Be Still My Soul: Post-Thanksgiving Thoughts

Thanksgiving 2021 is past. It was not hard for everyone who came to our celebration in Burrows to happily think of something to be grateful to God for. With smiles on every face, especially if one’s name was mentioned in someone else’s praise, we fourteen conducted our usual Five Kernels of Corn ritual, and then paused for a group prayer to thank God for the collective heap of blessings over the past year (5 X 14 = 70) before we dug into the feast. 

One of the things I was thankful for was the water heater, and that I could take nice, warm showers. Since we’re now in the colder months, that is especially important for both our pleasure and our health. Dulcinea was prompted by her mom and thanked God for her pretty brown dress, while Ambrose thanked God for earthworms that aerate the soil.

 

Andrew and Vivi were thankful for Addy’s birth in July. Me too!

Me with Addy on Thanksgiving

 

Chris and Kim were thankful for their marriage in May and that Kim’s pregnancy continues. (We weren’t sure the baby was going to make it, but praise God, Chris and Kim’s “miracle baby” is doing well!)

 

My dad was there, for the first time ever! Mostly, his habit had been to load up in his RV and leave for points south during the winter, but this time, due to the astounding number of illegal border crossers, he wanted to stay in Indiana and be with us, though the drive is long. His “thankfulness” was to be with a large group of relatives who all get along. And I wholeheartedly agree – we have very much to be thankful for with that. 

 

Sam thanked God for a good immune system. Being a fast-food manager, he’s in the presence of many people, all kinds of them, every day, but he has thus far avoided the plague. We are all thankful that we don’t live in California. Hopefully, we’ll continue to be happy that we live in this red state, but our governor is a bit wishy-washy.

 

I am deeply grateful to God that our entire family, anyone who is old enough to talk, at least, knows Jesus Christ as his or her personal savior (and those who can’t talk yet are still covered). I pretty much say that every year, but I’m looking forward to being with them for all eternity. 

 

Meanwhile, to leave the happy scene at the table and think of other tables elsewhere, I know fellow Christians whose hearts are broken this Thanksgiving. One friend lost her husband on Thanksgiving Day. Another decided not to invite their kids to their house because some of them have bad attitudes and they can’t get along. And a few of my relatives still live in California, though I think they will soon make their escape if they can. My uncle, as mentioned last week, has Covid, as do several members of our congregation.

There are people in lockdowns and violent protests all over the world, people with vaccine injuries from 2021 and loss of jobs and businesses from tyrannical mandates, and people who are still being massacred in Nigeria and Afghanistan, while our government turns a blind eye.

 

What will Christmas 2021 be like? Who will be well? How long will the Lord tarry? Will China wipe us out in 2022 or will Russia beat them to it? Or Iran? Will we have food? How expensive can gas get? Nobody knows, but in so many ways, this looks like the long, dark winter of Joe Biden’s self-fulfilling prophecy.

 

I saw a meme that had a guy sheepishly peeking around a door with words to the effect of:

 

“I know I said I was leaving my problems in Your hands, but can I just get a status update?”

 

I laughed because this is the epitome of our bookbinding customers. If we say we’ll get back with them in about 3 weeks or so, they’ll put that date on their calendar and then request a status update first thing in the morning. But it’s me, too. I’ve prayed about all those things in my previous paragraph. Why should I worry about food or gas or war? These are things the world worries about, and though we are in the world, we are not of the world.

 

“In the multitude of my anxieties within me, Your comforts delight my soul.”

~Psalm 94:19

Addy with her Daddy.

 

I know this: God hears our prayers. I know that if He hears, He answers. I know that He is truly on the throne and totally in control. I know that if He is for us, who can be against us? And I know that in the end, He wins. We read a passage in John the other day that looks like Jesus is quoting a passage in the Book of Revelation. The whole Bible speaks of Jesus – all 66 books. And at the end of all time, Jesus will judge the population of the planet – past, present, and future.

 

So, worrying about our future with God in control is just silly. Okay, it’s insane. Knowing the above, the Apostle Paul was nearly stoned to death – or maybe he actually died. But after that, he arose and went back into the same town and preached the Gospel again. Some say he had caught a glimpse of Heaven, and knew death really wasn’t so bad after all.

 

Every one of our friends and acquaintances who died in 2021, like the Apostle Paul, knew Jesus. That means they have a place in Heaven, and we will see them all again. Like David, we need to talk to ourselves!

 

“Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted within me?

“Hope in God; For I shall yet praise Him, The help of my countenance and my God.”

~Psalm 42:11

But other things, like the reality of some loved ones not knowing Jesus and not being around for holidays, or people you love going through the fire … oh, sometimes don’t you wish you could trade places with them? Never let apathy set in -- those concerns don’t go away with a shrug. What it takes is earnest, continuing prayer for them, faith that God has heard, and then coming back again and again until you see the answer. It also takes helping them if you can and being an encouragement. 

 

A dear friend of mine is divorced, her daughter died years ago, and her two grandsons are homosexual and living on the opposite side of the country. She lives in an oppressive state, alone except for her cat and her mother who’s on the brink of death. What can she be thankful for on Thanksgiving? Maybe a warm shower?

 

In her case, the biggest blessing is that she knows Jesus, and she shares her testimony of a vision of Jesus when she was first saved, how He held her in His arms, and how she can never forget the sweetness of the moment. Ahhh, that’s everything! I too have known Him closely, and the memory of His voice is not dimmed.

 

When the well runs dry, ladies and gentlemen, there’s still Jesus.

 

When the food runs out, there’s still Jesus.

 

When the friends are all gone and you are alone, there’s Jesus, a Friend who sticks closer than a brother.

 

When the world is falling apart, Jesus is still the Rock, our Fortress.

 

In the Book of John, Jesus is quoted 25 times starting His sentences with “Most assuredly,” or in the King James Version, “Verily, verily.”This means Jesus is stating absolute truth.

 

Here are a couple of them:

 

"Most assuredly, I say to you, he who hears My word and believes in Him who sent Me has everlasting life, and shall not come into judgment, but has passed from death into life.

  ~John 5:24

 

“Most assuredly, I say to you, if anyone keeps My word he shall never see death."

~John 8:51

 

The very biggest blessing on Earth is knowing the Savior in Heaven!

 

Father God, this is my prayer, that those reading my blog all would know Jesus. There is nothing more certain in these uncertain times. Touch them and save them, that they, along with me, would have the ultimate blessing to be thankful for. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Thoughts about Covid and the Age of the Vaccine

Yesterday I found out that Uncle Sam, my dad’s big brother, has Covid. 

Dad, seated, with Uncle Sam, standing, at our family reunion about 13 years ago.

Sam is the first family member who is really at risk with Covid, since he is a diabetic, overweight, and of advanced age (high 80s). He was transferred recently to a long-term care facility since he couldn’t take care of himself – his legs were swollen and he had been falling too often. But now he has contracted Covid. And I’m concerned that standard protocol, which includes an expensive but dangerous treatment called Remdesivir, may do him in. It causes organ failure, and the patient’s lungs will fill with fluid, drowning him...

But today, I wanted to speak to the shot. So very many people, when giving their opinions about the “Covid Vaccine,” can be heard using the caveat “I’m not an anti-vaxxer, but … “ Presumably, that is so they can appear to not be “too extreme” when speaking of unconstitutional Covid vaccine mandates, or even when just opposed to this particular vaccine. It’s the same tack that, most notably politicians, have used over the decades when discussing their views on abortion – “I’m not anti-abortion,” they’ll say, “but I don’t think the taxpayers should fund it,” or “but I wouldn’t have one myself.” They may word it a bit differently, but they would really like to project the image that they’re comfortable riding the fence.

Here are my views on vaccines in general, as well as the one currently in question. I’m pretty sure I’ve already written about the Covid one, but you might like to hear my stories about vaccines in general as well.

Usually, when homeschooling our kids using the KONOS curriculum, we would gather unto ourselves like-minded individuals with kids near the same ages as ours. That gave our kids “peers” and interaction with other human beings besides their own siblings, but in a controlled environment. “Like-minded” could usually happen, but there was never a perfect match, just as a marriage usually has differences in personality and opinions between the participants, even if they are honest-to-goodness soul-mates.

So, when KONOS took our home school into a science unit that explored the invention of the polio vaccine and other related topics, we put it on the school year calendar. Some members of the group disagreed so strongly about how to teach it to their own children that we never had any co-ops in that unit. I was on the side of disapproving of invasive medical procedures. In fact, our kids hardly ever went to a hospital or emergency room. Other families in the group were more in tune with medical stuff than I. 

I wish I could remember the name of the book we had on our shelf, but since it was a paperback, it probably bit the dust after so much use, or else it was lent out. It had the name of a doctor in the title. There were found in its pages simple solutions to various medical problems, and we frequently employed them. For example, some of our friends were always at the emergency room with a child who had an ear infection. But according to the author of my book, the main problem with an ear infection was the pain. He recommended warm olive oil in the affected ear(s) and said the child’s hearing would return with the birds in the spring. (It didn’t usually take that long.) 

When it came to vaccinations, I read that it wasn’t such a great idea to shoot up our kids with germs, be they alive or dead. I learned that most or all of the later cases of polio were actually caused by the vaccine, and that polio itself had been eradicated, so the WHO finally stopped recommending it.

This was news to me. I grew up going to a public school, so my family all got our shots on schedule along with everyone else.

Everyone older than I had the tell-tale scar on their upper arm to show they’d had a single sore from where the smallpox vaccine had been injected. I’m not sure why I never had that pock like everyone else, but I do remember that they gave us school kids an oral vaccine for polio on a sugar cube. We were just happy to get the sugar cube, but we never thought about its having a live virus in it.

Not only did I have my shots on time, I joined the Air Force upon graduation from high school, where I was guaranteed to have as many shots as they could get into my arms. Nobody asked, “Did you already have (this particular) vaccination?” We just stood in line and everybody got one. There were always people who didn’t like all those shots, but it was always because of the pain from the needle or the revolutionary new air gun or because they had a fear of needles or shots in the first place. I was no such weenie! I took my shots bravely, without a complaint.

But nobody, to my knowledge, ever questioned whether we needed the shots, or whether they were beneficial or actually harmful. Of course they were good, of course they worked, and of course we should always trust those guys in the white lab coats who were giving us the shots.

When you have a baby in a hospital, they start by giving shots before you leave the place because some percentage of mothers who give birth have venereal diseases or have been using street drugs. They don’t explore whether you personally would answer to that description, they just explain that for your newborn baby’s health, it would be better to inject him with viruses. 

And, they immediately want you to set up a relationship with a pediatrician. The pediatrician’s staff begin scheduling your child for “well baby checks,” and soon, as your family size grows, you feel like you’re seeing the doctor more often than your husband! By the time Robyn was born (at home), I was not on the bandwagon with this anymore. They always wanted to give more shots whenever we went there. So we made the decision that if our children wanted or needed shots at some point, they could get them on their own. And we decided to stop going to well baby checks. If our kids were very sick, we’d take them to the doctor. Most of the time, we just let them ride out an illness at home.

Once, I had the opportunity to serve as “parent advisor” on a board of Carroll County residents who had the authority to spend money from state grants. This board mostly consisted of social workers, but the Carroll County Health Department also had a nurse there. After one of my births, this nurse asked me, during a meeting, whether my baby had had all her shots. All eyes were on me and I was blushing from the exposure, but I told her no, we didn’t need the proffered vaccinations. Also, I wasn’t going to set up a visit to the Health Department, and it didn’t really matter that the vaccinations were free. The reactions ranged from disapproval to incredulity, but nobody there understood our line of thinking.

Years later, Valerie, at age 16, visited a doctor for the first time when she had a huge splinter embedded under her toenail. I figured this was going to require a doctor’s expertise. After novocaine and some finagling, the splinter was out and the nurse was talking about a tetanus shot. I figured that would be the case. Nobody wants lockjaw from an infection! She came back with a syringe and injected the contents into my daughter’s arm. Then, this same nurse came back with a consent form for DTP.

“HOLD ON! What’s this? You said she was going to get a tetanus shot.”

“She did! There’s tetanus in the DTP.”

“I did not consent to diphtheria and pertussis! Why did you give her that?”

“Well, she wasn’t current, so I thought I would catch her up.”

It’s possible they didn’t even have a separate tetanus shot available to them at that point (out of stock?). But I was pretty agitated. The standard operating procedure was to get the consent form signed first. If there had been any adverse effects, they would have heard from me.

And finally, the older we got, the more I really didn’t want to go to the doctor’s for much, unless I really was sick. We didn’t have insurance, and I thought I would probably notice if there was anything truly wrong with me. When it came to annual flu shots, I heard people talking about how they felt sick because they’d just had one. I was just silly enough to think maybe the flu shot was supposed to prevent you from getting sick, but what do I know, right? So I skipped the shot and just got flu – and colds, and bronchitis, and other things we couldn’t really identify because they were just “a bug” of some kind. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

We all pretty much accepted the inevitability of being sick from time to time. It is the condition of mankind! And then, after you spend some time in bed, drinking plenty of fluids, taking a decongestant, and using up all the tissues, you get better and go back to school or work or church. I never once counted seasonal flu as a dreaded enemy of mankind that I must avoid at all costs. 

Enter Covid. Suddenly, a sickness that hadn’t even reached our shores was being promoted as “The Invisible Enemy.” We were hungry for the current news from the home front and listened for hours as President Trump, Dr. Fauci, and Dr. Birx answered every question put to them. There was a case here, another there. The numbers were going up! People were dying! If you had Covid, you might not even know it, and you could give it to Grandma, and she would die. 

Some of us were thrilled to be considered worthy – make that “essential” – and others had to shutter their businesses and stay home. We were grateful that we were able to make a living but had to make expensive changes to our business model. So we took out a Payroll Protection Plan loan, and got the job done. Our governor said that churches were essential! And he praised the churches who had gone to livestream format so their parishioners could stay home and watch church in their pj’s. Live-streaming, disinfecting, handwashing, and elbow-bumping became patriotic. We were all in this together!

Then, masks became the turning point for me. I was not able to shop for any length of time wearing one without feeling sluggish and faint. After a while, I mostly simply ignored the signs that recommended those “coughy filters” and I refused to enter a store if they had a mask Nazi on duty. I had seen enough videos and read enough articles by then, to understand the complete ineffectiveness of masks to prevent the spread of any virus, but also understood the dangers of breathing in your own carbon dioxide all day, not to mention the psychological dangers of having your communication center (your face) covered.

But as I resisted the masks, the “Powers That Be” doubled down on their tyranny and, using a lawless edict which circumvented the constitutional legislative power of each of the 50 states, the man in the White House gave millions of working men and women the middle finger, saying either you allow a poison shot to be injected into your bloodstream, or you will lose the means to provide for your family. To the employers, he said you can either be a vax Nazi to all of your employees on our behalf, or we will cancel your business with crushing fines.

I have not forgotten the book I read all those years ago, even if I can’t remember its title. There is no question that I do not want any part of the mRNA gene therapy shot. It ruins the immune system, causes blood clots, strokes, heart attacks, polio-like symptoms, and immune deficiency that looks a lot like AIDS. There are over a million adverse effects in the UK’s vaccine adverse effects database and over 30,000 of those adverse effects are death. Everything about this shot violates the Nuremberg Code, which was set up to prevent ghastly experiments on unwilling human subjects. And it is happening all over the world. The disease, and now the vax, are bioweapons designed to depopulate the Earth.

We should have enough real information at our disposal now to make this informed decision, but most people do not dig beyond the Yahoo homepage on their Google browser. What must be done is to use Rumble or another small video service to find interviews with people like Sherri Tenpenny, Dr. Simone Gold, or Dr. Bryan Ardis, or shows like Stew Peters or Bongino, or NewsMax. You need to search using a free-speech oriented search engine like DuckDuckGo. Hardly a day goes by without at least one of my friends sending me a link to a fascinating interview … because Facebook, as an arm of the Democrat administration, would not have approved of the information and would have suppressed it.

What you would find says that many of those vaccines that were used in the past weren’t as safe or effective as they made them out to be, and that deception has characterized Big Pharma for a really long time. There’s a link to autism in children. There is evidence that the Bill Gates Foundation has caused paralysis in African children via Bill’s “humanitarian” vaccine programs – but why should we care? They’re just Africans, right? There’s a lot of information available about the objections to vaccines because of the use of fetal cell lines (from aborted babies), either as an ingredient or to test them. 

Vaccine injury seems to be the case with a friend of ours, from the requirements to work in local meat processing plants. Sadly, no one believes him.

And now, they want us to believe that a vaccine, or any of the ones on the market, all of which were developed at “warp speed” to save us from the life-threatening illness without any animal trials at all .. should be safe and effective for the whole world? So much so that they insist they are good for pregnant and nursing women, chlidren who are not at risk, people who already have antibodies from prior infection, and those with allergies to the ingredients? And even for babies? Really? There are absolutely no contraindications? Should we all stand in line and patriotically roll up our sleeves?

NO. I will say it loudly and clearly, with no caveats. I may be making myself a target, but I am anti-vax. And I despise the villainy behind the Covid virus, developed in China with the help of our taxpayer money from Fauci’s NIH, as well as the mRNA products that are being forced upon the populace. This is not good, not healthy, and not even scientific. Doctor Fauci is a psychopath. We must resist, get information, and just say NO. Be a “Pureblood.” (Note: “Just say no” used to be a thing when talking about drugs.) Here’s a 31-item bullet list for why we should say no. 

Please pray for my uncle. I hope I can talk to him one more time, but I know he loves Jesus, so he will be safe, however this turns out. Thank you, Jesus!

Let Me Live in a House By the Side of the Road

Last year, I began to record my thoughts, my history, my doings, and my hope in Jesus Christ in earnest. I hope that at least some of this has been inspirational.

This week, we had an opportunity to speak with a dear friend, who was at a time in her life when she was very concerned that she should discover God’s perfect will for her life. She just wasn’t sure which option was “the” option that God wanted and needed more time to pray about it. I know this is on the hearts of many who are walking with the Lord. Should I make a right turn here, or continue down this path?

Then I had a dream yesterday morning, in which I encountered several people in various situations and somehow, I was able to help them. Try as I might, I couldn’t remember later what I helped them with, and neither could Eric (though I always tell him my best dreams). I only know I woke up smiling and feeling satisfied, as I’d been helping people with something I could do and it was something that needed to be done. 

The discussion with Eric when I awoke then led to my Grandpa Ware. You see, I know that one of the things he most loved to do was helping people. Sure, he had his bad points, but he was also convinced in his own mind that as long as he could be useful, he had a purpose in life.

Grandpa was born on Christmas Day, 1911, the same year Sam Walter Foss died. Foss was the writer of a poem Grandpa loved. Perhaps the poem is not as popular as it once was, I don’t really know, but I remembered the poem as I remembered Grandpa. Here it is: House By the Side of the Road.

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn

In the place of their self-content,

There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,

In a fellowless firmament,

There are pioneer souls that blaze the paths

Where highways never ran -

But let me live by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road

Where the race of men go by -

The men who are good and the men who are bad,

As good and as bad as I.

I would not sit in the scorner's seat

Nor hurl the cynic's ban -

Let me live in a house by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

I see from my house by the side of the road

By the side of the highway of life,

The men who press with the ardor of hope,

The men who are faint with the strife,

But I turn not away from their smiles and tears,

Both parts of an infinite plan -

Let me live in a house by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead,

And mountains of wearisome height,

That the road passes on through the long afternoon

And stretches away to the night.

And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice

And weep with the strangers that moan,

Nor live in my house by the side of the road

Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road,

Where the race of men go by -

They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,

Wise, foolish - so am I.

Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat,

Or hurl the cynic's ban?

Let me live in my house by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

When you find illustrations for this poem, they are always very rural settings -- some dirt pedestrian path leading through a forest, across a meadow, or up a mountain. In earlier days, the landscape where Grandpa lived in Southern California might have answered that description, but during the latter years that led up to his passing, he lived in a house on a street in Lakewood, where, if we were visiting and wanted to go out the front door, he stopped us, warning of drive-by shootings. He had bars on his windows that reminded me of a prison. So if he mentioned the poem, I would complain to him about his living conditions. Sure, there was a road in front of his house, but the men who went by were in noisy, fast-moving cars, and apt to do him harm. 

Here he is as a younger man, in Independence, Missouri, on the front porch of the house he grew up in, with my mom and his father.

Waiting on the porch of a house by the side of a road

But Grandpa’s focus was on helping, wherever he was needed, and he wanted to be where the need was. He was Mr. Fixit Man, whether it involved painting, installing a doorknob or toilet, or providing money for a good cause. Towards the end, he was pretty sure the only thing he could still do was provide money for a good cause. And at the very end, he was dismayed because with his advanced “Old Timer’s,” as Grandma Ware put it, it appeared there really wasn’t anything left that he could do. If he couldn’t be useful, he reasoned, why was he still here?

Indeed, why are any of us still here? And how do we find God’s perfect will for our lives? Are we waiting for skywriting? Or perhaps God could inscribe it on the dining room wall during supper, à la Belshazzar.

I’ve been busy these days working on Christmas. I make it a point to drill some things into the heads of the little children who learn the songs for our annual Christmas program. This year it is, that “Emmanuel” in “O Come O Come Emmanuel” means “God with us.” And God Incarnate means “God in a body.” He came so that he could be with us and communicate with us. We think then, that HIs disciples were lucky because they got to talk to Him directly. How many of them asked, “How can I know what God's will is for my life?”

That really is a good question. I mean, look at this!

"Not everyone who says to Me, 'Lord, Lord,' shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father in heaven.”

~Matthew 7:21

If it is that important to do the will of the Father, we’d better find it out, right? 

Then they said to Him, "What shall we do, that we may work the works of God?"

Jesus answered and said to them, "This is the work of God, that you believe in Him whom He sent."

~John 6:28-29

He kept coming back to that!

And this is the will of Him who sent Me, that everyone who sees the Son and believes in Him may have everlasting life; and I will raise him up at the last day."

~John 6:40

But what if our main purpose is to be a friend and help others along the path, as long as we can and as best we can – to act on our belief in Jesus in our day-to-day encounters? 

After Eric and I reflected upon my dream and my memories of Grandpa, and even found the poem, we read our daily Scripture together and found this in Proverbs: 

“The lot is cast into the lap, But its every decision is from the LORD.”

~Proverbs 16:33

That sounds like Purim! The bad guy, Haman, who was out to annihilate the Jews, cast lots to decide what day that destruction he had been scheming should happen. But the lots always fell to a date far in the future, giving the Jews time to figure out what to do. The writer of Esther doesn’t say it, but it is implied that God was orchestrating Haman’s demise, even as Haman was planning the demise of God’s people. God was working all things together for good, as He still is today.

I told Eric we should have our friend flip a coin, as the verse suggests. In the end, if one option seems as good as another, the best thing to do is to just choose one, and then trust that God will do His work through you, whatever option is chosen. 

It may very well be that God doesn’t have a stupendous, glamorous work in mind for you. It may be that His plan for you is simpler, consisting of those many little opportunities that come along to help someone with a hard task or offer a word of encouragement. Perhaps you are to help carry a heavy burden, to come alongside someone during a part of their journey, or to give them a drink of water or a bite to eat in Jesus’ Name. These “chance” opportunities are also known as “Divine Appointments.” They may look like a roll of the dice to us, but to God, they have been on His appointment calendar since Day One.

I’ve written about “Others” before. You may want to go back and review that one. But the main point is that helping others is far better than competing with others. I know I have often failed at that myself. We should never smugly decide that we are better than others and not offer any assistance. It doesn’t give us any points in Heaven. 

Have you ever wanted to help someone along the way but felt like it would be awkward to ask? It just might be. But sometimes we just can’t wait for a “Help Wanted” sign.

There is a memory that haunts me. Eric and I were checking out of some store, and the girl scanning our items looked sad or tired. She sported a black eye. I suppose she had a good alibi for the eye, and if I had drawn attention to it, she might not have been honest with me, but I said nothing. Could I have helped her? Could we have found a way to help this stranger out of, say, an abusive relationship? Now I think of the famous Gabby Petito case, and how she and her boyfriend Brian Laundrie had been stopped by police, who didn’t use the opportunity to help her, even though there were warning signs, but only sent them on their way. Now, she’s dead, and so is he.

There is a true story I’ve heard of, about a young man in a military training school, whose class had to complete a series of endurance exercises. In one of them, all of the young cadets had to run ten miles carrying a 50-lb. bag of sand. If they didn’t all complete the exercise, the whole class would fail. Towards the end, one young man collapsed, unable to continue. But Mike, seeing him collapse, asked if he would be able to finish the course if he didn’t have to carry the weight. His comrade said he thought he could, so he got his legs under him, and Mike finished his course with both his own bag and the other man’s. Because of his heroic deed, the class passed.

I couldn’t have done that in a million years. I often can’t even get a lid off a jar! But I can spell, I can type, I can do a math problem, sing a song, and play a drum. There are things I can do to make others’ lives easier. More than that, I can pray for someone, and occasionally I can hear from God and pass on His wisdom in a puzzling situation or encourage the greatness I perceive in another. In that case, the wisdom or greatness themselves do not come from me, but God’s inspiration travels through me. 

Sometimes, all it takes is a hug.

Can I be a friend to man? I can try, and I think I can do better. Jesus of Nazareth was “God in a Body.” But you know what? He still is that! 

The Body of Christ is The Church, and it is His will to speak and act through us, His people.

Father God, give us, Your people, tasks that we can do and that are needed. Help us to be available for other people and not shrink back because we might embarrass ourselves. Help us to act upon our faith and do the works of God, that others, seeing, might also believe in the One who sent Jesus.

Until You come again, Jesus, may Your will be done on Earth, as it is in Heaven.

For it is in Your Name we pray, Amen.

Haley Family Stories (Part 8: The Burdick Side)

And so we come to the last post with the family history Eric has written. As you have no doubt noticed, it is in more of a formal genealogical format, intending both to trace as many ancestors of our Haley family as we could find, and to briefly tell some of their famous stories. This is by no means all there is to say about these people, and nowhere near all the pictures we have of them. In some cases, we are left with more questions than answers, as we wonder what life would have been like for them when they were young or when they were “my age.”

This one is kind of fun, though, with both a “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” and a Mohawk princess in my ancestry … but I’ll let Eric tell the stories.

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 BURDICK AND PEAK FAMILIES

The Burdick family was from Independence, Missouri. While little is known about Bernard Burdick, family stories suggest that he died in a trucking accident, which could explain his burial at the Los Angeles National Cemetery, far away from home. His gravestone simply reads, “Ben Burdick, Bugler, U.S. Army, Died 11/07/1936.”

 

Bernard Burdick was the son of Ira Oscar Burdick and Lydia Celia Farrow. He was married at age 19 to Audentia Bell Peak and died at the age of 34. We have a photocopy of a picture of him on the beach with Audentia while dating, which suggests that they may have both lived on the West Coast at that time.

 

Ira Oscar Burdick was born in Minnesota in 1872, the son of Jackson Burdick of New York and Zina Jerusha Diantha Anderson (bn. 1841) of Nauvoo, Illinois. Jackson was the son of Carey Burdick of the Netherlands. The Andersons were from Ireland and have been traced back to the 16th Century.

 

The Peak family is one that appears to have been connected with the Reorganized Church of the Latter-Day Saints. There were family stories told about a close connection with the leadership of the RLDS, and that Mary Peak or her daughter Audentia lived in a house owned by the church. Audentia II was given a “Mormon funeral.” It is also interesting to note that the name Audentia, though rare, is a more common name within the RLDS families of the early 20th Century, being the middle name of the daughter of Joseph Smith III, the founder of this early breakaway group that chose not to follow Brigham Young.

L to R: Margie Linda Atanacio Haley, Margaret Lee Ware Atanacio, Audentia Bell Burdick Ware,

Audentia Bell Peak Burdick, and Mary Davis Peak

 

Thus far, I have not found any official connection with the RLDS church involving the name Peak but have found a significant connection with the parents of Mary Peak and the LDS (Mormon) church. Mary Peak’s mother was Catherine Arthur Davis (or Davies) and her grandparents were Evan Arthur and Catherine James of Blaenavon, Wales.

Catherine Arthur and John T. Davis

Evan Arthur and Catherine James

Evan and Catherine left the Baptist church, joined the Mormons, and sailed for America and Utah in 1863. They were already in their mid-fifties by this time. Upon arrival they agreed to become missionaries of the Mormon Church to Wales. Evan is buried at the Saint John Cemetery in Rush Valley, Tooel County, Utah.

 

Mary Peak’s father was Warren Elmer Peak, the son of Bird Willis Peak. Warren was born in 1838 in Glasgow, Scott County, Illinois, not far from Nauvoo, the famous Mormon town.

 

The spelling of the Peak name is spelled Peek from there on with Samuel Peek (Bn 1795), son of Jacobus Hendrickse Peek, son of Hendrick Jacobus Peek (bn. 1734 in Schenectady, New York.). Hendrick was the son of Jacobus Michael Peek and Margarita Cornelise Van Slyke (bn. 1696). She was the daughter of Cornelis Jacques Van Slyck, son of Jacques Cornelise Van Slyck, a Dutch fur trader (bn 1640), who married a Mohawk princess by the name of Kanien kaha ka (or Otstoch) of the Turtle Clan.

Ots-Toch, Margie's 11th great grandmother

 

Here is what we know so far about the heritage of Margie’s mother’s family:

 

Ware–English / Native American (Chowan / Algonquin) 

Riley– Welsh / English

Burdick–Dutch / Irish

Peak – Welsh / Dutch / Native American (Mohawk)

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The story of Ots-toch, daughter of the “Queen of Hog’s Island,” is my favorite one in this post. There is a legendary poem attributed to her. There’s no way to prove that she wrote it, and apparently she had a disdain for religion, but her children grew up to be prominent Christians. Here’s an excellent article about her, as well as a whole slew of comments from people who are probably my relatives, most of them in Canada. https://omfrc.org/2017/05/mystery-legacy-ots-toch/

The poem was deleted from Wikipedia because of lack of evidence, but it embodies the missionary spirit of many of the early white European settlers on this continent and why I am grateful to them for sailing to the New World, befriending my Native American ancestors, and winning some of them to the Lord Jesus Christ. It gives me hope that Ots-toch did finally convert to Christianity, and that someday I will meet her in Heaven, where time, space, and language will not be barriers anymore to our friendship and kinship. But if she is not there, I’ll just have fun meeting her descendants instead.

Here is the poem:

“O’er the dark woods and forest wild

My father in his wild nature smiled

with tomahawk and bended bow

to slay the reindeer and buffalo

My brother in his bark canoe

across the lake so gaily flew

to catch the whitefish in the lake

and shoot the wild ducks in the brake

my mother in her wigwam sat

with copious work and curious chat

and I poor little Indian maid

with acorn shells and wildflowers played

and I beside my mother all day

to weave the splintered baskets gay

to pound the samp and tan the skins

and mend my fathers moccasins

I could not read, I could not sew

my Savior's name I did not know

till white man to the forest came

and taught poor Indian Jesus name

He built a church and school house near

with Holy hymns and wildwood cheer

Now I can read, now I can sew

My Savior's name I’m taught to know

Now my Redeemer I implore

God bless the white man forever more.”

The last chapter hasn’t really been written, though, concerning our family. There are both stories of our ancestors yet uncovered, and stories of descendants yet unborn. There are others’ memories of those of whom we’ve already written that did not make it into my blog posts. So this will not be the last post about “family,” after which I must dream up something else to write!

Not to mention the fact that our own story continues as well. What will be our projects, as Eric and I progress into our senior citizen years? I got an advertisement for a life insurance policy yesterday, that promised $5,000 to $10,000 upon my death, or when the policy reaches maturity, they would pay me its cash value -- that is, when I attain the age of 120!

Will Margie make it to 120?

Will anybody care in 55 years if she bought a life insurance policy worth $10,000?

Or will the Lord return long before 2076?

These questions and many more are yet to be answered, so stay tuned.

In the meantime, if you have a Haley family story you’d like to see me talk about in a post, let me know. There are many things of which I have no personal knowledge, that would be, perhaps, of interest to my readers, and would be, certainly, of interest to me.