Up To Here

No, it’s probably not what you think.  The expression “I’ve had it up to here!” usually pertains to a person or situation that irritates them until they feel like blowing their stack.  Some people “have it up to here” another way – with “stuff.”

Several years ago, I watched a TV show about extreme hoarders and their compulsion to surround themselves with “stuff.”  At the request of a loved one, a consultant was brought in to help that one get their home straightened out, get psychological help, and learn to do without so much “stuff.”  I watched in fascinated revulsion at the scenes before my eyes.  I couldn’t believe anyone could live in such a pigsty. 

Kitchens had filth and grime on every surface, with piles in every corner.  The stove as well as the sink was piled high with unwashed dishes and cook pots encrusted with weeks of dried-on food that threatened to topple at any moment.  The kitchen table was piled high with stacks of mail and remains of the last meal.  Even the chairs held piles of “stuff.”

I saw room after room with barely a path to walk through.  Clothes, many with tags still attached, were stacked hip-high along both sides of the path to the next room.  There was no place to sit, unless one threw more things onto the already-littered floor.  Take-out Styrofoam containers with half-eaten food and plastic eating utensils littered the coffee table.  Clothes were strewn over arm chairs, the sofa, and a desk top.  Candy wrappers, empty chip bags, crumbled pieces of paper and mail found a home among the dirty clothes, making mammoth mountains of misery.  Only the TV screen was free of clutter.

The master bedroom had one path to the disheveled king size bed that was covered with dirty linens.  Piles of wrinkled laundry sat in baskets waiting to be folded or put away.  I won’t even discuss the bathroom.

The consultant who was brought in rented a huge warehouse and organized a gigantic community yard sale to get rid of the “stuff.”  My mouth gaped in amazement as I saw that warehouse filled with one family’s things.  The consultant’s team brought out things from the garage, the shed, the attic and the basement and their cars.  More than once, rotten boards and moldy drywall from years of un-ventilated storage were discovered as things were cleared out.

Hoarding and clutter are first cousins.  What soul condition brings about such a lifestyle?  Perhaps the fear of not having enough, due to lack experienced in childhood is an emotional cause.  The need to feel loved, valued, and comforted can also lead to hoarding, because these poor souls see “things” as comforting.

Laziness and procrastination also produce clutter.  Clutter starts by feeling too lazy, tired, or overwhelmed to take action: he/she doesn't want to clean up and put things away. It’s easier to throw a sweater on the floor along with the keys, purse and mail than to put each in its proper place immediately.  People who are easily distracted procrastinate.  Something else looks more interesting or demanding, and they go do that.”  So they don’t steward properly the first thing they were doing.

A person’s loved one who has died may find it difficult to throw things away because of the need to keep that feeling of “love connection.”  An impossible situation develops when feelings of grief and obligation become paramount in keeping a deceased loved one’s memory alive by holding on to their belongings.

A good solution that honors the memory of a parent or loved one is to take pictures of everything and place them neatly in a scrap book.  You show much more honor and respect to their memory that way than if you allow their unneeded things to clutter your house.  Or, to make room, you may wish to sell some of your own items and keep theirs.

Some people keep “helpful” clutter just in case a neighbor needs to borrow one of ten drills the husband stores in the garage, for example.  Or they keep things “just in case” they may ever need them.  We keep clothes that are too small, hoping to someday get back into them.  By the time we lose the weight (if ever), the style is outdated or no longer appeals to us.  Our tastes in clothing do change over time.  Give away clothes you can’t wear. 

Many Americans (perhaps other cultures too) buy big houses and strain their budgets to keep up with the Joneses; we foolishly buy bigger houses with more rooms in order to store more “stuff.”  Beware: it can easily lead to credit card debt and financial clutter.  

A burgeoning calendar of activities is another form of clutter.  You can buy a calendar with bigger squares to write more “stuff” on it, but we each only get twenty-four hours in a day.  Learn to say “no” to some activities, and instead, invest in time spent with your family.  Above all, one needs to have quiet time with God to meditate on His Word and pray. 

Trashy speech is mouth clutter.  Do we gossip, use profanity, speak in anger, or simply just talk too much?  Have you ever been in a social setting around someone who talks constantly?  It wearies the soul.   

Then there’s intellectual clutter.  We can be addicted to the stock market, news and politics, memorize sports stats and scores, follow movie stars or singers, etc.  Curtail information overload.  Constant controversy and arguments are also clutter.  (Picture your brain in the same condition as the house I described above.)  

Relationships can become cluttered too.  Sometimes to preserve the boundaries of your person-hood, it becomes necessary to set limits on the amount of access people have to your life.  Don’t become a doormat or a “yes-man.”  Don’t give of yourself out of obligation or compulsion.  It will clutter your life with unhealthy emotions.  I Corinthians 9:7 says everyone should give what he decides in his heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, because God loves a cheerful giver.

Where do I need to "clean house?"  When we leave clutter and hoarding behind, we say “yes” to a clean heart and home for ourselves.  We make room to live life to the fullest!

Happy de-cluttering, dear reader!

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy

Love Goes On and On

 

She may not wear high fashion,

Or go about with “airs.”

She may not have the latest “do,”

Or know about “The Bears.”

But clothed with strength and dignity,

She laughs at days to come.

She knows it snows and has no fear

As she protects her home.

Her children rise and call her blessed,

And husband sings her praise.

She does him good and never harm,

The full length of his days.

He lacks no confidence in her,

She works with eager hands.

Her arms are strong for every task;

In business, takes her stand.

Her heart is for the needy.

Instruction’s on her tongue.

Charm deceives and beauty leaves,

But love goes on and on.

I dedicate this tribute to godly mothers to my own mother, Elva Yoder.  I stand and salute you, Mom; I stand and call you blessed.  Happy Mother's Day!  I love you.

“Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. ‘Honor your father and your mother’—which is the first commandment with a promise—‘that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy long life on the earth.’”  Ephesians 6:1-2 NIV

My poem was constructed from Proverbs 31:10-31. 

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy

The Trust Factor in Communication

We develop trust (or distrust) from the time we're born.  As babies, when we were  hungry, cold, wet, tired, or in pain, we expressed that need through crying.  A parent picked us up, the need was addressed, and trust established.

Dr. Spock's seriously flawed theory was that one should just let the child cry so as not to "spoil" him. However, that can start a cycle of mistrust rather than trust.  If we're left to cry for long periods of time, we learn that it's painful to not have our needs met when we voice them.

Then as we grow up, we close our heart (and mouth) because we're afraid people will reject us; we don't "cry" any more.  Our relationships become superficial. We think, "If they really knew what I thought our how I feel, they wouldn't like me."  So we close our heart. Or we may lash out with criticism and judgement that says, "I'm keeping you away from me.  It hurts to not have my needs met."

When we learn to not have our needs met, we develop an orphan spirit.  From an orphan spirit, one turns to something to have that need met, such as sexual promiscuity, homosexual tendencies, alcohol, drugs, pornography, addictions, etc.

The good news is that Jesus promised, "I will not leave you as orphans."  (John 14:18) He will heal every heart hurt if we come to Him with it.  He says, "Forgive all the people who've hurt you; trust Me first, and I will heal you from every hurt you'll ever have."  Don't ever close your heart to anyone.  Boundaries may need to be established to not let someone abuse us, but our hearts can still be open to them as we pray God's best for them.  If we trust God to heal every heart hurt, our identity will change; we'll feel strong.

Sally's mother was angry and critical when Sally left her denominational church to join a non-denominational one.  Mother continually insinuated that Sally was into doctrinal error and the rift between them widened.  One day Sally realized she needed to find her voice and tell her mother how she felt.  She needed to be understood.  Sally went to her mom and said, "Mom, when you talk to me like that, I feel disrespected.  You don't even know what I believe. Would you like me to tell you what I believe?"  That was the beginning of the healing of their relationship.

Another time, Sally was at a "girl's movie night out."  The hostess said, "Sally, you get to pick tonight's movie."  But before Sally could pick one, the  hostess grabbed one and put it in the VCR.  But Sally had learned to find her voice.  She spoke up and said, "I feel controlled."  It made Sally feel free of the whole scenario and put it back on the hostess to let her respond however she wished.  Had she said, "You're so controlling," it would have been a hostile expression of judgment toward the hostess.

Have you ever been around someone where you could feel the emotional tension by their actions, but they wouldn't talk?  When you asked them what's wrong, they replied, "Nothing."  Yet they want you to figure out what they're so upset about.  Maybe you've been such a person.  Many people lack the life skills needed for good communication.

Learn to express yourself -- your needs.  Don't expect your needs to be noticed by someone else. Sometimes we think people should be able to read our minds.  But my responsibility is to know what is going on inside of me and express it.  You are responsible to know what's going on inside of you and express it.  I am not responsible to know what's going on inside of you.  You're responsible to communicate your need to me.

Why don't we say what we mean?  Why don't we say how we feel?  The answer is fear of rejection. Speaking the truth in love will always work; love always works.  God's kind of love never fails.

How's the trust factor in your communication?

***

I wrote this post from notes taken during this morning's session of Women's Life at Living Faith Church in Manassas, VA.  Thank you, Sally, for your excellent teaching!  Sally facilitates Sozo Ministry for inner healing at Living Faith Church.  The church website is www.livingbyfaith.com. 

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy

Legacy of Love

Legacy of Love

Patiently, he waits as mother arranges us

Around the table; and when we're seated

He asks that we sing together.

Eyes closed, hands clasped,

He begins to sing, "God is so good,

God is so good, He's so good to me."

And then he prays a blessing

On his children, grandchildren,

And on the food,

Praying in hushed tones 

To the Savior he loves so much.

Slowly he reaches for another piece of celery

As we still sit around the table

Busily chattering like noisy magpies.

Mother has finally seated herself

To enjoy her piece of pie

After serving the rest of us.

His blue plaid flannel shirt

Faintly echoes the softness of his smile

As he reaches over to stroke Mother's arm.

His heart, too, is warm and soft,

Like that flannel shirt.

At the door, his tender "good-bye"

And warm hug is coupled with

"God bless you, my daughter;"

I feel as loved and accepted by him

As if I were his own daughter.

Little do I know it is the last time

I will look into his "Jesus eyes,"

The tender-hearted eyes 

Of a soul we called Irvin.

I am richer for having known him,

And I am doubly blessed to have his son

As my husband.

                   Elaine Beachy

                   November 29, 1994

Born in 1919 on the first day of spring, Irvin would have been 95 years old this week.  He died on the first day of winter in 1991.  My husband, David Weldon Beachy, looks so much like him, and my grandson Caleb Weldon is almost his "spittin' image!"  

Irvin left his family a legacy of love and kindness.  God bless you, Irvin.

Copyright © Elaine Beachy 2014 

A Friend of Sinners

Before I married, I worked at the Flushing Shirt Factory in Meyersdale, PA.  I also attended “the little white church on Beachley Street,” formerly First Mennonite Church, called “Rock Church” at the time. 

I worked at a sewing machine as a bander next to a woman named Connie* in the shirt factory and we became good friends.  She was not a church-goer, but her oldest daughter, Linda,* started coming to Rock Church and I befriended her.  Concerned that she give her heart and life to Jesus, I spent some lunch hours in my car with Linda while we ate.  I told her Jesus loves her and I wanted to make sure she didn’t miss heaven.  I talked to her a lot about Jesus.

One day when lunch hour was over, and I went back to my sewing machine, Connie looked very uncomfortable and other banders teased me: “We saw you in your car with Linda; we know what you’re up to.” 

I was clueless, and felt hurt and bewildered by their snide and snickering comments.  I demanded of Connie to explain why the girls would say that.  She replied, “It’s a family matter; it doesn’t concern you.” 

Some days later, Linda invited me to join her at Gnagey’s Dairy Bar for some ice cream after work, and though I was in a hurry to get home, I obliged her.  She began a tale of woe – how her mother was so cruel to her, how she just couldn’t bear to go home, etc, etc.  She said she had no place to spend the night.  Out of my heart of compassion, I believed her and invited her to come home with me.

We weren’t home but half an hour before an angry mother called and said she was coming over immediately to get her.  Linda just looked at me and didn’t say anything.  The next day at work, Connie told me her daughter was a lesbian.  I didn’t even know what that was and had to have it explained to me.  I could tell Connie was embarrassed, but I assured her God could change Linda and that I was still her friend.  Linda did cause some trouble for our church, but I remained friendly toward her.  She later married and had four children.  And Connie became a Christian before she died of cancer many years later.  I haven’t heard from Linda for many, many years, and I wonder where she is. I pray she has given her life to Jesus.

Were I to sit at my kitchen table with someone who was “gay,” my heart would be filled with compassion for them.  I would show them from God’s Word who God made them to be, and that He has a beautiful purpose for their life.  I would assure them of God’s love for them, and that Jesus wanted to set them free from it.  Just like any other sinful bondage. 

If that person insisted she didn’t need God’s intervention and instead belittled, argued and mocked me because I refuse to “okay” her sin or wrong beliefs, there is nothing more I could do.  If she kept pushing me to accept her lifestyle, and showed no interest in wanting to be set free, I would have to let her know I have a boundary where that subject is off limits.  I would gently say, “I give you grace to have your belief, because I can’t change you.  Only God can do that, and I am going to pray for you.  I love you; you have value because you are a person made in God’s image.” 

I would always be courteous, but I would not need to be a close friend to her, because “bad company corrupts good morals.”  (I Corinthians 15:33 NIV)  I have the right to my boundaries too.    

In my private prayer time, I would lift her before the Lord, with tears and compassion, and ask the Lord to reveal His truth as only He can.  I would declare with joy, “Thank you, God, that you’re at work in her life; I declare her set free from believing a lie.  I thank You that once she is free, You are going to use her mightily to help others become free who are trapped in this belief and lifestyle.  Thank you, Jesus!  I see her as a mighty warrior in Your Kingdom!"  I'd go on the offensive in the spirit.

Whether it’s the daughter of a close friend caught in promiscuity, or a son whose parents are grieved over his bondage to drugs, alcohol and fornication, or a son or daughter caught in the homosexual lifestyle, I have compassion for each one of them.  I pray the best for each of them, “calling things that are not as though they were.” (Romans 4:17)  I pray/say what I know God wants them to be, how He wants them to live in freedom and holiness.  Let the Holy Spirit guide me in praying the Scriptures for them.  Prayer to an all-powerful God changes people – neither I nor anyone else can. I believe there will come a time when they will be changed by the grace and power of God if I’m faithful in prayer.

Even though all sin is sin, nothing destroys the home and family like sexual sin: divorce, unfaithfulness, incest, and homosexuality, etc. There’s hardly a family anywhere anymore that has not been touched in some way by the scourge of sexual perversion.  As I said: sin is sin.  But I have yet to hear of any group demand political and social acceptance for murder, lying, stealing, gossip, fits of rage, jealousy, etc.  Satan tries to stamp out the image of God from the earth because he hates God with a vengeance.  Sexual sin is a particular area where Satan wants to deceive Christians; that’s why I stand against it in warning believers to stay faithful to the truth of God’s Word.

And therein lies the rub.  Far too many people right now don’t seem to care what God says; they think they are smarter than God.  I am so concerned that Christians would be duped like Eve was in the Garden of Eden where Satan slyly said to Eve, “Did God really say…?”  

I ask myself, “How can I say I love someone if I don’t tell them the truth?” 

Jesus even warned especially about sexual sin in Revelation 2:20-23 (NIV) where He tells the church at Thyatira, “…I have this against you: you tolerate that woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophetess.  By her teaching she misleads my servants into sexual immorality…I have given her time to repent of her immorality, but she is unwilling.  So I will cast her on a bed of suffering, and I will make those who commit adultery with her suffer intensely unless they repent of her ways.  I will strike her children dead.  Then all the churches will know that I am he who searches hearts and minds, and I will repay each of you according to your deeds.” 

  

Jezebel symbolizes a mocking spirit that claims to speak for God (prophetess), saying that sexual sin is okay.  The adultery is against Jesus and our love for Him; Satan wants to draw believers away from obedience to our Lord.

Jesus was a Friend of sinners.  He ate with them and forgave their sin, saying, “Go and sin no more.”  That’s where my heart is.  He does not approve of a sinful lifestyle or wrong beliefs, and I can’t either, but I love the person.  My name is Elaine, and I am a friend of sinners.

*Names have been changed

Copyright ©2014 Elaine Beachy

What's Your Love Language?

Do you know the love language of your spouse and family members?  What makes you feel connected to them?  How well do you know your own love language?

Gary Chapman’s book, “The Five Love Languages,” describes five basic ways a person feels loved.  As we celebrate Valentine’s Day, it’s good to be reminded how we can help the people in our lives feel loved.   

The five categories that help us identify our love languages are:

• Touch
• Acts of Service
• Gifts
• Quality Time
• Words of Affirmation

I liken these “love languages” to emotional fuel.  Each of us has a love tank that needs refilled from time to time.  When it gets empty, we tend to get grouchy and not relate well to those closest to us.  It brings out the worst in us.  Understanding people’s love language can help keep us from harboring an attitude of offense and bitterness toward them.

A Touch-oriented person needs kind physical touch to feel safe, nurtured, loved, and cherished.  They thrive on an affectionate arm around the shoulder, a gentle touch on the hand, a massage, etc.  Touch is the most invasive of people’s personal space, so if you are not a “touchy/feely” person, you may be uncomfortable meeting this need in others.  The Touch person should communicate his/her needs so both parties can relate well to one another.  The following true story is an example.  [Names were changed]

As they spent the day together, Nancy desired a deeper level of bonding with her sister.  She curled up on the couch next to Alma as they watched a movie together, and after awhile put her feet in Alma’s lap.  Her sister reacted with immediate agitation: “Get your feet off my lap!”  Thankfully, Nancy was aware of the five love languages.  Just because her own love language was touch, didn't mean Alma’s was the same.  It kept her from feeling rejected and taking offense to Alma’s boundary, and she said, “Oh – okay.” 

On Tuesday I was in a women’s group, and a young mother shared an experience about her five-year-old son.  As she rubbed and scratched his back at bedtime, he spoke up and said, “Mommy, when you scratch my back, it feels like you love me!”  Wow.  Out of the mouth of babes.  No doubt about it: his love language is “Touch.”

An Acts of Service person thrives on intentional acts of kindness.  They measure how much they’re loved by surveying their surroundings to see what has or has not been done for them.  A messy environment and seeing what needs fixed irritates them.  Examples are: a TV left on which nobody is watching, clothes strew around, and chores left undone. An unsafe environment because someone is thoughtless or procrastinates in fixing things drains their love tank too.

Gifts people give gifts on a regular basis, and in turn expect to be given gifts as well.  They want to feel that you know them, pay attention to them, and understand them.  The phrase, “It’s the thought that counts,” was definitely coined by a Gifts person.  Their driving thought is, “Do you know me?” and “Am I on your mind?”  Have you ever given a gift to someone who didn't seem to especially appreciate it, and you felt hurt? Maybe her love language was “words of affirmation” or “quality time” rather than gifts. You probably gave a gift because that’s the way you perceived love from someone, or out of habit just assumed she’d want a gift. 

Quality Time people want to know you are interested in what interests them: a hobby, book, sports, a TV show, etc.  They value good conversation and feel loved through personal, undivided attention.  They feel “I’m important to you.”

Words of Affirmation people notice facial expression, body language, tone of voice and choice of words, and feel loved when these are all positive.  They pick up on the “spirit” in which something is said, and feel loved when someone verbally expresses enjoyment of who they are.  A person whose love tank needs words of affirmation can more easily be hurt by angry, critical and negative words, and can easily withdraw into themselves or lash out with their own weapons that wound.  Use the “sandwich” technique when you need to offer constructive criticism to a Words of Affirmation person.  Layer the criticism between the top and bottom layer of affirming comments.  Jesus used this communication style in addressing the seven churches in the Book of Revelation, chapters 2 and 3.

We should not expect our loved ones to automatically pick up on our love language.  We are also responsible to verbalize our feelings and not “clam up” in anger or frustration when our love tank is low, and assume they just don’t care.  Statements such as, “When you say I look pretty, I feel loved,” will let them know what fills your love tank.

For more on the subject of love and relationships, I recommend Gary Chapman’s book “The Five Love Languages” and “Keep Your Love On” by Danny Silk.

“Love is patient, love is kind.  It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It is not rude, it is not self-seeking.  It is not easily angered; it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”  I Corinthians 13:4-7 NIV

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy

Ancestor Eli Yoder

The year was 1899: the summer my great-grandfather, Eli Yoder, built a barn on his farm in Aurora, West Virginia.  Henry Mosser was hired to move his saw mill operation to Eli’s property to cut the timber into lumber.  One Thursday as Eli felled a tree, he caught a gray squirrel that fell with it.  Somehow that little creature squirmed around until he bit Eli – through his leather glove – into his thumb at the first joint.

Thinking nothing of it, Eli kept on with his work.  But around midnight of the same day, his thumb became very painful.  The next morning they sent for the doctor, who announced Eli had blood poisoning, but would do his best to treat it.  Someone had to be with him day and night.

In the middle of this entire trauma, Eli’s wife Dora had to cook meals for the saw mill hands, log cutters and haulers.  When Eli was at his worst, he got the news that his father, Christian Yoder, was dead.

Those were the days long before penicillin, and the excruciatingly painful ordeal lasted three months for Eli.  But that was not what killed him.  After the doctor cut his hand open “in a good many places,” it drained and he soon recovered. 

Eli moved his family to Summit Mills, Pennsylvania and was a highly esteemed farmer of Elk Lick Township.  Physically frail at the age of sixty-seven, with his right arm having been paralyzed for some time, he was still able to do some light work and drive the wagon to town.  

One Sunday morning as his family attended the Amish Mennonite Church, he was home alone.  Suddenly two young men appeared at the kitchen door and asked for something to eat.  My great-grandfather was not the kind of man to turn any hungry person away, but he was suspicions of these two.  However, he set about getting them something to eat.  Soon, a noise at the front of the house caught his attention.  Looking out, he saw two more young men carrying crocks of butter and other things out of the cellar.

He immediately went outside to stop them, and the gang of four miscreants began to throw stones at him and threatened to kill him.  He went back inside the house and the four got away with one crock of butter.  He wasn’t hit by any of the rocks.  But the frightening encounter with the ruffians coupled with the memory of his father’s robbery and torture by the McClellandtown Gang twenty-five or thirty years earlier, so reacted on his nerves that he suffered a physical collapse after the vandals left.

Monday (the next evening) three young men, Fiddler, Frickey and Schrock, came to Eli’s house to make settlement, they said, by order of the guilty parties.  The three insisted they didn’t know who the guilty parties were.  Eli and his family said they would not accept any settlement unless the guilty party showed up.  The emissaries finally said they would bring the culprits to make amends the following evening.

But the next day, Tuesday, Eli became much worse, so much so that the family sent for Dr. J. W. Wenzel to administer medical treatment.  Dr. Wenzel said Eli was suffering severely from nervousness and his vital signs were very low.  He tried to do what he could, but to no avail.  Eli died at 7:30 that evening. 

None of the gang showed up Tuesday evening to make amends and Detective M. R. Leckemby and Constable D. R. Cramer began a search that night that ended in their apprehension. 

I see a pattern of trauma, fear and intimidation in my Yoder family’s history; it gives me some insights about my grandfather Claude (Eli’s son) my own father, Edwin (Claude’s son) and myself.  I thank God for the power of the Name and blood of Jesus that breaks every generational curse and stronghold of the enemy in our lives!  Hallelujah!

I am deeply indebted to my son-in-law Keith Yoder, son of Alton J. Yoder of Meyersdale, PA, for making the historical documents of these accounts available to me.  There are no photographs of Eli.

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy

Ancestor Christian Yoder

My great, great, great grandfather, Christian Yoder in his younger years

“Tell us where your money is or we will kill you for sure this time.” 

My great-great-great grandfather Christian Yoder regained consciousness to find two gang members standing over him, one with a revolver pressed against his forehead, and the other brandishing a long dirk-knife over his throat, demanding more money.

“I don’t have any more to give you,” Christian croaked…

The notorious McClellandandtown Gang of Somerset County, Pennsylvania, had wrecked havoc for years in Fayette County, to the point that law enforcement officials were intimidated by their threats of vengeance if deterred or captured.  The year was 1889.

On the evening of April 13, four masked thieves entered the home of my wealthy and elderly ancestor, Christian Yoder.  They bound and gagged Mr. Stevanus, the hired man, and all family members except Christian’s wife who was in feeble health.  The thugs demanded money, and threatened to take his life if he didn’t comply.

Christian admitted there was money in a bureau drawer in the next room.  When the robbers counted it, they found four hundred dollars. (That was quite a sum of money those days.)  The gang demanded more, but Christian told them there was no more.

The gang ransacked the house and found fifty dollars belonging to Christian’s wife and eighty-six dollars belonging to Miss Ellen Baker, the hired girl.  They still weren’t satisfied.

In spite of my great, great, great grandfather’s repeated assurances there was no more money, the scoundrels didn’t believe him.  They dragged him out of the house, across the yard into the barn where they started a fire; they threatened to burn the barn down if he still refused to produce the rest of his money. 

Christian stated again there was none, so one of the gang members put a rope around the neck of my defenseless ancestor.  Together with the help of another gang member, they hoisted the rope up over a barn beam and pulled the old man up to hang in mid-air, shoes dangling six feet off the ground.   

When his breathing became more labored and they saw he was half-dead, they lowered him onto the floor and again demanded money.  With none forthcoming, they strung him up again.  The leader of the gang arranged the burning hay and straw directly under Christian, where the searing flames blistered his hands and scorched his clothing.

Again they lowered the feeble old man onto the ground. They threatened him with a revolver and dirk-knife while the other two gang members ransacked his house.  They brought up bread, pies, and meat from the cellar, collected other food they found in the kitchen and spread it on the table.  After stuffing themselves, whatever wasn’t eaten was destroyed.  Christian was tied up as the thieves stole a matched pair of prized gray horses, and the marauders rode away at break-neck speed.

When the hired hand (Mr. Stevanus) didn’t come home at the usual time, his wife sent her two sons to see where he was.  They found the victims and quickly released them.

Fifteen days later, on April 28, 1889, the thugs were captured, led by an armed body of courageous men from the tiny village of Summit Mills; the men were led by ex-Sheriff Kyle of Meyersdale, PA. Bravo!  They did what law enforcement was afraid to do.

The entire McClellandtown Gang was given a hearing before Judge Baer on May 10. 1889, and were convicted on May 30.  They were sentenced to ten years in solitary confinement in the Western Penitentiary. 

This notorious gang had been allowed to pillage and terrorize all of Fayette County for years because authorities were filled with fear.  All their “attempts” at capture had failed.

Whether it’s in our personal or spiritual life, fear paralyzes – produces inaction or the wrong action.  Our intimidator and thief, the devil, roams around looking for someone to devour.  That’s why we need the ammunition of the Word of God: speak it, stand on it, and don’t lose courage.  Fear produces timidity.  Faith overcomes fear every time.

“For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.”  2 Timothy 1:7 (NIV)

Don’t let the devil steal from you.

*My source for the above account is a booklet titled “The Robbery of Christian Yoder by the McClellandtown Gang 1889.”  The booklet was reprinted by my grandfather, Claude Yoder, in 1973.  

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy

Rolling With the Punches

My husband and I opened our home for a fellowship dinner for our former life group at 6:30 Friday evening for twenty people. My menu was West African Groundnut Stew from the More-With-Less Mennonite cookbook, and each guest had signed up to bring condiments such as peanuts, diced apples, peppers, scallions, raisins, pineapple, bananas, etc, rolls and dessert.

I did my cleaning the day before, got my tables ready and made the iced tea to save time on the day of the dinner. I put bowls, snack plates and napkins for the hors-d'-oeuvres on my dining room buffet.

By Friday, I still hadn’t heard whether or not Margaret* was coming, and then I remembered she was allergic to beef. So I called her and told her I’d make a chicken Alfredo/broccoli casserole for her, and she was so glad. Margaret asked if she could bring anything, but I told her everything was covered. 

Off I went to the grocery store and bought five pounds of cubed beef and rice plus ingredients for the chicken dish. 

Once home, I checked my e-mail, and Nancy*, who had signed up to bring two pumpkin pies, had e-mailed me and said she was sick, would not be attending, but would keep her promise and deliver the two pies at 5:30. 

After lunch, I checked my e-mail again out of habit, and Nancy had sent another e-mail, saying that as she was putting the pies into the oven, one of them fell on the floor. She was quite distraught because she didn’t have money to buy more ingredients, felt so ill and was trying to do too much, and said how embarrassed she felt. When I called her, she had just finished cleaning up the pumpkin pie mess. I felt so bad for her, and urged her to go lie down, keep the other pie for herself, and put the fellowship dinner out of her mind. Much to Nancy’s relief, I assured her I’d just call Margaret back and ask her to bring some dessert.

After I made arrangements with Margaret for the dessert, I was dicing and slicing and chopping away when suddenly I thought, “How could I forget? Today is the 17^th!  It’s Doug’s birthday!” (Doug is our oldest son who lives in the lower level of our home, and co-owns our home.) I had not bought him a card or gift, and decided I need to at least get him a card. So I dropped what I was doing, got my coat and purse, jumped into the car and headed for the CVS several blocks from us. I got the card and a cute gift (because there was lots of Valentine’s Day merchandise available), came back home, found a gift bag and tissue paper. When Dave got home, I reminded him of our son’s birthday, so he sent Doug a birthday e-mail.

My Groundnut Stew was swelling exponentially by the time I was ready to add the liquid and tomato paste, and I saw it would never begin to fit in the pot I was using. So I drafted hubby to bring in my canner from the garage and he helped me transfer the hot mixture into it. By this time it was 4:00—just two and a half hours before our first guest was to arrive. I had ingredients everywhere, not enough counter space, plus I still had to make the chicken casserole and the rice. I felt hot and prickly all over. Could I pull this off?

With the heat finally reduced to a suitable simmer so it wouldn’t scorch in the lighter-weight, make-shift cooking vessel, I made the chicken casserole, put it in the oven at 250° for a slow bake, and then cleaned up the kitchen and took out the trash. 

Dave called to me from our office: “Hon, this is January, not February. Doug’s birthday is in February.” 

Oh for Pete’s sake—what was I thinking? Sheesh!

I was putting Cheddar Chex Mix, tortilla chips and Chi-Chi’s salsa into bowls on the buffet table when the first guests arrived at 6:20. It was Margaret and her husband with several desserts, and I placed a colorful tray of cheesecake slices on the counter with the desserts and coffee. Bless her heart. The person who signed up to bring the dinner rolls never did show.

Three unexpected guests showed up.

Sharon* told me Cora* was bringing a birthday cake as a surprise to celebrate Francine’s 50^th birthday. At dessert time, I asked Cora when they were going to serve the cake. She replied, “We didn’t bring cake; we brought these,” and pointed to neatly-arranged pudding parfaits in cups. Then she asked, “Who told you we were bringing cake?” I told her Sharon must have been mistaken, and just assumed there would be cake because we were signing a birthday card for Cora. It turned out that everyone was glad Margaret had brought that tall, fancy and fabulous chocolate cake. There was only a teeny slice left.  

Our burgeoning home was rockin’ with lots of noisy love and laughter from nineteen adults as four children shrieked with delight playing air hockey in our game room downstairs. 

Dave got a call on his cell phone from Doug, saying he was going out for Chinese, and, “Would the person who parked across the entrance to my driveway please move his car?”

At ten o’clock and after many hugs and well-wishes that warmed our hearts, the last guest left and we began the clean-up. Paper plates, plastic silverware, cups and napkins had been gathered by my guests and trash taken out before they left. I started the dishwasher but my sink was still full of dirty dishes that would wait until Saturday. Life is good.

And Doug’s birthday gift is perched on my dresser awaiting the arrival of February 17^th.    

*Names have been changed

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy

The Little White Church on Beachley Street

Feelings of wistful sadness washed over me as I lay sleepless last night.  I thought of the small white church I attended as a pre-teen and teenager: First Mennonite Church on Beachley Street in Meyersdale, PA.  My throat tightened as memories crowded my mind.

I visualized the center row of long dark benches and two rows of shorter dark benches on either side, creating two aisles.  At the age of eleven, I stood at the end of one of those center benches to publicly declare my faith in Jesus Christ as tears rolled down my face.  And after a number of weeks of instruction, I knelt in front of that church to be baptized by the Mennonite method of pouring.  

I remembered a row of benches against the back wall of the church, too.  I saw the pulpit and the two alcove windows behind the pulpit, with a picture of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane hanging on a narrow wall between the windows.  I remember a door to the outside on the left.  A steeple with a church bell that rang on Sundays graced the church over the entryway.  Tall narrow frosted-glass windows looked like those of churches one sees on Christmas cards.

 

I thought about how that little church gave me the opportunity to develop in my Christian walk. Here in this place, I was asked to teach summer Bible School, Sunday school, and sometimes give a talk on a certain topic Sunday nights.

We had a great youth chorus under the direction of Ray Hershberger, the father of my best friend Maretta.  I remember the weekly practices and chorus programs we gave in churches and at Oakland Nursing Home in Maryland.  I think we sounded quite good!

I recalled the wonderful youth group we had under the direction of Sam and Elizabeth Yoder.  We held elections for a president, secretary and treasurer and followed Robert's Rules of Order in conducting our youth meetings.  I remembered the  mystery suppers, talent nights, hayrides and hot dog roasts, making food baskets at Thanksgiving for needy families, making candy in Elizabeth's (and my mom's) kitchens for Christmas packages, and more. 

I'll never forget my impression of a preacher from the Church of the Nazarene came to First Mennonite to preach for us.  I can still see him walk to the platform, get down on his knees, and pray for a little while before preaching. 

I remembered Ressley Tressler, Norman Teague and Ross Metzler who pastored our little church over the years.  I gave thanks to God for their faithful oversight of our little flock.

When the church disbanded, a group of Spirit-filled “Amish Mennonites” started a Charismatic church there called “Rock Church,” and my husband and I were so blessed to be part of that.  During that time, our first son was born (forty-five years ago) and we dedicated him to the Lord in the little white church.  My parents and Dave’s parents also attended there, and I thank God for their godly influence in our lives.

We drove past the little white church several years ago.  The once-special place is now used for some sort of garage or tire storage facility and the windows are boarded shut.  Overgrown with vines, trees, and shrubs that threaten the thirsty once-white clapboard siding, my dear little church looked forlorn and badly neglected.

I wiped my tears with the bed sheet.  Even though the church is no more, it was once used by God to give me spiritual life.  I felt deeply grateful to God for all the people who entered and exited the doors of the little white church on Beachley Street.

"The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance."  Psalm 16:6 (NIV)

  

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy