Remembering Tillie

I sit at my computer tonight remembering my mother-in-law, Tillie Wengerd Beachy, who recently passed from this life into the glorious peace and beauty of Heaven.  She was one hundred one years and nine months of age.

She was a staunch believer in the Lord Jesus Christ as her personal savior, and a woman of honor with a strong sense of justice.  She was one to speak her mind: you always knew what she thought about any given subject.  No pretending or hiding the “real Tillie.”

When Dave and I got married in 1967, Tillie took some getting used to.  I remember when we were dating, Tillie said, “We couldn’t think of anyone else better suited for a wife for Dave.”  I wasn’t quite sure how to take that at first, but I chose to take it as a compliment instead of wondering if she wished there were somebody better. J 

Tillie was a very pragmatic lady.  No frills or unnecessary “stuff.”  Having learned this, I remember one Christmas I decided I’d give her a practical gift and filled a bread basket with homemade cookies.  I was so hopeful she’d like it.  When I handed her the gift, she remarked, “Oh, thanks for the cookies, but I have no use for the bread basket: I already have one.”  I was confused and a bit hurt, because in my family of origin, one never turned down a gift, even if it was “of no use.”  Tillie wasn’t too keen on giving gifts wrapped in paper either, but preferred to hand the gift, unwrapped, to the recipient.  Like I said, she was a very practical, no-nonsense, take-charge kind of woman.  Not wrong, just different.

She and her husband, Irvin, had a great big heart for missions.  In the downstairs hallway of their Beachley Street home in Meyersdale, PA, was a large map of the world with areas marked for giving to missionary work around the world.  They prayed for and supported many good ministries and did without things so they could give more.  Tillie was quite frugal, but they always had sufficient, and we had many a wonderful meal at their home as the family of seven children with their spouses and children gathered for Thanksgiving and Christmas or other special events. 

She and Irvin both loved to sing and worship the Lord, and for a number of years, they opened their home to a group of “Hungry Hearts” who desired the infilling and gifts of the Holy Spirit.  People from different churches attended every Saturday night, and Dave and I were privileged among them.  Those were some special times of spiritual growth and deep unity of fellowship.

Tillie was quite knowledgeable on a variety of subjects, and their home sported a set of encyclopedias.  I remember one time at a Christmas gathering in the Beachley St. house, someone asked a question, and I expressed surprise that she knew the answer.  She looked at me, laughed, and said, “Why?  Did you think I was too stupid to know the answer?”  I was quite taken aback she’d even think such a thing of me.  In my family of origin, my expression of surprise would have meant, “Wow, I’m impressed you know that!”  It had been meant as a compliment.  Her personality wasn’t wrong—just different. 

After Irvin died, Tillie moved to an apartment in Springs, PA, near her eldest daughter, Phoebe.  I have good memories of visiting her frequently there.  I can still see her in the kitchen as she prepared a simple but delicious meal and sliced homemade bread while I set the table.  Sometimes we would talk about Scripture, personal concerns, or the whereabouts of people she knew in the community.   She frequently told us she was so thankful for our good marriage.  Over the years I’d come to understand and appreciate her for who she was.

When she could no longer care for herself, she moved in with her oldest daughter and husband.  The children devised a plan to take turns calling her every day.  When her eyesight began to fail, Dave and others made it a point to read Scripture to her with each phone call.

 Years passed, and Tillie longed to go on “home” to the Lord she loved; she said she felt lonely and was tired of living.  Dave and I visited her at Goodwill Mennonite Home in Grantsville, MD when we could.  It was hard for her to hear what was said to her, so conversation was a real challenge. 

 My mother-in-law finally got her wish to go “home” on Monday, December 15, 2014.  Thank you, Tillie, for all the years of faithful prayer for your family.  One thing is for sure: your prayers will never die.  I’ll see you in Heaven, Mama Beachy.

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy

Are You Ready for Christmas?

Poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s moving lyrics, “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” penned long ago in 1863 begins:

 “I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

“I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

The song, “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” croons across the airwaves every year after Thanksgiving until the end of December.  But for many, the mention of “home” is especially painful this time of year.

Homeless people fill shelters, or wander the streets.  Prisons are full of men and women who can’t go home for Christmas.  Families live in cars because they have lost everything – their job, house, and bank account.  Others suffer the death of a loved one, and so many suffer the pain of divorce or separation in a marriage.

Adult children are angry and refuse to come home or even speak to their parents.  Loving parents hold out longing arms and cry out to God because of those broken relationships.  Children wither mentally, emotionally, and physically because of parental abuse and neglect.  Moms and dads have wayward or runaway children, some of whom are enslaved in the sex traffic trade, have been kidnapped or killed.  Service men and women in combat overseas miss the comforts of home at Christmas time.  For all these, and many more, the words “Merry Christmas” are painful, hollow and mocking.

Brokenness abounds.

I think of the homeless woman I’ve encountered at various times throughout this year.  She pushes a grocery cart filled with her belongings as she hunches over the handle, reading a book, and making her way slowly up and down the sidewalks and streets.  I saw her the day of my children’s book signing at the Family Christian bookstore in Manassas, and again yesterday when I stopped by there to do some Christmas shopping.  The pavement had given the wheels on her buggy a worn flat spot making a “clunk, clunk,” sound with each step.

When I spoke with her a few months ago, she told me she’d lost her job and her home, and asked me for some money.  I gave her some, and asked, “Do you have family in the area?
She replied, “Yes.”

Again I pressed her.  “Why don’t they help you?”

Her answer: “We’ve had a falling-out.”

“Why don’t you give them a call and see if you can work things out?” I encouraged.

The homeless woman looked up from the book she was reading, and answered,   “The ball’s in their court now.”

How utterly sad!  An angry “falling out,” insisting her family come to her, prevents her from being home for Christmas!  And she isn’t the only one with that story.  Over the years, I’ve spoken with a few other homeless persons who’d had angry words at home, left the family to be on their own, and refused to make up.

“And in despair I bowed my head:
‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said,
‘For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.’”

Indeed, Mr. Longfellow.  Hate and anger at Christmas time when there ought to be peace?   Dear God, tenderize our hearts!  We can’t solve all of the world’s big problems – you know, wars and all the overwhelming problems of the world – but we are responsible for our own corner of it.  One family member at a time.  One neighbor at a time.   Don’t play the blame game.  “If possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.”  (Romans 12:18) Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.  What is my responsibility?

Jesus said, “Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye but do not notice or consider the beam of timber that is in your own eye?...You actor (pretender, hypocrite)! First take the beam out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take out the speck that is in your brother’s eye.”  (Luke 6:41-42)

“Let all bitterness and indignation and wrath (passion, rage, bad temper) and resentment (anger, animosity) and quarreling (brawling, clamor, contention) and slander (evil speaking, abusive or blasphemous language) be banished from you, with all malice (spite, ill will, or baseness of any kind).  And become useful and helpful and kind to one another, tenderhearted (compassionate, understanding, loving-hearted), forgiving one another [readily and freely], as God in Christ forgave you.   (Ephesians 4:31-32)  “As you would like and desire that men would do to you, do exactly so to them.”  (Luke 6:31)  And, “See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many.”  (Hebrews 12:15, NIV)

We tend to forget how much God has forgiven us for.  I don’t understand the love of God, but He sent Jesus, because He so loved the whole rotten, stinking world steeped in darkness and sin, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have God’s kind of life – everlasting life!  (John 3:16, my paraphrase)  Not one of us deserves even one teeny little bit of His forgiveness!  He already freely extends forgiveness to us even though we didn’t ask to be forgiven.  Think about that.  Our part is to believe Him and receive the forgiveness He freely offers.  What a gift to undeserving humanity!  If you haven’t yet received His free gift of forgiveness, tell Jesus you receive it right now and that you believe in Him.  Tell Him you want Him to be your Lord and Savior.  And it will be so.  Freely you have received, freely give – which includes forgiving others as you have been forgiven.  

Everywhere I go, people ask me the question: “Are you ready for Christmas?”  So, I ask you, dear reader, “Are you ready for Christmas?”  If you have a meek and humble heart to welcome the Prince of Peace, you are ready for Christmas.

The final triumphant lines of Longfellow’s poem are fitting here:

“Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
‘God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men.’

“Till ringing, singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good will to men!”

All Scripture is taken from the Amplified Bible unless otherwise noted.

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy

The Christmas Bonus

1987 was a year of great change and adjustment for our family as we left Pennsylvania and moved to Virginia because my husband found employment there.  Although my parents and brothers and their families all lived in the same area of Virginia, I felt a great sense of loss because of friends I left behind.  I also left behind certain “social positions” such as President of our local chapter of Women’s Aglow in Somerset, heavy involvement in our church at Indian Lake Christian Center, and a home Bible study with dear friends with whom we'd met for a number of years.   Here in Virginia, I was a "nobody."  I didn’t feel established.  The neighbors were new, roads were new, traffic was heavier and faster, and we’d had to find a new church and make new friends.  We felt led to go to a different church than my parents and brothers attended, so we didn’t see them on a regular basis.  Everyone seemed involved in their own face-paced lifestyle and circle of friends. 

Now, in a few days, we'd be celebrating our second Christmas in Virginia.  Smiling faces and excited chatter greeted me as our family of five gathered for dinner on that December evening years ago.  Our oldest son told of a bonus check he’d received from his boss, and our daughter said she’d also received one from her employer.  My husband got a nice Christmas bonus as well.  

I told each one I was glad for them, but suddenly the monster of self-pity reared its ugly head and hissed in my ear.  Where is my bonus?  Everyone except me is doing something worthwhile and getting rewarded for it.  My throat tightened and I turned away so they wouldn’t see my tears.  What was the matter with me? 

The family ate in ten minutes what it had taken me hours to prepare.  Afterwards, my teenage boys headed to their bedrooms downstairs and my daughter to hers down the hall from the kitchen.  My husband went to the living room to watch TV, and I was left alone, staring at a messy table and even more kitchen duty.  Where was my free time?  The monster squeezed my heart, sending streams of tears down my cheeks.  I felt cheated, unappreciated, taken for granted, and worthless.  The emotional pain in my chest was palpable as the monster stabbed me.

Feeling quite sorry for myself, I shuffled around the table, stacked plates and silverware, and plodded to the kitchen.  I looked out the kitchen window into the inky blackness of night and set the plates in the sink, then headed back to the dining room for another load of dirty dishes.  I gave my husband a furtive glance to see if he’d volunteer to help.  Nope, he was enjoying his TV program.  Suddenly, the words of Joyce Meyer came to my remembrance: “You can either be pitiful or powerful, but you can’t be both.”  

I straightened my shoulders and decided the monster had played his last hand.  I dismissed him with a stiff rebuke, and he fled in terror at the name of Jesus.  The Holy Spirit helped me realize that Jesus will reward me for ministering to my family.  Jesus was my Christmas bonus, and I was honored to serve Him by caring for my loved ones.  What could be better than that?

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy 

The Angel That "Flied"

“I remember all that happened as though it were just yesterday.”  Debbie leaned forward, thick, ash-blond hair falling attractively around her strong face.  Her large, warm, clear blue eyes filled with tears as she told me the story.

“That Friday, I dropped off my four-year-old son Danny and his cousin Melanie at my mom’s town house, drove out of the complex and across the divided highway to the parked school bus I would drive come September.  The road looked wet from the shimmer of the intense August heat, and the 100° felt like at least 120°.  As I cleaned and washed out the bus, I kicked off my shoes to let the water cool my feet.  Then, as I bent down to clean under a seat, I heard a voice say, ‘Hi, Mommy!’ 

“I wheeled around, shocked to see my baby, my Danny, standing on the bus steps!  I said, ‘Danny!  What are you doing here?  I told you to stay at Grandma’s!  Now you stay right here; I’m just about finished…’

“I turned my attention to stuffing the ditty bag (first-aid kit, fire extinguisher, etc.)  When I straightened and looked out the window, my eyes met a terrifying sight.  My son’s body was pasted to the grill of an on-coming black Chevy Blazer.  Danny’s head and chin stuck up over the edge of the hood.  The vehicle kept moving, sliding, sliding, for about ninety-four feet as I watched, frozen.  I don’t remember any sound. When the blazer finally stopped, Danny was thrown off, and he slid twenty more feet on his back across the sizzling-hot asphalt.

“I leaped from the bus, forgetting my bare feet, and dashed to Danny’s twisted, rubbery form lying motionless in the road.  By now, my feet were blistered, and my mind was becoming hysterical.  My baby’s face was a funny color as I dropped to the pavement beside him.  His small, tangled body looked ghastly.  I wanted to scream.

“Suddenly I felt my spirit take control of my mind, like something coming out of here.”  Debbie paused to demonstrate by laying her hands across her abdomen.  “It seemed I somehow became only an instrument God was using, and I was filled with an overwhelming peace I never experienced before or since.  I acted out the instructions I heard from my spirit:  ‘Lay hands on the sick and they shall recover.’  So I laid hands on Danny’s head, then his neck, chest, stomach, legs, and feet.  I prayed aloud, ‘Lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover,’ over and over again.  I experienced what Jesus said in the Bible, John 7:38: ‘Whoever believes in Me, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water.’

“By this time a crowd had gathered around me and Danny.  One man who heard me pray thought I was in shock, pulled me away from my son and told me to call my husband.  Reluctantly, I obeyed.  But first, I called a Christian sister and asked her to call others.

“When I got back to the scene, the ambulance had arrived, and Danny was in the back.  I got in beside him.  As we started for Commonwealth Hospital, I saw a huge ‘goose egg’ grow on the side of his head, almost like a second head.  Again, I began to pray.  Laying my hands on his head, I said, ‘In the Name of Jesus, there will be no brain damage to this child!’  I didn’t care who heard me.

“A paramedic named John made unsuccessful attempts to get an I.V. into Danny.  Suddenly he yelled to the driver, ‘Go in on code blue!’ and quickly straddled the still form, and began heart massage.  Danny’s lips had turned purple and white.  John yelled, ‘Mom, call his name!  Call his name!’

“So I shouted, ‘Danny, in the name of Jesus, talk to me!  Talk to me!’  All at once, my son began to cry.  ‘That sound is music to our ears, Mom,’ John said.  ‘We’ve placed him in the best hands – those of the Great Physician.  I’m with Fishnet Ministries, and all three of us running this ambulance are born-again Christians, ma’am.’  By this time, John was able to insert the I.V.

“At Commonwealth, the doctors were grave.  X-rays showed the neck separated in three places, and multiple contusions from head to toe.  There was great concern about internal hemorrhaging and spleen damage, so he was transferred to the trauma unit at Fairfax Hospital in Fairfax, Virginia.

“Upon our arrival there, a group of Christians had gathered to pray with us as Danny was rushed to the second floor and prepped for surgery.  Within the walls of a private room, we knelt in a circle, holding hands.  As we prayed, someone spoke in tongues by the power of the Holy Spirit and gave the interpretation.  The message was this:  ‘There will be no knife taken to this child.  Jesus is on the scene, and He is the same yesterday, today, and forever.  The eyes of man will see a miracle, and miracles are for the unbelievers.’

“We finished praying and sat down to wait.  In just a few minutes the door burst open, and a frantic nurse beckoned with urgency.  ‘Mr. and Mrs. Mosher, Dr. Seneca wants to see you immediately!  The X-rays are starting to contradict themselves, and he doesn’t know what to think!’

“My husband and I jumped to our feet, and the prayer partners thanked and praised God.  As we entered the trauma unit, Dr. Seneca met us.  He looked quite moved as he announced, ‘Danny does not need surgery.  He started functioning on his own.  His neck shows no separation now, and all hemorrhaging has stopped; but we want to keep him here for observation.’

“We spent that night with Danny in intensive care.  I told a nurse he was brought in on a ‘code blue’ and asked her what that meant.  I was stunned to learn that it meant the death signal, and she was incredulous that our son survived.

“The next day, Saturday, Danny was moved to a regular room.  His left collar bone stuck straight up out of his shoulder, and the doctors could not wrap it because of the severe third degree burns on his back.  Dr. Seneca and Dr. Vitek took more X-rays, and were awe-struck.  The results showed nothing broken, yet they could see and feel his collar bone sticking straight up!  On Sunday, Dr. Seneca released Danny to go home, and called him a miracle child as he offered a teddy bear to my son.

“My husband, Victor, and I were concerned about possible mental trauma in our son, so that afternoon we questioned him at home.  I said, ‘Danny, do you realize what happened to you, honey?’

“He thought awhile, then said, ‘Umm, I ‘member the big black hitted me, then I went to sleep.’  I asked him if that’s all he remembered.  His forehead creased in deep thought, then all at once his face brightened. ‘I ‘member the angel that flyed, Mommy.’ 

“I was transfixed and asked him what he meant by seeing an angel.  He replied, ‘Yes, Mommy, you know—the angel that flyed in the ambulance. The angel took my hands and placed them around my neck, like this.’  Danny placed his small hands behind his own neck to demonstrate.  ‘And he carried me.’

“I asked him where he was carried, where he went.  My son said, ‘The angel took me to Jesus, Mommy.  The angel said Jesus told him to go down in the road and get the little boy that was hurt.’

“Stunned, I asked him again if he really saw Jesus.  When he replied, ‘Uh-humm,’ I asked him what Jesus looked like.  He thought hard and struggled for the right words.  Finally, my four-year old Danny said matter-of-factly, “Mommy, Him looked like a big, bright, bright light bulb!  There was lights all around!’

“I asked him if he talked to Jesus.  He nodded and said, ‘Uh-huh.’  I prodded him further, and wanted to know what Jesus said to him.  Danny said, ‘Jesus said He was gonna heal me!

My curiosity got the best of me, and I asked him if he saw me or any people, on the road at the scene of the accident.  Danny said, ‘No, Mommy, but I ‘member the man sitting by the road with his hands on his head.

All of us in the room were stunned by what was just revealed.  The man who hit Danny had been sitting on the curb with his head in his hands, just as Danny described him.  I believe Danny must have been out of his body before the ambulance arrived.

“Well, the burns on his back healed miraculously without medical treatment, and by Tuesday morning his left collar bone was down flat.  The doctors were incredulous; they had truly seen a miracle!

“Today, Danny is a strapping 5’11”, 195 pounds, totally normal fourteen-year old with large hands and a warm, affectionate heart.  As I sometimes hold those hands in mine, I thank God for His kind goodness.  Although I had been a Christian for many years, that August of 1984 was the time I lost my fear of God—you know, the hell-fire and brimstone teaching I’d been raised with—and I realized how much He loved me.  He was not ‘up there’ with a club just waiting for me to sin so He could ‘get me.’  He allowed me to keep all three of my sons, yet gave up the only One He had for me!”

As Debbie spoke these words, her eyes brimmed with tears that spilled down her face.  “I have a very thankful heart for Who God is, and I firmly believe that having an attitude of heart-felt gratitude and faith in God’s Word are vital keys to experiencing the miraculous intervention of God.

***

I wrote this after my interview with Debbie Mosher in 1996, and sold the story to Guideposts Magazine.  It made the cover story of their 1997 May/June issue of Angels on Earth magazine. They re-wrote the story to their own liking, and also interviewed Debbie.

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy