February 1, 2024
It’s That Season
We have to take our dog out in the middle of the night because she is getting older. Like us. You know, so she doesn’t leak.
The other day I took her out behind the house about 2:45 a.m. and was breathing in the lovely night air, looking for my favorite stars, waiting for Velvet to squat (she drags out her excursion awhile, surveying the countryside with me).
All of a sudden she dashes across the driveway, out into the front yard in hot pursuit of something, maybe a deer. We generally praise her for her deer runs: she gets good exercise and fun, and during summer, it keeps deer mostly away from our garden.
That morning I turned to see that there was a small creature about six feet away from her. I figured it was a rabbit and quickly turned on my flashlight, And froze.
Velvet was glaring at a skunk, a large one at that, likely male, standing stock-still facing the dog. I panicked thinking the skunk had already sprayed her. My heart sunk. A sprayed dog, in the middle of the night. Would we have to both get up and give her a bath, or let her smell up the house or basement? Already I dreaded the drama.
This is skunk season of course, we’ve seen numerous skunks on our country roads, flattened out and dead. The groundhog may come out on February 2 but I found this interesting analysis on Scienceing.com:
“Milder winter will bring out males in early February. Harsher winter may postpone the emergence of males a few weeks toward March. Yearling female skunks that were born during the last year will not be ready to mate in February; yearlings wait until March or April before they will accept a mate. Females who are not interested in mating will spray the male to let him know to get away.”
We get skunks occasionally in our garden in summer, grabbing our goodies. One year my husband decided to buy a no-kill trap to catch one. Tricky business, because of course what do you do with the guy after you trap him (or her). Our dear neighbor, in his 90s, gave Stuart this piece of advice: “Whatever you do, approach one very slowly in the cage, backing up, and he might not spray you.” We lucked out and my husband was able to open the door, slowly backed away, and left the skunk alone, who later in the day had vacated the trap. Yay! Thank goodness for wise older neighbors who know these things.
On my morning potty escapade with the dog, I quickly called Velvet to come, which she did, and I could detect no nasty smell or spray on dear Velvet. My thanks ascended to the God of the skies and earth for this small favor. No middle of the night bath for the dog, or for us. I praised and petted our mature pup (going on nine years) for finally learning this lesson. This time. There is no guarantee about next time. I have learned over the years when skunk season began, to make a raucous noise of some kind when we come out of the garage in the morning or night so the skunk has a chance to run away without spraying the dog.
Your science hint for the day!
What have you learned about dealing with skunks around your house?
Any tricks or advice?
Share your story here!
Blog Post January 27, 2024
So What’s in a Name?
Do you like your name? Does it fit you? Did your parents do well when they named you?
I’m pondering this right now because I’m reading a journal I kept in the years 1970-71 when I was taking a “gap year” (like they call it now), where I was doing church-related voluntary service, teaching nursery schoolers in Kentucky. (That was over 50 years ago, good grief!) I lived with five others, (we had 3 women and 3 men in our unit), and initially they were all strangers to me.
It is fascinating to read that journal because I was only 18 at the time and my faith was at a different point (a good point, but I used different religious language in my prayers and Sunday school classes etc. Perhaps you’ve changed too from when you were 18 going on 19.
What shocked me a little was finding an entry saying I thought my name Melodie didn’t fit me. I was at home (for Christmas vacation) when I wrote it and reflecting a bit on relationships and names.
Here’s what I wrote then. See what you think:
“Sometimes the me I present to other people isn’t me. For instance, the name Mel. Mel fits me so much better than Melodie. Mel is short, maybe ugly, bare, blunt. Melodie is pretty, long, and sweet sounding. To people who don’t know me well, I may seem like a Melodie, but those who know the mud of me call me Mel. Without all the nice sounding thoughts and writings, I’m just Mel. Maybe someday I’ll be a real, genuine Melodie, although I doubt it.”
Ok, I was 19 when I wrote that on Christmas Day. (Thank you, young Mel, for writing down dates!) I should add that in elementary and junior high, my friends usually referred to me as Mel, with some adding “Smelly” (stemming from names my sisters called me from being a late bed wetter) and also because I and my sisters all smelled bad when coming in from gathering eggs in our chicken houses.
Happy to say I’ve grown up a bit and no longer dislike my name. So many people gush over what a nice name it is. And I honor the name because my mother read a book with a sweet character she really liked and decided to call her third daughter by that same name with this spelling: Melodie Ann. (I’ve not always appreciated the ie on the end because I have to correct people so many times, but that’s not a big deal.)
And a shortened name never stuck with me after I married my husband Stuart. In his family, nicknames were forbidden. His parents never used them, tried to keep their three sons as Richard, Nolan, and Stuart, spelled this way and NOT Stewart. And NEVER Dick, Nol, or Stu. Yikes!
I feel sorry for children who are given monstrously long names. Imagine correcting a spelling like Natalia. Brynleigh. Aubrielle. (I even had to look at the name Brynleigh THREE times to get my spelling right here!). I have a great niece named Karleigh (who is adorbs like her other sisters!) but I bet when she is older she’ll give her mom fits for this spelling instead of, you know, Karly. Or something shorter. My granddaughter’s name could be pronounced about three different ways but she is adorable too and we wouldn’t trade her for all the names in China. I can finally say her name without stumbling.
Kids today are changing their names more often when they get to be a certain age and that may be fine, except for the long learning curve their family members go through.
Did I ever consider changing my name? No way.
And of course, I’ll never be a Shakespeare, if you’re trying to remember when my title came from.
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So, do you like your name? Have you always appreciated it or were there times you wished to have another name?
How have your religious leanings and expressions grown or changed? Or not?
Comment here! Join a conversation ….
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As you might have guessed, I turned my Voluntary Service journal into a book, still available here as used copies. It is called On Troublesome Creek: A True Story about Christian Service in the Mountains of Kentucky.
My siblings and I also enjoyed putting together a new small book this past year, Cultivating Fields, Faith and Family: Mom and Dad’s Memorable Mennonite Life, available on Amazon.
Blog
January 14, 2024 How to Live a Thousand Lives
“I write so I can live a thousand lives.”
A young woman named Shea Megale wrote this which, as a fellow writer, I loved. She is one of the most daring and amazing persons I’ve had the opportunity to meet.
Shea shared parts of her life story so far (she’s 29) at our Lions Club fall conference in Fredericksburg Va. Her third service dog matches her for his remarkable job as a trained and loving companion. Her second service dog helped her graduate from the University of Virginia (even crossing the stage with her if I understand correctly, a school which is no whiz to get into, founded by Thomas Jefferson in 1819). She also managed to live on the university campus without special helpers, except for her dog. She is an author of numerous books and began writing real publishable books at the age of 13, starring her first service dog Mercer.
But let’s begin at the beginning. She is an ambassador for those everywhere who were born with or have experienced huge difficulties and challenges. But, she is not letting the difficulties stop her. She and her family support an organization called “Canine Companions for Independence,” for people who need the help of a dog to get around and to survive independently.
Shea was born with spinal muscular atrophy, which is a genetic “neuromuscular” condition. She is quite short and is confined to a motorized wheelchair, but she is one of the most entertaining and uplifting speakers I’ve ever heard. She has traveled all over the world, organizing her own itineraries and transportation with drivers that she lines up.
She tells stories both amusing and remarkable. She told how she and her service dog were on a beach somewhere (I think Australia) and something slid off her lap and onto some sand. She reached for it rather than give a command to her dog, and began to slide out of her electric wheelchair. The dog was ready for her, and pushed his body to her legs to keep her from slipping further. I forget (and it’s not in my notes) how she got out of that dilemma but I know she was very thankful for the quick action of the dog.
Another story I loved was about her helping write and produce a short historical film in the Czech Republic. In addition to the assistance of her service dog, she had a helper who didn’t speak English at all, and Shea did not speak Czechoslovak. This woman was helping her take a shower but the water was way too cold for Shea’s comfort. To communicate, she made her teeth chatter and demonstrated shivering, which finally connected! Her finished film also connected: won the President’s Award from the Film Academy of Miroslav Ondricek. The academy is named for Ondricek as a prolific Czech cinematographer who had also worked in the U.S. on films such as Amadeus and Hair.
Shea has been invited to ring the opening bell on Wall Street for NASDAQ, was the youngest ever member of the National Press Club in Washington, D.C., spoke on the USS Intrepid, appeared on The Today Show, launched a partnership with Build-A-Bear and FAO Schwarz, and, most importantly for Shea, “speaking at schools all over the country” which she loves doing.
Shea’s family was and is very close, but they experienced what way too many families have gone through. In a 2018 article for a UVA publication, I learned that Shea’s older brother Matt struggled with opioid addiction for years eventually dying from it. After he died, Shea wrote a memoir of their close relationship, telling people he was much more than his addiction. “He played a huge role in her life, as a brother and a caregiver, and he encouraged and helped her pursue all sorts of adventures, from ziplining to skiing to traveling the world,” the article explained.
Opioid addiction “is like cancer now,” Shea noted. “Everyone knows someone that is affected by it. There have been more deaths from opioids than deaths from the entire Vietnam War.”
Shea writes novels, especially young adult fiction, science fiction, and fantasy–which may or may not be your thing; her blog notes that “consciously and unconsciously, nearly every character she creates has an element of disability: physical, emotional, or mental.”
I wouldn’t mind hearing her speak again. Just three of the leadership lessons she left with us as Lions Club leaders were these:
- Show up. Even if you don’t know what to say or do when you get there (a funeral, a friend’s recital, an interview, etc.), you’ve already done half the work and your presence tells others that this event or person is important to you.
- Make an effort to remember things. Important dates for others (anniversary of a death, birthdays, etc., details of their lives they share with you, their favorite things and their dreams. This is hard, but it is done by really listening.
- Never ask others to do something you won’t do right alongside them.
–Shea C. Megale. Find her blog at S. C. Megale – Home (scmegale.com)
You can find out more about Canine Companions for Independence here.
Lions Clubs International are known for their training of leader dogs especially for those with blind or other vision issues.
January 5, 2024
When Your Car Gets Towed on Christmas Morning
It wasn’t Santa Claus causing commotion in the sleepy townhouse community where our daughter, husband, and granddaughter live. But what happens when a local tow truck operator—maybe cruising for a little extra cash—comes ruining your sleep and sanity on Christmas morning?
Ok, the story. We were visiting overnight on Christmas Eve and our daughter had carefully made sure we parked in their designated space with our slim Toyota, while she used a guest space. We were suddenly awakened on Christmas morning about 5:30 a.m. with our daughter knocking on the bedroom door (where we’d been sleeping). Then she dashed in, citing some emergency outside. An accident? A fire? A robber?
“I need to get some papers,” she quietly explained, hoping desperately their 10-month-old daughter wouldn’t wake up. She dipped hurriedly into her well-organized file cabinet and then dashed out again, clothed only in pjs and slippers. This was December of course. What was going on?
When she returned, she said she had been awakened by flashing truck lights backing up in front of our parking space and shining into their bedroom window. Alarmed, she had rushed out just as she saw the tow truck—and our car—going around the corner and heading out to the street. She kept running and then saw the driver had stopped, maybe to make a call or whatever. Relieved to catch up, she knocked on his window and asked why he was towing the car that had been correctly parked in her parking space.
Ah, but it had no parking pass in it, the operator explained. He was to remove anything that didn’t have a pass. (Home Owner Association rules of course.) Our daughter was distraught and showed him her paperwork proving they were owners of the townhouse with rights to the parking space.
So he unloaded our car and said she owed him $50.
At which she was relieved and luckily had $50 in cash (in the house) to pay him. As she began to mentally process the near mess it would have been to get our car out of an impound lot—likely locked up solid for the Christmas holiday—she began to breathe easier. We had planned to drive the 120 miles back home later in the day. Our Christmas Day was “saved.”
It reminded me of the mess I found myself in about 15 years ago at a senior citizen complex doing filming in New York City with work colleagues. We had parked our van on a busy street which was clearly marked that vehicles had to be moved from that side of the street when the commuters-going-home rush started at about 4 p.m. As my colleagues packed up their boxes etc. with cameras and filming paraphernalia, I told them I’d go get the van before it got towed. It wasn’t quite 4 p.m. and in my rural head, I was sure it would still be sitting there.
But it was nowhere to be seen. Long story short, with guidance from a bored building greeter, I tracked down the van’s location in an impound lot close to Pier 76 on the Hudson River. Inside the building it looked like there should be mafia guys hiding around every corner. But when the clerk finally gave me a pass with our company information on it marked “Redeemed,” it felt like God was watching out for us that day.
I had to think of that as our daughter doled out a $50 bill she just happened to have on hand (no one under 60 uses cash anymore, right?).
Our Christmas in the suburbs was not ruined. Hallelujah!
And that New York impound lot? I just learned it has been moved and now contains a nice riverside park.
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Impound lot stories? Were you ever towed against your will?
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I’m no longer writing my newspaper column but as my husband AND daughter noted, “Everything is an article (now blog post) with our mother isn’t it?” 🙂 But no deadlines! No regular posts! Although right now I’m writing devotionals for a week of Rejoice! magazine devos, which is a good exercise (and pays decent). Find the magazine here.
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Another Way for December 29, 2023
Time to Say Farewell to This Column
For 36 years I have written Another Way newspaper columns. Let’s do the math. That’s 1872 columns by my count, and something like 1,235,520 words. Of course, I had help sometimes from occasional substitute writers such as readers and relatives. The hardest part of writing a column (and many other columnists or pastors will agree) is coming up with original, interesting, and engaging thoughts and experiences to share.
I have written about everything under the sun from gardening to traveling to cooking to world or local news, to losing Dad, Mom, co-workers, and so many others. I’ve often told people that I write because it helps me process life and record memories, experiences and thoughts. I have watched other writers as they do the same (whether it be newsy, spiritual, or family oriented). I feel the time has come for someone else to have this space. I remember one well-known Mennonite writer, Robert Baker, who wrote in various weekly or monthly religious papers or magazines. At some point he did this same thing: moved over so someone else could share their thoughts, experiences and hopes. I went to high school with one of his daughters.
Radio speaker and friend Margaret Foth is to be credited with giving me this opportunity to write in local newspapers. After writing it for ten years as a spin off from her radio program, “Your Time,” in one meeting before she closed out her program, she suggested that I pick up the print column since I helped edit it for her. I should also flag Paul Yoder for bringing the idea to us at Mennonite Media at the time. He had many contacts in the small newspaper field, which was helpful! At its most prolific, the Another Way column was used by around 20 papers in the U.S., Canada, and India.
My first column in 1987 told the story of a Florida couple I cleaned house for one summer in the late ‘70s. The husband was a judge for the county, who later was tragically killed by a disgruntled and dangerous local man. My most-read column was another heartbreaking story of a teenager of a well-known TV pastor at the time. The teen died of a drug overdose.
Some of my personal favorites from over the years include one that I wrote about beautiful Tangier Island off the coast of Maryland and Virginia, and dozens of readers responded to their particular plight (continually losing their shoreline). I finally got to visit there. I wrote about the Gulf War, and again received many letters affirming a call for peace. Professors and pastors responded to that one.
What kept me going? Hearing from readers, including many letters and emails, most from women but many men too. Debbie Judy lives in the nearby state of West Virginia and she was one such reader—who I actually got to meet! We spent part of a Sunday afternoon strolling her hills, chatting and connecting in a personal way. She and her husband invited our family to use their cabin in those mountains, which we did on a snowy April weekend. I’ve since learned that her husband has now entered the heavenly realms, so prayers extend to the Judy family.
The two longest running papers were The Daily American in Somerset Pa. and a gig my Dad arranged at The Goshen News, (Ind.) almost 20 years ago. I salute these two generous and faithful papers for staying on board so long. If you are curious, these last two papers were paying me $45 a month and $20 a month, so I didn’t do it to get rich. We all know the newspaper print industry is gradually diminishing and shrinking. But I thank the editors who hung on as long as they could.
Now it is time for another trip around the sun (and hopefully other travels) and new hobbies, entertainment, and engagement with six grandchildren and their parents. I feel like I’m retiring “again” because indeed the column gave me a weekly deadline that I met and enjoyed.
For 36 years, I’ve appreciated sitting down and sharing our adventures, ups and downs, and above all, reaching out in love. Prayers and best wishes to all.
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You can still follow my blog at www.findingharmonyblog.com sharing recipes, thoughts and yes, escapades. My husband says I’ll always be a writer …. Check out the blog or write to me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com. The yahoo email account and P.O. Box will be closing down at some point.
Another Way was a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987.
** And remember that photos or advertisements appearing here are put there by WordPress, not by this writer; I get no income from the ads.
Another Way for week of December 22, 2023
Why Can’t We See God?
Last in this five-week series on Biblical women—and their babies.
It was a few weeks before Christmas. Santa Clauses were everywhere: on the street, at the mall, in the yard, on porches or roofs.
This was back in the day when I shuttled nursery-schoolers back and forth to school, taking turns with other moms.
On their ride home, out of the blue a boy named Brian announced, “I don’t believe in Santa Claus.” I began preparing my speech or response. But before I could propose an answer, Brian settled the matter for himself: “’Cause how could he come down a chimney?”
But Brian wasn’t done, and before I could come up with a viable response, his wonderful mind had linked this problem with another. Pausing, he looked at me with big, black, beautiful eyes. “Why doesn’t God come down?”
“You mean to earth?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said Brian.
“You mean, why can’t we see God?” At that, Brian solemnly nodded. This daycare was held in a church basement and I had just come from a long meeting at my office talking about the shape of Christian education and its future. Here was a teaching moment more valuable than the best planned Sunday school lesson. Here was a bright four-year-old asking the question of the ages, a question theologians and philosophers have pondered and debated.
We were already at his stop. I put my van in “park” and gave him a big smile. “That’s a wonderful question, Brian, one that lots of people think about.”
Then I tried to put into brief, simple words that God did come down to earth in the form of baby, Jesus. But Jesus had to go back to live with God and that now, we can’t see Jesus anymore, except in the form of loving, sharing things people do for each other. That seemed to satisfy him as he hopped out of the van.
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When the angel Gabriel popped in at Mary’s home over 2000 years ago, her questions must have gone way beyond a four-year-old’s musings. Indeed, the first question she asked was “How will this happen?” She knew her own life to that point and the angel assured her that “With God, nothing is impossible.”
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Many of us have questions like Brian. As we reflect briefly on the mysterious appearance of an angel, and how and why Jesus came to earth, we wonder, why Mary? Why, of all the hundreds of thousands or maybe millions (population estimates vary from 170,000,000 to 300,000,000 people in the world when Jesus was born), why was Mary picked to give birth to the baby Jesus?
Everyone in the Jewish community knew full well that a Messiah had been promised to come among them. They knew from scriptures that God had promised this, and every young woman growing up (and her parents) wondered if she would be the one to birth this promised baby. I like the way Matthew 1:23 puts it in the New Life Version, quoting the prophet Isaiah: “The young woman, who has never had a man, will give birth to a son. They will give him the name Immanuel. This means God with us.”
God is a mystery and we do not understand how the very special person who grew up to be Jesus came into being, but Mary was chosen for whatever reason. And the world has never been the same.
I hope you and yours had a blessed Christmas. God is with us! And our prayers go out to all those suffering illness, war, famine. This Christmas season (which goes to January 6), let us share with others and pray for an end to all war.
Amen.
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Share your thoughts! Contact me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Get ready for an announcement early next week.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for week of December 15, 2023
How Smart Women Saved a Future Religious Leader
Editor’s note: Fourth in a five-week series on Biblical women—and their babies.
Of all the stories of babies and mothers in the Bible (and even siblings as we’ll see in a minute), the mother of Moses and his sister is one of my favorite stories. We don’t usually think of it as a Christmas story at all, but there’s a link to the birth of Jesus and the insecurity that leaders feel when they sense or hear of a challenge coming from ordinary folk.
Baby Moses is one of the stories I recall and relish from my early childhood. We probably romanticized baby Moses’ predicament, coloring pictures of the baby floating in his little basket on the river while his big sister kept watch.
When I grew up, I learned more about the midwives named Shiphrah and Puah who helped save little Moses’ life. These women were not only dedicated to helping birth babies at the time, but pretty ingenious—and it is remarkable that this part of the story got recorded in the Bible at some point. Various writers of course wrote the text we know as Exodus. I’m skipping much background here but the upshot is that Joseph and his relatives (in the book of Genesis) settled in Egypt because of famine elsewhere. After that generation died, a new Pharaoh came into power who didn’t know the history and began to worry that the Hebrew peoples would become so numerous they might overtake the locals, and fight against them.
At the time, there were at least four women (one of them still a girl) whose response to the Pharaoh’s edict that all boy babies be killed (how absolutely horrible!) was “No!”
According to Exodus 1, the Pharaoh said to the Hebrew midwives, “When you help the Hebrew women in childbirth and see evidence of whether it is a boy or girl, if it is a boy, kill him. But if it is a girl, let her live.”
We learn in verses 17-18 that the midwives, however, believed in God, and did not do what Pharaoh had told them; they let the boys live. Later he summons the midwives and asks, “Why have you done this? Why have you let the boys live?”
The midwives coyly answer Pharaoh, “Hebrew women are not like Egyptian women; they have their babies so quickly that we can’t get there in time.”
The story wraps up by saying “So God was kind to the midwives, and the population of Hebrews increased.” And the Pharaoh’s edict continued to drown boy babies, but girl babies could live.
When one woman, Jochebed, got pregnant and gave birth to a son, she tried her best to hide him—imagine keeping an infant from crying!
As he grew, after three months she waterproofed a basket the best she could. She put her little boy in the basket and placed it in the river. She directed her daughter (presumed to be Miriam), to hide at a distance to see what would happen. Then Pharaoh’s daughter goes to the Nile for a bath and sees the basket; her heart goes out to the little boy in the basket. Miriam quickly comes forward and volunteers to find a nursemaid for the baby (and sends her mother, Jochebed).
I do not claim to be a biblical scholar but the connection to the baby Jesus comes in the genealogy listed in Luke 3 which ends up with another Joseph, who married Mary the mother of Jesus.
We also know that Joseph and Mary faced the same kind of terrible terror as Jochabed, almost 1400 years later. King Herod in Jerusalem was a threat to the baby Jesus for many of the same reasons. (The Pharaoh had feared an expanding population of people different than themselves.)
This year, the biblical story of baby Jesus seems particularly real and close as we get news every day of the terror currently going on in that promised land. I have read that there will be no Christmas celebrated in Bethlehem this year, due to current atrocities and fighting. I’m pleased to learn of a movement called Mennonite Action in North America which is trying to send messages and make a stand working for peace and justice.
May all this horror soon cease as we prayerfully lean on our faith in God who knows the future.
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Reach Another Way at P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Please note that I do not approve of any of the “sponsored” content that appears on my blog.
Another Way for week of December 8, 2023
How Naomi Finally Got a Grandchild
(Editor’s note: Third in a five-week series on Biblical women—and their babies.)
The biblical story of Naomi, Ruth and their offspring is truly a fascinating history. As my pastor noted in a sermon recently, Ruth’s story links directly to the Bethlehem story, which we will get to in coming weeks. Pastor Stephanie said Bethlehem means “House of Bread,” and we learn in Ruth chapter 1, verse 1 that Bethlehem and the surrounding area was suffering from lack of bread in a difficult famine.
So we meet Naomi, married to a man named Elimelech. As they migrate to find food, they end up settling in a country called Moab (today in the south of Jordan) with their sons Mahlon and Chilion. Then Elimelech dies and the sons marry two local Moabite women, Ruth and Orpah. Unfortunately, the couples don’t get a chance to have children before the two brothers die in Moab.
After about ten years, the drought subsides and Naomi decides she wants to return to Bethlehem where her relatives live. She begs her daughters-in-law, “Why don’t you go back to your mother’s house? I have nothing else to give you—too old to have a husband or to bear more sons.” Finally persuaded, Orpah and Naomi hugged and cried as Orpah decides to return to her mother.
Then Ruth refuses to leave Naomi and speaks the beautiful words that many have used at their wedding: “Where you go, I will go; and where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God, my God. Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried.” The Bible says that when Naomi realized that Ruth was determined to go with her, she stopped urging her.
When they got back to Bethlehem, the town came out to see them and some women exclaimed “Can this be Naomi?” At that, Naomi asked that she no longer be called Naomi: “Call me ‘Mara’, because my life has become very bitter.”
As they settled in and readjusted to life, Ruth said she would go out into the fields to pick up leftover grain so they would have food to eat. It was common for farmers to leave grain behind for those in need.
A man named Boaz was the owner of some land and after he inquired about Ruth as she gleaned, he made sure that the harvesters left grain for Ruth and to not hurt her. When the harvesting was done, Boaz celebrates, and Naomi encourages Ruth to lay down at the feet of Boaz. He eventually wakes up, quite surprised to find Ruth there. Boaz later sits down with a relative of Naomi’s to do as custom called for in those days, to see that widows are taken care of if a husband dies.
Thus, it was that wedding bells did ring for Ruth and Boaz and Ruth gave birth to her first born son, Obed. Naomi is delighted to have her first grandchild, and looks after him as things settle down. As a grandma I like this verse: “Naomi took the child, laid him in her lap, and cared for him.”
If you know your Biblical genealogy, you know Obed becomes the father of Jesse, and Jesse the father of David, who later becomes the first king of Israel. David of course had his faults but the Bible says David found favor with God in spite of his sins.
My grandma on my mother’s side was named Ruth (and we gave the middle name “Ruth” to one of our daughters). We were blessed to have three daughters when I was in my 30s and overjoyed with the five grandsons our daughters later brought to our family. Earlier this year, we were again super happy as our youngest daughter and her husband birthed our first granddaughter.
The Christmas season is certainly a time to not only give gifts and spread good will, but thank God for our families, friends and also the parents, relatives, and adoptive or foster parents who raised us.
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Enter a drawing by December 22 for one of three copies of the new book my siblings and I put together titled Cultivating Fields, Faith and Family: Mom and Dad’s Memorable Mennonite Life.
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Can also be purchased on Amazon, here.
For giveaway send your entry to Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com, or enter on Facebook at Melodie.M.Davis. Deadline Dec. 22 2023.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
Another Way for December 1, 2023
Sarah’s Infertility and Abraham’s Folly
Editor’s note: Second in a five-week series on Biblical women—and their babies.
Last week we looked at Hannah’s extreme sorrow and stress due to infertility in the Old Testament book of 1st Samuel.
This week we’ll explore another husband and wife’s same issue: “We want to have a child.” But their story plays out quite differently.
Sarah and Abraham were originally named Sarai and Abram, and the book of Genesis tells us that it was originally Abram’s lament regarding their infertility to God, not Sarai’s, although I’m sure it was as much of a concern for her as it was for Hannah. Thus she even arranged for her maid to lay with Abram in order to have children.
But Abram prayed—or had a vision, about who or how he could plan for his eventual death saying: “Since I remain childless and I guess my household servant will have to be the heir of my estate” (paraphrase of Genesis 15:3).
According to Genesis, it was God who had first promised Abram a “great nation” would come from his eventual family. Abram was already 75 when this prediction was made, including the promise his children would own a vast territory of land.
Then came a desperate famine. Abram and Sarai moved to Egypt because there was food there. But there, old Abe worries that his “beautiful wife might attract attention from the Egyptians” and they might kill Abe to enjoy Sarai.
I remember my Bible teacher at high school shaking his head at Abe’s reasoning. He used the story to illustrate to us 16-year-olds who were beginning to date and have romantic encounters—that we would be wise to treat the road to romance and marriage very carefully, especially in how far we went in those encounters. Mr. Hostetler’s emphasis was instrumental in helping me vow to wait for marriage. He chastised Abram’s thinking saying “If he worried that the Egyptians might kill Abe, what on earth would they do to his beloved wife?”
Abram’s part of the story, though, can be a reminder that we all make mistakes and there is not only forgiveness, but a promise of a wiser future. He and Sarai were both given new names (and new spellings), Abraham and Sarah.
Later they moved to greener fields in the land of Canaan. The Sarah part of this story is her laughter when she was told by three visiting strangers that she was going to have a child in her 90s. She thought her time for childbearing was well past. We don’t understand (at least I don’t) the length of life in those days but the story in Genesis is that the visitors asked Abraham where his wife was. “There, in the tent” he said, where she was fixing food for them. The Bible says Sarah was eavesdropping and heard one of the visitors say “I will return about this time next year and Sarah your wife will have a son.”
Sarah laughs in unbelief, not at the joyous prediction that she would have a baby. Sarah is caught in a paradox: she knows that from a human standpoint, childbearing for her is literally impossible. Abraham also falls to the ground when he hears the news. The visitors reminded them, “Is anything too hard for the Lord?”
Sarah denied laughing to the visiting strangers, saying firmly “I did not laugh.”
One visitor said, “Yes, you did laugh.” At that comment, I’m guessing Sarah escaped back into the tent!
At any rate, Sarah’s dream and Abraham’s did come true when their son Isaac was born the following year, and indeed, Abraham’s family grew over many years and “prospered greatly.” The lesson here is if we’ve been blessed with the wonderful gift of children—no matter how they come to us whether through adoption or fostering—our children form the direction of our lives.
My Bible teacher clear back in 1968 gave me nuggets of truth that compel me to hold on to faith today. When times are tough, we can remember, “Is there anything too hard for God?”
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What tough experiences can you share here?
Or, what nuggets do you glean (ah-ha, watch for that word in my column next week!) from the Abraham and Sarah history?
Comment here or contact me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
*Free Bible artwork courtesy of FreeBibleImages.org
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Another Way for November 24, 2023
The Miracle of Baby Samuel
Editor’s note: Melodie Davis begins a five-week series on women—and babies of the Bible.
One of the most poignant stories in the Bible is the story of Hannah and the infertility she experienced.
Not all women—or men want to have children. In ancient times, infertility was deemed a curse; women wore the sorrow on their faces. Today, not being able to have a baby is similarly difficult. And extremely sad.
The story of Samuel in the “New International Version” (NIV) begins with Hannah, married to Elkanah, who loved her very much but year after year she was unable to conceive. As was the custom at the time, they went yearly to give sacrificial offerings of meat to the priest, Eli. It was also the custom for a husband to have another wife if one did not conceive. Elkanah’s other wife, Peninnah, was prolific in the pregnancy department. Peninnah taunted Hannah, rubbing in her infertility. Elkanah would give each of Peninnah’s children a portion of the sacrificial meats.
The NIV titles the book of Samuel as “The birth of Samuel.” So we know Samuel is going to be the main character, but doesn’t immediately reveal how his birth came about. One year at the sacrificial ceremony, Hannah was so distraught she couldn’t eat. The priest, Eli, who received the sacrificial offerings, “was sitting on his chair by the doorpost of the Lord’s house.”
Now, I don’t recall ever hearing or reading the word “beer” in the Bible. In verse 9 of chapter 1, we read that finally Hannah had enough of her predicament. “In her deep anguish Hannah prayed to the Lord, weeping bitterly. She made a vow, saying, ‘Lord Almighty, if you will look on your servant’s misery and remember me, and not forget your servant but give her a son, then I will give him to the Lord for all the days of his life. No razor will ever be used on his head.’”
As she kept praying, Eli observed Hannah’s lips continuing to move. Eli couldn’t hear anything and thought she was drunk.He finally said to her, “How long are you going to stay drunk? Put away your wine.”
Hannah replied, “Not so, my lord. I am a woman who is deeply troubled and I haven’t been drinking wine or beer; I was pouring out my soul to the Lord. Do not take your servant for a wicked woman; I have been praying here out of my great anguish and grief.”
Eli answered, “Go in peace, and may the God of Israel grant you what you have asked of him.”
Hannah responded, “May this servant find favor in your eyes.” Then she left and finally ate something. Her face was “no longer downcast.”
When Elkanah and Hannah got home, the Bible says “The Lord remembered Hannah’s yearning. In the course of time Hannah became pregnant and gave birth to a son. She named him Samuel, saying, ‘Because I asked the Lord for him.’” How happy she was!
A year went by. When it came time for their annual trip (about 19 miles) to offer sacrifices before Eli, Hannah told Elkanah she would be staying home with Samuel until he was weaned. Thus when he was three or so, Hannah made good on her promise and took little Samuel to live with Eli and assist him in his chores. Hannah and Elkanah went to visit Samuel every year and Hannah would make him a new little coat.
How dear and precious those times must have been. Eventually Hannah also gave birth to three sons and two daughters.
So Hannah took the pain of her situation and turned her curse into the birth of a very special prophet and leader in the Bible.
How many of us would willingly give a small child to serve a priest such as Eli? Samuel of course grew up to be the prophet who eventually chose the shepherd boy David to be King of Israel, a man of faith who was not perfect either. Hannah is one of my favorite women in the Bible.
To read the story of Hannah and her family, go to 1 Samuel verse 1 through 2:11.
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Share your thoughts or stories! Comment here or write to me at Another Way, P.O. Box 363, Singers Glen, VA 22834, or email anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com.
Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of ten books, most recently Memoir of an Unimagined Career. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.
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