for my friend’s help as she’d selflessly sacrificed her time, skill, and effort. I felt truly blessed by her friendship, and I was thrilled to be able to restore and strengthen the most important piece of furniture in my home.
In much the same way, when we give our hearts to God, we change from the old to the new. He sands down the rough selves, transforming us into new selves by grace, with faith. As 2 Corinthians 5:17 says, “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.”
UNDERESTIMATED POWER
Therefore I say unto you, what things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them.
—MARK 11:24
From Cindy
Some of my favorite childhood memories are wrapped around special family times. And I’m not talking about just when we were on vacation or having a birthday party but during those occasions when each family member stepped out of the busyness of his or her world and truly connected with those who shared the same home.
From the time I was eight until I entered high school, my family lived in various parts of rural Maryland. In one place we lost electricity to our home fairly often. We were well equipped to deal with the outages—a potbelly stove for cold weather, plenty of goods my mother had canned from her garden, and several kerosene lamps. So we had warmth, food, and light. What more could a family need?
Games! Fast-paced, easy ones, where the goal is laughter, not winning.
During those times when the television was as dark as the night, we’d clear the kitchen table, set a lantern on it, and start a board game. Not having electricity caused everyone naturally to shift his or her normal routine.
For me, what was most fun about those evenings was having my parents’ undivided attention. Parents are often so busy being parents that their children don’t get to see their true personalities—the one that shows up when Mom goes out with her girlfriends or when Dad and his co-workers eat lunch together at a restaurant.
Game night, which only occurred when the electricity went out, helped shape my thoughts about my family. It gave me a glimpse into my mom’s carefree side and my dad’s sharp wit, which had us roaring with laughter. Temporarily being without electricity was an inconvenience to my parents, who had work to do. But it radiated a light inside my heart that has lasted a lifetime.
The Old Order Amish live without electricity all the time.
Do I want to live the way they do? With much respect to them, I say, “No, thank you.”
Do the Amish want to live as we do? With much respect to Englischers, the Amish I know say, “No, thank you.”
We’d each have to give up things we cherish. I’d have to alter much of the life I’ve always known, and while I was at it, I would likely be altering the lives of my family for future generations.
But there are common denominators in the two traditions—like our determination to protect our families and keep them a priority. And our belief in the power of love, which doesn’t originate with any partic
ular tradition—not Amish or Englischer—but comes from the love God has for us. “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him” (1 Corinthians 2:9).
From Miriam
Physically, I was cleaning walls, windows, cupboards, and floors. Mentally, I was planning menus for the two meals to be held in our home the next day. The first meal would follow the church service in our home and feed everyone who attended. The Amish hold church services in people’s homes every other week, rotating the responsibility for hosting the service and the meal afterward. The second meal of the day was for close friends and extended family. The ladies all bring loaves of homemade bread and desserts to share, which is a big help. But the main course is the responsibility of the host family, which this week was me.
Going over the list in my head, I felt confident that I had all I needed for lunch: bread, ham, cheese spread, peanut butter, pickles, red beets, pies, and coffee—enough to feed the whole congregation of approximately 110 people.
Only our families and a few close friends would stay for the evening meal. I planned to serve meat loaf, mashed potatoes, peas, a salad, and noodles for that one. Dessert would be cakes, pies, pudding, and fresh fruit for the health conscious, but I’d forgotten to buy fruit. Several of the folks couldn’t eat much of anything except fruit, so I started to panic. Going to town was out of the question, as I’d already gone twice that week. A third trip would require arranging for a driver, which was somewhat costly, assuming I could find one on such short notice. The only store close enough to reach by horse and buggy had already closed for the day.
Scolding myself for being so scatterbrained, I breathed a quick prayer. Lord, tomorrow is Your day, and this is Your church. Knowing I couldn’t do anything about the problem, I focused on moving furniture out and benches in as we set up for church.
About an hour later I heard a car in the driveway. Pulling back the curtain to see who it was, I gasped in disbelief. An English friend was coming up the walk, carrying a huge fruit basket! I choked up, both surprised and ashamed—ashamed that I was so surprised at my answered prayer.
It had seemed like too small a thing to bring before the Lord. But He had heard and He cared, and I was reminded never to underestimate the power of prayer … even for seemingly insignificant requests.
We serve certain foods at every after-church meal. The peanut butter spread is a favorite.
PEANUT BUTTER SPREAD
Cream together:
1½ cups creamy peanut butter
1 stick butter, softened
Add and continue to cream well:
¾ cup marshmallow cream
Add:
¾ cup pancake syrup
Whip ingredients together, and enjoy on a slice of homemade bread, a bagel, or toast.
PATIENCE IS WAITING WITHOUT ANGER
And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.
—GALATIANS 6:9
From Miriam
In the spring of 1971, when the first families from Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, bought farms and settled in the picturesque valley in Franklin County, Pennsylvania, lots of issues needed to be worked out. Since the Amish hold their church services in people’s homes, a place to worship was no problem. But schooling the children was. They had only a few scholars (schoolchildren) in their midst, so sending the kids to the local Mennonite school seemed the best solution. But it was ten miles away, which is quite a distance when one needs to hitch a horse to a buggy and travel twenty miles round trip twice daily.
As time went on, more families moved into the area. The church grew, and another Amish congregation was established. They now had enough children and teachers to start their own school.
A vacant brick building, which had been used as a school by the English years ago, was an ideal place for a one-room school. But the owner was not interested in selling or even renting it. So the Amish children continued attending the Mennonite school ten miles away.
Several years later an English neighbor lost his barn because of an electrical fire. It was a beautiful old barn and had been in the family for generations. Sadly, it burned down to the stone foundation.
As the sun rose the next morning, a smoky haze enveloped the old homestead. Neighbors came from all directions with tools and plenty of ambition. The cleanup went swiftly, and plans were made to rebuild.
Just outside of town stood another old barn, which the owner wanted torn down and removed from his property. Its dimensions fit the foundation of the burned barn perfectly. So arrangements were made to tear down, transplant, and rebuild.
On the day of the barn raising, three busloads of Amish men from Lancaster County came to help, and by sundown a recycled barn stood on its adopted foundation.
Days after the barn raising, one of the Amish school board members was milking his cows in the evening when the owner of the old brick schoolhouse stopped by. With tears streaming down his weathered face, he walked up to the dairy farmer and said, “I want the Amish to have my brick schoolhouse as my way of thanking everyone for what they did for my brother in replacing his barn. You see, I grew up on that farm.”
The farmer bowed his head in humble gratitude, with tears in his own eyes, and then he shook hands with the English fellow. Feeling unworthy of such a great gift, he thanked God for the friendship, acceptance, and unity of their new community.
The man’s earlier decision not to sell the schoolhouse had been a disappointing one. As the parents and scholars rose extra early to travel to the Mennonite school and arrived back home late each school day, I’m sure there were some frustrations. Yet when the man’s barn burned, I witnessed my community respond to him according to the Golden Rule (see Matthew 7:12). And that situation planted seeds of understanding in me: following God’s principles always yields a good crop. Eventually.
From Cindy
Tommy and I have been blessed with two daughters-in-law. One is a first-generation American who moved here from India at the age of eight years old. She and our oldest son, Justin, met while attending the Medical College of Georgia. At first he found her intelligent, beautiful, and annoying. Her opinions about life were every bit as strong as his, and most were different. He began a study group and invited anyone from class who was interested in attending. She came. Over the next few months, they discovered that they agreed on much more than they disagreed on. As opportunities arose, he sprinkled into conversations his strong belief in God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. She became a believer, and their interest in each other grew.
But if they pursued a romantic relationship, acceptance from her relatives wouldn’t come easily. In the Indian culture, children are to choose a spouse from their community with strong guidance from their parents. Starting a relationship based on attraction or love is forbidden.
So they had to be patient yet unyielding. Gentle yet adamant. With each step they took, they fell deeper in love, clinging to the hope that they could win her family’s approval.
Since his infancy I had prayed regularly for Justin to find the right spouse. I couldn’t assume she was the wrong one just because her parents had deep concerns or because she’d been raised in the Hindu religion. But I understood and respected her family’s position; her parents are good and loving, and they only wanted to do what they believed was right.
Justin and Shweta sought the wisdom and counsel of their pastor and continued to be patient, but when they knew the time was right, they set a wedding date. The time that followed was tremendously stressful for everyone and often filled with tears.
But much to our joy and as a testimony to her parents’ fervent love, they came to the wedding.
FINDING PEACE
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.
—ECCLESIASTES 3:1
From Cindy
In the first photo of me as a toddler, I’m holding a dam
p washcloth in my hand, scrubbing my older brother’s face. In the next photo, I’m using that same rag to dust the furniture. I’m sure I was mimicking what I’d seen my mother do—dust furniture and wash children’s faces—although I’m confident she didn’t use the same rag for both.
Cleanliness was important to my mom—especially for hands and faces—before my brothers, sister, and I came to the kitchen table. My mom often sent us back to the bathroom to “try again.” Mark, a true outdoorsman and bicycle mechanic from an early age, had the hardest time passing inspection. One day when my mom told him his hands were still dirty, he studied them, held them up to her again, and said, “Mom, I think it’s your eyeballs that are dirty. Have you tried washing them?”
She burst into laughter, agreed that maybe he was right, and let him take a seat at the table. It seemed to me that she was never as picky about clean hands after that.
Whenever I have a negative opinion about something a person put effort into, I ask myself if my eyeballs need washing. Am I being too picky? Is the problem how I’m viewing the situation? If people in your life are having a difficult time passing your inspection, it’s possible that your eyeballs need washing.
Finding peace with our imperfect world and its imperfect people isn’t always easy, but if we don’t find a way to let go of our stringent ideals of how things should be, we’ll never be free to enjoy the greatest gifts life gives us.
From Miriam
One crisp, breezy November morning, I stepped out the back door of my home and headed toward the clothesline, carrying a basket loaded with clean, wet clothes. For weeks I had sewn feverishly—new white shirts and black pants for my husband and five sons, and traditional matching dresses for my daughter and myself—in preparation for my second son’s wedding. The wedding had taken place the day before, and the celebration had been even more than I’d hoped for.
Plain Wisdom Page 5
