Dear Penny,
We miss you very much and we wish you could come back soon. Please come back. Oh please! But you won’t. Don’t worry. This evening you aren’t walking and trotting around in the kitchen eating Mommy’s cookies. We love you very, very, very much. We still miss you because we liked to play with you. Penny, you can just live in our hearts.
Bye-bye, Penny. Bye-bye!
Under Arrest
Omer Miller
For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to the evil. Wilt thou then not be afraid of the power? do that which is good, and thou shalt have praise of the same (Romans 13:3).
OUR DRIVER’S MINIVAN HUMMED ALONG THE CANADIAN HIGHWAY ONE hot summer afternoon. My traveling companions were the rest of the ministry of our community. We had spent the day attending a meeting in Aylmer, Ontario, and were now on our way home.
I reclined the seat and tried to relax, relieved to be heading home. I closed my eyes for what seemed a mere moment, only to be awakened with a start. The rumbling sounds of the Ambassador Bridge at the border crossing into Port Huron, Michigan, interrupted my siesta. The sight that greeted my tired eyes caused my heart to sink. There were long lines of traffic backed up by each of the border patrol booths.
“We might as well settle down for a long wait,” I announced. The only answers I got behind me were long sighs of resignation. Our anticipated three-hour drive suddenly looked like four hours.
Slowly, we crept toward the border patrol booth. Finally, after we’d inched along for half an hour, we stopped by the booth.
Our driver rolled down his window, ready for the rapid-fire questions. “Where are you from? Are you U.S. citizens? Where are you going? Where have you been? What for? How long were you there?”
Our driver patiently answered the questions and tried not to irritate the officer or cause any undue suspicion. We didn’t want to sacrifice more time than necessary, anxious to get home to our families. My son James handed his personal identification papers ahead to the driver. The young officer took them and began to punch his computer.
We patiently waited for him to return our papers and send us on our way.
“He sure is taking his time,” Deacon Omer Schrock noted. The officer didn’t peck away at his computer anymore but rather ignored us. Suddenly, out of nowhere our vehicle was surrounded by armed guards. My heart jumped in my throat.
“What’s up with this?” James exclaimed. What a sight! Here were five harmless Amish ministers surrounded by security guards who brandished their weapons as though we were some serial killers.
One guard stepped up to my door, jerked it open. “Get out!” he commanded. I got out and stood beside the van, unsure how to respond.
“Raise your hands above your head,” he barked.
I quickly complied. My mind refused to believe this.
“Walk toward the officer over there,” he continued.
I walked toward another officer ten feet behind the minivan, my hands high above my head. A hot wind blew and tousled my hatless head. It also threw my long, graying beard over my shoulder.
The officer glared at me as I approached him. “Turn around,” he snapped. “Lower your hands behind your back.”
I obeyed.
Instantly I heard an ominous click. I was handcuffed.
“Walk to the building to your right,” he ordered. Just in case this gray-haired Amish bishop decided to make a break, he moved me along with his Glock.
Suddenly my mind caught up with the events of the last two minutes. I was under arrest! So were my companions, including my son. What a welcome into our own country! Now I knew how our Anabaptist forefathers felt when they were arrested for no crime.
As we moved toward the building, the officer and I had to cross several busy traffic lanes.
This is quite a sight, I thought as I imagined tomorrow’s newspaper headlines would read, “Amish Men Arrested at Border.” At this point I felt more curiosity than fear, so I asked the officer, “What’s going on?”
“Keep on moving,” he demanded, and didn’t miss a step. The officer wasn’t very communicative so I kept further thoughts to myself.
We entered the building where I was directed into a small room and released from my uncomfortable handcuffs. I raised my hands while I received a vigorous pat down.
“Take off your shoes and empty your pockets. Put your things into this basket.” He pointed to a small basket.
Meanwhile, unknown to me, the other four brethren were receiving the same treatment. As one of the brothers was moved toward the building, he heard the officer mutter, “I think this is a mistake.”
After 30 minutes my officer instructed me to put on my shoes and he returned my personal belongings.
I was reunited with my fellow travelers in another room. The officer in charge apologized profusely and explained what happened. “When James Miller’s name came up on the computer,” he explained, “it showed he was a wanted man and considered dangerous. Obviously, we caught the wrong James Miller.” They had thought my son was a dangerous and wanted man. How ironic.
The rookie officer in the booth had taken no chances and pushed the emergency button, which caused this exciting scene. Fortunately, the driver wasn’t arrested but was instructed to drive his vehicle to a certain spot where they X-rayed it.
After the excitement died down and everyone understood what happened, the officers were friendly and apologetic and wished us well. In turn we recognized them for doing their duty and assured them we were not offended.
“We pray for our government officials daily,” we told them. The officers thanked us and wished us well.
Thus ended an unforgettable experience that reminded us that but for the grace of God, we could live in a land where we do not have our freedom.
The Victory
Kenneth Gingerich
Jesus answered and said unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God (John 3:3).
I WAS 16 YEARS OLD AND STOOD THAT EVENING WITH MY BACK TO THE sun, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
From the crest of the small hill I could see out across the valley polka-dotted with woods and neat little farmsteads. Even in the growing dusk it wasn’t hard to see that the pastures, woods, and everything was responding with lush fervor to spring’s call.
A coyote howled in the distance, and I shifted my weight again. I tightened my arms across my chest in an attempt to relieve the pressure within. I was way too disturbed to head for bed and relax. Instead, I was standing out here in an attempt to sort out my thoughts.
Today our community had held their semiannual practice of communion. The sermons had seemed to speak directly to me all day. I had sat spellbound as the ministers had gone through the Old Testament stories. And finally the preaching had climaxed in the afternoon with the account of the sufferings and death of Jesus. This had especially stood out to me and apparently to the rest of the congregation. We had all been spellbound as the bishop strode back and forth speaking of God’s gift of salvation.
“The burden of sin used to lie heavily on me,” the bishop had preached. “It was torment. I would go to bed nights and couldn’t sleep. I was afraid of God. The thought of death terrified me. I couldn’t go on like that, so I persuaded myself to try harder. If I would do my best, surely I could have victory over sin. Surely God would accept me if He saw how hard I was trying, but no matter how hard I tried, I never could find peace. My best was not good enough. The works of the flesh had a hold on me and, as a result, I felt lost, condemned, and unsaved. Outwardly my life was good and in order; inwardly I lived a life of sin and impurity.”
I had leaned forward to catch the bishop’s every word.
“But friends,” he had said, “this struggle all changed the day I received Christ into my life. Now I found it was possible to live a life of victory over sin. Out of ourselves we can’t do anything good. We can’t have victory over sin. We can try,
but no matter how hard we try, we still can’t.”
The bishop had paused before the center aisle to point over the congregation. “Christ has already won the victory over sin on the cross. When He rose again He triumphed over all the powers of sin. Why do we even want to try and win a victory for ourselves when so perfect and final a victory has been won already? Christ did His part. Our part is to simply yield ourselves. Just commit your past, your failures, your temptations, whatever it may be to Him. He will take care of them all, and besides that Christ will give you the power and strength that you need to stand victorious over sin.”
I had felt a keen sense of undoneness when the bishop had mentioned this. And again when the bishop had passed around the bread and wine. I felt a deep desire to belong to this faith. And yet I felt dirty and unclean. A pressing weight of guilt bore down on me. I knew I wasn’t ready to die.
The coyote howled again, but I hardly noticed it. The struggle inside intensified. A voice spoke loudly that it would not be worth it. But another voice persisted, “Come unto Me and I will give you rest.”
Suddenly I lifted my head as the thought came to me. Dad and Mom could help me.
When I went in the house, I approached Dad and asked, “What do I have to do to become a part of the church? I’m so tired of the way things have been going in my life the last while. I want something different.”
Dad leaned forward. “Kenneth, you’re asking questions that we all need to ask ourselves at one time or another. You asked what one must do. Well, you probably realize that unless Jesus is the Lord and Master of your life, church membership won’t do you much good.”
I looked down and said, “I know I’m going to need that victory over sin in my life the bishop talked about today. But how does one do this?”
Dad glanced over at Mom. “You don’t know how happy it makes us to hear you say this, Kenneth. The first thing any of us need to do is realize the sin in our life and that of ourselves we are lost. If you understand this, then you’re ready to confess your sins to God and ask Him to come into your life. Do you feel you’re ready?”
“Yes, Dad. That’s what I want,” I said boldly.
“Would you like to pray and ask God to come into your life?” Dad asked.
“Yes,” I said, and so we did.
Later I sat on the edge of my bed and a happy sigh escaped me. I felt so relieved and happy. It was a wonderful feeling after being weighed down with sin and guilt for so long. I picked up the Bible and read the references Dad had given me.
The first one was Matthew 3:8: “Bring forth therefore fruits worthy of repentance.”
The next one was Acts 26:20: “That they should repent and turn to God, and do works meet for repentance.”
This is just a start tonight, I realized. Once again I knelt down and thanked God for the gift of salvation. I also asked for help to continue to be a good soldier of the cross.
My Journey to Baptism
Kenneth Gingerich
Then Peter said unto them, Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost (Acts 2:38).
EASY, CHARGER. EASY, BOY.” I PLACED MY FOOT INTO THE STIRRUP AND swung myself onto the bay gelding. “Okay, boy. Let’s go.”
As the horse cantered out the lane I sat back and relaxed. It was a beautiful morning. The birds sang, the flowers bloomed, and the warm spring breezes felt good on my face. It was a wonderful morning in more ways than one.
This is how it feels to be at peace with God, I thought as I steered Charger down the road toward Bishop Leroy Hershberger’s place.
When I pulled in the lane, I dismounted and walked slowly toward the house, a trifle nervous.
I gave the door several raps. Leroy opened the door and greeted me with, “Why, good morning, Kenneth. I didn’t even hear you drive in.”
“I rode Charger since he’s feeling plenty frisky this time of the year anyway,” I said.
Leroy chuckled. “No doubt the weather this morning is enough to make anyone frisky.” He moved inside the house to point to a hook. “Just hang your hat there and come on in. Anna and the girls went to clean a neighbor’s house this morning so we have the place to ourselves.” He pulled out a chair from the table and motioned for me to sit.
We talked about this and that for a while. It was easy to talk to the bishop. Finally he leaned forward and said, “Well, your dad said you have some things on your mind that you’d like to discuss.”
I shuffled my feet. “Yes, I guess…um…I was thinking about instruction class. I’d like to become a part of the church.” I ran my fingers through my hair and groped for words.
Leroy nodded and looked kindly at me. “What makes you feel like that?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “Well, the other day I talked with my parents about the condition of my soul and they explained things to me and I had this experience where I gave my heart to God. And now I desire to become a part of the church.”
“I’m so glad for you,” Leroy said. “This is something that causes even the angels in heaven to rejoice.” He was silent for a moment. “But Ken, before we can accept you for instruction we need to see that you have proven yourself. The church requires her members to walk a pure, holy life apart from the world and sin. So before we take someone into the church we want him to prove worthy of the responsibilities that lie ahead of him. Now don’t get me wrong; we don’t look for perfect members, nor do we expect anybody to prove himself by his own strength. Only as we give ourselves to God as a living sacrifice can we be transformed by the renewing of our minds and walk a pure and holy life. So let me ask you how things have been going the last while, especially in your personal life.”
“Well,” I began slowly, “there’s been a struggle. I’ve failed quite often, though there are also times when I’m victorious.”
Leroy thought a bit before he answered. “You know, you don’t need to feel ashamed of your confession. You aren’t different from the rest of us. Many struggle because they don’t open up. So far, I’m encouraged with what you’ve said. Openness is a vital ingredient in order for us to help each other. The members in the church aren’t perfect,” he continued. “Failures do happen, but they must be dealt with. This is the church’s responsibility. But we’ve discovered that it helps a lot for young people to grow stronger first, before they make that serious commitment to God and His church.” His eyes glistened with compassion. “So why don’t we take some more time? Maybe this fall we can take a look again. In the meantime spend time with God every day, study the Word, and allow Him to continue working in your life. Also stay open to your parents. Be accountable to them. If you struggle, talk it over with them.”
I nodded and rose from the chair. “Thanks for your time and the encouragement. I do want to be an upstanding church member.”
Leroy arose and said, “Nourish that desire, my boy. Allow it to direct you, and with God’s help someday you will be a good church member. I look forward with you to the day when you can take this step.”
I told the bishop goodbye and left. The sun had grown warmer as I turned Charger toward home. The way ahead suddenly seemed clearer than it had before.
It won’t be easy, I thought. But I knew that with Christ beside me and this goal before me, the day would come. A feeling of joy washed over me as I galloped into our lane.
Life as a Christian that summer wasn’t always easy. Sometimes it was more difficult than I had imagined. But then the peace and joy would return to my heart and I knew I wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything. When I faced my temptations, God would send a warning by His Spirit through my mind. It was like a warning shot, and I knew I had to listen and resist. At times I was deeply disappointed in myself. The urge to sin was strong, and only the power of God could overcome it. I spoke with Dad and Mom often about my struggles.
Mom once told me, “Welcome to the Christian life.”
I wondered if h
ad heard correctly. I had no idea she had her struggles too.
“I’m glad you’re sensitive about this,” Mom continued. “We always need to be sensitive about the things we do wrong. And I’m glad you came for help. We need each other.”
“But why do I fail?” I asked.
“The flesh dies hard,” Mom told me. “We need to die with Christ daily. It’s something that needs to be done as long as we live in this body. And a man who thinks he is standing should take heed lest he fall. Satan is so tricky. We think we’re on top and before we know it we fall for something we shouldn’t.”
I nodded, though I didn’t really understand.
“We grow and learn as long as we live,” Mom added. “Let each temptation be a stepping-stone instead of a stumbling block.”
And so it went. At times God helped me out directly, and other times through others. A sudden relief would flood through my whole body as I knew that God understood my struggles and that He always provided a way of escape as I was willing to turn my back on sin.
Summer passed and fall arrived. I was back at the bishop’s house again. He offered me a chair. The cold autumn rain lashed against the window panes. I knew that before long winter would envelop the landscape with its snowy grip.
“Care for some hot cocoa?” Leroy asked.
“Sure.” I took the mug as the bishop settled down in his rocker.
“How did you find this summer, my boy?” Leroy asked.
“The Christian life is worth it, but I have much to learn,” I said. “And I still desire to join the church, even if I feel unworthy.”
“Sometimes we fail and sometimes we are victorious,” Leroy said.
I looked up, startled. “How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve had experience with the Christian life too, and that’s how I find it for myself,” Leroy said with a smile. “The important thing is our desire to please God and to know His will for our lives and not let up. It needs to continue and grow. As time continues we discover that the victory Jesus won over sin is becoming more and more a part of our lives.”
A View from the Buggy Page 17