Plain Wisdom (16 page)

We’ve all ventured too far and gotten stuck at some time in our lives. And the ones who were supposed to help didn’t, for whatever reason. Sometimes we have to endure that icy storm for a night, but we can be sure that God stands waiting in the storm for us, and when we finally let go and drop, He always holds tightly to the safety net.

I was in the third grade when I made my first real friend in school. Until that time I’d never asked anyone to come home to play with me unless that person could walk to my house. But by the time I entered third grade, we’d moved to a more rural area. When I asked my mom and dad if my new friend could come over, they thought it sounded like a good idea.

Our parents passed notes back and forth and worked out the details. My friend and I were so excited! She couldn’t spend the night, but she could ride the bus to my house, and her dad would pick her up around six o’clock.

We bounded off the bus that afternoon and waltzed inside, all giggles and excitement. My mom greeted us, looking surprised when she met the girl. We played in the backyard, walked to a nearby creek, and laughed over the silliest things.

When my dad came home, he looked from my friend to my mom, motionless for a moment before he smiled broadly and welcomed the girl. When her dad arrived, his eyes grew large as his daughter introduced us.
A few minutes later I overheard the two dads talking. Only then did I finally understand my mother’s surprise, my dad’s amusement, and her dad’s speechlessness.

It was the sixties, and my new friend was African American. I hadn’t told my parents she was black, and she hadn’t told her parents I was white. We were aware of the other one’s skin color, but we didn’t think it mattered. My parents had asked me if she was nice. They’d asked if she did her homework. They’d asked if she liked what my mom was going to fix for dinner the night she came. But no one asked what color skin she had.

I still remember the laughter as our fathers shook hands that day.

Every night in that era, the television news told of conflicts between blacks and whites. It might not have been comfortable for our dads to meet like that, but whatever either of them thought or felt, they were friendly during the exchange.

We moved a few months later. That’s when I met my next best friend, a Plain Mennonite girl. After her my closest friend was first-generation Japanese. After her I had a native Hawaiian friend who practically lived with us on the weekends.

Perhaps it was coincidence that I had so many friends of different nationalities. Or maybe we had something in common. Because my family moved so often, I always felt out of place. Maybe that’s why we gravitated toward one another. What I know for certain is that a good friend removes loneliness, and even when we go through a season where there are no earthly friends, God is always our friend (see John 15:15).

Sometime ago a friend stopped by my house with a plastic bag of the sourdough mixture called Amish Friendship Bread starter, along with the recipe and instructions. Years ago when everyone made bread, sourdough starter was a household staple. It is a continuous source or base,
which can easily be shared or passed on. I’m not sure how it got the name Amish Friendship Bread. After all, it was an English friend who passed it to me.

After following the ten-day steps, I added more ingredients, mixed it well, then divided it into four separate bags, still having a separate amount of starter to feed and set aside. So I had one cup of starter to bake with and three to pass on to my friends. I looked forward to enjoying a new variety, chocolate-chip pudding.

Next I set out to find homes for the other three bags of starters. One friend didn’t have time, one said it always flopped for her, and another said her family didn’t care for it. So I tended to the starters each day while still trying to pass them along. After ten days, bake day came around again, and my starters now multiplied to sixteen, which would multiply to sixty-four in ten more days if I didn’t find someone to adopt them.

Slightly frustrated I went to my mother to borrow bread pans and started baking. I baked for hours. I baked every last dollop of the sourdough mix and ended up with twenty loaves of delicious bread. And not a single starter.

While I worked through my recent frustration, I remembered that the best way to have a friend is to be one and the best way to strengthen a friendship is to do a kindness when it’s not expected. So I started handing out baked friendship bread instead of bags of gooey starter. I gave all but two loaves, which I shared with my children. My friends, family, and I enjoyed the delicious bread as well as a fresh renewal in our kinship.

Tommy and I had two teens and a toddler when my family had to take over all my duties. I’d had major surgery and was placed on full bed rest for nearly four weeks.

My oldest kept up with his high school honors classes admirably. My second son handled his homeschool lessons while watching his little brother. My husband cooked all the meals, washed the dishes, and cleaned the house without taking any time off from work. I felt proud of my family for rising to the challenge. But I also had feelings that were foreign to me. I felt left out and useless. Everyone was managing just fine without me, and maybe my emotions were raw due to the circumstances, but I hurt because no one really seemed to need me.

Finally the doctor gave his approval for me to be on my feet again. The first day everything looked in great shape, so I went into the laundry room to start a load of clothes. Surely there was dirty laundry.

Imagine my surprise when I opened the door to the tiny room and found dirty clothes stacked everywhere! I stood in shock, staring at what might be four weeks’ worth of laundry. What was everyone wearing, the cleanest of the dirty clothes?

I called my husband at work. He read the caller ID and answered with his usual “Hey, cutie. What’s up?”

“I am.”

“Good. Don’t do too much. I think the place is in good shape.”

“Uh, honey … what about the laundry?”

After a moment of silence, he gasped. “I never thought about that.”

“You guys had to run out of things like underwear.”

“Well, yeah. But I bought several packages for everyone. And socks too.”

I thought,
You did that but forgot about the laundry?

I’m not sure I was well enough to laugh as hard as I did, but it felt good to be on my feet again and to be assured that I was needed. It also gave me deeper empathy for people who deal with chronic illnesses or the adverse effects of aging and those who can’t do for their family as they long to do.

And the month’s worth of laundry certainly gave me fodder for harassing my good-natured husband.

One warm Sunday afternoon, on the spur of the moment, my family decided to go for a drive in our horse and buggy and visit my sister and her family. Our four youngest children, ages six to fifteen, scurried around, getting dressed in their best clothes. It was a challenge to find everyone’s outfits in such short order, but soon we were in our buggy waiting on the last one, our fifteen-year-old son.

Minutes ticked by. Frogs croaked from the pond across the road. I drew a deep breath, enjoying the beauty of the late spring landscape in spite of the holdup.

Finally our son came to the upstairs window. “Mom, where are my dress pants?”

As an Amish mom, it’s my responsibility to provide handmade clothes for the family. With five sons it’s quite a job keeping everyone’s clothes
clean and mended. So this question wasn’t unusual. However, in this instance I honestly couldn’t remember what I’d done with my son’s dress pants. I couldn’t even recall whether he’d grown out of his latest pair.

I groaned. Surely he could find a pair that fit, at least well enough for today. I told him to check his brother’s closet.

Seconds later he came to the window again. “Not there, Mom.”

“Okay, check the mending pile. Maybe they had a button missing.”

A few more minutes passed. I was starting to feel awful. Clearly I had not done my duty. I could think of several reasons I hadn’t made new pants yet. We were in the middle of planting season, and some of my responsibilities—like keeping up with clothes—had been put on the back burner.

Just when I felt sure my husband’s patience had reached its limit, the front door opened. Our son casually walked down the sidewalk toward the waiting buggy.

My jaw dropped. He was wearing a shirt and vest, dress shoes, black socks, and suspenders … but no pants. Yet he was strutting along as if everything were normal.

Hiding my amusement, I demanded, “Now, Mervin, you go right back in there and put on your hat!”

That stopped him in his tracks. The tension broke, and we all burst into laughter.

I was grateful that we could make light of something that could have ruined the start of our outing and caused bad feelings throughout the day.