Old Order Mennonite Memoirs

"On my next birthday I will be nine and then I'll soon be ten years old." These words came from Grandson Tyson last week as we sat with him around the table, enjoying his homemade birthday meal. Besides pizza and fresh veggies, there was a huge 3D dump truck cake. It leaned a bit on its wheels with a heavy load of dark soil and rocks (crushed sandwich cookies and chocolate-covered marshmallows) but the colors were right, as was the CAT name.

Included in the day were games and songs besides watching Mia with her puppies. It was the first time I saw them since they were born in late December. The roly-poly tumblers were cute but I was mesmerized by the devotion of Mia, the mama. I thought back to spring of 2017 when my youngest daughter and I were checking out in a shop in Belleville Amish country. A sign on the counter caught our attention: Puppies for Sale. It was in a little box that she arrived into the Cove but in my daughter's pocket, she traveled farther to her sister's care where she became Mia, always obedient, always well-mannered.

Tyson's birthday celebration was the first day of a week filled to the brim. The next day my daughter and her friends came to knot comforters for CAM. Granddaughter Bella, age 2, wasn't sure if she wanted to share her grandmother's toys with the other children but books are easier to share. In one book her 2-year-old friend was impressed by the bad skunk who stole one of Mama Duck's eggs. I was amused how he kept coming back to that page, even if I showed him on the next page that the skunk was good and gave back the egg.

Beside teachable tykes around me and knots in comforters, there were seeds, both in phone orders for fulfilled summer dreams and from my daughter to sow in my greenhouse. There was a take-out lunch to share with my dad and an eat-out breakfast with my friends. Also with my friends was a gathering around a quilt in a lovely sun porch. As we stitched along perfectly-marked lines, the natural light of winter flooded our time together.

Last week also, went the first load of your donations of clothing and comforters for CAM. The waiting time for your shared blessings was greatly shortened by helping hands working together. Thank you for everything you shared. I will again extend an invitation for you to drop off unwanted or unneeded clothing, fabric, yarn or thread at 1018 Piney Creek Road.

The wind from the south on Friday was lazy, that is, too lazy to go around us. It went right through us, damp and biting, but it did not keep a certain cluster of workers from going ahead with their plans to build a small greenhouse for our daughter. So far the weather this winter hasn't hindered us much, but on Saturday afternoon, it tried to convince me that gathering a bouquet from my flowerbeds in January isn't the thing to do. A snow squall rushed at me and blew the airy sedum heads out of my basket and clouded my vision with splatters of wet snowflakes. I squealed in surprise and ran for shelter but in the end I was pleased with my bouquet of pussy willow twigs, golden euonymus, cypress and other evergreens with my retrieved dark brown flowers.

It was the most fun part of getting ready for my 22 guests which came after services in Piney Creek and Martinsburg church the next day. Most of my Christmas 'bouquets' are now gone and I put away my Christmas cards, even though we never received that 'special' one. Paying penalties for late payments because checks wait to be delivered is also part of mail service today.

I thought of Apostle Paul who asks, "Why do you not rather take wrong?" and the writer of Hebrews who speaks of taking the spoiling of our goods joyfully. Next I thought of my newest song:

"Trip lightly over trouble; Trip lightly over wrong:

We only make grief double By dwelling on it long.

Why clasp woe's hand so tightly? Why sigh o'er blossoms dead?

Why cling to forms unsightly? Why not seek joy instead?"

But sometimes it isn't easy to 'trip lightly.' Pollyanna, the orphan and champion glad-game player, was white-faced and wild-eyed in the chapter I read to my grandchildren last week. As her aunt fainted dead away with the news that Pollyanna may never walk again, she sobbed and called for her. But the new terror in her eyes was because she wasn't sure how she could ever be glad about anything if she couldn't walk. In the six remaining chapters we may find out how to 'trip lightly' even if we may never walk again.