Plain Wisdom (20 page)

For those who believed for a miraculous healing but didn’t receive one,
nevertheless
offers strength and hope anyway.

For those who’ve experienced a tragedy that left them at odds with everything and everyone, including God,
nevertheless
offers reconciliation with Him.

We live on a fallen planet that we don’t understand and can’t accept much of the time. Nevertheless, God is on our side. He is for us and not against us. And whether or not we understand what’s happening in our world or in the world around us, we can choose to say, “Nevertheless, God is my strength, as well as my yesterday, today, and tomorrow.”

Life hurts. Nevertheless, it is a gift worth honoring.

Believing in
nevertheless
may seem childlike. But Matthew 18:4 tells us how Jesus felt about the humility of a child.

The Nevertheless Principle gives me peace. It offers me faith that reaches beyond my understanding, beyond my emotions, beyond my fears.
Nevertheless
says, “I don’t have to understand; I believe anyway.”

From Miriam

Losing a loved one can be devastating. Some people take years to overcome the loss. Some never fully recover. Yet death is as much a part of life as life itself.

Precious memories are the greatest inheritance anyone could leave behind. They can never be lost or stolen but can be recalled and cherished and shared for years.

In 2005 we lost a dear aunt to cancer. Acceptance didn’t come easy. But trusting that she was with the Lord and reveling in our fond remembrances of her helped ease the pain. Aunt Becky was one of the most cheerful people I’ve ever known, naturally spreading sunshine and happiness to those around her.

Aunt Becky was also known for her delicious sweet dinner rolls, which she often made for church gatherings. They were a mouth-watering treat. She baked them in pie pans to a perfect golden brown and shaped them in a way that reminded me of honeycomb. They probably had a real name at one time, but to this day everyone in the family just calls them Aunt Becky’s dinner rolls.

In the ever-changing seasons of life, death is inevitable. Since remembering the loved one’s life can be such a comfort, it is important that we
strive to make good memories while we’re alive. That way we strengthen those who are left to deal with the grief. Nevertheless, we will meet again in eternity and experience Aunt Becky’s warmth.

As the sun was setting, Amanda was mowing the last few rounds of grass with the reel mower, determined to finish before dark. Seeing something unusual blinking in the grass, she stopped and bent down to pick it up. To her dismay she realized she had run over a firefly, and the reel mower had cut off part of its wing. Saddened, Amanda brought the lightning bug to me.

“Look, Mom,” she said. “He just keeps on blinking. He’s crippled, but his light keeps on shining.”

I immediately thought of our English friend Gary, who twenty-some years ago was critically injured in a farming accident. He wasn’t expected to live, but he survived. The doctor said he’d never walk again, but he’s still walking today.

His life has certainly not been easy. He endures more pain in a month than most people do in a lifetime. Yet he rarely complains and will go the extra mile for anyone.

His circumstances would cause many people to give up on life and give up on God. But Gary continually blesses those around him. His light shines on in the midst of darkness.

I was almost fifteen when my family moved from Maryland to Alabama. Emotionally, we found it to be the hardest move we’d ever made. My dad was traveling more than ever, and my mom had severe allergies that showed up practically overnight—due to the region or the fixer-upper we’d bought or both. She had constant headaches, but she faced each day determined not to let them stop her from doing what needed to be done. There were just three of us kids by then because Kathy had married the year before we moved. We missed the friends we’d left behind and our sister, but we took our mom’s lead and remained hopeful.

One day I noticed that my special-needs brother, Leston, had bled in the shower and on the bathroom floor. I told my mom, and she took him to the doctor, where the tests resulted in a confusing array of diagnoses. After a few weeks the team of doctors thought they’d identified the issue and so performed corrective surgery.

After the procedure Leston developed blood clots and had to be given blood thinner, but that caused him to seep a lot of blood from the incision area. Within days he was in ICU, fighting for his life.

For weeks my mom stayed at the hospital every night and came home each morning to get my brother Mark and me off to school. She then grabbed a shower, prepared after-school snacks, and headed back. My dad had to keep working, but when he wasn’t traveling, he helped make dinners, pick up groceries, and do dishes. He also insisted that Mark and I focus at school and during homework time.

I was the typical youngest child, and suddenly I needed to carry responsibility and be proactively helpful. But I just wanted our old life back—the one we’d left in Maryland, where I had friends and an intact family.

Finally my brother began to get better, and when Mom came home with him, she wasn’t the same woman who’d left. Leston might not survive, but even if he did, he faced long months of recuperation before he could bathe, dress, or get to the restroom on his own. Mom had always
been strong and patient and had filled our home with constant humming. Now silence reigned. She had no smile. When the phone rang, she jolted. Her sense of humor had been stolen, and she easily raised her voice.

Leston wanted to eat, but he fought and fussed about the mandated diet of baby food. One day he and Mom argued so much she stormed out of his bedroom, slamming the door. He threw his food tray at the door. Mom stalked out of the house and to the shed. I’d seen her go there a few times that week, but this time I followed her.

She stood just inside the door, her face buried in her hands, weeping. I hugged her tight. My insides quaked with fear that if Leston didn’t survive, neither would Mom.

We talked for several minutes. I questioned her stooping to his level and arguing with him. She agreed that I had a point and apologized for not handling herself better. I assured her that she didn’t have to be perfect, that I would always love her, that we all would.

As we walked back to the house, she put her arm around my shoulders and thanked me. I hadn’t done anything except let her know I cared. But somehow those few words, even though mixed with gentle correction from a teen, brought light and hope into her weary heart.

When we went into Leston’s room, Mark had cleaned up the mess and was sitting on Leston’s bed with two spoons in a fresh bowl of baby food.

Mark took a bite. “This isn’t bad. You guys should try it.”

Leston looked at Mom, picked up the other spoon, and ate a small mouthful of the baby food. “He’s right. It’s not that bad.”

Some family arguments are necessary, and they can be the beginning of seeing another person’s point of view. Arguing is often one person trying to get a message through to the other—one person’s light trying to get past the darkened understanding of the other. The odd and beautiful thing is that each person caught in the argument may have a light that needs to penetrate the other’s area of darkness.

Horse-drawn buggies lined the fence outside our one-room schoolhouse. Inside, dozens of paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling on seemingly invisible strings, swaying as cold gusts of air swept through the door each time another family arrived for the Christmas program.

Everyone settled into the students’ chairs, and a hush fell over the room as nervous scholars began to perform. Seeing the innocent faces of children as they sang Christmas hymns, recited original poems, and acted out their play put the true holiday spirit in each person’s heart.

When the performance ended and the teacher tapped the bell to dismiss everyone, the room went from order to chaos. As children lined up for refreshments, the parents visited. I was making a mental list of Christmas preparations that needed to be done the minute I got home when I noticed murmurs of shock spreading through the room. My husband sought me out and explained that my cousin’s house was burning. The gas refrigerator had exploded. He told me to take the children home in the horse and buggy; he would head to the fire with the rest of the men.

Once at home I could think of little else but my cousin and her family of eight children. I had to be there. So I walked to the home of an English friend, Vanessa, and asked her to drive me.

Heavy smoke hung in the air. The land where my cousin’s house had once stood was now a deep, black, smoldering pit. Choking back tears, I greeted some of the family who stood huddled together, watching.

Fire trucks and personnel were everywhere. Despite their best efforts, the house and all the family’s belongings had gone up in flames or suffered irreparable water damage. But, thankfully, no one was hurt. The family had been at their own school program when the fire started.

Family, friends, and neighbors cleaned out the three-bay buggy shed (the Amish version of a three-car garage) to serve as temporary living quarters. A pickup arrived with beds. Someone delivered an RV for additional sleeping quarters.

The community spirit of service over the next four weeks was truly amazing. But what touched my heart even more was the help that came from our English neighbors and friends. A local lumber company gave the family huge discounts on many supplies for the new house and even donated some items. Credit accounts were set up at the bank and at Rachel’s Country Store so people could donate funds for furniture, appliances, housewares, and material for new clothes. A local driver provided a month of free trips. Ladies from Mowersville Brethren in Christ Church provided meals for the carpenters. Schwan’s delivered ice cream at no charge. Even the unopened Christmas gifts for the children were replaced, and many more came in time for the holidays.

Approximately twenty working days after the fire, the grateful family moved into their new, fully furnished, and stocked home.

I feel blessed to live in a community where there is such unity. And I hope that our simple way of life is not a burden to our English neighbors. I’d like to think that we are as much a blessing to them as they are to us.

As opportunities arise, we need to search for ways to help those in
need, overlooking differences in color or culture and concentrating on what we have in common: the same heavenly Father.