STORIES: Boring or inspiring?

One day when he joined my immediate family for a picnic in the park, my maternal Grandfather told a few stories. He was apologetic afterward believing that we would not be interested in hearing stories from an 'old man'. I can't speak for my brothers but I loved them. I wish that we would have encouraged him to tell us many more stories about his life and the life of his family.

In September, I’m going to visit my family in Ontario for a few weeks. I have started a list of the stories that I want my mom to tell me so that I can write about them. You've heard about

the difference between Mennonite religion and culture. I've also given you a picture of Sunday afternoons in the colonies. Since I’ve told you about weddings, I thought it might be interesting to have an explanation of the dating ‘rituals’ that preceded the tjast.

Mom has told me in the past about the process of baking for a family of 17 in an outdoor oven. That and other stories of growing up in a family of that size without the benefits of electricity and automobiles are bound to be stories of interest.

I also want to get the story behind a wonderful photo that I have of her brothers building a whole outdoor miniature village which they played with for days (partial photo posted here).

Other stories will emerge as well, I'm sure. And perhaps photos out of the ‘archives’ to go along with them.

Stories...definitely inspiring!

The Proverbial Closet

Almost every morning I wake up and say, ‘This is the day that the LORD has made, I will rejoice and be glad it in.' It’s not because I’m so pious or naturally joyful!! In fact I have a tendency to see the glass half empty and lean towards the critical if I’m not careful. So, I need to make that daily commitment of choosing my attitude...and even then my halo sometimes slips during the day.

A few days ago, I added a new wake up phrase.

In all the times that I’ve read Proverbs 31 I’ve not taken any particular note of verse 25 but as I read it this past week, it stuck with me. In my New American Standard Bible it reads:

Strength and dignity are her clothing, And she smiles at the future.

I love that! Yes! So every morning when I go to the proverbial (pun intended) closet, I know exactly what I'm going to wear...

Clothed with strength, i.e., power over changes of earthly circumstances, which can easily shatter and bring to ruin if ones foundation isn’t solid.

Clothed with dignity, i.e., being worthy of honor or respect; having self respect.

This garment of powerful strength and true dignity allows me to look confidently into the future, and arms me against all sorrow and care.

Just for today, I can find the strength that I need for whatever I will face, and I can carry myself with dignity in the midst of it. Clothed with strength and dignity I can face the future with a smile…

Now, how many days does it take again to build a habit??

KEEP SMILING...

DO WHAT YOU LOVE? CONTEXT MATTERS...

I've enjoyed following Keith Jennings' blog for awhile now. Here is a portion of today's writing:

Context matters.

Whether you are starting out in your career, re-starting your career, or just plain stuck in a rut, don’t waste time trying to “do what you love.”

Instead, start by doing something out of your love for others. Serve them. Help them make money. Or save money. Or save time. Or save energy. Or protect something or someone. Or feel a certain way about themselves. Actually try to do all these!

You will find your success through others’ success.

And you will discover a career you’ll love through your love for others.

Click here to read the full blog.

Velafnis, Tjast and an obsolete kissing song...

Wedding plans being made in my presence for the past few months got me thinking of things that I’ve heard my parents speak of concerning their younger years in an Old Colony Mennonite setting. The following information was relayed to me by my mom.

Velafnis (pronounced like ‘falafel’…falafnis) was an engagement event that happened a week prior to the Tjast (wedding)

On the Thursday prior to Velafnis, children from every home in the village were sent to the home of the bride with butter and milk.

Friday morning all the single girls young and old arrived with kneading bowl in
hand to prepare the dough for ‘kringle’ (photo on right) and buns. After this, all but two of the girls went home. The two girls went around the village to deliver a portion of the dough to each home. This was then prepared, baked and the completed bread returned to the Velafnis site in the evening.

A big cauldron called a ‘Mieagropen’ (or ‘Mieagrope’ if you’re from ‘jant sied’) was used to cook the Plümemoos (cold plum soup). Also, after the men slaughtered the ‘Beest’…the beef was cooked and taken out of the broth to chill. It would be served cold at the Velafnis. The broth was then used to make a Mieagropen of Kommst Borscht.

On Saturday morning, two boys with hay box wagons and horses collected tables, benches and chairs from everyone in the village. The Velafnis home was cleared out to make room for their arrival.

If the groom was from another village he was chauffeured to the Velafnis site in the morning. The whole village as well as relatives from far and wide arrived for the noon time meal by horse and buggy. Valet service was provided. Since not all the buggy's would fit on the yard, they were taken to other areas for the day and brought back when people were ready to leave.

Then the eating and socialization began. The older girls would serve tables, clearing and replacing dishes with clean ones. The younger girls washed them.

The young people congregated in the brootlied (bridal) room and parents socialized in the ‘Big Room’ ie. Living room. After the meal, the young people were invited into the room where the parents were. Two songs were sung from the old Gesang Buch (song book). After Faspa (mid –afternoon snack) was eaten there was another song from the Gesang Buch.

Only the jugend (young people) stayed for the evening meal. At one time the jugend would then go back into the bridal room where a Kuss Lied (kissing song) was sung as the couple kissed. This was no longer done when my parents were married because it caused a stir with church leadership.

On Sunday of that weekend the couple was ‘uptjeboaden’(banns of marriage).

The week between the Velafnis and Tjast meant that the engaged couple travelled to the homes of all the relatives and villagers to pick up gifts like a measure of material, tea set, or towels. It the relatives lived outside the village the couple may be served a meal as well.

The tjast (wedding) followed the next Sunday’s church service. Immediately after the service, the congregation was invited to say while the couple, both dressed in black, sat in front of the podium for a brief ceremony. No rings. No fanfare.

The newlywed couple usually lived with the husband’s family initially, sometimes with the wife's family.

Monday was back to work as usual.

(You might also enjoy 'Sawdust, Knackzoot and Faspa')

Sawdust, Knacksot and Faspa…

Saturday was a day for cleaning and getting everything ready for Sunday. Fresh Soagespoohn (sawdust) strewn across the freshly cleaned floors signified the end of a productive day. The sawdust kept the floors clean from dust longer.

Sunday was visiting day. Families either sat at home waiting for another family to come onto the yard. Or they drove around to other people’s places until they found someone at home. Traditionally, they sat in their vehicle until the host noticed them and came out to invite them in.

If you happened to be staying at home this particular week, you would have your meddachschlop (mid-day sleep aka nap) right after lunch while slowly roasting the knacksot (sunflower seeds) in the oven in preparation for guests that could potentially arrive mid-afternoon.

My mom tells me that this did not happen in her family, but in many homes the men settled into one room while the women were in another. The men were heard to chat about community events and farming; the host may show the men around the farm. The women talked about homelife, children, and about who had been ill or had passed away.

Both the front room (living room) and kitchen held big bowls of the roasted knacksot. The men would put large amounts into the pockets of their pants, and the women would place them onto a handkerchief in their laps. Many a person would stuff their cheeks with the knacksot, and shell them one by one with their front teeth, gently pushing the shell to just below the lower lip letting them all gather on the chin until they fell down to the floor on their own. Others sent shells flying right onto the floor to mix with the sawdust. Children enjoyed the crunch crunch crunch of this Sunday ‘carpet’ as they ran in and out of the room while playing.

Around four o’clock the faspa (light Sunday afternoon meal) would begin. The men ate first while the women served. Everything sat ready in the kohma (pantry room off the kitchen): the buns, kringle, Zockastetja (sugar cubes), freshly churned butter, suppsel (plum jam mostly), brown and white cookies with coffee. The Zockastetja were dunked in coffee and eaten with the buns.

When it was their turn to eat, the women took the spot that their husband had vacated and ate off of the same dishes. And, of course, the women continued their visiting while cleaning off the tables and washing dishes.

Sweeping up the Soagespoohn mixed with knacksot shells after the events of the day scrubbed the floor clean. Another weekend done.

Monday was laundry day…

Check out the blog post that inspired this post:">"No Cheese or Baked Goods Have ever Been Baptized into a Mennonite Church" ...You might also enjoy Velafnis, Tjast and an Obsolete Kissing Song.

It's Wise to Think alot about Death?

Focusing on death would seem to make one a morbid person to our natural way of thinking.

But look at what I found recently in preparing for a presentation on grief. Ecclesiastes 7:3-4 (nlt) says: "Sorrow is better than laughter, for sadness has a refining influence on us. A wise person thinks a lot about death, while a fool thinks only about having a good time."

Really?

Shortly after this, I went to see a theatre production of ‘Tuesdays with Morrie.’ at Gallery 7. In short, it is about a journalist’s weekly visits with his dying professor. Morrie feels that people refuse to believe that they will one day die. As a result, they have many regrets as death comes closer because they have not lived their lives as fully as they would have liked. Morrie says, "The truth is . . . once you learn how to die, you learn how to live." Morrie wants Mitch, the journalist, to see how he can appreciate the smaller, more genuine things in life, knowing that his death is approaching. I thought this spoke to what the writer of Ecclesiastes was saying in part.

Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live. ~Norman Cousins.

Some people are so afraid to die that they never begin to live. ~Henry Van Dyke

AND

Death never takes the wise man by surprise; He is always ready to go. ~Jean de La Fontaine

For the Christian, it goes beyond learning to live well here on this earth. We also live in the assurance of what comes after this life. Death need hold no fear because Christ has won the victory over the grave in His death and resurrection. So physical death takes us into the presence of our Saviour with whom we live forever.

“The day which we fear as our last is but the birthday of eternity.” ~Seneca

We live because He died and rose again. Hallelujah!

Precious Little Hands...

I have a vivid picture in my mind of an event and I hope that I can do it justice in ‘painting’ it for you.

Two love seats and one large comfy chair…one of us seated on each with my big black cat taking up residence on the arm of the chair that my friend is in. My friends ‘daughter’ is seated on a love seat, happily sipping (gulping is perhaps a better description) her glass of cranberry juice. I’m seated on the other love seat closer to my friend as we chat about some things going on in our lives. Soon there are tears flowing (well, we’re women after all…)

As the tears start to flow, the daughter puts down her glass and comes over to gently pat the face of her ‘mom’, wipe the tears and give her a hug. She then sits back down. We continue to talk. After a time my friend and I decide to pray. I reach my hands across to her and we join hands, close our eyes and begin to talk to God. Suddenly we feel small hands touching ours, hands that are wanting into the circle of prayer.

Did I mention that my friend’s ‘daughter’ is a woman with Down’s Syndrome? She's all of 4 feet high and when asked how old she is, she says that she's 8 but really she's closer to our age. Like my ‘daughters’, my friend did not give birth to this precious gal but for all the reciprocal love that is there she might as well have.

So, of course we each joined a hand to one of her hands, with fresh tears in our eyes and continued to pray. This picture is still vivid in my mind's eye.


I’ve seen writers like Henri Nouwen and Mike Yaconelli speak of how much individuals like this ‘daughter’ have had to teach them. Both of these men speak of spiritual awakenings and growth as a result of such relationships. I can attest to that in my own life.

I am so blessed to have relationships with many a person with a ‘disability’ whose 'ability' to love openly and unconditionally is often much greater than my own.