Category Archives: life

To the Women I Saw Yesterday

Posted in life, Poland by

Dear Women on the Street,

I walked past you this morning, sun shining and snow glittering. I was wearing my long down-filled coat, with the hood up, practically wrapped up in a blanket. I want to ask you why you scowled at me, raking me over with your eyes–eyes filled with what seemed to be contempt and disdain and disapproval.

I don’t get it.

Was it the tall hood that looks sort of like an astronaut? But lots of other ladies use their hoods too.

No, mine isn’t fur or even fur-lined. Was it the unfashionable tan color you disapproved of?

And I don’t wear mascara or lip-stick, but surely I wasn’t so haggard-looking that my un-painted face shocked you into scowling.

I was smiling. Was that it? The sun was shining, and I was happy thinking about the day and what I had to do before hosting my sister’s baby shower. Was it the smile that shocked you?

Would it be too much to ask for you to smile back? Yeah, I thought so.

You know, some days it gets to be Too Much. Some days I think I’ve had it with women who obsess about their hair and skin and nails and figure and I want to say CAN WE PLEASE JUST BE? Can we just relax and say I’m ok–you’re ok. You’re ok, just the way God made you, and I don’t have to prove anything, and you don’t either.

This class-consciousness, this taboo list of what you can wear or not wear because of what year it was fashionable, this caste system that has untouchables and upper-caste, I’m sick of it. Sick of the favoritism and elitism and snobbery. Sick of the capriciousness and pressure to perform. Is that why you can’t smile–you’re worn out from it?

So I opt out of it, and I’m happy to be out of the race. I probably don’t care enough about clothes and how I look, but I aim to be clean, smell nice, and dress modestly. Which is a whole other subject, and we won’t get into that here.

But please, please, please, if the sun shines and the snow is like glitter, please smile. Just try to eek out a little pleasure from the spires stretching into the sky and children on sleds.

I know it’s a sad world, and we cry when we see the news about children being shot, and our friends are ill, and our hearts are smashed into bits for reasons that no one knows. I know, I know, and it’s ok to cry.

And I know it’s different in this country, when you used to be able to curry favor from the police if you told them about an insurrectionist like me who didn’t do everything that everyone else did.

But today is today! The sun is shining! I’m walking past you and I’m not SO ugly!

I beg you, ladies, please smile back at me! It would make me so happy.

A Happy List

Posted in life, recommendations, teaching English by

What made me smile this week:

1. buying hostess gifts for my trip to the US later this month

2. a child’s sled piled with snowballs

3. the mingled smells of coffee and tangerines

4.discovering delightful blogs to subscribe to: a foodie one, and a bookish one

5. red berries on a tree, powdered with snow

6. magnanimous love sent in a huge box all the way from America

7. picking greenery and putting it around the kitchen (greenery is magic because it arranges itself!)

8. a peppermint chocolate latte with all the trimmings made by Carolyn just for me

9. a successful decorating project (travel, paper, and fonts)

10. beautiful students beaming because they could make this construction: These boots are black.

11. knowing intimacy with the Almighty never changes because of circumstances

12. a long video Skype call with a friend who says it how it is with finesse and incredible largeness of soul

13. having time to teach two girls about pentangles, and seeing their fun with it

Book Giveaway: Tea and Trouble Brewing

Posted in books, life, recommendations by

Writers live these strange double lives. They want to write honestly, but they can’t always say things exactly as they are about themselves and the people they love, because it might be uncouth, or an invasion of privacy, or Too Much Information. Then people think the writer is a paragon of perfection, and stand around waiting to tell her that they feel like they know her when they actually don’t know her, and she can’t tell them that they have really inaccurate ideas about her.

But Dorcas is an author whose writing is as authentic as it is possible to be without being inappropriate. She is as witty as but not as sarcastic as Erma Bombeck, and she is gentle, without being spineless. Dorcas is one of those special people with whom I corresponded long before I actually met her. She advised me to self-publish my book instead of waiting longer for a publisher. It was the push I needed, and I’ve never regretted it. Then when she visited here in Poland and we drank tea together with her girls at her sister-in-law’s table, I saw how gentle and wise she is in real life. Happily, we still correspond now and then, (nearly always about writing) and I always feel safe and understood with her.

Now I get to promote her newest book, Tea and Trouble Brewing.

The whimsical cover illustration looks like the proverbial tempest in a teapot. I was charmed when I opened the cover and saw the table of contents, and that the five sections each had their own tea name. Oolong. Mint. Roiboos. This is going to be tasty! And it was, of course.

The way I can tell if it’s a good book or story is if it makes me laugh or cry. This book did both to me. To you I admit that I cried when Dorcas cried when their dog died. But I laughed aloud when she apologized tearfully to the fish dangling on the end of her fishing pole.

Dorcas graciously agreed to an interview with me. So here we go:

1. How did you decide on those 5 kinds of tea for the book sections?

Actually, I don’t recall.  I went for variety, and some of my favorite flavors.  And I love the sound of “oolong.”  I considered including Kericho Gold Black Kenyan Tea but that’s not really a “kind” of tea in the same sense as green or rooibos.

Weren’t you tempted to include Lady Grey, Spiced Chai, and English Breakfast?

Well, yes.  But you know, one has to stop somewhere.

2. Do you drink coffee at all, or is it always tea?

I do drink coffee on occasion.  If I go out for breakfast, at church potlucks, now and then with my coffee-living children.  I love iced coffee on a hot day.

3. Do you write in quietness in the middle of the night, or in the hubub of your family life?

I wish very very much that I could write in the midst of noise and action.  It would make my life much easier.  So my best times are early morning, late at night, and when everyone is out of the house.  With my youngest being 13 years old, you’d think I’d be home alone all day.  Somehow that doesn’t happen very often.  And when it does, the phone rings all day.  So this is an ongoing struggle for me, to find time to think and write.

4 Your stories aren’t stuffy, but full of depth. Your life experiences and your wise responses to them have given you have a lot to offer your world, but you don’t pour it out indiscriminately.  What do you know now that you wish you’d have known when you were 21? (This is your chance to give free advice!)

If I could, I would go back and tell my 21-year-old self: Quit obsessing about everything, especially yourself.  Most people mean well.  God actually loves you.  We are all sinners, so don’t let people intimidate you.  You’re going to be fine.  You’re as cute as you’re going to get, so enjoy it.

5. What’s the best piece of writing advice that you’ve ever received?

A tossup: Elisabeth Elliot’s “Make every word do its work,” (paraphrased) which means, cut out every unnecessary word.  And “You have to write bad before you can write good,” which frees me from the paralysis of fear of beginning.  I don’t know who said it.  Oh, and Elizabeth Engstrom said that you don’t need to write with an agenda.  Who you are and what you believe will come out inadvertently, whether you write novels or essays or advertising copy.  That was freeing.

6. You  have a gifted way of describing places like the Willemette Valley or Lake Victoria with crisp, simple words that help your readers see the scene. Have you ever considered travel writing?

Ooooohhh, have I considered travel writing.  If I could come back and live another life, I’d be a travel writer.  I love seeing a new place from the inside out, and telling about it.  Going to a women’s party in Yemen and watching all those black robes get shed and those gaudily clad women come alive and party, and then writing about it, was a highlight of my writing career.

7. If time and money were no issue, where would you travel?

Australia.  An island off Puget Sound.  South Africa and Botswana.  Eastern Europe.  Ireland.  Prince Edward Island.  The Civil War battlefields.  Jamaica.  Somewhere in South America–maybe Paraguay.

8. Your dedication to Amy is beautifully worded. How many more dedications/books to your children are you aiming for? Does this look like hard work or pleasure to you?

You may note the progression of dedications: Paul.  My parents.  Matt.  Amy.  I told the children I plan to keep going and dedicate one to each of them.  That looks like both pleasure and work.  Getting Tea and Trouble Brewing published after numerous delays seemed to uncork something in my head, and now I have freely-flowing ideas for three or four more books.

Thanks, Dorcas, for sharing your world and words with us!

Now it’s your chance to win a free copy of Tea and Trouble Brewing! Leave a comment below to enter the drawing. Or if you can’t log in for a comment, email me at anitayoder-at-gmail-dot-com. The give-away is open for 7 days, and on Dec. 1 I’ll draw a number and send the book to the winner.  All the way from Poland!

To buy your own copy , go to Amazon to pay by credit card.  To pay by check, send $15 to Dorcas Smucker, 31148 Substation Drive, Harrisburg, OR 97446. . Dorcas is doing a promotion and is selling her 4 books for $40, shipping included.

Together is The Way to Be

Posted in life, Poland by

When I go to church on Sunday morning, I think I don’t have impossible expectations. But it would be nice if everyone could be there on time. And please don’t expect me to chat with you while we’re singing because I don’t like being disturbed from focusing on the song and leader.

Would it be so much to ask to have the window cracked, so I could breath? Would it really be the death of anyone to have a light breeze in the room? It’s hard for me to concentrate on the speaker while I’m breathing fumes of fried onions and bad personal hygiene. I try sucking mints and holding my hand to my nose so as to smell the (nice) (Irish) lotion I used, but I still feel nauseated and need huge self-control to keep from bolting out the door.

When we’re drinking tea together afterwards, I want to have meaningful conversations, not negativity or complaining or arguing. I like to argue, but not after church. Let’s please try to take a day off from our vices.

We work hard to clean the place every Sat. and in several hours on Sun. the floor has clouds of dirt scattered around, sugary tea is splashed down the steps, empty water cups stand around, song books and chairs are anywhere and everywhere. It would be nice if someone else would care about keeping the place clean instead of just using it and leaving.

I could stay at home on Sunday mornings and be more comfortable on most every level. I could talk to God; He could talk to me. I could sing alone. I could even listen to a sermon. There could be worship and communication and encouragement.

But there wouldn’t be community.

I’m finding that when I leave seclusion and walk into a messy, unpredictable universe full of  personalities and bodies, there are a lot of aspects that prickle, disturb, irritate me. But I would also miss out on way too many things that make my life richer.

So yesterday, I could hardly breathe during the service for the smell and the stuffy air. But there were wise words spoken, sad news shared, tears, hugs, and songs. There was care and love poured out, worship and surrender. Glints of beauty sparkled around us–beauty that I’m not willing to do without.

There’s a woman who searches me out every Sunday to kiss  me and ask how I am, because she knows that I’m not always ok, and sometimes we’ve cried together, mingled tears on cheeks. There’s another who tells me about her week, and says she has stories to tell me when we’ll meet later in the day. There are creative little people in Sunday school who chatter happily to me and draw pictures as easily as they breathe.

Community means give and take. Not liking some things, but welcoming other things. It means color and texture (did I mention smells?) and depth that is impossible to find anywhere except together. I like it that way.

What You Say is What You Are

Posted in life, Poland, words by

Two days ago, I was driving an unfamiliar car out of an unfamiliar car park. It was snowy and the windscreen was foggy, but I was being as careful as I knew to be. I saw pedestrians around me but I wasn’t close to knocking anyone down, and didn’t skid.

As I waited for a break in traffic to pull out onto the main road (the one that reaches from Moscow to Paris!), a woman knocked on my window and harshly told me to pay attention when I drive out of there. Through the window, I said I’m sorry. She started walking away, then turned around again and pointed her finger at her head: “Stupid nun!”

I nodded dumbly because I can’t defend myself in Polish, beyond saying “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Her words shook me because I’m not the brightest light on the street, but I’m not used to being called stupid.  Which says more about the people around me than about me. But I wasn’t crushed or devastated by her rudeness.

It’s something I’ve heard all my life, but only recently the penny dropped for me, and I see that what someone says about me or does to me reveals more about them than about me. The rude lady on the street. The hurtful words or actions directed at me. Neglect or carelessness that hurt me. None of that means that I deserve those words and actions, that I’m stupid or unworthy of care. It only reveals the perspective and the life experience of the one whose words and actions I receive.

Not that I’m perfect and never fail, and never need to be called to higher things. But no one ever deserves rudeness or abuse or harshness, no matter how imperfect they are.

But it cuts both ways. When I judge/criticize/make a statement about someone else, I’m revealing my own heart more than I am giving an accurate picture of that person. When I call someone unfeeling or impossible or thoughtless, chances are that I’m saying words that describe me.

Ouch.

No Complaining in Our Streets

Posted in life, singleness by

There’s a phenomenon that I’m observing, and I’m not sure what to think about it. Has anyone else noticed it?

It’s this: it’s ok for young moms to complain about how tired they are and how cranky their children are. It’s ok for other moms to announce to the world how worried they are about their teens driving, or the dreadful trouble they had washing their husband’s shirts, or how their house is always a wreck because of the husband and children. It’s all part of life; it’s expected–or at least accepted–to complain.

But it’s not ok for singles to tell their world about their worries. Wives can fuss about their husbands, but singles aren’t free to mention that their husbands don’t sit beside them at the church potluck. Wives are allowed to worry aloud about their husband’s job change, but singles feel unheard if they mention how weary they are of needing to decide every year if they’ll teach school again. Singles are expected to be independent but it’s ok if the wife complains that her husband didn’t fill the car with gas.

Maybe singles’ worries are more personal, and shouldn’t be public. Maybe they need a spokesperson who says ‘guess what–did you know the single girl who appears so happy and independent actually cries alot when she’s alone, and she wishes she had the things you complain about?’

What are the dynamics going on here with these unspoken rules about complaining? Can anyone tell me?

Or maybe all of us, whoever and wherever we are, should try to stop complaining.

Heaven knows (and my closest friends do too) that I do more than my share of complaining. I have no excuse except that sometimes it feels like the whole world has ridden off into the sunset in pairs without me and all I can do is wail alone.

But a gentle voice emerges between the wails reminding me that there is something more sure than loneliness and stronger than pain. (You know how a parent talks to his child while the child catches his breath when it’s crying? That’s what God does to me.)

And if I listen long enough in my whimpering, that voice persuades me that I was really foolish to complain because I’m not the center of the world, and there’s a lot of heart break out there that I should care about, and how about washing someone’s feet instead of navel-gazing?

Related Post: Nobody Knows the Trouble

Eternal God

Posted in life, music by

It was a day when good and bad mixed in a crazy way. There was sunshine and belly laughs and sunglasses to hide tears. The day ended in a deliciously serendipitous way–choir friends crowded into a room, spilling out of chairs and sofas, beside the fireplace and on the floor. I sat on the floor, knees pulled up to my chest, sandwiched between 2 friends who sat tight beside me.

Our conductor told us stories about living and teaching in Kenya. How he would line the songs–the words and the harmonizing notes for each part–and his Kenyan choirs learned all their songs that way. And because we were a choir, and these people never stopped singing, he lined a new song for us.

Every word thudded onto my heart with each word’s weight. Tears dripped off my chin and the friends beside me squeezed my hands.

Eternal God, faithful and true, All of our longings come home to you. All of our longings come home to you.

You are our strength, You are our stay–Go now before us, show us the way. Go now before us, show us the way.

That we might have power to see God’s love so wide and deep, so strong and free–God’s love so wide and deep, so strong and free.

Eternal God, faithful and true, All of our longings come home to you. All of our longings come home to you.   — James Croegaert

Edited to add:

Several years later, I was privileged to sing this song under this director. That recording is available here: https://christianlearning.org/product/eternal-god/. I still listen to this CD often. I’ve sung the song many times since, but the wonder is still new.

A Story of a Whim

Posted in life, music, Poland by

Last November, two of my friends and I went to Warsaw. We had a free day from school, so we went just because we could. One friend knew Warsaw better than two of us, so she took us here and there, to an elegant coffee shop, then the place with the best ice cream, and we meandered down old streets and posed here and there for photos just for memories, not for being photogenic.

On a whim, she took us into the church where Chopin’s heart is buried. (He died in Paris, but they sent his heart back to his birth country.) Poles are proud of this relic, and can’t understand why most Americans think it’s gruesome and strange.

In the back of the church was a bulletin board and a poster announcing a chorale festival the next week. I took a photo of it with my phone to be able to retrieve the details.

The next week, knowing the time and place of the concert, my friend and I went back to that church to listen to two youth choirs, one from Germany, and another from Sweden. It put me  into raptures and we arranged to go to another church the next night to hear the last of the choirs in the festival.

It happened to be a church on the outskirts of Warsaw, and after the girls choir from Russia sang and the next choir on the program didn’t show up, our small group stayed to chat with the priest. He told us this is the oldest church in Warsaw, and his warm, grandfatherly spirit made it easy to talk and ask questions. We asked if we could sing a song for him, and we formed a small half circle and sang “Amazing Grace” in Polish.

As we left, we said to each other, “We have to come back here with Hope Singers!”

In time, the  right contacts were made, and August came,  and Hope Singers came to the church’s door, but the priest didn’t really remember us and wasn’t sure why we were there.  We felt a little unnerved, but certain that we were there for reasons bigger than ourselves.

It was the last program of Hope Singers 2012. The acoustics  were good, the small audience warm and responsive, and we prayed to be able to spread light and life to what felt like a dark place. At the end, we stood around the auditorium and sang an African song that carried us away with the words “Satan has no power, he flees far from us, hallelujah!”

It seemed that light had penetrated the place, and the priest told us that he’s never been with Americans where he prayed the whole time. He welcomed us warmly to come back,  and that he would publicize it next time.

You never where a whim will take you. That’s why I like them.

An Obligation to Re-creation

Posted in life, recommendations by

Another tidbit from Jean Vanier’s Community and Growth, from the ‘Nourishment’ chapter:

The more intense and difficult community life becomes, and the more tension and struggles it produces, then the more we need times of relaxation. When we feel strung up, tense and incapable of praying or listening, then we should take some rest–or even get away for a few days.

Some people don’t know what to do with free time. They spend hours just sitting around and talking. It’s sad if people have no interest outside the community, if they’ve given up reading, if they don’t enjoy simple pleasures like walking and listening to music. We have to help each other keep alive the personal interests which helps us relax and re-create us.

It was good to think about the things that re-create me. Here are some: walking on a quiet road. A letter. Writing my journal. Singing. Silence. A well-crafted paragraph. Laughing til I cry. Crying til I smile. Travelling by train.

What re-creates you? You should do it today.

Humility is Truth

Posted in life, words by

If you want a good book to chew on for awhile, pick up Jean Vanier’s Community and Growth. It’s rich, crammed full of wisdom that comes from experience and insight into how people function with each other and God.

This morning I was reading it while drinking coffee, sitting in the sun on the steps. The following paragraph made me remember the meeting I was in yesterday where all 3 of us admitted a certain level of fear about the new things we were planning/discussing, and that honesty helped me feel not so alone as I had before.

This  is from the chapter “Nourishment.”

I am struck by how sharing our weakness and difficulties is more nourishing to others than sharing our qualities and successes. There is a fundamental tendency to become discouraged in community. We either believe that others are better than we are, or that they don’t have to cope with the same problems. The discovery that we are all in the same boat and all have the same fears and weariness, can help us to continue. People are nourished by humility, because humility is truth; it is a sign of the presence of God.–Jean Vanier