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

We Have a Winner and Advent

Posted in books, My Book, recommendations by

The random number generator chose #16 which means that Twila Burkholder won the giveaway for Tea and Trouble Brewing. Thanks to everyone who entered the drawing. It was way more fun than I was expecting, and it’s making me think about doing a giveaway for my own book, so stay tuned!

Until then, if/when it happens, you can order my book, Life is for Living (Not for Waiting Around) from the helpful people at CLR:

Christian Learning Resource
28500 Guys Mills Rd.
Guys Mills, PA 16327

Phone:  FREE 814-789-4769
Order line:  877-222-GROW (4769)

And for a sneak preview of the book, you can go to my blog and read the first page of each chapter. They’re listed on the sidebar, so have a look.

In other news, this morning I heard myself say “It’s snowing, I’m listening to Christmas music, eating a donut and drinking tea. Life is good!”

It’s true.

Advent is a beautiful season, waiting and focusing, expecting the light that will erase darkness. This is my favorite Advent hymn, though I wish I’d know and understand its original German lines.

Comfort, comfort ye my people, speak ye peace, thus saith our God;

Comfort those who sit in darkness, mourning ‘neath their sorrows’ load.

Speak ye to Jerusalem of the peace that waits for them;

Tell her that her sins I cover, and her warfare now is over.

Make ye straight what long was crooked, make the rougher places plain;

Let your hearts be true and humble as befits His humble reign.

For the glory of the Lord now on earth is shed abroad,

And all flesh shall see the token that His word is never broken. –Johann Olearius

Book Giveaway: Tea and Trouble Brewing

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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.

Normal: Travelling and Telling Stories

Posted in travel, Uncategorized by

“Do all Mennonites travel as much as you and your friends do?”

Last night wasn’t the first time that my friend asked me this. but it stumped me again. I don’t know what is normal for other Mennonites, only what’s normal for me. And normal for me is to hear stories of other countries, the food, the houses, transportation, the languages encountered. Stories and details galore, to wonder at and admire.

I said it’s normal for my family. Both of my grandfathers are globe-trotters dedicated to service, and the trait is strong in their grandchildren. An hour before my friend’s question, I’d read an email from my aunt planning Christmas activities with the extended family. There will be photos and stories from schools and missions in Liberia, the Far East, El Salvador, Mexico, Ukraine, Poland. Not to mention places of ministry within the US. Stories, stories, stories!

I’m not as well-traveled as I want to be, but packing a bag and making sure the ticket and money are safe is something I’ve often done–though not often enough to satisfy me.  So I was ecstatic to be able to fly on a whim to Ukraine last week end and join a friend for a missionary conference. The quick decision and foreign country and new acquaintences thrilled me like little else could. I wrote my family and close friends a report that was long but didn’t nearly say everything because it’s impossible to put all one’s impressions and comparisons and theories of a new country on paper.

While I’m immensely grateful for the legacy of travelling and missions that my grandparents and parents gave me, I don’t want to minimize the value of being steady in the home place. (Though I have this sneaking suspicion that the majority of  people do that because it’s their default setting rather than their calling. This makes me sad and a little angry sometimes. Is that my problem?) Going out to ‘do missions’ isn’t something to do for adventure. Sometimes the most anyone can do for the Kingdom is to be gracious to the irritating person beside them, to be gentle to the child speaking to them, to do more than the boss asks, to do the next thing even though it feels impossible.

Which we all must do, no matter where we are on this wide, beautiful globe.

Related post: Lengthening the Cords

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.

7 Quick Takes

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  • I wrote a book one time. They say the process is akin to having a baby in that it’s a long time in coming, and after it appears, it takes on a life of its own.  It’s true. Now mine has its own Facebook page. If you’ve read or want to read the book, you might go  over there and  ‘like’ it and see the bits and pieces that appear there.
  • My sister and I moved into a flat in town last Sat. This country mouse is getting used to waking up to sirens on the road and in the parking lot, and walking to school while the town is waking up. Actually, it’s not as loud and bustling as it could be and I’ve yet to meet any of our neighbors in the stairwell. (There are either 8 flights of 9 steps or 9 flights of 8 steps; I can’t remember, but Nate knows because he counted, probably when he was carrying up our boxes.)
  • The mom of my little boy student just now gave me a fresh ginger root. I don’t know why she did, but I’m grateful.
  • Our new flat has its walls covered with shelves of 4,000 English books. Yes, for real. I can’t believe it either.
  • Scarves are autumns’ compensations for needing to pack up summers’ sandals.
  • There are blogs and books with flamboyant, gushy lingo. They talk about yummy lighting and amazing food and stylish decorations. This one doesn’t, and does it seem that I care? This post was to be 7 quick takes, but it’s going to be 6.

More than English

Posted in Poland, teaching English by

“What do you do that all these people want you to be their private English teacher?” she asked me.

I don’t know. I just love them. I wish I could teach better, but mostly I love them.

She nodded. “And they feel your love and want to come back. I had a teacher like that once too.”

Walking down the street later,  it occurred to me that that I’d heard those words before.

It was when I asked Urie Sharp how he got good sound of choirs when the members hadn’t sung much before.

“Well, it works like it did when I taught school. I discovered that students will do anything for you when they know you love them.” And it was true, because I was in his choir, and we knew he loved us.

So today I taught useful words like butterfly and flamingo and factory and our. But what I value more was that we laughed together and met each other’s eyes and when each class left, little crumbs of my heart trailed out the door with them.