A View from the Buggy Page 10

  He said, “Yes, we got along fine. Never talked to them.”

  Later, when the opportunity arose, I asked the man who used to live in our house how he got along with the neighbor just north of us.

  He said, “I guess he’s a good neighbor. I lived there ten years and never talked to him.”

  After meeting another neighbor just around the corner and striking up a conversation with him, he suddenly said, “You know, I’m just thinking. We’ve lived here thirty years, but you’re the first neighbor who’s ever stopped in to meet us.”

  I guess we were brought up differently. We found it was a good thing to offer our help to our neighbors when in a time of need, be it fixing a fence, running cattle, or just general repairs around the place. We have been greatly rewarded for this effort over the years. As have others, I know. We find it very important to live the biblical teaching of “Loving thy neighbor as thyself.”

  Sometimes it takes a sacrifice on our part. I remember one rainy spring when it was hard to find enough dry days to put in the crops. Our neighbor, Tom, who was known to have a wild herd of beef cattle, needed help rounding up his calves and loading them for the sale barn. Since it was a nice day, and I had a field all ready to plant in corn, I was a little reluctant to help. But I did it anyway. It took a lot of time and coaxing to get his herd of a hundred or more into the corral. We finally shut the gates on the last ones. I sure was glad because some were really wild. He proceeded to call the sale barn to send out the tractor to load them.

  After a while he came out of the house and said he’d changed his mind and decided to turn them loose because they were having a small sale that day. Now that was hard to stomach. I had needed to be on the planter’s seat, but instead I had wasted all that time rounding up cattle who were turned loose again. However, I was richly rewarded by having a good neighbor whenever I needed to go somewhere. And in other ways he helped back. When they left the farm some time later it was hard to see them go.

  Recently one of our new neighbors stopped in to ask for help with a water pump he said his wife bought him for Christmas. He wondered if I knew how it was put in the ground and how to make it run. I asked a few questions, soon realizing he was unclear on what he actually had. He said his wife thought that the nation was about to run out of money. She thought all the electricity was going to be shut off and people would have to survive on their own. Therefore she bought him a water pump with a handle on it so he would be able to pump water on his own. He asked me how ours worked, how deep it was, and where the water came from. I had to keep from laughing when I realized his wife had purchased him a six-foot water hydrant, thinking that by raising and lowering the short handle he could pump water with it.

  But that keeps life interesting. And our plans are to continue trying to be good neighbors so that we will have good neighbors.

  They Said I Do

  Rachel Troyer

  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever (Psalm 23:6).

  MEET SAMUEL AND LINDA SWARTZENTRUBER, TWO SPECIAL PEOPLE who’ve touched the lives and hearts of all those who knew them and many who didn’t.

  When Samuel and Linda first met, they were both in their mid to late twenties. Samuel moved to our community from Aylmer, Ontario, in 2007. We learned to know him as a keen mechanic who had a unique handicap—an allergy to horses that had him walking or biking wherever he went, and in all sorts of weather.

  At that time Linda was staying in an apartment at the Elmer Miller home with her sister Mary Kathryn. The two had lived there since the death of their mother in 2003. Their mother, also named Mary, had died from a cancerous brain tumor after a long and exhausting fight. Linda inherited this predisposition toward brain tumors, although hers were all benign. They first occurred when she was only 12 and damaged her optic nerves, which left Linda legally blind.

  But was she handicapped? Not Linda! She rallied with the four senses she had left and worked hard until she was competently performing most of her daily tasks without the benefit of sight. She even successfully managed a small bakery. Linda did many things with her hands and fingers that most of us do with our eyes.

  Linda had a determined nature and a strong will to succeed, which stood in her favor on many occasions.

  Through a series of unique circumstances, Linda had the opportunity to spend the summer in Tennessee with her aunt’s family, Floyd and Mille Hochstetler. She loved the challenges and joys of their large and adventurous family. It was a growing, stretching, and delightful summer.

  When Floyd and Mille were asked to move to a struggling sister settlement for a year to help out, Linda wanted to go with them and it was decided that she could—at least for a few months. So the necessary arrangements were made, and Linda’s spirit soared with excitement. She had long dreamed of doing something great for the kingdom of God.

  Several weeks before the planned departure, Linda came home to Michigan to see everyone before she left. In that week of last preparations and goodbyes, Linda was approached by a young man who made known his desire to begin a courtship with her. It was none other than Samuel Swartzentruber. Flustered, dazed, and excited as only Linda could be, she accepted his offer, and she left for the trip with plans to continue the relationship at some time in the future.

  After only a few weeks in their new home, Linda approached Floyd and Mille with the concern that her brain tumor had recurred. She was having headaches and feeling pressure behind her eyes. They scheduled an MRI and waited to hear the results. It all sounded much too familiar.

  Sadly, as Linda suspected, the tumor was back. Arrangements were made, and she was taken to a hospital in Mexico for her fourth brain surgery. Everyone breathed easier when the tumor was successfully removed and tested benign. Linda returned to Michigan to recover from surgery and to begin her formal courtship with Samuel.

  Their relationship progressed, and it wasn’t long until the two were making wedding plans. But in the midst of the planning, Linda’s symptoms returned. Another MRI was done. As we waited for the results, Linda said she felt well enough to go ahead with the wedding as planned. So it was decided to postpone treatment of the suspected tumor until the wedding was past.

  On April 14, a week before the wedding was planned, Linda’s dad came over one evening with the MRI results. The tumor was indeed there, and growing. Because of its size and aggressive nature, the doctors could not advise a delay at all—not even for the patient’s wedding. They said there was a danger of Linda slipping into a coma at any time.

  After Samuel and Linda, along with their family and ministry discussed the situation, they decided it would be best if the couple could face surgery as husband and wife. That way Samuel would be free to go along as Linda’s caregiver and protector while they were in Mexico. And so the obvious solution was to have an anointing service for Linda the next afternoon and an emergency wedding right after, minus the reception. This conclusion was reached shortly before midnight, and after it was decided, everyone went to get a bit of sleep for the remainder of the night.

  The next morning everyone moved into high gear to accomplish as many last-minute things as possible. Samuel’s brother was appointed to notify the guests as well as Samuel’s immediate family in Canada. The church family prepared the shed and others brought in benches. People dropped their work and rescheduled their day to attend the wedding and give support. Friends who could not be there in person lifted them in prayer.

  Perhaps no other bride and groom realized the depth of love and commitment behind the wedding vows as Samuel and Linda did. Certainly for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness or in health were not empty words, but a living reality. And till death do us part brought tears to the eyes of the congregation.

  After the simple ceremony, the congregation sang the familiar hymns that came alive with meaning. Softly and sincerely the melody and harmony blended. Linda had suffered from an intense headache all
through her wedding day, but she was upheld and strengthened by the hand of God through the prayers of many.

  And it was that Hand and those prayers that continued to sustain the couple as they flew out of the airport at midnight to face a honeymoon of hospital waiting rooms and major operations. But they could face their trial because of their faith in God and their love for each other. In spite of their circumstances, they held in their hearts the joy of the newlywed.

  Samuel and Linda spent one year and three months as husband and wife, more in sickness than in health. Linda’s brain tumors grew progressively worse in their recurrence rate and aggressive nature. A baby boy was added to their home after months of uncertainty and apprehension due to Linda’s condition. Elijah Hob was a healthy miracle baby. Three months after his birth, Linda passed away, and her testimony was still the same: God is good. Perhaps one of her favorite hymns says it best: “For I know whate’er befalls me, Jesus doeth all things well.”

  Our Bean Bin Tipped Over

  Betty Gingerich

  And who is my neighbour? (Luke 10:29).

  FARMING HAS IT CHALLENGES. IN THE FALL OF 2010 WE MET AN UNUSUAL one. We’d been growing organic beans for years. Every year at harvesttime the beans needed a place for storage. We would borrow gravity boxes from our non-Amish neighbors for that purpose. These would stay in the machine shed until the time came to sell them around February or March. However, our shed hardly had enough extra space for all those boxes, so other options were considered.

  Our brother-in-law Mahlon Miller owned a large 800-bushel bin, which we purchased. Just what we needed to store organic beans, we thought. The bin was set up in our asphalt yard. A silo stave was placed beneath each of the eight legs on the bin. During the bean thrashing season of 2010 the weather was warm, with temperatures in the 70s. About a week after the bin was filled, my husband, Rudy, noticed that beneath one leg the blacktop had softened and the stave was cracked. He knew that once one of the legs went down there would be a lot of pressure on that side and the bin might eventually tip over. Should he remove some of the beans?

  At that moment an old farmer friend, David Allen, drove in. Rudy asked him to take a look at what was going on. David considered the situation and said, “Rudy, that bin will never tip over. There are eight legs and there’s no need to worry.”

  Jon Berthlaw, who lived near the city, was also there that day. He was interested in buying a team of horses and wanted to see how the team worked, so Rudy let him help with the fall plowing that afternoon. Jon stayed for the night with plans to load up and head for home the next morning. Before suppertime Rudy again considered taking some of the beans out of the bin, just to be safe. Still, David Allen’s words rang in his ears, “Rudy, that bin will never tip over.” Surely David would know, Rudy thought, wise farmer that he was…

  The next morning we awoke to the sound of a slow rain falling. Rudy’s first thoughts were of the bean bin and he went to the porch door and peered out. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he soon recognized his fears had actually come true.

  “The bin did tip over!” he exclaimed.

  Wide awake now, he ran upstairs calling the children and knocking on Jon’s door. Rudy asked Jon to use his phone to call Dave McCabe to bring out his semitruck at once. But Dave’s semi was full so he couldn’t use that. His next call was to Darrel Urban, who also owned a semi. Darrel responded by saying, “Yes, I’ll come.”

  Rudy bounded out the door to meet the sorry sight face-to-face. I dressed and went out as well, feeling I needed to give my husband moral support. The top of the bin was completely off, having been jarred in the fall and from all the pressure of the beans. In all my life I’ve never seen so many beans. There were beans all over the place, most of them on the blacktop. The ones that had rolled off on the grass or dirt weren’t of any account anymore, as they were dirty and wet.

  The beans were now swelling from the rain. Something had to be done, and quickly. Rudy fetched tarps from our neighbor, and we covered what we could. Soon he had the team out and the box wagon brought over. One of Jake’s boys began scooping beans onto the wagons. Our girls and Aunt Martha helped as well. I decided I wasn’t much use in this situation. With more of the neighbors dropping by, I decided to go inside and bake cookies for the men, since there would be no thought of breakfast for Rudy until all the beans had been rescued.

  At last Darrel came with his semi and the men began to load beans. Jon, our friend from near the cities, was right there with a shovel, helping along. And then here came Dave McCabe with his tractor, pulling his grain vacuum. What a blessing that grain vacuum was. All the scooping stopped. The auger was pulled to a side and the grain vacuum began doing the work. Like a huge vacuum cleaner it sucked up the beans from the blacktop. The chaff blew from the dust collector and the beans went into the semi. In short order, Dave McCabe and his grain vacuum saved the day. We will never forget his kindness in bringing it over even without anyone asking. He knew his friend needed help and so he came. The other neighbors who showed up to help were also appreciated. What support we had!

  The beans were loaded, except for those on the grass, which were estimated at 25 bushels. Now we wondered what we should do with the beans we had saved. The contract was for the beans to be sold in February and here we were just into November. Rudy decided to call the contractor. The guy told him to bring them in. Either he’d pay now and give a dollar a bushel less than the contract price, or we could wait until February for the payment. We decided on the former.

  After eating breakfast and loading Jon Berthlow’s team, Rudy went with Darrel Urban to deliver the beans. He came home happy. The beans had been quite dry when they were thrashed, so the rain had not hurt them any.

  When Grandma heard about all this she said, “So that’s what I heard last night!”

  At 11:00 she had awakened upon hearing an awful crash, followed by silence. She hadn’t known about the worry of the bean bin going over, or she’d have alerted us to the noise.

  This fall the bean thrashing time rolled around, and we have another bin set up. We were thankful to find a 1000-bushel bin just four miles away, where an old elevator had sold out. There is a solid cement foundation under it now, and Rudy said, “If this bin goes down, it must have been a tornado went through.”

  Jon Berthlow and his wife brought their team down one day this fall to help with the bean thrashing. At the dinner table that noon we got to talking about the last time Jon was here when the bin tipped. Jon’s wife said we should have heard Jon’s story when he came home, how he couldn’t believe the support the neighbors showed.

  To which Jon had this to say: “I have never had so much fun in my life! Rudy waking me up early in the morning saying, ‘Jon, my bean bin tipped over!’ ”

  To which his wife added, “So this fall when Jon said he’s going back, I quickly asked, ‘Can I go too?’ ”

  So she got a taste of bin thrashing, and a taste of the food Jon had talked about, but thankfully she didn’t get a taste of the bin tipping over.

  Hosting Church

  Sarah Bontrager

  Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhorting one another: and so much the more, as ye see the day approaching (Hebrews 10:25).

  IT WAS A SUNDAY MORNING IN DECEMBER. I WAS SITTING ON THE backless wooden bench, listening intently as grey-haired Bishop Omer preached on discerning God’s will for our lives. I was seated with the 20 other young women near the front of the room. Around me some 180 people were gathered; the men sitting on one side and the women on the other.

  With the three-hour service halfway finished, I crossed my legs and sat up straighter. Bishop Omer now picked up the worn leather Bible, flipped it open, and said, “I want to turn to Matthew 6.” He proceeded to read the familiar high German words.

  I knew it was time for me to head for the kitchen and help Mom prepare lunch, since the hosting family used the second Scripture reading as their guide as
to when to begin the final preparations for the noon meal. So I slipped out of the room with my three younger sisters following me.

  Out in the kitchen Mom was already bustling about. Her face was flushed and curls of hair peeped out of her white head covering.

  “Katie, dish out the pickles into plastic bowls,” she said to my sister. Then she turned to Esther and said, “Set the trays on the tables. We’ll need nine tables and four trays on each table. That makes thirty-six—and also put nine others out for the cookies.”

  I grabbed the large 16-quart stainless steel bowl of peanut butter and began to stir.

  “This is too thick,” I said in a hushed tone, so the church service in the next room wouldn’t be disturbed.

  I added hot water to the peanut butter and began to stir with slow strokes. This had last been mixed on Thursday, so it was no wonder the mixture had hardened in three days of sitting around.

  “Mom, we’ll never be ready in time,” I heard my sister Lorene whisper. I turned to glance at Mom standing in front of the cookstove, tending the two 20-quart stockpots on the front burners. She looked worried.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “The brine’s not cooking yet,” Mom said, “and it’s eleven already. The noodles should be let set to soften at least an hour. What should we do?”

  “I don’t know,” I mumbled. I lifted a lid from one of the big stockpots and peered into the good-smelling kettle of chicken broth made with browned butter and seasonings. I stuck in my finger to test the temperature.

  “It’s warm,” I said. “It’ll be boiling before long.”

  “But it still won’t be ready by lunchtime,” Lorene said with an exasperated wave of her hands.

  “I’ll be so embarrassed,” Mom sighed. “I guess I should have stayed with the traditional meat and cheese we eat with the peanut butter, pickles, and bread.”