Third of three parts in a Finding Harmony Blog series on Job. Part 1 here, Part 2 here.
I’m skipping a whole bunch of Job that is really really good to get to the last part as the drama builds to a fitting climax. We hear from a new voice, Elihu, regarding why Job, a seemingly innocent man, has suffered so.
Elihu, (chapter 32) is a new voice on the scene, who has apparently been biting his lips and as the youngest man hanging around, waiting for a chance to speak. And speak he does. He delivers some of the best “advice” reminding us all that when we feel God fails to speak to the problem of suffering, God does speak “again and again, no one pays attention to what he says.” (Job 33:14) Bingo.
In a recent book, The Book of Job: A Biography by Mark Larrimore (Princeton Press, 2013), the author summarizes the Elihu speech as reminding Job his case is not unusual: the innocent always suffer in our world. I like what Larrimore hints at in saying suffering happens, but God always offers some resources to help us (p. 3). That is the big takeaway for me in Job. Some suffering we can explain (war, famine, injustice) and we can work towards solutions (but often don’t). But when we can’t explain why the innocent suffer, we must also remind ourselves to be part of offering to help out: to be there, to stand alongside, to cry with, to be quiet and listen, to bring a casserole.
Then right after Elihu, we hear again from God. I love reading this part aloud in my best theatrical, thunderous, voice.
“Then out of the storm the Lord spoke to Job.
Who are you to question my wisdom …
Does either the rain or the dew have a father?
Who is the mother of the ice and the frost?
Can you tie the Pleiades together
Or loosen the bonds that hold Orion?
Do you know the laws that govern the skies, and can you make them apply to the earth?” Job 38:2-40:2
I could go on an on but read the passages here in whatever version you choose, and out loud if you dare.
The text hints at the wisdom and knowledge of the storyteller or writer, and the theological depth of their understanding (seminary degrees not even dreamed of). All of it fully God-inspired of course, but not dictated verbatim, in my book. I have no doubt that the writer in crafting these words did indeed feel like the Almighty was pulsing through and driving him (a him most likely). Like George Handel writing down chords and notes for The Messiah. Like Martin Luther King Jr. delivering “I have a dream…” Like Queen Esther taking on King Xerxes in pleading for the life of her people. On fire.
Job’s questions are not answered or even addressed, but we are left in awe and wonder about God. And Job’s health and good fortunes are restored. Like the end of any good fairy tale.
In the epilogue to the book of Job, it is worth noting that his friends are restored to grace by Job praying for them and then God asking that they present sacrifices for themselves. “I will answer his prayer and not disgrace you the way you deserve,” the Lord says. “You did not speak the truth about me as he did” (Job 42:7) So Job is commended for his questions, his outbursts, his truth seeking. And we ponder whether or not we can be angry with God, ask questions, and doubt? The conclusion of Job would seem to say, “Ponder no longer. It’s ok to have doubts. I can take it. Just keep trusting, as Job did. I’ve got this.”
The friends obey these instructions of the Almighty, we are told. Job’s brothers and sisters and former friends—the fair-weather kind, who had not sat with him for seven days mourning nor examined the depths of their souls regarding the whys–are friends again and come and express sympathy and comfort.
I just have to add a footnote. In Job 19:23 we read “How I wish that someone would remember my words and record them in a book! Or with a chisel carve my words in stone and write them so that they would last forever.” The commentary I’m working with only pitches this as an indication that Job is frustrated with the response of his friends, that maybe someone in future generations will read about and understand his dilemma. How neat that we are doing just that.
But does it also helps in dating the writing? My sources say that’s not important to the text, because of its universal application. My thought was that two forms of preservation of thoughts are hinted at in the reference just cited above: a book, mentioned first and certainly occurring much later in the history of humanity, and chiseling in stone, taking place much earlier. And now here we are millennia later, not only remembering Job’s words, dissecting them, but sharing and preserving them with 0’s and 1’s (as my colleague Wayne is fond to remind us referring to the basis for all electronic/computer communication and transmittal).
However our communication occurs in the future, I have no doubt that God, Job, and his friends will still speak into eternity on the unending questions regarding suffering, human coping, and master plan. The universality of Job and its message reaches out through time and space like a lighting bolt to connect and illuminate again and again. That is the electric potency of God’s Word.
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How does Job speak to you?
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Last week I hinted that when I tasted a tiny sample of the cheesy white sauce for the scalloped potatoes I was making, I was near ecstasy. The elusive perfect recipe for broccoli-cheese soup that had eluded me for so long was in my sampling spoon.
Why had it taken me so long?
Okay, it is not quite as good as Panera’s or say McAlister’s and nobody’s paying me to say that. Love both those soups and here’s one of many online options if you want to try and copy Panera’s recipe (the use of nutmeg here look interesting).
Over the years I have tried at least 3 broccoli-cheese soup recipes and more wild stabs at making a white sauce and then adding broccoli and cheese, etc., which was hit or miss. Edible and quite tasty, but not to die for. And if you didn’t add the milk or cheese at the right time, gross curdling can result. Just sayin’.
Some attempts. Jennifer Murch over at mamas minutia has a recipe for Cheesy Broccoli Potato Soup which looked great and trustworthy (great Mennonite cook but not the plain kind). Her long long list of recipes on her blog is something I only aspire to. I was intrigued that she also noted problems with curdling when she tried hit or miss to come up with a concoction that always worked. You might want to try hers, link above.
I halved Jennifer’s recipe, but for myself, I didn’t see a reason to put in the chicken broth. Sometimes I have chicken broth, sometimes I don’t, and I didn’t want to be hamstrung by that.
Rabbit trail: I had also worked with a recipe from Marjorie Rohrer, an awesome plain Shenandoah Valley Mennonite cook who used to (I don’t know if she still does, but there are cooks like that in almost any plain Mennonite community, if you ask around) open her home to groups for special occasion dinners like wedding anniversaries or rehearsal dinners or retirement parties or even (!) the Sorensen Institute for Political Leadership from UVA, who knew?! See link for a small picture of a dinner in her home. Organizations I have worked for have gone to Marjorie’s (or similar) when we wanted a really really good homecooked meal for a small group of 10-40 ish. I could find online tracks of a cookbook by Marjorie but no place they are actually available anymore: a self published volume (or two?) called Country Home Cooking by Marjorie Rohrer Shank (2006, Spiral). Anyone know where one can be found? (Another Shenandoah Valley blogger shared one recipe to use up an abundance of garden cabbage in season, from Marjorie’s book, which looks interesting too!)
End of that rabbit trail.
Anyway, Marjorie’s recipe for Creamy Broccoli Soup (my copy is handwritten in her hand and photocopied) called for a quart of chopped broccoli, 5 cups milk and 2 ½ cups water and l lb. cubed Velveeta cheese (in addition to others things) so I’m not sure I ever actually made it verbatim but I certainly used it as the basis for adaptations in greatly reduced proportions (with cheddar cheese swapped in for the Velveeta). It called for 1 Tb. chicken base which I’ve never purchased but it must add the same idea as chicken broth.
All of that said, here’s my very own latest successful soup recipe for Cheesy- Broccoli Soup, adapted from the recipe for the cheesy white sauce for Scalloped Potatoes I shared last week.
Cheesy-Broccoli Soup base (you can easily half this recipe)
Based on Thelma Maust’s Scalloped Potato recipe in Mennonite Recipes from the Shenandoah Valley
6 Tablespoons butter
6 Tablespoons flour
1 ½ teaspoons salt
3 cups milk
1 ½ cup sharp cheese, grated
1 cup chopped and cooked broccoli
In saucepan, melt butter. Blend in flour and salt. Gradually heat, stirring in milk. Stir frequently, and keep stirring (!) as sauce thickens and becomes smooth. Add cheese, stirring, (it can scorch easily with all that milk).
Add cooked broccoli pieces. Heat through and serve.
More goodies in the soup: you can also add bits of chopped onion (sautéed or just added in), chopped carrots, cauliflower, potatoes (all of these cooked before you add them), more cheese, different cheeses, crumbled bacon, as desired.
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Do you have a really good broccoli soup recipe (share link) of any description? I’d love to hear about more.
What is your most recent pleasant cooking surprise?
For another really great, comprehensive Mennonite recipe book from the Shenandoah Valley, don’t forget about Mennonite Country-Style Recipes and Kitchen Secrets: The Prize Collection of a Shenandoah Valley Cook, by Esther H. Shank, available here.
Job, Act 2: (Job 2:11 through chapter 7)
Job’s trials, in any event, are over the top (see prior post on Job) of what any one person should ever have to bear. Job’s friends think so too, and at first, they are exemplary friends. (Later on in the story we hear all of the “advice” they offer their friend, but in this section it struck me what great and close friends they truly must have been.)
After weeping and wailing like proper Hebrews in that time and setting, they also tore their clothes and threw dust into the air and on their heads. (We need a Rachel Held Evans type photo or illustration here as in from her fun but profound book, A Year of Biblical Womanhood: How a Liberated Woman Found Herself Sitting on Her Roof, Covering Her Head, and Calling Her Husband “Master”.)
That dust, one commentary tells me, would have come from the trash heap outside the town walls where dung and other rubbish was burnt and dogs hunted for carcases.
Heaping dust and ashes on your head. Sometimes I wish we dealt with grief and troubles in such a visible, visceral way. What awesome friends.
Then, the Bible says Job’s friends “sat there on the ground with [Job] for seven days and night without saying a word, [emphasis mine] because they saw how much he was suffering.”
Most of us have trouble listening to or sitting with a suffering friend for one even one hour without trying to offer advice or misguided consolation or telling the story of what happened when Grandma lost three children to the flu of 1918 in three weeks. Or whatever. We have an excruciatingly hard time staying quiet when a friend is suffering. It is not human nature. Here the friends sit and are depressed with Job for one solid week.
And it is finally Job who breaks the silence and curses the day he was born. I can imagine what a relief this breaking of silence is to all of them. Job is human. He doesn’t curse God, but begins to voice his frustrations and despair. And goes on a bit. When bad things happen, after the wailing and the throwing around of the figurative ashes or dust, we lash out in anger, otherwise knowing as processing things.
When Job’s done with his first outburst, I love the way the Good News Bible puts the beginning of one friend’s response: “Job, will you be annoyed if I speak? I can’t keep quiet any longer.” The NIV puts it: If someone ventures a word with you, will you be impatient? And the Shakespearean KJV goes: “If we assay to commune with thee, wilt thou be grieved? But who can withhold himself from speaking?” Later, in chapter 8, friend Bildad asks “Are you finally through with your windy speech?” If we fault the friends for piling on their critique, we maybe should also give them credit for their unflinching honesty.
The first friend, Eliphaz (Job 4) begins to present all of the typical questions and “explanations” we have for suffering, and some that we have thankfully mostly gotten rid of. And remember Job’s friends aren’t in on the secret revealed in the prologue, that indeed Job’s exemplary faith is so sincere that the Satan figure has brought all the mayhem to Job’s life as a “test.” Francis Davidson’s New Bible Commentary reminds us that Job’s sufferings are actually, in this telling, “evidence of the divine [God’s] confidence in him [Job].” Perhaps that’s where some people get the idea to say inane things like “when bad things happen, God must think we’re up to the test.” Thanks, but I’ll skip the test.
My overall reading of Job this time struck me with how remarkable it is that people in this relatively primitive time engaged in such deeply intellectual thinking and pondering. There are some references of course to the prevailing idea of the time that “someone sinned—either you or your parents—to have caused this great suffering” which we now profoundly reject, but the dialogue back and forth between Job and his friends contains:
- Poetic and crisp descriptions: “God hung the stars in the sky.” (9:9)
- Lovely metaphors: “A thing of dust that can be crushed like a moth.” (4:19); “The wicked roar and growl like lions.” (4:10)
- Vivid and homey illustrations: “What taste is there in the white of an egg?” (6:6). Really! So they enjoyed a good fried egg now and then?
- Thinking that plumbs the depths of their souls: “You see my fate and draw back in fear.” (6:21) This is what makes it so hard to deal with the suffering and illness and even death of close friends and family: we know that our time is coming.
- And o.k., an occasional misspeak, as in this contradiction from one verse almost to the next. In Chapter 7, Job complains “when I lie down to sleep, the hours drag, (v. 4), and then in verse 6, the hours are suddenly passing “faster than a weaver’s shuttle.” Maybe it is because the hours at night drag and the daytime hours go fast? Hmm. Editor was asleep.
Job then responds and ends his rejoinder by asking God the question we can’t blame him for asking: “Why use me for your target practice?” (Job 7: 20, Good News).
We’ll look at a wrap up and some conclusions next time but don’t look for anything neat and tidy.
Have you felt like you or your family was being targeted with a series of difficulties, illnesses, or misfortunes?
Have you ever had a “Job’s Comforter” who tried to give you sincere but misguided advice?
Or, have I been a Job’s Comforter to others?
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Target image courtesy of BPlanet / FreeDigitalPhotos.net
I loved reading through the book of Job recently. You may recall I am slowly working myself through the Bible. (This will be a blog post in three parts and a little different from my normal posts, without a lot of photos. You may want to read Job 1 for more background.)
Job is a great book, one of the best in the Bible, in my opinion, and interesting from a number of viewpoints (poetically, philosophically and theologically). And I love the finish—not just when dear Job gets his life back, but the part right before when God finally “answers” Job, but more about another time.
I’m not a Biblical scholar or theologian nor have I read all the commentaries and expositions on the meaning of Job but I do know that the questions it wrestles with are the basic questions tripping up millions as a roadblock to faith in God.
The basic question being, if God is so good, how could God allow the suffering that goes on in our world?
I love the way Job starts out and I don’t know if this ever hit me particularly before. But the rhythm of how the story happens in threes makes you think that ok, this is set up by a great storyteller. (Even many jokes start in threes: A rabbi, a priest and a minister. Or, a barber, a bald man and an absent-minded professor—one example on Wikipedia).
My “is-this-a-fable-meter” rises as I read the very first line: “There was a man named Job, living in the land of Uz (and my Bible footnotes tell me Uz is “an area whose exact location is unknown.” Hmm. Is this where the writer of Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum got his idea? No, but according to Wikipedia, an Israeli translator in translating Wizard of Oz to Hebrew thought of the same thing and used Hebrew words for “Land of Uz” in that children’s novel. Uz is also related to Oz meaning East. Sounds reasonable. But the repetition of sevens and threes in the counts of sons, daughters, sheep, camels and the summary of “richest man in the East” sounds like a great way to begin a fairy tale. Not that I think it is. (A pretty good further explanation of this can be found here, and while I cannot vouch for the whole website, it looks pretty middle of the road in terms of theology and interpretation.) From my view, I believe Job was a real man who existed and suffered extensively, but the storytellers about him through the ages added their embellishments, like any good story based on a real character.
So the tests of Job start with the Lord asking Satan what he’s been doing and Satan goes ,“Well, I’ve been walking here and there roaming the earth” (1:7). Satan’s challenge to God sets off a horrible chain of events where Job’s children are having a feast when a messenger comes running to Job (not at the feast) and tells him that out among Job’s oxen and donkeys, a neighboring tribe destroys the animals and all of the servants except “I am the only one who escaped to tell you” (verse 15). This occurs a total of three times with more servants reporting a new attack even …“before he had finished speaking.” The storyteller in Job has got his art down beautifully. Which makes for a great read, even though the awfulness of losing all ten of his sons and daughters in one storm is just horrifying, beyond what anyone should ever bear.
Job thinks so too and goes into immense grief. He laments and grieves but responds with “The Lord gave, and now the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21).
In chapter 2, again Satan has been “walking here and there roaming the earth” and this time Satan gets permission to “attack” Job himself but not to kill the good man.
The drama is set up. Act 2 to be continued.
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How do you read Job? What do you like about the book? What don’t you like? Does it matter what we like or don’t like about the Bible?
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I wrote a little about Job in my Another Way column last fall, referencing a newish book about Job, The Book of Job: A Biography (Princeton University Press, 2013), written by Mark Larrimore.
Gone are the days when you can make a family photo by traipsing into Wal-Mart with some presentable clothes on and pose for 10 minutes and come out with a standard but decent shot of whatever everyone looked like in August, 2004, right before your youngest went off to college.
That’s exactly what we did to get this photo. Wal-Mart special.
Fast forward ten years. No, make that slow forward ten years. So. Much. Has. Happened. Our family almost doubled in size in the last ten!! And I didn’t have to have any more babies.
But my daughters and their husbands did and one of them said a few weeks before Christmas, hey, its been almost 10 years since we took a family photo and its about time we did. How about if we give the whole family a photo shoot for Christmas as our gift to all of you.
Well yes! And thank you. Wonderful idea!
Except, it took three acts of congress to pull it off. Wait, wrong example. It still wouldn’t have happened if we were waiting on congress.
After multiple tries of finding a weekend that would work for us and the photographer, the date was set for a week before Easter.
There were instructions from the patient and professional photographer, Bradley Striebig of Striebig Photography & Design.
Followed up by a raft of emails about what on earth we should wear that looked coordinated but not matchy matchy.
Then there were private photo albums on Facebook sharing some of the color scenarios we were imagining.
There was checking Pinterest boards to see what color combos others choose.
There were shopping trips, especially by grandma, to get the little ones something that looked coordinated but not matchy matchy.
One child decided to give up napping the week before the photo shoot, which meant a very worn out little boy who never the less soldiered through. And patient papas who soldiered through.
Not to mention an awesome down-on-the-ground photographer who wasn’t afraid to get his knees dirty or set up so many lights it looked like a film set, even if we were outside and shooting in bright sunlight.
It took some effort, but it WAS fun (except for fussy babies, who, by the way and to their credit, took things in stride like o.k., this is what families do). You do have to wonder what goes through their brains.
I do know that the little one who was so tuckered out finally fell asleep in his mother’s arms. At last, poor tyke.
The best advice Brad gave us (but hard to follow) was “Remember the job of you adults is to be looking at the camera and smiling no matter what. I’ll worry about capturing the babies at the right times.”
The three sisters, on our porch swing: Doreen, Tanya, and Michelle.
Now comes the hard part. What to purchase and print. I’m still very much of a print person.
My grandparents and great grandparents are preserved on prints from over 100 years ago. No matter what technology we have next, I hope my grandchildren and great great grandchildren children 100 years from now may handle real photos and marvel and figure out resemblances and treasure the family connections over the centuries.
So I’m glad for my prints. The one below hangs in our bedroom:
The original Davis Five, circa 1989.
Tanya, Melodie, Doreen, Stuart, Michelle
This one will be very special for many years to come.
The original Davis Five 25 years later, 2014.
Doreen, Stuart, Michelle, Melodie, Tanya
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Do you print photos? Do you think people will still print photos 100 years from now (printing 3-D photos are next on the horizon). How do you store your photos?
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When was the last time you had a family photo made? I know a good one!
Watermarked Professional photos courtesy of Bradley Striebig photos.
http://bradleystriebig.zenfolio.com/portraiture
We end every day like this. Ha. Our front porch swing, where we spend too little time.
It’s almost time to plant potatoes here and I’m happily trying to use up potatoes left from last year. We had buried a bushel of potatoes in the garden for over winter and recently retrieved them and they were in great shape: firm and no eyes on them yet and perfect.
So for a potluck at work, I planned to take a huge dish of scalloped potatoes. I got two bonuses out of the effort (no, not the money kind). And scalloped potatoes do take some effort, especially slicing the potatoes.
It had been years, YEARS since I tried to make a decent dish of scalloped potatoes, usually resorting to the boxed kind because they are so easy and usually great. My children and husband were never big fans of this type of potatoes so I usually just made them when I got really hungry for them or as a dish for a potluck somewhere.
My mom has an old tool she used for making thinly sliced potatoes, a grater of sorts with a row of blades perfect for the job. But I don’t have one, rarely needing one. So for this dish I alternated between using a chopping knife and a paring knife, trying to decide which was faster. In all it took me about a half hour to prepare the dish. Worth it in the end, but not as quick as a box.
This is slightly adapted from Thelma H. Maust’s recipe in Mennonite Recipes from the Shenandoah Valley (Good Books), and it is a keeper, with the first four ingredients as the basis for any white sauce.
Scalloped Potatoes
6 Tablespoons butter (or margarine)
6 Tablespoons flour
1 ½ teaspoons salt
3 cups milk
1 ½ cups grated sharp cheese
6 cups thinly sliced or grated raw potatoes
3 Tablespoons onion, chopped fine
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper
1. Slice potatoes, grate cheese.
2. In saucepan, melt butter. Blend in flour and salt. Keep on heat and gradually stir in milk. Continue stirring until sauce thickens and becomes smooth. Stir almost constantly to keep from scorching.
3. Gradually add cheese, stirring until mixed in thoroughly and melted.
4. Layer half of potatoes, onion, salt, pepper and sauce into greased 9 x 12 inch baking dish. Repeat layers.
5. Sprinkle with paprika if desired. (I put a bit of the grated cheese on top).
6. Bake at 350 for 60 minutes or until potatoes are soft. Mine took about 1 hour 15 minutes due to thickness of some of the potatoes, and I had to up the temperature to about 400 for the last 15.
The surprise. I took one taste of the sauce with the cheese melted in and I said to myself (or my cats): Broccoli soup! I was so excited, I couldn’t wait to try making the white sauce part and adding ingredients for broccoli soup the next day. More about that next week. The other bonus was I had enough left over (there was plenty of food at the potluck) to serve my family who had all come home for a big photo shoot with a professional photographer (more about that next week too). I knew the scalloped potatoes were a hit with the family when that dish got gobbled up and one son-in-law, quietly in his understated way, said something like “I wouldn’t mind more scalloped potatoes.” Um yum. (Below, my very last serving in a ramekin. Good to the last time.)
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Do you grow potatoes? By what date do you try to get your potatoes planted? Do you buy seed potatoes or use old potatoes from last year?
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What are you favorite variations on scalloped potatoes? What do you add?
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There are plenty of other good recipes from Shenandoah Valley Mennonite cooks in my recipe book, Whatever Happened to Dinner: Recipes and Reflections for Family Dinner.
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Don’t miss any of my Friday (sometimes Saturday) Finding Harmony Recipes of the Week. Sign up to receive the blog to your email. Way down the right hand side of the home page, look for this visual (not clickable right here):
Last week I wrote about my Aunt Susie who traveled the Midwest teaching Summer Bible School most of 44 summers.
This week I want to remember my lovely Awesome Artist Aunt Florence Yoder of Wakarusa, Indiana.
Just yesterday one of my Facebook friends, Richard Kauffman, senior editor at Christian Century, posed this question:
Have you ever thought about the artists among us as gifts to us? (I’m using artists here broadly to include writers, composers, musicians, actors, etc., as well as painters, sculptors, photographers.) Do you ever thank them for what they contribute to our lives?
Aunt Florence Yoder, homemaker, artist and lover of flowers
I did not know Aunt Florence well, never traveled with her but stayed overnight with my cousin occasionally and I loved going to their house because 1) they had a TV long before we did and 2) my cousin had really cool Barbie stuff (when I was not allowed, my mother thought I was too old for Barbies). Cousin Judy even got the Barbie Dream House at one point and I was smitten with jealousy.
Florence was my mother’s only sister (they had one brother, Paul Stauffer) and was a true artist at heart. I loved looking at her watercolor paintings on walls and propped at various places throughout her house—many of which won awards at shows throughout the northern Indiana region. I think her example even led me to enter an art exhibit in the children’s division in my hometown of Middlebury (and win a ribbon), where her own painting of the Bonneyville Covered Bridge won a prize in the adult division.
The fact that I still have the ribbon attests to how cool I thought it was to win a ribbon in the same art contest where my aunt ribboned. (I took oil painting lessons the year between college and when I got married but eventually decided I needed to quit “dabbling” in so many hobbies and focus on writing in order to improve in one area.) However, her own daughter, Judy, went on to major in art and has taught art for many years at a school in Ohio.
My oil painting on wood, depicting my aunt’s favorite flower.
Aunt Florence and Uncle Dave traveled a lot—mostly camping—and Florence used those occasions to widen her scenery from flat Indiana to Rocky Mountains and Yosemite and Quebec and the Smokies—all depicted in her paintings.
The front of a book commemorating her art features her flower garden.
But more than her art I loved Aunt Florence’s flowers—inside the house and out. She raised African violets with a vengeance—oodles of them, “hundreds” her daughter said. And her flower garden was her pride and joy; she never refused an opportunity to lead us through it and answer any questions I might have. She loved sharing her love of beauty.
Among the “art” pieces in her living room was also the family ironing board, which was always up. My cousin Judy said in a eulogy at her mother’s memorial service that “It has always been there and would just not be home without it. The catch all for all-important papers and the place she taught me to iron my daddy’s handkerchiefs. It is still there today and I doubt if it has felt an iron on it for many a year.”
I have two copies of Florence’s paintings which my mother owns; I treasure the copies which two of her daughters gave me permission to share here.
One winter she painted our farmhouse and sent it to us as postcard for Christmas. On the back, along with detailing the flu bugs that had been menacing their family, she noted “I have trouble making houses stand up straight.” I would never have noticed. And then a post script. “Do you want a little white kitten?”
The other painting she made for my parents is of our log cabin built near a pond in a back pasture, a place of retreat and solace on many a busy Saturday.
After Florence died in 2007, her husband David took photos of the art they still had in their possession (he was a photographer on the side of his other work) and the children (mainly daughter Marilyn) put together a beautiful book which is very special. It included photos of the art she created for her church, Olive Mennonite, and the decoupage art (here our cabin again, using her own painting) and quilt blocks she made along the way.
I would love to be able to raise African violets and paint the way Aunt Florence did. My husband once bought her husband’s Dave’s welder, and for many years after (he’s still living) he would ask Stuart if he was “still using that welder.” Absolutely. It is a thing of art and creativity for my husband, as well, where he enjoys brainstorming and muddling through how to create useful objects out of metal.
Yes, Richard Kauffman, we too often fail to pause and think of or thank the artists among us who offer a different way of seeing the world while using their own God-like skills in creativity. God was the ultimate Creator, after all, and we are, yes, created in God’s image. That was Florence, for sure.
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Is there a permanent (odd) fixture in your home (or the home you were raised in) like Aunt Florence’s ironing board?
What creative gift do you wish you had? How do others inspire you?
Easter isn’t Easter without deviled eggs. Right?
My great niece Britney got married recently and the families hosted a smallish reception a week later. Britney is an enthusiastic and great cook even at her relatively young age (early 20s) and loves deviled eggs. So she made five dozen for her reception. I was kind of blown away by the idea of a bride taking time to make five dozen deviled eggs! That’s a lot of egg peeling, and I always say that’s the hardest part of making deviled eggs. Here are some tricks.
But my goodness there must also be five dozen ways to make deviled eggs! It is hard to find two recipes that taste alike. When I looked up where the term “deviled” comes from, Yahoo gives a bunch of explanations here, generally saying it means food that is chopped up and spiced up, as in hot spices, and the word “deviled” probably originally came from the idea of a devil in a hot hell.
I don’t think of deviled eggs as spicy, but I do like mine tangy, similarly flavored as my potato salad (minus onions). My son-in-law fell in love with my deviled eggs soon after he fell in love with my daughter so I probably should call them “Brian’s.” I thought I made them exactly like my mother made them but she tells me now that she doesn’t use pickle relish in them. So I guess I will “own” this recipe as mine.
Brit says she doesn’t have a recipe “cause I just eyeball things.” I never measured things out either until I made them for this blog post and an early Easter dinner last weekend. Brit’s ingredient list is slightly shorter than mine and includes only salad dressing, mustard, sugar, salt and paprika on top. So take your pick, either way they get gobbled up!
Eggs are of course symbolic of the new life we have after our short years are finished on earth. The resurrection promise, from Romans:
For since we have become one with him in dying as he did, in the same way we shall be one with him by being raised to life as he was. … Since we have died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him. Romans 6: 5, 8 Bible Gateway.
Melodie Davis Deviled Eggs
8 hardboiled eggs, cooled (because that’s how many my beautiful heirloom dish from my mother holds)
1/3 cup salad dressing
1 teaspoon mustard
1 Tablespoon sweet pickle relish
1 teaspoon sweet pickle juice
¼ cup sugar
1 teaspoon vinegar
Using cooled boiled eggs, slice eggs in half lengthwise. Remove yolks and place in small bowl.
Using a fork or potato masher, pulverize the yolks …
until you have a smooth paste type substance.
Add the next 6 ingredients.
Stir until as smooth as possible.
You could also use a blender or food processor to make smoother, but I don’t bother. Using a teaspoon, fill each egg half with about 1 teaspoon of yolk mixture. Garnish with paprika. Keep cold until served. Makes approximately 16 deviled eggs.
What is your favorite way to make boiled eggs? What is your “have to have” favorite Easter food?
Happy Easter to you!
Aunt Susie Roth pouring through her scrapbook collected from 44 years of teaching Summer Bible School.
Every child needs an awesome aunt. Awesome aunts often don’t have any children themselves, and therefore have time and energy to put into holding, playing with, babysitting, taking their nieces and nephews on special excursions, and engaging in a lot of one-on-one mentoring—without ever calling it that. There are awesome uncles too who love to play with their nieces and nephews but as one of my male relatives has said, “The main function of an uncle is to be a rascally scoundrel so as to make the father look great in comparison.”
Today I want to tell you about one of my awesome aunts, Aunt Susie Roth of Emma, Indiana. She did have children of her own and she lived the longest of all my aunts, 100 years, spanning1899 to 1999. Glaucoma took her sight in later years. Toward the end, her walk with Jesus was so close she talked about she was “having cookies with Jesus.” But she was also lucid enough to tell her pastor when he came to visit that he needed to take some time off now and then to get some rest—almost the patient counseling the pastor.
But what made her awesome in my book is her amazing record teaching thousands of youngsters over 44 summers of traveling here and there to help smaller Mennonite churches who were stretched quite thin in having sufficient Summer Bible School teachers.
My aunt Susie, bottom left, at Grandpa and Grandma Miller’s (center) 60th wedding anniversary in 1953. My father, bottom right. Back row, l to r: my aunts Adeline, Elnora, Arlene, Irma and back row, Uncle Truman. Note that Aunt Susie was the plainest of my aunts who remained an “old Mennonite” all her life, while my other aunts were in closely related churches but not as plain (note the cut hair hair and earrings on most of my aunts.)
At that time in the Indiana-Michigan Conference of the Mennonite Church, many older established churches from heavily-populated Mennonite areas took on “Big Brother” roles with smaller outpost congregations in areas that had few Mennonites. Whenever a call went out “We need Summer Bible school teachers…” in conference newsletters, Susie heeded the call to this mission field with good hearted zeal and a genuine love for children–and the many lessons they taught her. She would be gone for 6-8 weeks to different locations helping in the local programs: Indianapolis, Chicago, Upper Peninsula of Michigan, southern Indiana and Kentucky. In addition to teaching in her own church, Emma Mennonite Church and others as asked.
I was privileged to travel to teach with her in Chicago and Upper Michigan, and then one year she and her husband, Dan, traveled to Kentucky to teach with me where I was stationed in Voluntary Service. Her work in Chicago was in association with a women’s and family shelter called “Gospel League Home”* and my experience teaching there in a gated facility in a rough area of Chicago where she sometimes confiscated knives from little boys in her classes–gave me a tantalizing introduction to life in the inner city—and also its heart wrenching needs. We rode Chicago’s “L”, went to the Loop, and she assured us that if we stayed long enough, we too would get used to the noise of city traffic, sirens and blaring horns all through the night. I marveled at this small town aunt so wise to the ways of the city.
I once wrote an article about her for Purpose magazine (July, 1981) called “The Peripatetic Teacher” (Peripatetic was the editor’s word, not mine, I had to look it up, which means “traveling”). It was 1980 when I interviewed her for that and she told me with a satisfied glint she had traveled to teach “44 years in a row.”
To some, who’ve been arm-twisted into teaching in Summer Bible School, that sounds like years of torture. I’ll wager that most of these programs were the full two-week, morning-long Summer Bible Schools that took dedicated planning and preparation each afternoon and evening, punching out the little take home Bible memory verses on cute memory triggers like a hammer for the verse from first Thessalonians, “Work with your own hands.”
She recalled one little girl who was supposed to tell the story of the Good Samaritan for the closing Bible school program. In practice the child kept inserting that the Good Samaritan bought the beat up man he was helping an ice cream cone. The little girl was dutifully told to leave that part out because there certainly wasn’t any ice cream in the Bible. Susie recalled the girl’s clear calm voice while reciting the piece and twisting the hem of her little dress. Susie held her own breath as the child neared the ending and announced “So the Good Samaritan took care of the man, left him some money, and bought-him-an-icecream-cone,” she said in her Revised Child Version of the Bible, before dashing off the platform.
But Susie’s educational methods were what helped Susie cope even in keeping classes as large as 23 children (the biggest class) engaged and occupied. A wallpaper hanger and painter by occupation (along with raising two sons and a daughter), she had some teacher training (Goshen College) but more important was that she knew the need of children to wiggle.
Susie, right, and her sister Irma, left, who were dressing up circa 1916: she knew how to have fun.
How did she cope with 23 in an improvised classroom? “When I saw that they’d had all the listening they could take, I’d silently motion to them that they should get up and follow me. I wouldn’t tell them where we were going and they’d get quiet as church mice, they were so scared. I’d lead them around the church sanctuary four or five times, all without speaking and then we’d file back to the room. The exercise was good for them and it helped to quiet them down.” She expressed this philosophy of teaching as “When the kettle is full, the kettle is full. You can’t tell them anymore.”
In 1980, at the age of almost 80, she was invited back to the Gospel League Home to help teach. “Oh you can’t use me anymore,” Susie hesitated. “Oh yes we can” was the reply and Susie went in an assistant teacher role, making 22 years she served at the Gospel League Home. Over the years she also volunteered as a cook at church camps, meaning she would spend 8-11 weeks away many summers, just coming home weekends between stints to clean up her garden and flower beds. And her husband, Dan, did not seem to mind. That was Susie.
It was a model of service and love that I’ve never duplicated but treasure for the spirit of her service.
I wish I had pictures of:
- Her beautiful backyard flower garden, complete with stream and trellis
- The sweet cherry tree we enjoyed picking from
- The ongoing “rummage” sale she hosted in their garage to help raise money for her beloved Gospel League Home
- The time she busied my young children on a visit to her home where they were growing bored and restless and she put them to work cutting out quilt patches for one of her dozens of quilts pieced together over many years. That was Susie at her finest, sensing the boredom of children, and putting them to useful work (that they thought was great fun). I don’t have a photo of that but I do have one of the three lovely quilts that came to my daughters, her grand nieces.
An awesome aunt. I had others but I don’t think anyone else matches her record of Summer Bible School teaching 44 years in a row: not just for one or two weeks, but 6-8 weeks at a time.
Were you privileged to have an awesome aunt or uncle or special relative? I would love to hear their story. I will consider using your stories in an upcoming Another Way Column (If permitted).
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To “enter” the Emma General Store much as it was in the 50s when I loved to visit Aunt Susie and Dan (right next door to their house in the unincorporated town of Emma), check out the Emma Cafe website here.
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For a history of Summer Bible School or Vacation Bible School in the Mennonite Church, check here.
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*Finally, I learned that the Gospel League Home was an arm of the more famous Pacific Garden Mission but eventually the Chicago Tribune reports here (sadly) what happened to the property in 2006.
My mother was famous at certain potlucks for her shredded potato salad and certainly in our family it was something we all loved. At potlucks, we would look for Mom’s because we didn’t like the others.
She never used a recipe for this. A dollop of this and a plop of that.
I learned from watching her and then tweaking it on my own and now finally, here is the definitive Bertha Miller Shredded Potato Salad measured out and refined. You will see two places where it calls for “plus 1 tablespoon.” That is because I measured, then needed to add a bit “to make it taste right” or as most recipes say, “to taste.” So the key is after you have it all mixed up, taste it, add whatever you think is missing, etc. You may like just a bit more sugar, or milk, or salad dressing, or whatever.
The key is the shredded potatoes which help all the flavors blend together around the small potato surface (versus large blocks of big potatoes). Now, I can be a fan of some potato salads using larger chunks of potatoes—for a different slant and taste, like red potato salad with mayo—but Mom’s is a mixture of sweet and sour with crunch and deliciousness. Don’t use warm potatoes: the shredding or grating will turn them to mush.
And don’t miss my special hints at the end, especially if you have a kid (like I did, who shall remain nameless) that doesn’t like potato salad because of the mustard.
Bertha Miller’s Shredded Potato Salad
2 cups cold boiled potatoes (ends up as 3 cups shredded)
2 boiled eggs, cold
2 large stalks celery (1 cup chopped)
½ cup chopped onion
½ cup salad dressing, plus 1 tablespoon (my mother swears by Miracle Whip)
2 tablespoons mustard
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
¼ cup milk, plus 1 tablespoon (or plop, as in the sound milk makes coming out of a jug)
¼ cup sugar
½ tsp celery seed
Shred cold potatoes. (I use a grater like this. A food processor may turn the potato to mush, I don’t know. I don’t own one.)
Grate the boiled, cooled egg.
Chop and add the remaining ingredients.
Mix all together.
Refrigerate. Often tastes better if you can refrigerate an hour or more.
Serves about 6 – 8.
Hints:
* I still prefer to make this without using measuring devices because you save washing the messy measuring instruments.
* Anytime you boil potatoes for mashed potatoes, throw some extra in the pot to have for potato salad, or to slice and fry as a quick side for any meal. Or bake an extra or two when baking, to have cold potatoes on hand.
* If you have just a smidgen of left over mashed potatoes, you can add up to 1/2 cup of mashed potatoes to the potato salad recipe without making the end result too mushy. It stretches the potatoes you have on hand and uses up leftovers.
* If you have a child who just doesn’t like potato salad because of the mustard or whatever, you can accommodate their differences by saving 1/2 cup or more of the shredded potatoes and frying them like a small patty of hash browned potatoes.
* You can “doll up” (as my mother would say) almost any deli potato salad by adding a bit of sugar and vinegar to dial up the zing.
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What was a dish you always sought out at potluck or reunion that your mother (or father) made?
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Coming next week: my deviled egg recipe, just in time for Easter.
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