Michelle at age 2 with her home daycare provider, Linda.
My daughter, now mother of two-month-old James, started a mini-avalanche of emails among our family when she sent the following paragraph from a baby advice website:
“While a home daycare provider is likely to have lots of hands-on “mom” experience, if she isn’t also educated (ideally, with at least two years of college and a background in early childhood development), you might want to think twice. If she isn’t trained in child development, she might not be able to encourage your child appropriately.” (From babycenter.com)
Michelle typed in her opinion along with the paragraph: “Say wha? This is the most patently preposterous published thing I’ve read (like that alliteration?) on the subject of babies.”
Daughter Doreen responded: “Tell that to Aunt Barbara. Or Linda.”
Tanya, mother of four-month-old Sam wrote: “This is crazy.”
My husband had a one word response: “Ignoramuses,” referring to the writers, not my daughters.
***
Two of our daughters enjoying lazy summer days with friends at the babysitter’s house.
For about fourteen years, Linda, a wonderful neighbor who became a friend, was chief childcare provider for our daughters. I worked 3 days a week before they went to school, then gradually increased to 4 days a week, which I wrote more about earlier here.
The family setting also provided extra siblings, cousins and playmates for the kids. Linda was everything you might want in a loving caregiver for your child, but no, she didn’t have any college or a background in early childhood development, except what she learned from years of practice.
Linda was a laid back kind of mother and caregiver, attentive, a good listener, affectionate, creative, and just sat down and read to or played with the kids which is what I think they liked so much. She had her normal household work to accomplish too, which they helped with—doing laundry, cleaning up, baking, yardwork as they got older. A second mother. What more could you ask?
A trip to the laundromat when old enough to actually help.
She only asked off for several summers, particularly when, tragically, her only son died in a terrible motorcycle accident (who was indeed like an older brother to the girls). The grief we all felt was cutting; his death incomprehensible but real. We all needed time off.
So there were three periods of time when we needed to find alternate childcare arrangements. We opted each time for home caregivers, all of whom were also just fine, even exemplary women/mothers/sitters, save one. We did not last long with that situation; when word got back to Linda that that particular sitter was not working out, Linda said she was ready to take our daughters again.
I will not pick apart the babycenter.com comment; I do agree that one should always “think twice” about any childcare arrangement. Most of us spend much emotional energy not only thinking twice but endlessly second guessing our decisions on that front. Some of the most stressful times in my years of working and mothering were the times when I needed to find alternate and back up childcare arrangements, (grandmothers from church who filled in, or I just stayed home if I could if our sitter was sick).
But this little exchange with my kids reminded me I am so very grateful for a couple of things about their experiences:
- That my daughters are able to interpret and parse a website comment on the topic of the necessity of trained educators for child care, in light of their own experiences and memories growing up. Their Aunt Barbara who also took care of children in her home for many many years also influences their opinion.
- That we were blessed to have a neighbor who not only loved them almost as much as her own children, but who entered into their play and activities almost like a kid herself.
- That my daughters turned out as beautifully as they have (and I’m not talking looks, but they do ok there too) in spite of being so deprived of trained early childhood specialists.
I will let a small collection of photos from those years, all taken by our able sitter, Linda, speak for themselves. Don’t miss scrolling to the bottom photo.
Lunchtime at the sitter’s house.
As with siblings, older children love helping out with younger charges in home day care.
Remember these? I think we called them chord organs back then. This one still keeps her fingers on the piano.
Coveted bean bag at the sitter’s house.
Potty training sometimes goes better at the sitter’s house.
This post dedicated to Linda and all of the great home childcare providers out there.
***
I’d love to hear from you on any of these questions:
What do you think about the statement from babycenter.com?
How did or do you manage childcare arrangements, and how did or do you feel about it?
Have you been a home childcare provider? Do you have some words of advice for parents?
I remember my reaction to the word missional when I first heard it back in the early 2000’s. Missional, smishional. A new gadgety word. A new way of saying mission work or mission oriented, or something.
But as I learned more about it through my job at Mennonite Mission Network with in-depth training and exposure to the concept, I realized missional was how many of us grew up without calling it that: being involved in God’s work in the world right where we are at, beginning at home. The church’s primary activity is not just serving its members with programs (Sunday school, uplifting worship) but an understanding that the purpose of our gathered worshiping communities was and is for the purpose of helping us be about God’s work in the world.
You can see why when the Mennonerds bloggers group (that my blog links to, here) invited bloggers to contribute on the topic of being missional Christians, I quickly signed on to explore the family aspect. I’ll divide this into four brief areas: 1) what I experienced growing up with a missional father and mother (they just didn’t know it); 2) why I never became the Spanish missionary I thought I might; 3) how it worked out with our own children; 4) how I’m involved missionally today. Whew. That’s a least a four-part blog that I’ll likely say more about somewhere down the line, but you’re in luck that I’m pushed for time this week so I’ll keep it pithy. Maybe.
One more (long) has-to-be-said sentence: it is not just my own experiences that lead me to the title of this post, but the experience of hundreds of thousands of folks who believe a lived faith and putting faith into action through service is a great way to grow into an adult faith, such as the network of people connected to Faith Forward, some of whom I had the opportunity to interview on this topic: Brian McLaren, Joyce Mercer, Tony Campolo.
Dad as an active part of CROP’s Indiana Friendship Acres program.
My own family background. Dad was a farmer: by nature a doer. But he also had the servant theology down in his 8th grade-educated way, greatly amped by the real education he received as he spent four years in Civilian Public Service during World War II (which I wrote about here). So in his deacon work he took us visiting the “widows and orphans” including literally a widow with two sons with mental challenges, who lived in a woebegone shack not one mile from our church. On family vacations, Dad made sure we not only visited churches on Sundays (Mennonite if available, any denomination if not), but also Mennonite voluntary service units and mission work (Navajo Nation mention here). 
Family vacation out west where we visited various Mennonite churches and mission activity; here on the Navajo reservation.
I remember a trip to Hannibal, Missouri where we enjoyed after-Sunday-evening-service refreshments at the VS unit home and thinking wow, this would be fun to live with a bunch of cool young adults in a city setting with no mom or dad. Daddy preached “I sure hope one of my kids grows up to be a voluntary service worker” and I took the bait (spending a year in the program in a rural setting in Kentucky, mentioned recently here). 
My VS unit leader Judi Brenneman teaching a craft for local girl’s club on Troublesome Creek, Kentucky.
Without calling it missional, Dad innately understood that being a Christian meant reaching out to others, connecting with those of different races, cultures, and even faith, all because of our own love of God and commitment to Christ. Mom and Dad encouraged our youth group in its (then) slightly edgy and ground breaking connections to the migrants and poultry plant workers in our community who lived in barracks type housing (owned by Mennonites). At first our goal was to learn Spanish better. Along the way, we made friendships which led us to want to go to their home community in South Texas. My parents willingly signed on as chaperones for a three week youth mission trip to south Texas in 1969 for a cross cultural learning. (Long before every youth group did mission trips.)
My personal call. This all led to Eastern Mennonite University in 1971 with initial plans to major in Spanish and Bible with the thought of actually being a missionary in Spanish speaking countries. But through my years at EMU, including a year abroad in Spain where I did learn a lot of Spanish and also how difficult it was to try to share my faith with agnostic roommates (both U.S. and Spanish), I began to see and feel that with language and cultural barriers, perhaps the best way for me to be about God’s work in the world was just relating to people in my own culture and language and not necessarily seek to serve in another country.
Outside of “Iglesia Evangelica” with friends in Barcelona, Spain, one of only a handful (then) of Protestant churches in the city. Friend in navy blue dress, Cathy Bewley Martin, was instrumental in helping organize a Bible study with agnostic and atheist friends in our boarding house.
Conversations, lecturers, professors and friends through those college years opened my eyes and faith to a maturing sense of Christian call.
Apartment mates my senior year of college: Barbra Graber, left, and Sara Wenger Shenk, right. Great conversations around that table, as you can imagine!
So when I graduated, I deliberately decided to look for jobs in the U.S. rather than entering more years of volunteer or mission service in settings abroad—which had always sounded like the most exciting thing to do. While God calls some to new settings in other lands, some are called to the trailer court (where my husband and I first lived when we got married in 1976) and bowling alley (where we hung out some in those early married years). Our church attendance was sometimes sporadic during those years but there were plenty of opportunities right in our backyard of connecting with kids who needed love, a listening ear, understanding.
Stuart (corner) working with kids from the trailer park who thought it was a hoot to help paint our storage building. We went hiking with them and frequently just let them hang out around our stair steps.
It was only years later when learning about the concept of “missional” that I could call these relationships that. Because the Presbyterian congregation we attended was very mission-oriented, we faced some pretty keen challenges such as visiting a local low-security prison every week, including helping those getting out of prison—housing, transportation, jobs. It was fulfilling even though one learning curve was getting stuck with a small unpaid car loan for which we had co-signed.
The family we raised. Fast forward a couple years as we finally put down roots in that congregation and decided to join it—not unusual among young adults—when we were expecting our first child. As we approached the threshold of parenthood, we felt it was time—even though we came from different denominations (me Mennonite, him Lutheran) to go ahead and join Trinity Presbyterian, structured around house churches—small groups that were called and formed around specific missions. The emphasis was on local mission, and without calling it that, definitely missional, in that the priority was hands on involvement with people. (I’ll write more about “incarnating in the local context” in my next blog post on this topic, 2/17/2014.) But family faith building in my experience is in a local context, so it’s hard to separate that out here.)
Kids from Helping Hands house church listening intently to a story by master storyteller, Donna Barber.
When the kids were really small it was hard to be very involved in any house church but when they reached school age, one house church we participated in was called “Helping Hands” where we took on home maintenance projects for others, helping with Habitat for Humanity builds, doing local disaster relief. Our tongue-in-cheek motto for that group was “We try to do more good than harm.” More emphasis was on doing, rather than preaching or sharing faith in verbal ways, but that’s another aspect of missional that works especially well in the family setting.
Outdoor worship at Riven Rock park near Harrisonburg with house church.
Our children may have struggled to put words on why they liked hanging out with church friends in our house church setting, but—and I’m so thankful—I feel it helped each of them claim a faith without going through the immense struggle (rebellion) of many kids and youth who grow up feeling the church was only about rules and right answers and doing things certain ways and not about a lived faith struggling with doubts and questions and failure.
Missional today. None of this is to in any way brag. We, our church, our house churches, our family, are all human, imperfect, blazing failures in many ways. I won’t detail those imperfections and failures but I believe God is faithful anyway and keeps working God’s purposes out in all the mess.
Trinity Clothes Closet outreach.
My personal main involvement is with a Clothes Closet ministry which not only distributes and recycles an amazing amount of free clothing, it gives me opportunity to still use my Spanish at least once a month.
Daughter Tanya, right, helping with Clothes Closet check in, with Kevin Gallagher, left and the late Rev. William Ramkey, center.
Over the years, as we’ve experienced waves of new immigrants and refugees, I’ve also tried to learn a few words of Russian and Arabic, and currently some of the volunteers who help organize and bag the clothing are Iraqi Muslim women and children. A Muslim teen issued a call for others to help with the Clothes Closet ministry from the Trinity pulpit last fall during our annual recalling/re-covenanting season. Nice turnaround.
So the world has come to our backyard—and that is true in almost every community in North America, right, with all the attendant difficulties–but also the joys and learnings. Families especially are a great place to connect with all that messiness, all that world-in-our- backyardness.
The take away? Children who grow up seeing faith lived out in a variety of ways–and have opportunities from a young age to actively participate in mission or service activities–have a better chance (not guaranteed, ever) of growing up to embrace faith.
And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise. You shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates. Deuteronomy 6:6-9 Bible Gateway.
***
What do you think? How have mission and service activities impacted your life or the live of your family? Is looking at service this way self serving?
This post is part of a MennoNerds Synchro-Blog on Missionary Spirituality for the month of February. MennoNerds is exploring “spirituality through an Anabaptist-Christian lens” and what it means concerning participation in the mission of God. Find other MennoNerds blogger posts on this theme here.
And here’s one family that took missional a step further!
Do you remember the first time you ever ate lasagna? Likely not if you are under the age of 50. It is as common as spaghetti, macaroni and cheese. Pretty much.
I never tasted lasagna until I was 19, working for one year in the Mennonite Voluntary Service program near Hazard, Kentucky. We had a chief cook—the “unit hostess.” Judi Brenneman was only a couple years older than me but already she was a splended cook. She expanded my taste repertoire considerably from what I experienced growing up with an ordinary Mennonite mother cook who usually served meat, potatoes (or other starch), a vegetable, and sometimes salad. Not much in the way of casseroles or foods from other countries.
But when I suddenly found myself at a table with six adults with food prepared by someone who wasn’t my mother … well, I ate it.
And of course it was delicious and I learned to eat and like so many foods that year that I put on 15 pounds—the freshman 15, even though I wasn’t yet in college. I wrote about all this in my first book, On Troublesome Creek, a memoir of sorts.
Now lasagna is one of my go-to staples. I frequently offer a dish of lasagna when taking food to a family where someone’s had surgery or a new baby or just moved in. When my children were still home and I had to travel on business, I usually made sure the freezer was stocked with a pan of lasagna that they could just unthaw and bake. But that was the trick: the unthawing. You don’t unthaw a frozen pan of lasagna in a couple of hours: it usually takes all day. I also sometimes take a dish of it when I visit my kids—they never complain and now make it themselves.
Here is the recipe, straight from my book (metric equivalents included) Whatever Happened to Dinner. When I asked my children what favorites to put in this recipe book, the first email I got back said, “You have to put in your ricotta-less lasagna recipe.”
Lasagna
This recipe makes enough for one 9×13-inch pan and a second bread pan. (Original recipe from Judi’s Better Homes and Gardens cookbook; adapted.)
1 pound / 500 g ground beef
1–5 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon basil
1½ teaspoons salt
1 1-pound / 500 g can tomatoes, crushed or chopped
2 6-ounce / 120 g cans tomato paste
1 16-ounce / 500 g box lasagna noodles
2 eggs
3 cups / 750 ml cottage cheese
½ cup / 125 ml parmesan cheese, grated
2 tablespoons parsley flakes
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper
1 pound / 500 g or more mozzarella, shredded
Brown meat slowly and spoon off excess fat. Add next 5 ingredients. Simmer uncovered 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Meanwhile, cook noodles in a large amount of boiling salted water until tender; drain and rinse. While sauce and noodles are cooking, beat the eggs, then mix the remaining ingredients together with the eggs, except for the mozzarella.
(Instead of ricotta: cottage cheese, egg, parmesan, salt, pepper, and parsley–
or in this case, I didn’t have parsley and added dry chopped chives for the green.)
Lay two layers of noodles in a greased 9×13-inch pan. Spread with half the cottage cheese mixture.
Add half the mozzarella and half the meat sauce.
Repeat, saving a little mozzarella to top the lasagna. (Note: if you are making the extra bread pan on the side, save or set aside enough ingredients to put the “extra” lasagna together, roughly a quarter of each item.)
Note: If you use a 9 x 13 inch pan, you get one dish of lasagna, and likely have about 5-6 noodles left over. I hate wasting them. So usually instead, I use extra mozzarella and make plenty of meat sauce and just spread the cottage cheese mixture out further to make at least two, maybe 3 pans of lasagna.
Bake immediately at 375°F / 190° C for 30 minutes. Or refrigerate or freeze before baking, in which case you’ll need at least 45 minutes to bake. Cover with foil for half the baking time to save the noodles from getting dried out. (If you freeze the lasagna, it will take about a day to thaw in the refrigerator.) Let baked lasagna stand 10 minutes before cutting.
What’s your favorite dish to share with others? Or something your kids request?
A frequent crossword puzzle clue is something like “The book before Nehemiah;” at least I saw that clue in the Washington Post this past Sunday. It popped out at me because I recently just finished reading that book (Ezra) and am now getting a kick out of the next book, Nehemiah.
Why? All of a sudden I’m noticing the kind of telling detail a writer loves and is supposed to include. I don’t remember ever reading some of those little details before, although this is probably my fourth or fifth read-through of the Bible. (Shame on me, I know that some people read the Bible through every year. I take my time.)
Nehemiah writes in first person, like I do here. What am I loving?
At the end of the first chapter, he tells us, “In those days, I was the emperor’s wine steward.” Hmm. An inside seat. Wouldn’t that make a great beginning for a novel? (Maybe there is one like that. Anyone?)
A little background: Nehemiah is basically about the return of Jewish exiles from Babylonia to Jerusalem and the surrounding area. Nehemiah is sent to oversee the rebuilding of the walls of Jerusalem. In chapter 1 he tells us that things back then were pretty much like things are today, that those who survived the exile and went back home “were in great difficulty and that the foreigners who lived nearby looked down on them.” Nothing new under the sun.
Then right in the following chapter he takes us ringside where Emperor Artaxerxes is dining and Nehemiah notes that the empress is sitting at the emperor’s side. Why is that important? Is it important? Maybe, because there’s a slight chance the emperor would be in a good mood with his wife right there.
But the emperor, give him credit, notices that Nehemiah is downhearted (about all of the above. The long exile, the return of citizens who are discriminated against just for being from another place.)
Nehemiah tells us that Artaxerxes has never seen him look sad before (likely the job of a wine steward to keep things merry at a meal), and says, “Why are you looking so sad? You aren’t sick, so it must be that you’re unhappy.” Give old Artazerx a bronze star for noticing.
Even Nehemiah “is startled,” he confides, and jumps at the opportunity to bring up the fact that the “city where my ancestors are buried is in ruins.”
Long story short, the emperor sends Nehemiah and some troops to Jerusalem, where he passes “Dragon’s Fountain and Rubbish Gate,” such colorful fine points. These names tell us things about the city: a fountain with an imaginative name and a gate where garbage obviously collects. Sound like our cities?
As Nehemiah sets about rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem in orderly fashion and with excellent records of everyone who worked on the wall, the Levites doing this, the Priests doing that, I love this sidenote, chapter 3, verse 8: “… but the leading men of the town refused to do the manual labor assigned them by the supervisors.” Sound familiar? It does to my forever blue collar husband.
This is also noteworthy, at least Nehemiah thought it was, in parentheses in chapter 3 verse 12: “([Shallum’s] daughters helped with the work.) I would love to know more about those daughters. Not to brag, but sounds like my daughters who got roped into doing almost everything sons would have done.
And on with delightful details dabbed into verses here and there. Nehemiah is indeed a remarkable man and book and I haven’t finished it yet, so I’m looking forward to it.
It reminds me again how these old books and stories are new every time we take the time to read them again. Some of the Bible is very hard to read (like I wrote about Chronicles not long ago, here.) Some of it is very hard to understand. But I’m liking most of Nehemiah, I think. The old old story with people so very much like us helps us find harmonies in our spiritual journey.
***
I enjoyed my co-worker Valerie Weaver-Zercher’s confessions and plans along these lines regarding daily Bible reading at Mennobytes blog.
Last week I was celebrating the glory of a one-pan, almost-never-fail dessert, to use up an extra can of sweetened condensed milk before it went bad.
This dessert takes slightly more than one pan to prepare, but was motivated out of a similar impulse to use up some canned pumpkin before next Thanksgiving.
I had purchased a fresh can this year planning to make my annual pumpkin pie off of my grandmother’s simple and delicious recipe. But then, you may recall, my family was producing babies last fall (here) and (here) and our Thanksgiving plans were gloriously and not unexpectedly shoved on the back burner. We ended up throwing Thanksgiving dinner together with carry out from Safeway on the day 2nd grandchild was able to come home from the hospital.
At any rate, no Grandma Stauffer pumpkin pie and TWO cans of pumpkin on hand.
So, for my small group/house church worship and potluck in homes this past Sunday, I tried out a recipe I’d been wanting to duplicate after someone else made it, “Pumpkin Pie Dessert” adapted slightly from Good Books’ Mennonite Recipes from the Shenandoah Valley (1999).
It is rich and pumpkiny, and a nice twist on old favorites, kind of a dessert where you get your cake and pie too. Or is it you get your pie and eat your cake too. Whatever. And kind of fancy, if I do say so myself.
Pumpkin Pie Dessert
(Originally by Lillian Kiser, Harrisonburg, Va.)Makes 15-20 2 x 2 servings.
1 box yellow cake mix
½ cup butter, melted
1 egg, beaten
3 cups pumpkin
1 tsp ginger (or less as desired)
1 tsp cinnamon (or less)
1 ½ cups sugar
2 eggs beaten
¼ tsp. salt
2/3 cup milk
Topping
1 tsp cinnamon
¼ cup sugar
3 Table. butter, softened
½ cup chopped pecans
Whipped topping
- Measure out 1 cup dry cake mix and set aside.
- Combine remaining cake mix, ½ cup melted butter, and 1 egg. Press into greased 9 x 13 pan.
- Mix together pumpkin, ginger, cinnamon, 1 ½ cups sugar, 2 eggs, salt, and milk. Pour over crust mixture.
- Mix together reserved cake mix, 1 tsp. cinnamon, and ¼ cup sugar. Cut in 3 Tb. butter to form crumbs. Sprinkle over top. Also sprinkle with chopped pecans, if desired.
- Bake at 350 degrees for 45-50 minutes, or until firm in center. Serve warm or cold. Top with whipped topping.
Have pumpkin? I’m betting you have most of the other ingredients in your cupboard/pantry. It will take the doldrums off these long weeks of cold, snow, ice, more cold.
Is winter almost over? What’s your favorite way to deal with winter blues?
***
For more Shenandoah Valley recipes see my book from a couple years ago, which you can purchase here.
Rarely has my professional work intersected so nicely with my personal history than in the forthcoming publication of a new book by Ervin Stutzman, Jacob’s Choice.
![9875[1]](https://findingharmonyblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/987511.jpg)
The Jacob in this page turner of a book (to be published by MennoMedia/Herald Press, my employer) is my sixth-generation-back great grandfather and endured not only the violent death of his wife and two children, but was captured, along with two sons, by members of the tribe of Lenapi Native Americans.
One of the older sons who was not captured was John, my five times great grandfather. He was already married and living away from the farm where the raid happened.
Photo of Moses P. Miller, (long beard in back row, top left)
my great grandfather, and Jacob’s triple great grandson.
Thousands of Hostetler, Hochstetler, Hochstettler, and probably a dozen other spelling variations in North America (and thousands more relatives with other surnames like me) lay claim to that same heritage, that same story. Here is one website of these relatives who organize a huge reunion every five years. (Watch the fun graphic at the top of the home page which morphs into all the different ways Hostetler is spelled by all these relatives.)
The novel is set in the Northkill area of eastern Pennsylvania, a fictionalized version of events because so much is not known, especially of the interior thought life of these my ancestors.
Ervin has chosen to focus his look at this courageous peaceloving ancestor on Jacob’s decision to eventually seek reconciliation in the aftermath of the terrible tragedy that befell his family. Here’s a link to two free excerpts.
And it is just the first of three books in a planned trilogy called the “Return to Northkill” series, which Ervin is still working on.
Cousin Ervin (okay, its really shirttail, as momma always used to say about distant cousins, but still) has done much valuable research. He became something of a skilled historian and researcher in pulling together the fictionalized stories published earlier by Herald Press of his own mother and father in Emma and Tobias), so I greatly respect not only his work, but how he is able to get all this done on the side from his main job as Executive Director of Mennonite Church USA.
My aunt Elnora, one of Uriah’s many daughters, was something of a writer and she always encouraged me, in my early writing days, to write about grandpa, her father, and four times great grandson of Jacob. (I don’t think it is mine to write, but I did blog briefly about Grandpa Miller here.) So I’m glad for this work by other distant cousins covering a much earlier period of family history and lore.
The expanded edition of Jacob’s Choice includes maps, photographs, family tree charts, and other historical documents to help readers enter the story and era of the Hochstetler family. Both Jacob’s Choice (the novel only) and Expanded Edition (novel with all the other goodies) are on prepublication discount ($10.50 and $20.99, respectively) until the publication date of Feb. 8.
There’s another book coming out, by another cousin, and I’m anxious to read that too. It is called simply Northkill, by J. M. Hochstetler and Bob Hostetler. Amazon says it is due out March 1. It will be interesting to read and compare the two books and approaches!
If you are on Facebook and a relative you might enjoy hooking up with the “official” Facebook site for Hostetler/Hochstetler relatives, called Descendants of Jacob Hochstetler. The genealogical book of the same name was originally published by the same publisher in 1938 which was then called Mennonite Publishing House. There is a version of the genealogical book of the same name on Amazon, but I cannot vouch for its authenticity.
In the 70s when I was a student at Eastern Mennonite University, I first discovered the genealogy book in the Historical Library there and was so excited to find my father’s name written in it that I scribbled out all of the information pertaining to my lineage on notebook paper, (not being able to photocopy it). I still have those scribbles and I remember feeling such a powerful connection to my heritage.
Another genealogical organization called Palatines to America has much material related to German speaking immigrants and ancestors from the Palatine area of Europe–which, interestingly enough, where my Lutheran-born husband’s relatives on his mother’s side, Hottingers and Sonifranks, hail from.
And for anyone interested, my linkage to Jacob Hochstetler is below (and one photo0:
Moses P. Miller, my great grandfather near the middle with a long white beard; Uriah M. Miller right, my grandfather, short hair and plain white shirt (no coat); and Barbara Kauffman Miller, next to him, with long white dress.
- My father was Vernon U. Miller (1917-2006)
- My father’s father was Uriah M. Miller (1872-1964). Uriah and his wife Barbara lived in our home and I was privileged to have them as live-in grandparents for the first 12 years of my life.
- Uriah’s father was Moses P. Miller (1845-1927), my great grandfather.
- Joseph Miller was the father of Moses, my great great grandfather.
- Daniel Miller was the father of Joseph. (Triple great)
- Anna Hochstetler, who married Abraham Miller, was the mother of Daniel (Anna and Abe combo is where I add my Miller family name): four greats.
- John Hochstetler was the father of Anna. (Five greats).
- John’s father was Jacob, my great, great, great, great, great, great (that’s six greats) grandfather. Jacob and his family were Amish of course and the best I can tell (including a notation in Descendants of Jacob Hochstetler) is that all of these forebears were Amish right through the time of my great grandfather Moses, and then the family began attending Forks Mennonite because it was close by. So my grandfather was never Amish but my great grandfather was for awhile.
So, are you my cousin? Comment, like, or otherwise let me know!
Do check out Jacob’s Choice – a great read and powerful example of living your faith,
regardless of any personal historical or family connections.
Order before Feb. 8, 2014 for the discount.
I never imagined that writing about the little book shed recently at a nearby bustop on the campus of Eastern Mennonite University would result in finding a heartwarming backstory. Last week I sat down and interviewed the shed’s builder, which I’ll get to in a second.
I called it a shed because it reminded me of one and I didn’t know what to call it; one website called them “dollhouses for books.” After I wrote about the one on the EMU campus, people commenting on my Facebook page or here on the blog such as Claire DeBerg told me there is a whole string of “Little Free Libraries” as they are properly called. (Earlier I didn’t know what to search for online.) But the first one was build in 2009 in Wisconsin by Todd Bol, who made it as a one room schoolhouse as a tribute to his mother who was a teacher. I immediately thought of the little one room schoolhouse my own father built—a model of “Poynter School” in Indiana, which my mother still has. An avid dollhouse and toy barn builder, how Dad would have taken to building little libraries!
But the concept is quickly spreading across North America and around the world (with hundreds of stories in the media. Where have I been?)* People can take a book or leave a book at an outside small receptacle (people build them in all sorts of creative styles). There are no due dates, no fines.
Lee Jankowski
The builder of that little library at EMU is Lee Jankowski, a brick mason for 35 years. Over the years, Lee has also donated his labor weeks or months at a time at various homeless shelter/Catholic Worker houses. The Catholic Worker house/movement as founded by Dorothy Day is a simple living community where all live off of what is donated each day—in other words, they scrape by. There is usually no extra money for house repair or hiring professional labor to fix things.
So Lee would contact a house, bring his tools, and show up and say “What needs to be done here?”
While working at one such home in Duluth, Minnesota, he came across the “Little Free Libraries.” He loved reading, loved the concept of sharing books freely especially for those without ready access, and built and launched two Little Libraries in Duluth near homeless shelters.
So how did Lee get to EMU? Last fall he enrolled in EMU’s graduate school in counseling (after 35 years out of school), which he choose out of Google searches for a program where “your soul is considered,” he noted. He wanted a program that had an emphasis on experiential and person-centered learning.
Lee had always enjoyed talking and hanging out with those in the shelters as he worked, and had decided to seek training and a degree in counseling. Then his father was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, and the plan to go to grad school was put on the back burner as he helped care for his father until he died last year. As Lee resumed a search for grad school, EMU was really the only place he found expressing the values he was looking for.
After a few weeks on campus he started asking around to see whether he could build one of the Little Free Libraries. “No one quite knew who to ask,” Lee recalls. But Eldon Kurtz, Director of Physical Plant at EMU, contacted the EMU library. They didn’t have a problem with it so Eldon gave Lee permission to move forward, including giving him access to the EMU shop, tools, Plexiglas for a see-through door, and a pressure treated post from Eldon’s own supply of leftovers at home. Lee also bought a broken bag of shingles at a discount, a sliding door handle at a thrift shop, and one store donated odds and ends of lumber.
Lee restocks about once a week from books he buys in local thrift stores (one store offers a whole bag of books for $5, he says). He peruses the books to make sure they are fitting and tries to supply an array including some for children. “It takes about 3-4 months before other people start leaving books,” he says.
Is vandalism a problem? When he first asked the homeless shelter in Duluth about permission to construct a library there, the first response was, “It won’t last the night.” But, Lee says, no one ever touched it [to deface it] and people have really embraced and used it.” I did find at least one story where a little library was burned but the local community quickly rallied to rebuild it.
Lee’s goal in the EMU graduate program is to go into hospice work, out of his father’s wrenching experience with that difficult form of cancer. Thus Lee is currently during a practicum at a local retirement community, Virginia Mennonite Retirement Community, in order to work among the elderly. For income he works for a local security company on weekends.
Lee is allowing his story to be shared as a seed for others. Which is pretty cool. Of course, many stores, libraries, coffee shops, professional offices, and churches have their own free library boxes or shelves–it doesn’t have to be a cute little shed.
Thanks, Lee, and thanks EMU (my alma mater), for allowing this story to be told.
More on the Little Free Libraries
A children’s book is forthcoming about Little Free Libraries.
And here are some cool audio blips promoting the Little Free Libraries.
* Little Free Libraries (LFL), once it got organized, set a goal of building 2,509 free libraries in honor of Andrew Carnegie’s build of 2509 free libraries around the U.S. at the beginning of the 1900s. The LFL goal was reached in August of 2012, and by this January 2014, the website estimated there are between 10-12,000 registered Little Free Libraries, with more built all the time.
The EMU Little Library is not yet registered with the Little Free Library website and mapping system because, according to Lee, you need to send in a photo of people using it etc. which is a few more hoops to jump through (camera, loading it onto a computer etc.) than he wants and as you might expect he is not out for the publicity but warmly agreed to an interview to inspire others.
A version of this will appear in my syndicated newspaper column Another Way, in a few weeks.
One-Dish “Magic” Cookie Bars
I like these cookie bars because you only dirty one pan making them and that is the pan you bake them in. My husband loves these cookie bars because they are, when made right, just scrumptiously delicious and satisfying.
Usually I only make them once a year but recently I decided why make them only at Christmas (them being oh-so-calorie-laden might be one reason to limit them to once a year.)
But if you need a quick one dish wonder to take to small group, a potluck, or if company is coming over and you have these supplies in your pantry, go at it: graham crackers, chocolate chips, nuts, coconut, butter and sweetened condensed milk.
You probably already have a recipe like this, I found it once on a can of sweetened condensed milk (SCM) although my smudgy card says I got it from Good Housekeeping and Home Ec. class, which I’ve adapted over the years. I thought it was a never-fail recipe until this last Christmas.
I opened a can of the above named milk which had been in my pantry all year and it looked funny. Not creamy, it was more the color of caramel. I didn’t think it had actually spoiled, and it had not, just changed consistency. But I was desperate and already had all the other ingredients in the pan so I thought I would see if it would work. Baked at 350 degrees, even if it had spoiled, it wouldn’t kill anybody. Right?
Meanwhile, I had bought a fresh can of SCM in early December, thinking I would make another batch if those didn’t go over so well. But my husband ate them without complaining even though they were less than stellar. I didn’t have the nerve to take them to a party.
So this week (learning from my mistake that SCM eventually changes its consistency) I made another batch for some impromptu Monday night company. Still warmish from the oven, they were so rich and satisfying you could eat just one and be happy.
One Dish “Magic” Cookie Bars
1 stick butter or margarine
1 ½ cups graham cracker crumbs
1 cup chopped nuts (I use pecans)
1 cup chocolate chips (or butterscotch)
1 cup shredded coconut (I buy it in a bag)
1 15 oz can sweetened condensed milk.
Melt butter in a 9 x 12 “ cake pan in a 350 degree oven, watching carefully so it doesn’t brown. Meanwhile, crush about ¾ of one package of graham crackers in an old bread bag with a rolling pin until you have 1 ½ cups of crumbs; spread this into the melted butter in the pan, smoothing out to make a nice crumb crust.
Sprinkle nuts over crumb/butter mixture, then chocolate chips, then coconut, and top by drizzling the sweetened condensed milk over it (honestly this is the hardest part, pour slowly, and spread lightly with spatula or knife if necessary. It also melts and spreads on its own in the oven).
Bake for 25 minutes. Cool for 15 minutes, then cut into bars. Be sure to cut and remove within15 minutes or they stick badly to pan.
Do you make these? What are your variations? What is your favorite one-dirty-dish creation?
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The Christmas tree is down and hauled to the woods (or curb or landfill). Epiphany symbols (wisemen, Baby Jesus) are all put away.
There is still one Christmasy thing sitting on my dining room table (besides the poinsettia which I can’t bear to part with until it is totally bedraggled).
A sleigh full of Christmas cards and greetings.
This is one of my new favorite after-Christmas tradition, that I began when I realized we never really took much time to read and savor the messages of friends and family who had bothered to send Christmas cards. We still appreciate and participate in that custom ourselves, sending a lighthearted picture-filled letter called The Davis Gazette—that always has at least a short line of handwritten personal greeting.
The Davis Gazette, 2013
Pre-Christmas days find me decorating and shopping and wrapping and baking and barely having time to give cards we receive a quick once over before mounting them intertwined with ribbon around the front doorway.
So one year in January we began taking time to read the cards again right before our evening meal, and then including whoever sent the card in our mealtime prayer—asking God to be especially with them and mentioning any particular needs if we are aware of them.
I love the way this simple pause carries the love and beauty of the season into the long and sometimes lonesome days of winter, connecting us with friends and far flung family.
Some of the cards are truly beautiful works of art. Some of the cards include lovely new family photos.
All are great to linger over just a bit and then tuck away in the sleigh where they await recycling in a later year.
So, if you sent us a card, you will be prayed for and thought of sometime in the next 30-40 days. And if you haven’t put your cards away yet, you can still start this little “tradition.”
“Every time I think of you, I give thanks to my God. I always pray for you, and I make my requests with a heart full of joy.” Philippians 1:3-4
What do you do to carry the joys of the Christmas season through January?
Harmony. Balance. Center. Agreement. Accord. Synchronization. Bringing Together.
These are all words we use to talk about a principle that is bedrock for my life and this blog.
Recently I ran across a Bible reference that stood up and said “That could be a theme verse for your blog if you need one.”
“May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, so that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.” Romans 15:5, 6
As I reflect on this verse and think about harmony seekers in my life, the world, or history, I realize that those who stand up for justice and peace do not always arrive at these goals through inner-peace-producing methods. I was reminded of us this hearing Dr. David Evans of Eastern Mennonite Seminary speak convincingly on our local news broadcast saying that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was not just a nice black preacher with a poetic dream. He reminded us that we’ve “domesticated” the legacy of King into a nice story forgetting that at the time, King, obviously, angered and upset many people.
Jesus also said he did not come to bring peace but a sword:
“Do not think that I came to bring peace on earth. I did not come to bring peace but a sword. For I have come to ‘set a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law’; and ‘a man’s enemies will be those of his own household.’[a] He who loves father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me. And he who loves son or daughter more than Me is not worthy of Me. And he who does not take his cross and follow after Me is not worthy of Me.” Matthew 10: 34-37
The quote within the quote here is referencing the origins of Jesus’ line from Micah 7:6.
Jesus and Dr. King er, uh, both were assassinated by the way. Nothing too harmonious there. Many of the early Christians and Anabaptist leaders of my own faith heritage were tortured and killed for standing up for their beliefs. They did not gain peace and harmony with authorities. They left their families in grief and discord, but followed the difficult way of God’s call.
These are not things we often hear about in sermons and especially not on Martin Luther King Jr. Sunday weekends.
The larger goal for both these men, though, were ultimately bringing about inner peace and justice with God, and between humans.
So how and why should we seek harmony?
1. To keep ourselves together.
2. To keep our families together.
3. To cross fences and build bridges in communities.
4. To reach across great ideological (political, theological) gaps for whatever common threads of similarity we can find.
However, we can’t do these things with just a kiss and a patch. No lasting fence or bridge or treaty holds without getting to bedrock to deal with the very real differences between us, to listen to each other and find understanding. That takes a commitment to love that goes beyond differences.
It is the principle for which both these men, and many other men and women throughout history, have given their lives.
Who or what brings harmony in your life? How do you seek peace?
For more on where I get some of my genes leaning toward harmony and peace, read this on my dad.
findingharmonyblog 