In Memory

The tide recedes and leaves behind bright seashells on the sand,

The sun goes down, but gentle warmth still lingers on the land,

The music stops! And yet, it echoes in sweet refrain.

For every joy that passes, something beautiful remains.

(John Bossert)

Today Steve would be 32. I can't quite picture him that age. He died about seven weeks after his eighteenth birthday. To me, he is forever 18. I am thankful for the eighteen years we had him with us. Today I will savor the beautiful memories that are mine to treasure forever.

Barbarians and Scythians

In Colossians 3, Paul talks about the unity of believers in Christ. Verse 11 says, "Where there is neither Greek nor Jew, circumcision nor uncircumcision, Barbarian, Scythian, bond nor free; but Christ is all, and in all."
This verse is so familiar, I'm afraid we read over it without understanding all the words. Two questions--
1. Who were the Barbarians and Scythians? I'll give you one clue. They are not opposites. Notice the words are separated only by a comma and the word "nor" is not used as in the other pairs of words.
2. In Paul's day, where did the Barbarians and Scythians live? Since the words are capitalized, they are not general terms but refer to people of a particular region.
Post your answers to these questions. I'd like to see if you come to the same conclusion I have.

John Donne

Last week I was reading some of the works of John Donne (1572-1631), the most outstanding of the English Metaphysical Poets. Meditation XVII from Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions contains the often-quoted line, "No man is an island." Being a lover of books, I was impressed with the beauty of another part of that piece.

All mankind is of one Author and is one volume;
When one dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book,
But translated into a better language;
And every chapter must be so translated;
God employs several translators;
Some pieces are translated by age,
Some by sickness, some by war, some by justice;
But God's Hand is in every translation,
And His Hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again,
For that library where every book
Shall lie open to one another.

Signatures

Researching family history is one of my hobbies. I have read that forty percent of Caucasians in the United States can trace their ancestry to Pennsylvania. I don't know how the writer of that article arrived at that figure, but the more I study genealogy the more I am inclined to believe it. Many of the Mennonite names in the nation today can be traced back to Lancaster County.
Last week I spent a day at the courthouse in Lancaster. That place is a virtual treasure chest of old documents dating back to the beginning of the county in 1729. One of the things I was looking for this time was the original German will of Peter Good, written in 1753. I had a copy of the English translation of the will but wanted to see the German one in order to compare Peter's signature with the one he wrote on the ship list when he immigrated in 1727. The German wills are kept in a balcony area over the will books in the Archives. The attendant brought it down for me and I immediately saw the signature, although not totally identical, was similar enough to believe it was written by the same hand.
Colonial German handwriting can be hard to decipher because the letters are not always written the same way they are written in English. Here are three signatures from the witnesses of Peter Good's will. (His two sons and a brother.) Can you read them?

Jacob Gut, Christian Gut, Peter Gutt

If I didn't know they were all farmers, I could believe they were doctors. I know some people today whose signatures bear little resemblance to their names---and they aren't doctors either. Will your descendants be able to read your signature 250 years from now?

Frost on the Pumpkin

We had our first frost on Monday morning, which was nearly three weeks later than the average date of October 10. It was not a hard freeze, but there definitely was frost on the pumpkins. A few of them are too green, but I brought in three that are far enough along to believe they will finish ripening on the patio.
That pumpkin vine was a volunteer that came up from a seed I had thrown out with last year's garbage. It grew like crazy, took over about a third of the garden, and blessed us with 20 big neck pumpkins. The vine is black and dead now, so if I can find homes for the last five pumpkins we will be out of business. Meanwhile, we are eating lots of things made with pumpkin. We've had pumpkin pie, pumpkin cake, pumpkin bars. Tonight's dessert is Pumpkin Parfait--a concoction made of a cooked and cooled pumpkin mixture with meringue and cool whip folded in to make it fluffy.
Seeing frost on the pumpkins reminded me of the way one of our little boys recited that familiar line from James Whitcomb Riley's poem--"the frost is on the pumpkin and fadder's in the shop." The frost never ceases to come no matter how many years go by, but fodder and shocks are terms which no longer have meaning to most children.

25th Anniversary

Yesterday we helped Leroy's youngest sister and her husband celebrate their 25th anniversary. Paul and Gloria have a fine family of four children, the oldest of whom was married in September. I have made a counted cross stitch piece for each of our brothers and sisters when they reached this anniversary. This picture shows Paul and Gloria with the one I made for them.

Having the last of the Stauffer family come to this milestone in life naturally led to some reflection on the swift passage of time. Gloria was too young to remember when her parents had their 25th anniversary, but she remembered that they had been married 40 years the year she and Paul were married. And now her oldest brother (and I) reached that mark this year.

I thought our parents were old when they reached their 25th anniversary, but now that we have gone so far beyond that ourselves, people celebrating their 25th seem rather young. It's curious how different the same thing looks depending on your vantage point.

Happy Anniversary, Paul and Gloria. May you have at least 25 more!

Cabbage Seeds

Last night we went to a benefit dinner for Gospel to Haiti mission. Their work is in the Les Palmes area of the Petit Goave district, located in the south western peninsula of Haiti. It is a very rugged part of the country fourteen miles from the main road, which takes two hours to travel by 4-wheel drive vehicle and mule.
After a delicious PA Dutch supper, which also included Haitian rice and beans, we saw a power point presentation of the country and work of the mission. They operate a church, school, and medical clinic, using as many native workers as possible. The doctors and nurses are natives.
The moderator of last night's meeting told us they had brought a Haitian man to the States for surgery. He lived in their home about a month while he recuperated. Before he went home they asked him if there is anything they can do for him. He said, "Yes. If it could be arranged, I would like a pack of cabbage seeds to take home with me."
That story really challenged me. Haiti is the poorest country in the western hemisphere. I've been there and seen the poverty. I am wealthy in comparison to that Haitian man, but am I as contented? Suppose I had been in his shoes. After a month of living in comparative luxury, what would I have asked for? I'm afraid it would have been for something more expensive than a pack of cabbage seeds! What do you think you would ask for?