Hidden Destiny

New Blog Address

2007-04-16T16:43:00.000-07:00

Hello!

I have recently learned that some people had this blog on their RSS feed, and were waiting for me to post another blog. But my blog is now on my Web site at www.cindywoodsmall.com

If you receive this because you have me on your RSS feed, I'd like to thank you for having it as part of your regular reading of blogs. I hope you'll come visit me at the new blog site.

Peace,

Cindy

An Amish Welcome

2007-02-28T08:54:00.000-08:00

The first time I entered an Old Order Amish home several things instantly became a part of who I would be when I wrote.

I hadn't expected it or even thought about it. I was looking for facts.

But like a spring day after a hard winter, the difference was undeniable and very welcome.

We've all experienced the spring days that become a part of us: dancing sunlight, the sound of children's laughter carried on warm breezes, song birds letting us know the long awaited season has begun, a donkey braying . . . wait, that donkey experience is not today's post.

Sunshine streamed abundantly through every window as I walked inside. And the home was so quiet. Immediately I longed for more. But why did the sunlight seem to frame the tone for the whole house?

We moved to the large kitchen table and sat down. Because the head of the household had set his work to the side to talk with me, I wasted no time pulling out my notepad. A breeze played with the edges of the paper and a shadow fell across it. Wanting direct light, I shifted the pad of paper to a different spot on the table.

It was then that I knew why the sunlight that seemed to fill the room as if it owned it was more powerful in this home than in mine. It was the only light used during the day.

The aroma of fresh baked cookies filled the home. Coats and boots were lined up neatly near the back door and there was a mop sink in that area too, where family members could wash up after coming in from a day's work.

While I read over my questions, the soft ticking of the clock that echoed throughout the room etched a quiet rhythm inside me--maybe an Amish rhythm. There was no hum of electronic devices, no whirring of fans, no cartoon or radio in the background. It was a kind of quiet I've only experienced when the electricity went out and storms raged outside.

There was no storm, only an Amish man who shared in honesty the good, the bad, and the grace in which they believed.

Old Order Amish, Best Order English?

2007-02-21T16:00:00.000-08:00

A couple of years ago I spent a few days with an Old Order Amish family. It was early May and the nine-year-old daughter of a friend was excitedly telling me how she longed for school to be over.

She loved working with her Mammi (her grandmother) who lives within walking distance of her home.

Hmmmm. Her great plan for summer break was going to Mammi's house to work. Okay, I've been around long enough to know this is not the average hope of a child's summer break.

She'd helped her Mammi a few hours each week during the summer in previous years, but finally she was old enough to work some each day and have a set job in the process of baking the pies, a set job where she was proud to have earned her way to that position.

Whether Englischer or Amish, rich or poor, the wisdom of not waiting until a child loses his or her wonder and desire—not waiting until he or she is old enough to work at the pace of an adult—is wise. To build on the natural, inner desire of a child to be helpful and allow a child to work at his or her pace while they are learning and contributing and feeling good about themselves—I'll tell you, I wish my lifestyle was more conducive to that type of child rearing.

I think my takeaway from that incident wasn't the newness of the idea, but the realization that the effort is worth it for the next generation. So, for any of us moms that are tempted to shoo children out from under foot so they can get bored and then need to be entertained, and all the while are losing their desire to be helpful to the family, maybe the Old Order is the Best Order to aim for :-)

I've been tagged

2007-02-02T17:28:00.000-08:00

My friend Meg tagged me, so I'm to name six weird things about me and then tag six people. Okay, I'll play, but just remember Meg, I'm the one who owns the Ungame, girl, and pay backs are right around the corner!!

1.) I love driving my van, but I avoid having to put gas in it--and I almost never do:-)
2.) Even with gift certificates in hand, I hate shopping.
3.)I'd rather scrub a shower than talk on the phone.
4.)I like straightening the house and putting things away, but I rarely remember where I put them (this a personal favorite of my eldest son who buys things and then can't find them because he set it on the counter and I put it away)
5.)On Christmas presents, I never wrote from Santa when the children were young, but now that everyone is past that age, I put from Santa on all the packages.
6.) I wait until the house is empty to rock the house with singing, mumbling about plotlines, or venting and I'm thankful the dog can't repeat what he heard.

Can Rachel , Ane, Dee, Cheryl, and Christy come out to play? Please, please, please.

Updating The Amish Cook's Site

2007-02-01T20:10:00.000-08:00

Well . . . okay, so the site itself isn't being updated. I posted the other day about The Amish Cook and shared a link. The editor of the site was kind enough to drop by and share the link to the home page. Kevin, the editor, has his blog postings on there along with many other things--so far everything I've read has been excellent---all Amish related, well balanced, and totally interesting.

http://amishcookonline.com Enjoy

God's peace ~

The Amish Cook's Day

2007-01-31T09:05:00.000-08:00

A Typical Day In The Amish Cook’s Household

Posted 2007-01-24

By Lovina Eicher

This is an account of our day, just a regular day around here, on Tuesday, Jan. 18:

3:15 a.m. Time to get up. I pack my husband Joe’s lunch (usually a sandwich and snack) while he gets ready for work. Another short night! Joe isn’t hungry for breakfast since it’s still early. Usually he waits to eat until his first break at the factory.

3:45 a.m. Joe leaves for work and I go back to bed to get a little more sleep.

5:30 a.m. I get up and wash up for the day. I then wake up the schoolchildren to get them ready for school.

6:30 a.m. Everyone eats a breakfast of scrambled eggs, cheese, toast, milk and juice. All the children are up and awake now. Four-year-old Joseph thinks he should be all dressed before the bus comes even though he doesn’t go to school yet. (Editor’s note: Many Amish children attend public schools. Those who do will often ride a bus to school. Often their only way of finding out about a "public school snow day" is when the bus doesn’t come by.)

7 a.m. Elizabeth, Susan, Verena, Benjamin and Loretta leave for school. Joseph, Lovina and Kevin finish up their breakfast. I sit down and eat a little something myself. After a rushed morning it is nice to sit down a while and relax before starting another day’s work. Sixteen-month-old Kevin is getting better at eating by himself. He usually ends up holding the spoon and using his hands to eat.

7:45 a.m. I go out and do the barn chores. Then add coal to both stoves, the one at the new house and the one here. It’s a cold morning at 18 degrees; after a late start winter has finally arrived. Our trees are still loaded with ice. A lot of branches and trees are down from the recent ice storm we had. The trees have been sparkling in the sun, like crystal. It is such a beautiful scene created by our Master Artist.

8:15 a.m. I start washing dishes. Dishes accumulate in a hurry in this household!

9:45 a.m. I’m finally done with dishes and ready to sweep the floors. Kevin likes to put everything in his mouth so it makes me keep my floors swept.

10:45 a.m. I gather laundry and start washing clothes. I hang some clothes on the rack by the stove and the rest in the basement of the new house.

Noon. I’m not quite done with the laundry but stop and get the children some lunch. While they eat I hang the rest of the laundry..

1 p.m. I rock Kevin and get him sleeping. Then I rock 2-year-old Lovina but decide to give up after she doesn’t seem to want a nap. I even caught a little nap myself while rocking them.

2 p.m. I empty a few drawers and move the contents over to the new house.

3:20 p.m. Everyone is back home again. The children do their homework. Then we change the bed sheets and clean up here and there. Jacob, Emma, and their children and Verena and Susan are coming for supper and to spend the night. Tomorrow we will cut up 1,100 pounds of beef. We and Jacob’s family will each take a half. So we have a full day’s work tomorrow. Jacob doesn’t have to work and that’ll help.

5:30 We start supper. We’ll have creamed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, peppers, and steak. Should be a good meal to conclude our day.

9:30 p.m. We finally get the school-age children to go to sleep. After getting the younger ones to bed we all go to sleep. It’s been a long day and another one is in store for tomorrow. Good night and God’s blessings.

Try this recipe for a good start:
Coffeecake That Tastes Like Coffee
2 cups flour
2 cups sugar
3/4 cup cocoa
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 Tablespoon baking powder
2 eggs, beaten
1 cup milk
1 cup hot coffee, strong or weak as you prefer

Mix all ingredients except hot coffee. Add hot coffee and beat slowly. Mixture will be thin. Pour into greased 9-by-9-inch square pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 to 35 minutes

Lovina is a mid-western Amishwoman who took over the column The Amish Cook from her mother. She posts regularly on http://www.dnronline.com/flavor_archive.php?sub=Amish%20Cook

A Successful Book Club

2007-01-30T19:44:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I finished the editing rounds and turned in book two. YIPEEEEEE!!!!!!! I was free! I spent a bit of time doing some girly stuff: my hair, nails, and nice clothes.

See, I had been invited to speak at a book club.

I've known one of the members, Lisa, for over twelve years. Her husband and my husband work at the same engineering firm and we see each other two or three times each year at various DCG functions. So last August when I received my first shipment of books, I autographed one to her and her husband, Tim.

I didn't know she was an avid reader and part of a book club that's been meeting for five years!

Hmmm, what have we talked about during all those functions for the past twelve years?

Ah, I know. Children. Weather. Vacations. Quilting. Tennis. And Dennis ---just kidding D.B. it just rhymed and you are a part of DCG.

Getting off this rabbit trail and back to the subject at hand, she shared her enjoyment of When the Heart Cries with her book club and they read it.

Attending the meeting last night was way, way too much fun. Jane, one of the members, prepared a delicious meal and opened her home to twelve ladies. Her very sweet husband took care of her children and we took over the house. If you're thinking of starting a book club, you may not want to tell your spouse that part of it:-)

Jane's mother, Sue, was there. Angie's daughter-in-law, Lilian was there. One lady wasn't a member, but was a friend who belonged to a different book club. Several of the ladies attended the same church and had interesting stories of taking communion. Threads of life . . . don't you just love them?

I want to thank each reader--not only for reading the book, but for thinking it through so much that every question opened my heart to new aspects of the Plain life.

Nazneen, Jane, Lisa, Kathy, Carrie, Sue, Aimee, Alicia, Karen, Angie, and Lilian. You are a beautiful quilt ~ if you don't believe it, ask Lisa to judge the cloth you're made of:-) I bet she's already drug you out of the Amish shop and into the sunlight:-o)

Peace ~

2007-01-21T09:50:00.000-08:00

Below is an article a Plain Mennonite acquaintance sent to me. She sent it to me the day of its publication, but from the moment the tragedy happened in October, I’ve backed away from posting on this topic, especially inside stories shared with me by my Plain friends. The grief was too heavy and the friendships too dear. Now that time has passed, I’ll share a few things here and there in hopes that we will not forget to pray for these families.

Inside the brackets, you’ll see comments made by the friend who sent me the article. I have removed her name and used the letter J.

Grief & forgiveness

Amish struggling to adjust to a changed world after tragedy. For them, sorrow is both personal and communal. Forgiving is a central part of their beliefs - but still difficult.By Jack BrubakerLancaster New Era
Published: Dec 21, 2006 11:34 AM EST

LANCASTER COUNTY, PA - JOSEPH ELMER LAPP first saw the light of day and his eight brothers and sisters in the Lapps’ Gordonville home on Sept. 27.

"And, when he was five days old, the awful tragedy happened at Nickel Mines School,’’ Joseph’s mother reported in an Amish newspaper.

"And oh how my thoughts wandered to them, and as I held my little son (extra long) it just seemed my heart would break.’’

Countless other hearts broke on that landmark Monday, Oct. 2. Heightened emotions during the holiday season have amplified the hurt.

When Charles Carl Roberts IV murdered five young girls and maimed five others at West Nickel Mines School, he burst the bubble of rural security and invited grief to settle in Lancaster County’s Old Order Amish community.

But the troubled man who so carefully planned his assault on the school, and his own suicide, also accomplished something he could not have anticipated.

He guaranteed that the core Amish belief in extending forgiveness to everyone — even a man so consumed by hate that he could murder innocent children — would command worldwide attention.

That was the Nickel Mines tragedy’s saving grace — that good can supplant evil in a very public way that cannot be ignored.

The day after.....

When the sun rose on Oct. 3, the crossroads hamlets of Nickel Mines and Georgetown — a mile and a half apart by way of Mine Road in Bart Township — remained in chaos.

Fractured families mourned five dead daughters, prayed for five daughters undergoing emergency surgery and comforted 15 sons who had lost sisters, classmates and friends.

It was just the beginning, everyone understood, of a long, hard grieving process.

"First it’s shock. Then realization. Then it’s heartsick,’’ explained one relative of a murdered child.

The woman paused and looked into the distance. "You just have to see them, and then they just don’t come. They just don’t come.’’

Roberts’ family grappled with its own horror. The man they knew and loved had added his name to history’s list of mass murderers and inflicted immeasurable pain on their community. And now he was gone.

In Nickel Mines, state police monitored the crime scene and the vanguard of hundreds of reporters who would blanket the area for the rest of the week.

In Georgetown, Bart Township Fire Company’s headquarters became command central. Amish and non-Amish firefighters and auxiliary personnel coordinated a round-the-clock response to a community crisis.

Groping its way through an unimaginable nightmare — some residents characterized Roberts’ assault and fallout from it as "the Amish 9/11’’ — the community began preparing to bury the dead.Grieving families greeted visitors at home viewings that lasted long into the night.

Then they listened as ministers provided biblical admonitions during extended funerals.

Because the Amish grieve communally as well as individually, they quickly linked these funeral services to previous community mourning.

Three times in the past seven years, five Amish young people have died at once.

Five died — along with their non-Amish driver — when their van crashed into a tractor-trailer on the Pennsylvania Turnpike in 1999.

Another five died when their Jeep collided with a snowplow on Route 322 three Decembers ago.

But those were accidents, not killings. The pacifist Amish have little association with violence of any kind. Murder — "die Maerderei" in Pennsylvania German — is as alien as divorce to Amish society.

Before Oct. 2, as far as anyone can recall, only one murder had ever been reported in Lancaster County’s Amish settlement since its beginning in 1737. Naomi Huyard was stabbed to death at her New Holland home in 1982 by a non-Amish neighbor and an accomplice.

Now, suddenly, following a furious fusillade in a one-room schoolhouse at Nickel Mines, there are five more.

After the funerals on Oct. 5 and 6, solemn processions of horse-drawn buggies accompanied the coffins of Naomi Rose Ebersol, Marian Fisher, Anna Mae Stoltzfus, and sisters Mary Liz and Lena Miller to Bart Cemetery, an old Amish burial ground south of Georgetown.

Mourners gathered around as pallbearers lowered the caskets into five foreshortened graves at the rear of the cemetery. Ministers read solemnly from the "Gesang-Buch," the Amish song book. The pallbearers filled the graves and mounded dirt over them.

Then some mourners returned home to grieve for the dead and some to grieve for the living.

The survivors......

"The girls who died, you know they’re well off in heaven,’’ said an Amish man near Georgetown.

He chose his next words carefully: "The others, you have to pity them. A miracle could still happen, but you have to wonder.’’

All of the survivors suffered multiple, severe gunshot wounds.

Two survivors were shot in the head, as were all those who died.

Rosanna King, at 6 the youngest of all the girls, was released from Hershey Medical Center and brought home to die weeks ago. The fact that she survives, albeit in a semicomatose state, has surprised and inspired the community.

Eight-year-old Sarah Ann Stoltzfus remains in therapy at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. Because of her brain injury, she lost for a time her ability to speak her second language — English — and mystified doctors and nurses by speaking only in Pennsylvania German. But now she is talking in English again. After concentrated therapy, she is walking again. She has told visitors she will be home for Christmas.

The other three — Esther King, 13; Rachel Ann Stoltzfus, now 9, and Barbie Fisher, now 12 — suffered various facial, internal and limb wounds that caused a variety of disabilities.

All are undergoing therapy. Esther recently underwent reconstructive surgery at a hospital. Now she is back home.

"I just never realized you could be shot that often and come out alive,’’ said the amazed mother of one of the girls.

All have fought to regain full function. Three days after she was shot, Barbie Fisher insisted on attending Anna Mae Stoltzfus’ viewing, arriving by ambulance.

"She was her classmate,’’ a relative explained simply. "They were two seventh-grade girls. Barbie wanted to do it.’’

All of the survivors, including the boys whom Roberts allowed to leave the school, carry psychological scars, said Dr. D. Holmes Morton, a pediatrician and director of the Clinic for Special Children in Strasburg.

But against heavy odds, the five girls live. One has been able to run again. Two have celebrated birthdays. Three have returned to the classroom.

Back to school.......

On the morning of Oct. 9 — a week after the shootings — parents accompanied their boys to the yellow schoolhouse for one last look before they destroyed and buried everything.

The fire company and environmental crews had cleaned away the blood and shattered glass — the ruin left behind by Roberts’ rampage.

Still, the parents expected their traumatized scholars might take only a quick peek inside before asking to leave.

"It was completely opposite from what we thought they might do,’’ explained a parent who, weeks later, continues to recoil from the shock of Oct. 2.

"There was a higher power that helped them,’’ he said.”They went to their desks and took out their pencil boxes and were pleased to see everything again."

So the parents saved the insides of the school. They removed the desks, blackboards and ABC strips running around the walls and reassembled everything in a three-bay garage owned by one of the parents.

Then they tore down the tainted schoolhouse, along with its outhouses, playground equipment and fencing. They carted all of it away, reseeded the land, turned it back into part of Levi King’s pasture.

If you didn’t know where the schoolhouse stood on Oct. 2, you would not be able to locate the spot now.For the past two months, the children have been attending school in the garage. They travel back and forth by van so the three disabled girls don’t have to walk and so everyone is safe.

Nine-year-old Emma Fisher, who slipped out of the old schoolhouse and escaped Roberts’ attack, has joined them.

"It helped the boys when the girls came back,’’ said the parent.”You could see their spirits rise. They’re happier."

Still, the school’s population remains severely unbalanced. Next autumn’s incoming first-graders won’t correct that: Most will be boys.

As a result, the school board is considering extending the school district to include farms with girls.

Emma Mae Zook, the teacher who escaped and alerted police on Oct. 2, quickly re-established school routine. The first item of business: spread out a reduced number of desks to make it seem as if the classroom remains full.

The four R’s — reading, writing, arithmetic and recess — occasionally are broken up by special occasions. On Oct. 17, deceased Mary Liz Miller’s ninth birthday, her grieving family brought ice cream and cake to school.From day to day, the subdued but resilient children work and play with much of their former enthusiasm.

Still, school is not the same.

"People ask when we’ll be back to normal,’’ said the parent. He spoke slowly and deliberately.

"We’ll never be back to normal,’’ he said.”Everything has changed. Fourth grade and below has been devastated."

The school board plans to construct a new building nearby in the near future.

In response to the schoolhouse shootings, church leaders and the Amish Safety Committee briefly considered installing telephones or a direct electronic link with police in all schools. But they rejected those ideas.

"We decided we need to have good locks on the doors, keep our gates closed, have good evacuation plans — and trust in God,’’ a safety committee spokesman said. [note from J - I am not seeing locked gates. They are open and all the scooters are laying on the grass along the fence lines as usual]

An Amish newspaper correspondent offered another safety tip. "It was a sharp reminder," she wrote, "to send our children to school with a prayer."

Gathering together......

Since early October, the murders and the progress of survivors have been chief topics of conversation almost every time Amish gather.

And they have gathered frequently these past few weeks — for fall Communion and the ordination of new ministers, for the annual rite of baptism and for a multitude of weddings.

When the harvest comes in, the Amish go out.

In their improvised sermons at biweekly church services, ministers in the Nickel Mines area have emphasized the importance of practicing forgiveness without reservation.Ministers also have spoken of the schoolhouse tragedy during wedding ceremonies that began in late October and, in the ever-enlarging Lancaster settlement, will extend into February.

"All the preachers are talking about it,’’ commented an Amish man who has attended his share of weddings.The Amish are nothing if not gregarious among their own. Families attend weddings on Tuesdays and Thursdays — sometimes two weddings in one day — and then go visiting in the evenings.

An extraordinary number of visitors — from Lancaster County and far beyond — have made their way to the homes of relatives of the dead and injured girls to console them and to pray with them.

"Some of the families are almost overwhelmed with people coming to visit them,’’ said an Amish man who lives south of Georgetown and keeps in touch with several families.

Amish also regularly visit Roberts’ widow, Marie, and her children at their home in Georgetown.

Families of the children Roberts killed attended the gunman’s funeral on Oct. 7, five days after the killings. Mourners for the murdered and the murderer exchanged condolences.

Roberts was buried in his wife’s family’s plot at the rear of the Georgetown United Methodist Church cemetery, next to the infant daughter whose death evidently caused him deep, enduring pain.

The outside world........

Amish who live too far away to visit bereaved families have sent cards of concern. These outpourings of written material are called "showers.’’ [Note from J - We send card showers for all occasions, birthdays, get well, etc]

Concerned people around the globe have intensified these showers into a downpour that has kept volunteers at the Bart Fire Hall busy sorting letters — at first every day and now several days a week.

Some letters are addressed simply: "The Amish People, Nickel Mines.’’ One, featuring a slight spelling twist, arrived for: "The Bereaved Families, Nickel Pines.’’

Many letters express sorrow for the community’s loss. And many praise the Amish decision to forgive.

Each set of parents and grandparents of the 10 girls has been given huge boxes of cards and letters. They read them over and over. A letter of sympathy from Kinzers is treasured. A letter from Kenya is revered.

Checks accompany many letters. Along with cash collected by various funds set up right after the shootings, nearly $4 million has been donated so far.

A committee established by Amish elders and others plans to distribute this money for extraordinary medical costs, counseling, transportation and other expenses.

That committee and victims’ families repeatedly have thanked the first responders and volunteers who supported the Amish community in a time of great need.

"What the state troopers and the fire companies did — heart, love, sympathy — it’s just unreal,’’ said an Amish man at Georgetown. "They made everybody realize we’re all one people.’’

In late October, the mourning families met with Marie Roberts and the troopers who stormed the school.

"Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our community, and is changing our world,’’ the killer’s widow told the Amish.

A grieving community has shared literature as well as compassion.

Esther Smucker, an Amish woman who lives near Lititz, wrote "Good Night, My Son: A Treasure in Heaven’’ after a driver ran into and killed her 5-year-old son. She described how she coped with the loss over time.

The book, published in 1995, is especially popular now.

"To see one of your children go to his grave is one of the saddest, yet sweetest experiences one could have,’’ Smucker wrote. "It is sad because you miss him so much.... It is sweet because you realize he must be very happy where he now is."

Destination: heaven

The Amish believe they are "strangers and pilgrims’’ in this world. Heaven is their destination. So thinking of five new souls in heaven brings satisfaction, even as physical separation causes pain.

"These girls are in heaven,’’ an Amish woman said decisively while catching up on knitting in the parlor of her home at Nickel Mines. This thought brought her comfort, she said.

"They had nothing to answer for,’’ she explained. "They were innocent. They did not fight back that day. They tried to do everything they were told. These girls are in heaven.’’

The Amish also are certain that "God was in control’’ in the schoolhouse. As evidence, they point to Roberts’ aborted plans to molest the children.

"They prayed and the man’s original plans were changed, so it might have been worse,’’ a man living east of Nickel Mines reported in an Amish newspaper.

But if God was in control, why did he let innocent children die?"

He wanted those five little girls for his angels,’’ explained another Amish correspondent, "and their time here was up.’’ [Note from J - poetic license - the Amish do not believe you die and turn into an angel]

An Amish man at Nickel Mines answered the question with a question: "Did He let it happen because He wanted to distribute His Word across the world more?’’

Automatic forgiveness......

The Amish are keenly aware that their response to this tragedy — immediately forgiving Roberts, meeting with his widow, comforting his children, attending his funeral — has made a huge impact.

"The name of Jesus is being spread all over the world through this,’’ acknowledged an Amish man near Georgetown. He stroked his beard and smiled.

"Isn’t that something?’’ he exclaimed.”It’s ironic. We, as a backward people, are showing the way toward forgiveness.’’

The aspect of the Amish community’s forgiveness that has surprised many people is its seemingly spontaneous nature.

Forgiving is automatic, on all occasions.

Precisely one week before Roberts walked into the schoolhouse, the Amish community buried another Bart Township youth. A hit-and-run driver struck and killed 12-year-old Emanuel King.

The King family forgave the driver long before police could complete their investigation.The basis for Amish forgiveness is found in Jesus’ words on the cross: "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.’’

Wrote an Amish correspondent shortly after Roberts struck the schoolhouse: "Oh, Lord, forgive him; he knew not what he was doing.’’

Another Amish man, working in his shop near Georgetown, explained forgiveness a different way: "We can’t receive forgiveness if we don’t give it.’’

But the Amish want everyone to understand that they are not perfect in their forgiving. The very human impulse to despise evil and the evildoer tends to assert and reassert itself.

"We have to forgive again and again and again,’’ said the Amish woman in her parlor at Nickel Mines.”Like the Bible says, not just seven times but seven times 70. We have to forgive every day. It’s not easy. We have to work at it.’’

A man wrote to a Lancaster newspaper criticizing the Amish for being so quick to forgive a murderer but not doing the same for former church members who have left the fold.

That’s a sore point with the Amish, who believe they are misunderstood. They shun errant members out of love, they said: They want them to return.

But Amish do not want to be considered special because of their religious beliefs."We’re no more than anybody else," one said. "Right now, everybody’s looking up to us, and we make mistakes like anybody else.’’

One mistake no one in the Old Order community will make is to believe the Nickel Mines massacre has no message.

The Amish say its message is that "Satan is mighty, but God is Almighty.’’ They say its message is to live righteously and be prepared to die.

And they say its message is found in Matthew 24:14, which proclaims that after the Gospel is preached throughout the world, the "end times" will come.

An Amish man at Nickel Mines said the Amish story of forgiveness, as broadcast by media everywhere, qualifies as spreading the Gospel globally.

Then he said, determinedly, without emotion, "No one can know when the world will end, but to my way of thinking, it can’t be far off.’’

Ten weeks after......

Anyone casually passing through Bart Township for the first time since Oct. 2 wouldn’t notice many changes.

The old schoolhouse is gone from Nickel Mines, of course. There are six new brown patches of earth awaiting permanent grave markers in two cemeteries at Georgetown.

Otherwise, everything looks much the same. On the outside.

But on the inside everything has changed.

The farmer spreading manure, the homemaker at her oven, the woodworker in his shop, the hunter on his tree stand — all find their thoughts obsessively returning to Oct. 2.

On an unseasonably warm late autumn afternoon, two Amish men sat on a house deck south of Georgetown, watching the sun sink and discussing the community’s tragedy.

"I still get awake about 4 o’clock in the morning and it’s the first thing I think about,’’ said one.

"I don’t think everything will ever get back to normal,’’ said the other.

"It will take years and years,’’ said the first.

Seated at a table in his spacious kitchen at Nickel Mines, another Amish man considered the subject.

"There are times you’d just as soon talk about other things,’’ he said with a wry smile.”It’s hard to talk about sometimes, but it seems everyone is.’’

He looked away at a wall. When he looked back, his smile was gone.

"Someday maybe we’ll understand, but at this time our minds are too narrow,’’ he said.”We don’t see the big picture, but He does.”

When the burden of grief grows too great, the Amish turn to surviving children for inspiration.

The Amish value children for their own sake and as church members and farm or business workers in the making. So they spend a great deal of time nurturing and instructing.

More so now.

The Amish often say that "our loss is their gain,’’ meaning the dead girls are better off in heaven. They teach their children to believe the same.

A close relative of one of the girls in the schoolhouse asked her 5-year-old grandson if he thinks about the missing children.

This is what he said.

"Oh, yes...they’re up in heaven. They’re dressed like angels, and they never get hungry and they never get thirsty and they’re never tired. Did you know that?"

And they sing all the time. They sing and sing all the time.’’

The Holidays End for This

2007-01-03T15:07:00.000-08:00

Mom, wife, writer . . . holiday bum? Today is January 3, 2007. The local schools have been out since December 15th. My husband began his yearly winter vacation that same day, which is good because up to that point, we'd done no Christmas shopping. We had a nice holiday: no one was sick (yea!), we ate out, had gatherings, & went to events with different groups of friends and relatives throughout the holidays.

Because we got such a late start to the shopping, we ended up ordering items online for our youngest son's Christmas that arrived on time--so, we squeaked by for another year without being labled deadbeat parents--always a plus. Our oldest son is 25. When he was young, we had the energy to not only be organized, but to carry out the plan with umph. Now we eek by and try to hide that fact from our youngest child. We put up lights, no matter that it was mid December before we got them up. We wrapped presents and got them under the tree--a good fifteen minutes before the annual Christmas Eve family gathering took place.

On December 20th, I received my first round of in-house edits for book two. I was able to work on them for a few hours each day, but it's hard to work during a vacation--even during an annual stay-at-home one. I've edited 54,682 words so far. But those were the easy chapters to work on. Probably the best thing I accomplished work wise over the vacation is an exact roadmap of how to fix some problem areas that are threaded throughout the rest of the work. That took days all by itself. I'm a little panicky about the work that's ahead of me. I can see it in my mind's eye, but can I get it written . . . well . . . and by its due date? I only slept three hours last night for feeling the shift of the work from it's somewhat suspended-vacation-position to its on-my-shoulders and due-in-a few-weeks position.

How does the body know these things and what does it hope to accomplish through sleep deprivation?

Tomorrow I'll be up early and work late--like most Moms. I'll only take a break for the homework and dinner hours. On Friday I'll pack my bags and head somewhere close but quiet to spend a few days working uninterrupted. I won't be finished with this round by the end of the weekend, so I'll do what I can to log as many hours as possible until the next weekend, when I'll disappear again.

Both office work and life will get backlogged, but if the past is an indication of the future, my husband will cause our only still-at-home child to be glad Mom's not around by doing things Mom's not good at--paintball, ordering pizza, and playing Nintendo Wii.

As rare as it is, my husband will be gone the following weekend and Mom will try to be good at things Dad's not good at . . . like making our youngest son clean his room, take out the garbage, and finish some yet-unseen book report.

Wait. I think my weekend list needs editing, don't you? :-o)

Oh, and THANK YOU for the wonderful and encouraging e-mails. If you've e-mailed me since mid December, it may be a few more weeks before I can respond. If you mailed me before mid December, but haven't received a response you probably typed your e-mail address in wrong. When that happens, and it's very, very easy to do, I have no way of making contact.

God's peace,

Cindy

Twenty-six Letters ~

2006-12-19T08:14:00.000-08:00

In that twilight state of sleep, I had a dream that felt more like having a thought with imagery ~

You’ve had them. They usually take place as we're dozing off-- almost a perfect picture of things that are on our mind mixed with fantasy.

In this dream the capitalized alphabet slid across the dark screen of my closed eyes. The letters were all the same font size, but came in a variety of colors. They were in no particular order and even though the string of letters began forming line after line on the blank page, not one word was spelling out. As the dream continued, more and more letters joined the string across the dark screen, filling in each blank space.

ADGZQXPYLBRW . . .

Some of the letters began forming a spiral funnel, like a slow moving dust devil, but then they too took their place in line.

Finally a thought entered my dream:

Every piece of work you’ve ever read has been created using those same twenty-six letters.

In that instant I knew that regardless of what language the story may have originally been written in, when I read it, when I enjoyed and learned from a written work, it was written using the same twenty-six letters.

It suddenly became eerie that tens of thousands of stories have been and are being told using the same twenty-six letters. I had known that, and yet inside that dream the depth of it awed me.

The dream seemed to shift its point. Without seeing anything except letters I became aware of thousands and thousands of hurting people who didn’t believe in themselves or their ability to rise above what had been dished out to them during their journey on this planet.

But I realized the miracle of the power and flexibility and exponential potential of those twenty-six letters inside each person’s life. The most amazing part about the twenty-six letters was the understanding that we all have those twenty-six letters inside of us. Those letters are the building blocks that can form words and understanding that lead us to find healing, hope, and forgiveness.

Page Turners

2006-12-15T06:47:00.000-08:00

A page turner is a great way to recharge our battery, be entertained, and broaden our minds. Books are amazing things—opening our hearts to new understandings and renewing our energy for life.

The other night I spent an evening with the Page Turners—a book club. A wonderful group of readers who chose to read my debut novel. Later they met at a local Borders to discuss the book and go over the Reader’s Guide. After that I joined them, gave a little talk, and answered questions.

We talked about the realities of Amish life compared to the book. I think the main question in everyone’s mind was how accurate was my depiction of the Amish community in relation to how Hannah’s father (Zeb) handled things when trauma entered their lives.

I don’t think the answer to that is found within the Amish community as much as it’s found within the human community.

Since the conception of the book, I’ve talked to a few Old Order Amish and Plain Mennonite women about this very subject and we came to the conclusion that we all either have or know fathers who would react as Zeb did.

A percentage of men, whether Amish, Mennonite, or Englischer, would handle a traumatic event by:

1. trying to do damage control (rather than meeting the inner needs of those who are traumatized)
2. trying to fix the problem by willing the person or people to be fine or downplaying the pain they are in (i.e. you’re tough enough to handle this, rather than what do we need to do for you to handle this)
3. closing themselves off emotionally and going on with their life as if nothing had happened
4. by blaming the person or people who was/were injured (if you hadn’t . . . then this wouldn’t have happened)

These are human reactions.

Trauma to a family unit can do horrible things to it and if a family has never seen such events happen, they aren’t likely to handle it well, not in the beginning.

The Page Turners shared a wonderful evening with me as we explored the Amish lifestyle and compared it to our own lives. Nora is the group’s leader. I had met Nora a few weeks prior to this & was immediately was drawn to her.

Marla, Ginger, Tricia, Ane, Kris, Shellie, and Cindy each shared the gift of a fresh perspective and I left wishing there was more time for me to connect with each one individually. The group was also blessed to have three wonderful young people: Scott 16, Hilary 15, and Morgan 13, whose very presence reminded me of all the wonderful books yet to be written by that generation.

And The Beat Goes On

2006-12-05T06:37:00.000-08:00

Remember the song by Sonny & Cher ~ The Beat Goes On? I've always enjoyed that song—have often sung the chorus to children when stress tried to invade our lives and take on an ominous look. It seemed to help get the overload of homework, tests, sports, music practice, etc all into perspective. The Beat does go on and on and on—no matter what else is taking place in the world, even after the death of a loved.

Somehow I think that’s both comforting and disconcerting, but overall it’s more reassuring than anything else.

Last night our youngest son had his first band concert. He’s in sixth grade and the whole experience was cool in a thousand ways I can’t explain, but I can cover a few of the ways.

Our two older sons had both played in both marching and symphonic bands in high school. I remember going to the football games just to see and hear them play with the marching band—I never knew what took place on the field during the games, although I tried to at least be aware of the final score.

Each Friday night during football season the cool evening air carried the aroma of the season: first summer, then fall, and finally winter. I remember the laughter and sense of camaraderie among the band members, the National Anthem being played, the moment of silence that always caught in my throat. I remember pieces to a life I couldn’t slow down.

They graduated and went on to college— the oldest has graduated college, the younger wishes he were:-).

Last night I sat in the crowded cafeteria at our youngest child’s school, remembering when I took band in sixth grade. Band for us meant everyone played the same instrument—a recorder.

At the end of the school year, on the night of our performance, my Mennonite friend and I knew her parents’ tolerance for the public school education had ended. They’d set up their own school and she wouldn’t be going on with me into middle school that next year. But both her parents and mine had promised we could still see each other, still spend the night with each other.

But the reality of what was soon to take place didn’t dampen our fun that night. We’d agreed to meet at the school long before time for the performance to begin. When we did, we moved about the building unchecked by teachers, unhurried by classroom bells, and talking excitedly about our upcoming performance. The disappointment of our upcoming separation was dulled under the hope of promised spend the nights. And roaming the halls, chatting freely with my best friend was my first taste of grown-up freedom.

The band director last night had those kids performing so smoothly it was hard to believe that most of the students had never played an instrument before he began teaching them three months ago.

Today I’m reminded that I can’t slow life down, can’t control it, can’t predict it, but I can push aside any dread or fear of what will happen in life and enjoy the taste of what is.

Cindy Woodsmall Book Signing

2006-12-04T09:17:00.000-08:00

I've had three book signings thus far. The first two were on the same day and my editor, Shannon Hill, flew in from Colorado and two AMAZING writers, Rene Gutteridge and Eric Wilson, were signing also. Between signings, Shannon bought our lunch and we all talked shop for over an hour. That had to be the most idyllic way possible to experience a first book signing.

Then, a month later, for my next book signing I was blessed to sign books next to Shannon and Greg Ethridge, non-fiction authors of Every Woman's Marriage. Before I met them I had a few questions to ask Shannon and the lulls in the signing line gave us time to chat. A person can't spend time with Shannon Ethridge without coming away with a new perspective on relationships.

For this next signing, I'll be by myself.

Okay, that's a bit daunting (a bit?).

I’m slated to do a reading.

A reading? Aloud?

Let’s visualize this: I’m inside Borders fifteen days before Christmas. Shoppers are dispersed throughout the isles and they are on a mission—to find a specific gift. They’re a bit stressed, confused, and tired. A voice will rattle through the intercom, announcing my name and the title of my debut novel. Customers will glance up from whatever books, CDs, or related items they’re looking at, catch the eye of the person nearest them. One will say, “who?” The other will shrug and both will continue their shopping. In the meantime I’ll begin reading . . . out loud . . . to myself . . . while a few shoppers peep around the endcap of their isle, thinking, “who?”

You know, the moment I heard that my first by-myself book signing included a “reading,” an image flashed before me of men and women at the publishing house sitting behind closed-door meetings, brainstorming on what can be done to torment newbie authors:-o)

Okay, that’s an unfair image, but it flashed before me anyway.

Truth is, my publishing house has been incredible. Every department labored really hard. And their generous effort has caused When the Heart Cries to be on December’s CBA Best-seller List for fiction. Wow. And thank you.

BOOK SIGNING:

WHERE: BORDERS
Mall of Georgia Crossing
678-482-0872

WHEN: SUNDAY, DECEMBER 10, 2006
2 to 4 P.M.

Why Show Up:

1. There’s an author-designed gift basket that you can sign up for. The price? Acting like you’re listening as I read aloud to YOU while everyone else wonders who I am, what I'm doing, and why you’re actually standing there, listening.

2. You feel sorry for said author

3. You don’t feel the least bit sorry for said author, but need a good laugh and this should be good for a laugh

4. You’re an aspiring author and need lessons in what tortures to prepare for

5. You need embarrassing-moments fodder for YOUR book

6. It’s the season when you need to do one good deed to get off that naughty list

7. It’s the season that no matter where you go, you need to buy something & check someone off your list —so why not?

8. You love chocolate and said author will have designer chocolates from Hansel & Gretel of Helen, GA

9. You know said author is the treasurer for local ACFW/WORD and you figure since your dues are probably helping to pay for said chocolates, you might as well show up and indulge

10. You know said author is the treasurer for local ACFW/WORD and you figure since your dues DON’T go to that local group, you should show up and indulge

Peace,

Cindy

Meeting LuAnne

2006-12-02T17:35:00.000-08:00

I was in the fourth grade and it was my first day at this school.

So far I had silently taken a long ride on a bus full of strangers, navigated up stairwells and through unfamiliar hallways, and found my classroom in a building I’d never been in before.

I was barely inside the room when I heard someone say, “There she is.”

Before I took two more steps, I was surrounded.

“What’s your name?” A boy asked.

I told him.

“What kind of last name is that, anyway?” The boy wrinkled his nose, looking me dead in the eye.

“The only one I got.” An unfamiliar knot formed in my stomach. I’d been to new schools before, but this one seemed awfully unfriendly.

A girl with a kind face, braided pigtails, and some sort of small bonnet covering her head stood at the outer edge of the group of boys, watching.

A boy moved his head, blocking my view of the girl. “Frank said you ride on his bus.”

I wondered who Frank was.

“He said your dad ain’t a farmer. Everybody round here owns or works farms.”

I shrugged.

“Well?” Another boy asked.

“My dad works in D.C. and drives back and forth.”

“D.C?” The boy mocked.

The squeals of laughter made the teacher glance up from his desk. “Settle down. You have three minutes before you need to take your seats. Make sure you have pencil and paper ready.”

“So,” the boy lowered his voice and moved in even closer, “Why’d your dad buy all that land with barns and fences if he don’t intend to farm?”

“I think he said something about a hobby farm.”

The whispery scoffing spoke a lot louder than the boys’ dared to. “Every one of us has been up since four this morning doing chores. Farming ain’t no hobby.”

The girl with the bonnet pressed forward and the group parted, much like I’d imagined the Red Sea had all those years before. “I think you guys are coming on a bit strong, no?” The girl took me by the hand and led me to the back of the room where it was quiet. The boys kept a wary eye on us as they walked to their desks. She kept her blues eyes fastened on my lunch bag. “They don’t mean to sound so rude.” She slowly lifted her eyes to mine. “That’s what my Mom says anyway.”

I remember the kindness in her eyes, the oddity of her speech patterns, and how easily she brought peace to those around her. I met LuAnne that day, a blonde-haired, soft spoken girl, whose bonnet was a prayer kapp. She was a Plain Mennonite, who was comfortable with not fitting in with those around her.

Her father wasn’t a dairy farmer either ;-)

Thanksgiving & Friends

2006-11-29T07:31:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving & Friends ~

When the alarm went off long before daylight Monday morning, the five-day Thanksgiving break came to a close, but the glow of focusing on all we have to be thankful for still lingers in my thoughts and emotions.

It’s amazing the changes life brings. From one decade to the next we often can barely recognize who we once were or even know who we will become. But whether it was a nightmare of a season or a dream-come-true one, family and friends become an integral part of that journey.

Friends come to us through dozens of venues and they always help shape our lives. Sometimes we gain and lose friends without realizing what’s taking place. Other times it’s a distinct decision.

My first real friend was an African American girl I met at a school I’d just begun, neither of us thought to tell our parents the color of the other ones skin. It was the mid sixties and I still remember the roaring laughter of our dads as they shook hands the day she came to play at my house.

But we moved a few months later and that’s when I met my next best friend, a Plain Mennonite girl.

Females of the Plain Mennonites wear the caped dresses and prayer kapps. She didn't watch television, listen to the radio, or ever wear pants, even when the teachers asked her to.

I had watched television since I was a babe and later I watched soap operas with my mom. I had eight-track tapes because the radio bored me with its commercials. I wore pants--even though my dad disapproved. She wasn’t new to the school. It seemed that I was forever new to schools. And looking back I wonder what drew us together.

~ Hmmmm, more on that next time ~

2006-11-16T09:44:00.000-08:00

Hidden Destiny ~ that which we cannot foresee today, but will shape the rest of our lives.

A hidden destiny may be when you see a child playing in a yard and take the time to pray over him or her. Through the power of that prayer, a new hidden destiny may have begun.

A hidden destiny may be when you're going through your normal day and a stranger in need of help crosses your path. When you give help to someone who is no one you'll ever see again and your heart is melted for reasons that defy logic--the hidden destiny just happened for both of you.

Yesterday I said that today's topic would be: What you can learn about my life as I share writing advice on politics & religion. That was definitely a joke folks, but I will share a weird writing tip.

Among the vastness of people there’s no unanimous opinion, so write according to your moral compass & imagination, letting who you are be sewn into the universal fabric of life regardless of the multitudes of people's thread-ripping opinions.

That tip is broad, but there’s a truth and freedom inside that thought. Over the last few weeks I’ve been reminded that opinions are live and well on this planet.

America is the land of the free ~ as long as you don’t want freedom from other people’s opinions—or freedoms to break the law ;- )

So, I’m on a journey to use the freedom that soldiers have fought for to find my truth inside of God’s truth and temper all opinions with something deeper than the self-important rhetoric of dissenting opinion.

The ending of Phi 2:12 says ~ continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling.

I'm continuing and grateful for the right to do just that.

Okay, that's all the deep stuff I have for today . . . maybe for the year.

To my one commenter yesterday ~ I'm sorry to have discouraged you, Meg. But if you come see me at the book signing (listed below), I'll share more chocolate--are we up to eating MORE chocolate yet?

Shudder.

When the Heart Cries
Cindy Woodsmall

What: Book Signing

Where: LifeWay Christian Store
Mall of Georgia Crossing
770-831-7707

When: Saturday, November 18, 2006
3 to 5 P.M.

2006-11-15T09:50:00.000-08:00

Help, I’m not good at this blogging thing!

A few weeks ago I mentioned to my critique partner that I’d started a blog. She asked if I’d ever kept a journal.

No way had I ever written a journal! Until a few years ago, I would never have trusted putting my thoughts and emotions into something as easily accessible as a book or computer! It’s not that my thoughts are dark, not at all. It’s not that I have secrets to keep, except the kind that are opened on Christmas or birthdays. I just like privacy from other people’s opinions and since a journal can fall into the hands of those who will definitely have an opinion, it wasn’t something I’d ever do.

The irony in being so cautious in this area is as I approached forty my heart started leading me down a path of writing and EVERYONE has an opinion about what they read. Hmmm. If God wants us to face our greatest fears, I can put a check mark beside that one.

But as the weeks have passed since I started the blog, I’ve had to look deeper into my reasons for not keeping up with it and I think I’ve found part of the problem.

One: I’m an introvert by nature, but not by personality—which means I look outgoing enough that anyone who’s not familiar with the true differences between introvert and extravert would consider me an extravert.

The clichéd explanation: introverts are shy and extraverts are outgoing. But we all know that writers are to avoid clichés, so let’s look at this a little deeper.

From what I understand, extroverts live to be around people— to share who they are with others. They are energized, encouraged, and motivated in life by contact with people. Introverts get their energy, encouragement, and motivation from time spent alone. But, when at a gathering, the outward behavior can be the same for both introverts or extraverts.

The difference may only be what’s happening on the inside of the person: an extravert is gaining life’s energy; an introvert is spending life’s energy. And, yes, each person is doing a little of both, so the answer lies in which one is predominate for that person.

Being an introvert is my first problem with blogging, but one I think I'm willing to work through—-for reasons that I don’t understand. But, that for-reasons-I-don’t-understand, is how I began my writing journey in the first place, so I’m game again.

To explain what the second problem is that I discovered, let me share with you some of the advice given to new bloggers:

• A newbie author (like myself) must not give writing advice.

• An unknown blogger must not write about their personal life.

• A fiction author must not cover politics or religion.

So, I’m not to write about anything that is: personal, political, or controversial—nor am I to share anything I’ve learned in the field of writing.

Hmmmmm. I think what I was told is: Don’t, don’t, don’t. Now go do it.

Yep, that’s definitely another stumbling block to posting to the blog.

Bottom line ~ it’s time to cross the boundaries of the don’ts and see if I can blog more often than once every two months.

Tomorrow’s Topic: What you can learn about my life as I share writing advice on politics & religion.

2006-10-15T06:31:00.000-07:00

Hello, again!

I’m sending a GIGANTIC thank you to every reader!

When the Heart Cries is in its second printing! I'm hearing from you daily and I so appreciate the notes of encouragement and to hear how many of you are enjoying this novel and passing it on to other family members and friends. That says an awful lot, doesn't it?

When the Heart Cries made it on this month's top ten list on Christianbook.com and is now available in hardback through Crossings Book Club, Crossings.com And . . . it's time for me to get out and meet some of you.

On Tuesday, October 17th I'm having my first book signing—two of them:

First Signing ~

Where: Sweet Spirit Christian Bookstore
1100 Johnson Ferry Road, Suite 80
Marietta, GA. 30068
When: At noon
Contact number: 770-565-7722
Authors present: Rene Gutteridge, Eric Wilson, and Cindy Woodsmall

Second Signing ~

Where: Cornerstone Christian Bookstore
1770 Presidential Circle
Snellville, GA 30078-5687
When: 7 P.M.
Contact number: 770-972-2261
Authors present: Rene Gutteridge, Eric Wilson, and Cindy Woodsmall

I'm really looking forward to seeing those of you who are able to come out and visit a while.

Peace,
Cindy

2006-10-14T22:08:00.000-07:00

Hello, Faithful Ones,

As you know, it's been a very hard few weeks for the Amish community. I couldn't even make myself write about it until now. I think in many ways I've taken on a new perspective as I've talked with my Amish friend via her phone shanty to my cell phone. Through broken words and trembling voices, we shared the heartache and I came to an even deeper respect of what faith and humility can cause in a human heart.

My friend had two nephews at the Amish school where the shootings took place—
her sister's children. Those males were part of the ones released that awful day. But their focus was never fully on their own pain. She felt strongly that the Amish community could not have begun to heal if Roberts’ widow and children had been treated poorly in any way. And through a faltering voice, she told of their deep, deep gratefulness for the believers across this country who fell to their knees with them during this tragedy.

Peace in Him,
Cindy

2006-09-14T19:17:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my brand new blog. Unfortunately, my deadlines right now are keeping me away. I promise to get right on this as soon as the immediate rush is done.

In the meantime, feel free to check out my web site for the latest updates and to enter the ongoing contest I have running.

Thank you for your support.