A View from the Buggy (9 page)

“Look,” he said, taking up a stick. “You don't want to touch them the first couple of weeks. You might make the mother reject them.” He prodded in the fur, revealing the squirming pink bodies.

I smiled. “The rabbits might not be the only ones who have babies. I think Queeny's about ready to deliver too.”

“We might have a baby calf ?” Jeffery exclaimed. “May I go with you to see them?”

“Better not,” I cautioned. “Cows can get aggressive when they have a newborn.”

Disappointment filled Jeffery's face. With that I left the boys to finish their other chores and found my cattle prod. I always took the white fiberglass stick with me when checking on cows. The beef cows were generally docile, but when they have newborns they could turn protective.

I reached the corner of the field where Queeny lay. I couldn't see if there was a calf beside her. I moved closer and Queeny stood to her feet.

“Yep,” I said out loud, “she's got a calf.” The little thing was as black as its mother.

Queeny mooed nervously and began to lick her calf. I was 20 feet away or so, and she eyed me, blowing through her nose. I could tell she didn't like my presence in the least.

“Hey, Queeny,” I spoke softly. “You've got a nice calf there. I'd like to take a look at it.”

I watched for any signs of aggression. If she lowered her head or took a step toward me, I was out of there. So far she just glared at me. I paused and assessed the situation, all while continuing to speak gently to her. She even seemed to calm down a bit.

I took another couple of steps to test her, always keeping the calf between us. I knew she would either begin to move away with the calf or put herself between the calf and me. And then I would be leaving.

Thankfully she turned and mooed for the calf to follow. I moved on up. Queeny had done a good job of drying it. I lifted the calf 's tail to discover it was a bull. The calf leaped into the air, running to its mother. Queeny mooed softly, washing it again with her rough tongue.

It always amazes me how agile a newborn calf can be so soon after birth. I could tell this one had definitely been on its feet before I arrived. But had it sucked? Without nourishment it would not survive the cold night. And if a calf didn't get that milk within the first six hours its chance for survival became slim.

I took a guess that the calf must be three hours old, and it kept bumping the side of Queeny's flank looking in vain for nourishment.

I moved closer. Maybe Queeny would allow me to help the calf, but no, she took off, pacing away from me. The calf trotted along behind her.

Frustration raced through me. Queeny stopped some ten yards from me and turned her attention to her calf again. By now the darkness was falling fast, and I turned on my headlamp. It seemed the sun had slipped behind a wall. There was little lingering daylight as there had been during the summer months.

I approached Queeny again. The calf was still bumping around trying to find the source of nourishment. I kept speaking words of encouragement. Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer. I would have to get Queeny and the calf into the corral and show the calf where to get the milk. I had done this before, and it was never an easy task. Usually any attempts to get the mother inside turned her into a raging monster.

“Lord God,” I prayed, “You made the cow and the calf. Only You
can make that calf suck without my intervention. Please, if it is Your will, show the calf where to find the milk.”

I let out a long breath as my frustration melted away. In its place came a calmness. I turned my headlamp on the calf and adjusted it to see better. Sure enough, the calf was now sucking. Queeny was reaching back and licking the best she could. She appeared as relieved as I was.

Looking up into the stars I said, “Thank You, Lord. You care about us—even our little problems.”

With one last glance at the twinkling lights above me, I headed back toward the barn. My thoughts went back to a time when I wouldn't have sought God's help. In those days I even wondered whether God existed. Yet it was on an evening like this that God had reached me.

Up until my early teens, my Amish experience had been typical. Growing up and enjoying the community. When I was 14, my parents left to join a more liberal church. They called it a spirit-led and spirit-filled group. I joined in willingly, thinking we were on to something good.

As time went on we laid Scripture aside and depended heavily on spiritual revelations for guidance. Confusion reigned as revelations were given to our leader. He even had a revelation that only he was qualified to read the Bible. Any member caught reading the Scriptures was sharply reprimanded.

Sinful practices were now revealed as acceptable to God. And since our leader's wife had died, my brother and I moved in with him—all by “spirit revelation.”

I was to endure a great despondency in that living arrangement. And one evening I went outside feeling especially low. I couldn't stand the man who was our leader anymore. I hated what he was doing to me. I felt trapped. Defiled. But this was supposedly God's will.

I stared into the dark night, longing for peace. The sky was full of twinkling stars that evening.

“My life is so messed up,” I muttered. My stomach lurched at the thought of what our leader would ask of me later in the night. I hated
him. Yet I couldn't sort out my angry feelings. One moment I was angry at him; the next I was angry at God.

On sudden impulse I cried out to the heavens, “If there is a God who loves me, show me!”

Instantly a meteor blazed across the sky.

Was this real or a coincidence? I wondered. I had prayed a desperate prayer, but I hadn't expected an answer.

I must make sure,
I told myself. Slowly I lifted my face, and whispered the same prayer, “If there is a God that loves me, show me!”

The second meteorite seemed to take the words right out of my mouth.

I wondered in amazement. Did God really love me? My heart pounded against my ribs, but I had to know. I prayed again, and there was a third meteorite. This time the meteorite exploded in the midst of the twinkling stars, forever impressing in my heart the love of God.

I believed that night, and the road back wasn't easy. But God helped me.

So that was the background of my prayer the night of the calf 's birth. And now, at peace, I entered the barn to finish my chores and join my family for supper.

Yes, I mused, God does truly bless those who believe on Him, and He gives them a peace that surpasses understanding.

The Beginning of My Journey

Miriam Schwartz

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters (Psalm 23:2).

I
GROANED WEAKLY
,
FLOPPING ON OUR HOMEMADE LOUNGE
. “M
OM
, I don't feel well!”

So began 2005 and my journey toward a serious illness. We came from the Amish church in Berne, Indiana, whose
Ordnung
forbade such things as stuffed couches and recliners. So my resting place that day was our lounge—as we called it. It was really a foldout English bed with a headboard. We folded it up and made a homemade cushion for it, and that was our lounge.

We lived one day at a time, committing each day to God, not knowing what He had in store for us in the months ahead. But we trusted Him.

I was nine years old that year, and still in school. We thought my getting sick on the first of March must be due to one of those unwelcome flu bugs going around. But it was not so.

While I lay on the lounge my thoughts started running.
I'm not sick
, I told myself.
I feel perfectly okay. So why am I lying here? I should get up and join my family who are having a lively time at the supper table. But, oh…I feel so weak!

I realized how weak I actually was while trying to get up. So I flopped back down and softly cried myself to sleep. Upon my awakening, Mom offered me a sandwich, but thinking about food made me want to throw up. But both of my parents told me I had to eat a little something to keep my strength up. Gagging, I got two bites of my usually favorite sandwich (peanut butter and strawberry jam) down my throat before giving up.

From then on, every day I got worse and eventually Mom began to get alarmed. “What do you suppose is wrong with her?” she asked Dad one evening.

“Oh, it's probably just the flu that's going around,” Dad answered casually.

I awoke the next morning to a supposed fresh start. I felt quite a bit better and crept downstairs to find everyone except little Melvin Jr. ready to eat breakfast. Slipping in beside my younger sister on the bench, I asked my parents why they hadn't woken me.

No one said anything, so I asked, “May I go to school today?”

“Miriam,” Dad said sadly, “you don't look well enough to go.”

How heartbreaking! And on my way downstairs I had been rejoicing that I felt well enough for school. I had already missed the whole week. What I didn't realize until I heard Dad and Mom talking about me later in the day was that my skin appeared shrunken on my face and I had a bluish tint.

By forenoon, Mom asked me if I'd be able to walk the half mile down the road to Grandpa Wengerd's place. They were Mom's parents, and she needed to give Grandma her bath. Grandma had been an invalid for six years from several stokes that had paralyzed her left side. She also had diabetes and couldn't take care of herself, and was thus dependent on her husband and children.

I agreed, since Grandma was very special to me. Mom's youngest brother, Johnny, had married Marianna Schwartz, and they lived in the big house while Grandpa and Grandma were nestled in the
dawdy haus
.

We set out walking with Mom pulling our flyer wagon. Melvin Jr. at four years old considered himself too big for a wagon ride. So when I, his big sister, climbed on the wagon a quarter mile down the road, Melvin Jr. thought this very funny. He marched along beside Mom, glancing back every so often at me and jumping up and down with glee.

When we arrived, Melvin Jr. soon forgot about me. Grandpa gave him some of his bubblegum—which was Grandpa's usual custom when grandchildren came. I didn't want any, as my jaws felt too stiff to even think of chewing gum.

Mom quickly gave Grandma her bath so we could be on our way
home. I was in extreme distress by then, and very uncomfortable. I didn't know what I wanted. It seemed like I wanted something badly, but couldn't get it.

Mom had one more quick stop at Johnny's house. She had to pass on some news before we could go on home.

My, my
, I thought.
Will they ever get done talking?
I could hardly stand anymore. It felt like someone was pulling me down to the ground. Mom must have noticed that I was getting pale and trying to keep my balance, because I was quickly offered a chair. I gratefully sat down and put my head on the table.

Marianna asked Mom, “Have you ever thought of her being diabetic?”

“No,” Mom said.

“Then let's check her blood sugar with Grandma's meter,” Marianna suggested.

Mom ran over to Grandpa's and returned with the meter. We returned home first before Mom tested my blood sugar. Against my will, I have to admit. I thought the poke of the needle would hurt too much.

Panic seized Mom when she saw that the meter tested over 400. Dropping everything in her tracks, Mom ran all the way back to Grandpa's with the meter to show them. Rushing into the house, white as a sheet, Mom shoved the meter under Grandma's nose.

Staring crookedly at her, Grandma asked, “What's that all about?”

Mom told them, and Grandpa ran to the neighbor's to use the closest phone. Grandpa called Melvin, who drove us Amish people around sometimes, and in what seemed only a few minutes I was at the emergency room of the hospital.

“It's a wonder she isn't in a coma,” the emergency staff told my parents. “You can be thankful you brought her in when you did.”

I was soon stabilized enough so I could be sent on to the Lutheran Children's hospital, where I stayed for three days. They did a lot of blood tests until I was in tears, wondering when it all would end.

“Du bist okay,”
Mom would comfort me, repeating often, “you'll be okay.” All the while holding me tight. In my pain Mom told me how
Jesus had also suffered pain by going on the cross so we could have eternal life. It was comforting for me to know that Jesus was there with me in my physical and mental pain.

I left the hospital for my new journey in life as a diabetic. The future appeared uncertain, but by trusting in the Lord not to give me more to bear than I was able, I traveled on.

Next March it will be eight years since then, and life has not been without its struggles. Yet I have been blessed beyond words with caring friends and concerned doctors. Thanks to all who have helped me in these areas. And may God, the only True One, be honored and glorified.

The Continuing of My Journey