findingharmonyblog

January 6, 2017

Fly on a Wall Sunday School Class

James Madison University, just blocks from our church.

Another Way for week of January 6, 2017

What can you learn listening to secular university students talk about their faith or inner life like it was a reality TV show of some kind? Peers talking candidly to peers, with a bunch of over-50’s listening in?

That was the premise of one Sunday school class for adults at our church recently.

If you were in the student shoes, what do you say? What do you NOT want to say?

I loved the concept of listening in, and soon got out my pen and paper to take notes. Our congregation sits almost next door to a major university of 25,000 students, the “gown” growing larger every year whether the “town” likes it or not. We are realizing—and have for years—that the university should be very much on our radar for outreach. Mission. Engagement. Whatever you want to call it.

Some years we have done better than others and our new young pastor (still in her mid thirties and her husband, also a pastor), are especially interested in connecting with this demographic just because they have enjoyed working with students so very much.

Fellowship meal at our church, Trinity Presbyterian.

How do you talk about your faith or inner life when this Sunday is the first time you’ve even stepped inside of a church, as one student said, “in many many years”.

One pondered, “I wonder if our generation goes to church less than previous generations?” Well, maybe, but suddenly I am back in college myself. For the first time in my life when I wake up on Sunday mornings, I have the option to NOT go to church. I drag myself out of bed the first few Sundays as a college Freshman and attend “campus church” at my Christian college, which feels like just another version of the weekday chapel services I’m required to sit through. So of course it feels scandalous the first time I just sleep in and don’t go to church. Deliciously naughty. That’s part of going to college, or really just being a young adult and able to make your own decisions (whether or not you go to college).

Another student admits he doesn’t know Christian theology or Bible stories. He’s not alone in that, either.

So it is refreshing when the lone practicing Christian (Catholic) among them pipes up and offers that she actually loves the liturgy, the ritual, and the idea of sacrificing (even Sunday morning sleep), to put your life out there for a larger purpose and reason.

Another fellow talks about how kids on campus complain “There’s nothing to do here” in our comparatively small town and inwardly I roll my eyes. One talks about the “campus bubble” and I recall how I could go weeks without ever stepping foot off my campus, which happens to be on the other end of this same city. When you don’t have a car, and in a time when this city had NO bus system at all, you are definitely in a campus bubble. They hint they would like to be about more than parties and hook ups, though that word is not used.

The Catholic student talks about how in one of her music classes, her professor had the various parts (soprano, alto, tenor, bass) work together to figure out what was off in their singing and how to fix it. Perhaps that’s also a model for areas where colleges or universities seem to represent many lost opportunities—especially where there are major retirement communities like we have here with hundreds of lonely people often living far from their families; refugee and immigrant families struggling with jobs, housing and language; and single working parents still needing help to keep food on the table.

These students could have been from almost any university in the U.S. or Canada—even Christian colleges. How does what they had to say—and the potential to engage with them hit you? Are there possibilities to help them become more connected with your congregation and with faith—or the needs you are helping with in your area?

Thoughts, examples, or stories you’d like to share? I would love to do a follow up with your examples. Email me at anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or write to Another Way Media, Box 363, Singers Glen, Va. 22850.

More on Trinity Presbyterian Church.

Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books, most recently Whatever Happened to Dinner. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.

December 30, 2016

A Day in My Life at 65

Another Way for week of December 30, 2016

After a lifetime of setting the alarm at least five mornings a week, with most of the last three years getting up at the ridiculous hour of 3:15 a.m., my husband and I are enjoying not setting the alarm.

Yes, I’m still gainfully employed and do indeed need to get to work by 8 a.m. We just don’t have to set the alarm because after getting up all those years as early as we did, and not sleeping as soundly as we used to, well, the sun or the dog or the cat gets us up if we snooze too long.

So, most days after I get up and let the dog out, I make a small pot of coffee for myself and enjoy hobby writing for my blog, my newspaper column, or the magazine I edit before going to my day job. My husband gets up when he feels like it, having retired earlier this year, (a very good decision, by the way, given his circumstances). He makes his own pot of coffee (I drink decaf and he drinks regular) and he seems to enjoy puttering in the kitchen to fix a little breakfast for himself.

Then three or four days a week, he heads off to the wellness center of a nearby retirement housing complex where he works out doing strengthening exercise in a gym and pool. (I never, ever thought I would write those words about my husband. Yes, I’m very happy he’s working out!) Meanwhile, I get myself ready and head to my job. If I have time before I start work, I take a 20 minute walk; if I can’t squeeze it in then, I try to do so over my lunch time.

After work, I throw together a meal: meat, potatoes or another starch, a vegetable or a salad, and usually, vanilla ice cream for dessert. I would say my cooking is less complicated than it was when we were raising our three daughters. In reality, I often don’t cook more than three nights a week; the other nights we have either leftovers, eat out (fast food or cheap restaurant) and every other week, have a Lions Club meeting with an evening meal. So, the fact that my husband doesn’t cook more than steaks, hamburgers and in the ancient past, barbecue chicken, and now fixes himself lunch and breakfast, my cooking has been cut way back. I do enjoy cooking when I have time; I also dig having company, including our children and grandchildren.

At 65, I do think more now about the time I have left: will I get another ten, twenty or thirty years? Forty was not a big deal for me, joking even when I got to 50 and 51 that “Fifty-one is practically 50, which is not far from 49, and 49 is not far from 40 which might as well be 39.” Follow that? You could say I was in either in rabid denial, or that I was quite happy in my own skin and comfortable with getting older, or something like that.

But 65? That’s a number to reckon with. If I get to live to be 85, wow, that’s only twenty years away. Twenty years is not that long of time so I’m starting to think, what do I want to still do in the next 20 years? Where do I want to travel while still on this earth, and able? Will I be in heaven or the afterlife in 20 years? Psalm 90: 10 in the King James Version says the days of our years are three score and ten, or perhaps four score (if you remember that a score is 20). So the Bible puts the average life at that time 70 or 80.

Thank the Lord, we don’t get to know these things, or at least most of us don’t. So the important thing is yes, get around to doing the things we really want to do, and try to enjoy each and every day or minute as we live it. Like one of my favorite authors, Thornton Wilder wrote in the play “Our Town,” in lines spoken by Emily, “Does anyone ever realize life while they live it…every, every minute?”

So, that is my goal for the New Year: to spend more time reflecting and expressing what is important to do, and then doing it, as time and funds allow. My husband and I have always dreamed of spending time volunteering for disaster work or other longer term assignments. I hope we can still do that, depending on health.

And even though I’m not retired yet, it sure is nice not to set an alarm. There are too many years of that. Time to celebrate!

For a free booklet, “A Loving Legacy” for families with aging parents to fill out together, email me at anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or write to Another Way Media, Box 363, Singers Glen, Va. 22850.

Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis, in syndication since 1987. She is the author of nine books, most recently Whatever Happened to Dinner. Another Way columns are posted at FindingHarmonyBlog.com a week after newspaper publication.

December 23, 2016

Turning Tables: A Christmas Story

Another Way for week of December 23, 2016

Turning Tables: A Christmas Story

Why had Midge insisted they invite her father to move in with them? Didn’t they truly have enough “family” on their hands when their 28-year-old son, Bob, had moved back home?

“Coming, Dad,” Midge sighed in response to her father’s insistent “Midge, Midge, I need some help back here!” On her way past the bathroom, she grabbed a package of corn pads, adhesive tape, and scissors. Of course Cleve couldn’t reach his toes himself. Of course the cushion helped his walking be less painful.

“Can’t you turn up the heat in here?” Dad asked when she got to the door of his room.

“You’re still cold?” she shook her head. He had on long underwear, a thick flannel shirt and sweat pants, plus a plush men’s housecoat. His bushy eyebrows just furrowed in response.

“Well it is December and this is still Siberia to me,” he shrugged. Ever since her mother had first become sick several years ago, Cleve missed not being able to sojourn in Florida for three or four months of sunshine. He said the cold crept into his toes at the end of October and didn’t leave until April.

“Do you want a new corn pad?” asked Midge, holding out the supplies.

“Well no, why would I? You just put one on yesterday,” Cleve reminded her.

“You just took a bath, I thought you’d want a clean one.”

“That costs money,” he shot back. “You think …”

“Yes, I know it doesn’t grow on trees,” she responded. Did fathers ever change?

“But I wouldn’t mind if you helped me get on the computer again,” Cleve said without the edge in his voice.

Midge smiled. It was his favorite pastime. Email, Facebook, they both helped him stay in touch with his family, he said. Friends from longer ago who now lived too far away. There was a daily devotional he loved receiving, and checking to see if there were any new pictures of his great grandchildren posted. For the 100^th time she was glad her daughter Bianca had had the patience to introduce him to the computer and then the Internet years ago, while her mother, Olivia, was still living.

Life before her mother’s cancer was so much easier for all of them. Cleve was not quite so, what? Cantankerous? Curmudgeonly? Needy?

All of the above. “I’ll try,” she gave him a half smile without an eye roll. “I just need to gather some Christmas gifts I want to take to the office.” She turned on her father’s tablet which he kept by his chair so it could update.

“Hmph. Christmas. I sure don’t need anything. Don’t you go spending any money on things I don’t need,” her father reminded her again. “What I want I won’t get back.”

Of course it was true. None of them would ever get back her mother, and this was their first Christmas without her. Almost a year now. “I know, Dad. I know. But give me a sec and while your computer fires up I’ll find your favorite places for you. And I’ll turn up the heat.”

Whether her father stayed with them longterm was still up for grabs. They had said they’d “see how it went.” It was okay, and she was grateful he was still fine to be by himself each day until she came home at noon and fixed lunch for them both. In the afternoon while she went back to the office, he took a long nap. Together they’d go for a walk in late afternoon: just once around the track (for him) at the nearby elementary school, or inside at the college gym when it was too cold. There was much to be grateful for. Her husband Dave could fill in at home when not seeing clients. She was thrilled their son Bob now had a job–they didn’t actually see him a lot. Yet he could be leaned on in an emergency, or if she and Dave wanted a date night.

So many tables had turned—Cleve and Olivia had often kept Bob and Bianca when they were small so she and Dave could go out.

Midge started the car, finished packing her briefcase, then ran back in the house to help her father get settled with his tablet. “Remember you can always go back to the start up screen if you lose where you are,” she prompted. “Here’s the phone. Call me if you need me.”

“No, I won’t bother you. You have so much to take care of,” he shook his head, his face puckering as if he were going to cry. “But it’s nice to be here,” he finished as he shook himself out of the near sob.

Midge walked back and gave her dad a half hug. “Love you,” she said pecking him on the forehead. “See you.”

He just smiled and started hunting for what his sisters, nieces and nephews were doing or saying on his Facebook community. He was actually humming a Christmas carol. Things would be okay.

For a free booklet, “Getting Through the Holidays When You’ve Lost a Loved One,” email me at anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or write to Another Way Media, Box 363 , Singers Glen, Va. 22850.

December 16, 2016

When Conflicts Happen, Part 2: Joseph and the Great Reveal

Another Way for week of December 16, 2016

When Conflicts Happen, Part 2: Joseph and the Great Reveal

Last week I shared the story of a time my father confronted my husband about a friction that had come up between them. It reminded me of the story of Joseph in the Bible and his conflicts with his brothers who were so jealous of Joseph’s status as beloved son of Jacob’s second wife, Rachel.

But Joseph did seem to be the type of kid who enjoyed rubbing his status in his brothers’ faces. He told his brothers his dreams of wheat sheaves bowing down to him, and the heavens also bowing. What older brothers wouldn’t have been thoroughly peeved and disgusted about a kid brother throwing that kind of junk in their faces? Come on, Joseph! Don’t you have a clue about brothers? Even dear old dad rebuked Joseph for telling the dream about the sun and moon paying obeisance. Joseph was extremely lucky to end up just thrown in a pit and sold to traders heading to far off Egypt, rather than killed as some of his brothers wanted to do.

Eventually there’s a great famine in Egypt. Joseph with his nifty dream interpretation skill is well placed in Egypt and he predicts a famine, and tells how Egypt can prepare. Egypt ends up as the only place with food because of the vast storehouses Joseph had been put in charge of building.

Joseph’s brothers get wind of the fact that there’s food in Egypt. They talk their father Jacob into letting them travel to buy some. When they encounter Joseph the first time as boss of the warehouses, they don’t recognize him; he quickly figures out who they are and just can’t resist the urge to get back at them for selling him into slavery. He demands that if they want more food, they will have to bring their youngest brother, Benjamin, to Egypt.

Like that is going to happen in 100 years, what with dear old dad still grieving the loss of Joseph. The brothers are sick as they return to Canaan with their precious food. Joseph binds and keeps his brother Simeon as a sort of hostage. The famine continues and the brothers need to get more food, and tell dad they must take Benjamin if they want to get food. Jacob finally lets Ben go, saying he lost Joseph and Simon and now, “If I am bereaved of my children, I am bereaved.”

Image result for free bible story art joseph

freebibleimages.com

When the brothers reach Egypt, Joseph tricks his brothers again—planting a silver goblet in Benjamin’s sack as they leave, and then sending out servants to overtake the brothers and reveal that they have “stolen” from Joseph. The brothers, through all of this, have suffered a hundred thousand times for the ill they brought on their brother’s head, saying, “This is all in payment for what we did to Joseph.”

Finally Joseph’s heart—which is good and God fearing—breaks to see his brothers’ pain. He understands the suffering his dear father has gone through, and sends all of the Egyptians out of the room. He alone is left with his brothers. And Joseph, this great leader of Egypt who reported only to Pharaoh, who indeed had servants who bowed down to him, wails and weeps—the Bible says the Egyptians and the whole house of Pharaoh could hear him. Ponder that sound a minute—the deep sobs of a 30 year old man echoing off the palace walls. Sobbing for the treachery his brothers visited on him, the grief his father lived with all these years, his own deep need to get back at his brothers, his immaturity to brag about his dreams as a kid—we don’t know what all those sobs were about but we can guess. Family conflicts are knotty.

Image result for free bible story art jacob and esau reunite

Reconciliation of Jacob and Esau.

After Joseph explains to his brothers the bigger picture—he says it was not they who sold him into slavery but God who had a hand in seeing that he was well placed for this critical point in Egypt and Israel’s history. The Bible says he “fell upon the neck of his brother Benjamin” and wept. And soon everyone is falling on each other hugging and crying. It is one of the greatest scenes of reconciliation in the Bible, right up there with Jacob and Esau’s own reunion and reconciliation many years earlier. No “reveal” on a modern TV reality show can match the human jealousy, treachery, and backbiting of Joseph’s story. It should remind all of us that no matter what the wrongdoing, misunderstanding, miscommunication, or just plain stupidity has gone before, relationships can be mended. We can be reconciled.

Reconciliation is the great theme of the Bible, but too often, even as Christians, we live with grudges and revenge in our hearts, even or perhaps especially in families. With whom do you long to be reconciled?

Any stories you’d like to share? Email me at anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or write to Another Way Media, Box 363, Singers Glen, Va. 22850

December 15, 2016

Great Gifts, Rise’n Roll Donuts and Gluten Free Flour

Okay this is a hodge podge.

Great Gifts. A few weeks ago I shared my “I’m working even if my door’s closed” post about my somewhat ramshackle post it notes informing my coworkers of what was going on behind my closed door. See below.

Sometimes you wonder if anyone, especially your family, reads what you bother to write. Maybe sometimes what you write is not worth bothering to read. One of my daughters was kind enough to comment saying, “Christmas gift idea, eh?”

Yes, but my sister beat her to it. For my recent birthday what did I get in the mail but a handy dandy office door (or refrigerator) message blaster. Otherwise known as the dry eraser board, miniature size.

Pert said “See, I do read your blog!” And I love her gift, especially the Pert-esque note she often includes in her surprise packages.

Only she added a few of her own original examples which I’ve not been putting on my door!

I must add that my brother-in-law, Richard, also sweetly got one of these handy dandy memo boards when my husband retired, to keep his honey-do lists straight. We keep that on the refrigerator.

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Rise ‘n Roll. Speaking of readers, I opened the stats yesterday a little shocked to see I’d had a ton of new views (for me), coming from Amish365.com to my most visited post ever, about Rise ‘n Roll Donuts (found in various spots across northern Indiana, even Chicago, I hear), in which I tried (and kind of failed) to recreate a recipe for the to-die-for donuts. I was thinking about trying again this fall at a time when some family were around to enjoy the sweet goodness. But one of my grandsons was diagnosed with celiac disease late this summer/early fall. So now I’m on another hunt: yummy recipes he can enjoy too.

Learning Gluten-free. My first attempt at gluten free baked goods were the pumpkin cookies James came to like the weekend of his first birthday—pretty much his first cookie ever. Now he is three, and while sweets are still limited at his house, he (and all of us) were pleasantly surprised how tasty these pumpkin cookies could be with a simple substitution of gluten-free flour.

Soft Pumpkin Cookies (Adapted )

2 ½ cups Pillsbury Gluten free flour
1 teaspoon soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon*
½ teaspoon salt
1 ½ cup sugar
½ cup butter
1 cup pumpkin
1 large egg
1 teaspoon vanilla

Bake 15-18 minutes at 350 degrees until edges are firm. Remove from pan and cool.

Makes about 3-4 dozen.

Glaze-type frosting**

2 cups powdered sugar
3 Tablespoons milk
1 Tablespoon melted butter
1 teaspoon vanilla

Combine and beat together. Drizzle glaze over cookies.

***

Pert’s gift for another occasion. She seems to know what’s perfect.

They freeze well so grandma is keeping pretty much a constant supply of these at her house, because that’s what grandmas do, isn’t it? And for this birthday, when time was in very short supply (because: no vacation time left after spending lots of time with two new grandsons born January and July) my daughter found a food truck in our town specializing in gluten free stuff and they made this simple but glorious cake (made fancy with the construction equipment on top, a favorite toy for little James.)

So I was excited to read over at Mennonite Girls Can Cook blog just last week of Julie’s recipe for gluten free donuts. They use a flour blend you make yourself, which they’ve called “Julie’s Flour Blend.” I haven’t decided yet whether to take the plunge and invest in all those ingredients. No doubt I will, in time, but I thought the news was worth sharing in this odds and ends post.

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Are you or someone you love a great gift giver? They always seem to have an angle for picking out just the right gift (it may be small) or greeting card?

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What does it take to be a great gift giver?

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For the cooks on your list, slip over to the MennoMedia store for all kinds of cookbooks, especially those from “Mennonite Girls.”

Mennonite Girls Can Cook

December 9, 2016

When Family Conflicts Happen (Part 1)

Another Way for week of December 9, 2016

When Family Conflicts Happen (Part 1)

Family conflicts can be very painful. They strike to the core of our being. And unfortunately, they often flare at holiday time—when far flung families come together for several days. Friction crops up.

This true story did not happen at Christmas but it could have. My father was still living and our children were small. My parents came for a visit and spent a couple days with us. They experienced with us the normal rub and bickering of family life. But I didn’t realize how my father was taking the squabbling, a man who always encouraged us to kiss and make up, even when we didn’t feel like it. He was maybe especially sensitive to arguments involving his baby daughter. Me.

Mom and Dad went with us to church on Sunday morning and we did as we always do: passed the peace to others sitting near us, shaking hands. Stuart passed the peace to my father and I don’t know what Dad said back, but we were to find out later that day that the “peace” expressed by my husband hadn’t set well with Dad.

Dad reading his Bible on a 1964 family camping trip in the Rockies.

It was early Sunday evening and we were outside while the children were occupied inside. My dad addressed Stuart saying, “When you passed me the peace this morning, did you really mean it?”

Stuart said something like yeah, sure.

My dad was ready. “Well I don’t see how you can pass the peace when you have said things like you’ve said.” Apparently they’d exchanged words while working on a project that weekend. He also thought Stuart spoke too sharply to me—and I wasn’t even aware of it.

Stuart was stunned. I was smitten to the core. I hadn’t even thought about any harsh words. My husband was speechless—which is unusual for him.

I spoke up, defending my dear husband to my dear dad. Not an easy place to be. Mom started humming which is what she does when there’s a conflict; Stuart just listened, while I stated my piece.

In the end, it was probably good for my dad to air his issue, and we all survived. My husband had always thought a lot of my dad—loved him and enjoyed spending guy time with him, living as he did in our family of all girls. My parents plus Stuart and I went on to all love each other happily ever after, but that evening was not very comfortable. Having situations that need reconciliation are painful.

I was never the same again when it came to passing the peace between Dad and my husband—and it helped me really think about those words when we do pass the peace.

Family conflicts make me think of the story of Joseph in Genesis and his conflicts with his brothers, which came about primarily because of the favoritism his father, Jacob, showed for Joseph. Some of that stemmed back to Jacob’s own father-in-law, Laban, who tricked Jacob into marrying the oldest daughter, Leah, first. Joseph just happened to be one of the sons from Jacob’s beloved second wife, Rachel. Jacob had worked 14 long years to marry Rachel. Then Rachel was barren for many years until Joseph was born to them. That Joseph was doted on by Jacob was no fault of the boy. Family relationships are complicated. We’ll finish my reflections on this story in my column next week.

Healthy relationships: my mother and my oldest daughter enjoying conversation.

Memories of conflict you’d like to share? Email me at anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or write to Another Way Media, Box 363, Singers Glen, Va. 22850.

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Or post your shareable memories–or the takeaways–right here!

December 5, 2016

Christmas Giveaway – from Amish Wisdom friends and writers

Happy holidays! Suzanne Woods Fisher and the Amish Wisdom contributors are celebrating this season of giving with a Winter Wonder giveaway! Enter the giveaway below for the chance to win to a set of 15 books, plus winter-themed goodies handpicked by some of the contributors. See below for a list of participating authors and prizes. One entrant will win, and he or she will be announced this Friday, December 9th on the Amish Wisdom blog. Use this link to comment and enter.

–Melodie

Suzanne Woods Fisher:

Christmas at Rose Hill Farm and a $25 Amazon gift card

Amy Clipston:

An autographed copy of The Cherished Quilt and an Amish country souvenir

Vannetta Chapman:

Sarah’s Orphans

Karen Anna Vogel:

Amish Knitting Circle and Love Came Down at Christmas

Melodie Davis:

Whatever Happened to Dinner?, a Christmas music CD, 366 Ways to Peace Daily Calendar, and notecards (see bottom for separate graphic with prizes I’m offering)

Kate Lloyd:

Signed copy of your choice of book from the Legacy of Lancaster Trilogy

Laura Hilton:

A White Christmas and a $5.00 McDonald gift card

Kelly Ervin:

An Amish Christmas Gift

Melody Carlson:

The Christmas Angel Project and a pair of polar socks.

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Here are the items I’m offering in the giveaway courtesy of Finding Harmony Blog:

Only U.S. postal addresses are eligible to win. Sorry for any disappointment!

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Merry Christmas from Finding Harmony Blog & Amish Wisdom!

December 2, 2016

The Covenant That Binds

Note: This week I begin posting all my Another Way columns here on my personal blog, a week after they first appear in newspapers. See more about Another Way here, and visit archives here. Welcome to my Finding Harmony Blog fans who will be receiving this as followers of the blog. Confused? See more info here.

Another Way Newspaper Column for week of December 2, 2016

The Covenant That Binds

This past year we celebrated 40 years of being married. I say celebrated when I should say the anniversary trip we would have taken at the end of May (over our anniversary weekend) was thwarted by church commitments planned much earlier by others, that I felt I couldn’t gracefully get out of.

Our children all traveled home that weekend to eat out with us, and gave us a modest but hugely appreciated gift toward a getaway. They suggested some destinations and pointed to Groupon specials with the firm command to go somewhere different.

We settled on a location that had been on our second-tier bucket list to Tangier Island in the Chesapeake Bay several hours away where we’d never been but always wanted to go, accessible only by ferry. The islanders speak a charming but hard to understand dialect of English that comes from British roots in southwest England.

That apparently was not meant to happen either. The appointed weekend (with ferry reservations) for the end of September came with the blow up of bad weather in advance of Hurricane Matthew. The ferry boat people called us on Thursday morning saying we were the only persons still holding reservations for Friday’s ferry. It would not be making the crossing. They cancelled on us.

I cancelled the other reservations we had made for lodging over two nights, disappointed but not crushed. A hurricane was advancing, after all. Better safe than sorry, and glad not to literally be caught in the storms that came up the coast over the following days and weeks. Our celebration would have to be delayed. After 40 years, you take these ups and downs with more equilibrium than you do in the first years of your marriage.

Thus it did my heart much good to read Katherine Willis Pershey’s poignant and at points amusing tribute to marriage in Very Married: Field Notes on Love & Fidelity, a book published in September by Herald Press. (Full disclosure: I work for Herald Press but I did not serve as editor for this book nor do I review all books we publish.) Katherine and her husband Ben have been only married 15 years. I say “only” because it’s a short time to our 40, but long enough, certainly, to have tested their commitment and passed—with toasts raised.

I first read Katherine’s engaging writing in a 2015 article in Christian Century magazine about a crush she briefly encountered for a married friend and how she dealt with it—which became the magazine’s most-read online article that year. Katherine is an associate pastor of a church near Chicago and mother of two. Because the article so winsomely espoused fidelity in marriage, our acquisition people at Herald Press jumped on it.

Author Katherine Willis Pershey

So I loved the premise of the book but what really hooked me was Katherine’s honest and at points raw reveals of the fights she and her husband Ben have gone through. The early years of their marriage, as with most marriages, were especially rough, given some of the history they both brought to the marriage, but it was her description of times they came to harsh words and hollering (although never blows or separation) that so connected. Later in the marriage she began to see the patterns for their own particular fights: camping difficulties, travel mistakes, “seven to ten arguments directly related to buying or building Ikea furniture,” missing an exit on an Interstate, having a baby.

Many marriage books offer the same old same old, with one spicy chapter on you know, the “boom boom.” While Katherine is not given to euphemisms for discussing sex in general, she shares a hilarious example from a time she assembled a panel of “veteran” couples to discuss marriage, responding to anonymous questions that came from a mother’s group: “What can a woman do to make her husband feel loved—[not counting] boom boom?”

To get the answer and all of Katherine’s sanguine wisdom you’ll have to read the book—in fact, spoiler alert, I’m giving it to a number of my relatives for Christmas. It is, as Eugene Peterson, pastor and author says (yes, the man who wrote the multi-million selling The Message, the amazing paraphrase of The New Testament plus Psalms and Proverbs), “Without question, the very best book on marriage I have ever read—and I have read many.”

I often share a number of mini book reviews in early December for gift giving ideas. But I’m putting my energy behind Very Married this year, feeling our marriages deserve all the attention and love we can give them—for our selves, our spouses, our children. Committed marriages also greatly benefit the fabric of the community.

For a free bookmark from Very Married with more information, email me at anotherwaymedia@yahoo.com or Another Way Media, Box 363, Singers Glen, Va. 22850

Another Way is a column by Melodie Davis. She is the author of nine books, most recently Whatever Happened to Dinner, and has written Another Way since 1987. She also keeps a blog at www.FindingHarmonyBlog.com

November 28, 2016

The worst motel ever: When there’s no decent room in the inn

My office colleagues were talking at lunch about memories of awful motel or hotel stays. One fellow remembered a place where he and some college buddies stayed when it was late, they were desperate, broke and you know, college guys. The motel was the kind where you pay by the hour (but that’s NOT why they were there!) and the motel clerk said they could have a room for the rest of the night if they waited to check in until 3 a.m. Of course they waited; the room had not been cleaned and of course they slept with their clothes on, for the ick factor.

So I asked my husband what he thought was our worst room ever. We were also once very desperate in Lancaster County Pa. Stupidly, (in the days before the Internet) we had not gotten reservations before heading there for a fall shopping/sightseeing weekend in Amish country. After stopping to inquire prices at too many motels (turning down several because we deemed them too high), we started seeing “no vacancy” signs. We realized we couldn’t be fussy any longer about price, or anything. We finally found a place that said we could check in at 11:00 p.m. when truckers got up to go back on the road. At least that was the story. I do think the room was cleaned (or we would have slept in our car), and we were just glad to find digs.

My husband’s vote for worst room ever, though, was a place called The Showboat Motel near Seneca Lake in New York’s Finger Lakes region. (I was sure it was no longer in business but eureka, here it is.) While the lake view was as lovely and peaceful as you’d expect, a stench of mold, mildew and dampness hit us when we first opened the door to the room. We tried to air it out and I don’t remember if we complained, but it was so damp none of us slept very well. Luckily none of us had an outright allergy to mold. We spent most of our time outside enjoying the docks and birds, where boaters could arrive for a stay at the motel. Some of the online reviews indicate the place still has the same must and mold problems—and like someone else wrote of it, the musty odor hung in our clothes and suitcases as we went home the next day.

My hub’s second vote for worst room ever happened on a trip where you never want a “worst room” experience: our honeymoon. It was actually the second night of our honeymoon, where we had reserved a cabin near Myrtle Beach, SC. Oh my. It was 50s era, spidery, mildewy, and again, a place where you were not sure if you wanted to touch anything without washing your hands afterwards.

The first order of business in the morning was finding a beautiful modern motel with a clean pool

They even had shuffleboard!

The Mariner Motel, Myrtle Beach, where we spent the bulk of our honeymoon.

within walking distance of the beach. It ended up being a lovely honeymoon, except for that one night.

I know what motel would get my oldest daughter’s vote for bad motel stay, but not so much because of the room or accommodations. Back before my husband used a BiPap machine for severe sleep apnea, the rest of us tried to fall asleep first so we wouldn’t be bothered by his snoring with all five of us in one room. This daughter ended up sleeping in the motel’s bathtub, bathroom door shut, to escape the incessant sound of sawing logs. She was in 11^th grade and had pretty much reached her full adult height at the time—not the best sleeping arrangement.

I had a work colleague who almost made a business out of complaining about motel/hotel quirks and miscues. He worked in marketing and was superb at finagling for a discount—including calling the front desk in the middle of the night if noise from neighbors kept him awake. He informed us that unless you complained in the night, the front desk would usually turn a deaf ear to complaints about “not being able to sleep” because “obviously, you slept good enough that you didn’t call us.” This was in the days before getting your revenge by posting bad reviews on Trip Advisor.

Being able to view–and review accommodations before you ever reserve or spend a nickel has revolutionized the travel experience for most of us. I remember growing up, I loved the “job” my parents gave me before a family trip, of writing to chambers of commerce in distant cities for sightseeing brochures, maps, and travel/motel information. What fun it was to get mail addressed to me bearing pamphlets from distant trip destinations. I still have a huge box of travel information collected on past trips from our own years of traveling with our three daughters. High time for a severe paring down!

And while there is much to be said for family travels creating memories to last a life time, I was appalled that I couldn’t recall the name of the Finger Lake where we stayed (until I found it online) nor the location of that motel out west where our daughter slept in the bathtub. Maybe it’s a little bit of wanting to forget the bad, and remembering the good.

Happy memories from our main honeymoon motel, The Mariner, 1976.

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What is your worst motel or other nightmare travel story?

I hope you were not stuck in a traffic tie up or (worse) an accident over the recent Thanksgiving holiday. Share your comments, reviews, and travel memories here.

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I wrote about a few of our travel memories in Why Didn’t I Just Raise Radishes: Finding God in the Everyday devotional book–where I invented a line now in our family travel lore:
“Sometimes we don’t get a just a plain trip to Grandma’s, sometime we have a super exciting trip!” (when we had to stay overnight in a motel because of treacherous icy/snowy road conditions).
My oldest daughter’s quip to that was “I just want a plain trip.”
And now you can get this 1994 era book extra cheap through the marvels of online shopping!

November 14, 2016

Two Medics, Two C.O.s, Two Wounded WWII Vets, and Two Moms named Bertha

Lessons from Hacksaw Ridge

My husband and I saw Hacksaw Ridge, based on a true story, and both of us were tremendously moved, for similar although markedly different reasons. We were emotionally affected in spite of this being a Mel Gibson film, and realized going in that if it was made by Gibson, it would be excessively gory and technically focused on making the most of blood and guts. Knowing how much I hated Gibson’s Braveheart, I avoided seeing most of the worst parts in Hacksaw Ridge by turning my head and lowering my eyes. But wars are that way and that was the especially disturbing part: knowing that in parts of the world people were fighting and dying as we sat in the theater.

My husband’s father, Hershal Davis, in uniform.

Stuart’s father was stabbed three times in his leg during World War II in the Pacific, his life likely saved by playing dead under someone’s corpse in a foxhole, (a similar scene graphically portrayed in Hacksaw Ridge). Stuart’s oldest brother’s story became all too real as well: he served as a medic during the Vietnam War and was wounded a bunker blow up. The main character of Hacksaw Ridge, Desmond Doss, (Andrew Garfield) is a medic (from down the road from us in Lynchburg, Va., no less) who was a Seventh Day Adventist conscientious objector who was willing to serve in the Army, but not take up a gun. And that was the rub.

My Dad in a Civilian Public Service Camp during WW II.

My father was also a C.O. during World War II who wanted to be a medic, but was told he would not be allowed to give aid to the enemy, so that was ruled out by his conscience. I do not claim my father did anything so courageous as the real life Doss who risked his own life again and again to rescue some 75 comrades in arms (and some Japanese) from a peril-filled battle at the top of a ridge overlooking the Pacific. I remember my father talking about the “Seventh Day Adventist boys” he got to know through his assignments here in the U.S.—young men he appreciated knowing very much, which widened his view of the world and appreciation for those of other religious groups. I found it interesting that this Seventh Day Adventist combat-decorated war hero and my father died just days apart in March of 2006.

So they were colleagues in conscience. In this movie, my husband vicariously experienced a little of the horrors his father and brother went through in different wars. I too experienced a little of what my father’s colleagues went through in ridicule and derision for their beliefs. I was glad Gibson did not cheapen his film with an abundance of profanity, so common these days: the action and awfulness portrayed spoke louder than profanity anyway.

That Gibson spends almost half the film (my rough estimate) on the build up to the horrific battle is to his credit. The well-developed interplay between Doss, his unit, and their commanding officers (who must be totally won over to understanding why someone in a combat unit does not feel he can carry a gun) is what saves the film from feeling gratuitous in its violence. In spite of the well-known callous, crude and even vicious officers that are a given in military basic training, each of the officers comes around to seeing how true and deep Doss’s convictions go. One critic at Common Sense Media says Doss does a great job of “portraying a believable spiritual life” without coming off as touched in the head (which would of course booted him quickly from the army).

The film also builds in some exploration of abuse at the hands of his father, which both disgusts and dismays us, even while understanding his father suffered what today we’d call PTSD. That the film garnered a 10-minute standing ovation when first released at a film festival in Venice, with actors who for the most part are played by Australians (with pretty decent American accents), makes the film feel less like a gung-ho old war film and more a pretty decent study of what conscientious objectors went through during The Great War. That this true life C.O. lived out his convictions with such amazing bravery, stamina and courage should touch the heart of any honorable person who sees the movie.

Vernon and Bertha Miller on their wedding day, Jan. 1946. I found it fascinating that Desmond Doss’s mother’s name was also Bertha.

Like Desmond’s father, I abhor the futility of war and pray for an end to all wars. Desmond was the living example of “what would happen if everyone refused to kill another even in war.” There wouldn’t be war. Of course, we feel that is idealistic, unrealistic, and totally not going to happen in our lifetime, given the state of conflicts around the world. But still, it makes me wonder. Maybe in the lifetime of my four beautiful grandsons? The Bible speaks of “wars and rumors of wars,” and we assume that means there will always be wars (Mark 13:8). But as Doss says in the movie and my father often reminded us, Jesus gives us a new commandment to love one another and taught, “Blessed are the peacemakers.”

Hershal, Estella, and oldest son Richard, circa 1948 post WW II.

My husband is rightly proud of his father and brother for surviving the horror (physically, emotionally, and spiritually) of war. While he never served, he noted that “The film helps me understand why Daddy would almost break down crying every time they got a letter from my brother while he was in Vietnam.”

The film also brings home the reality of how ridiculed conscientious objectors were in general society in a time when Hitler gave the world such a morally right cause to combat.

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Comments? Your thoughts on the movie if you’ve seen it, or why or why not you do or don’t plan to see it.

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How did your father, grandfather, or others you know (women?) respond to calls for military service? Many of my relatives did have careers or serve in the military. Truly I hope this helps us all see that men and women of good Christian conscience are sometimes called differently, depending on how they/we were brought up.

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Meet the real life Desmond Doss here:

For more on conscientious objectors, see Al Keim’s The CPS Story: An Illustrated History of CPS.

To find records of CPS workers and where they served, including my father, check here.

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The Covenant That Binds

The worst motel ever: When there’s no decent room in the inn

Two Medics, Two C.O.s, Two Wounded WWII Vets, and Two Moms named Bertha

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