I'm Too Old for This

Hiking with Esther and her sister while dealing with my neuropathy

October 1, 2025 dawned with great anticipation. We were leaving to join an Anabaptist Heritage Tour with Masthof, guiding the way for people with Clemmer/Clymer, and Huber/Hoober family names; all with roots in both Switzerland and Anabaptism.

We arrived at the airport in plenty of time to board our United Airlines flight from Washington, DC to Zürich, Switzerland. We were looking forward to joining the group that had left the same day from Philadelphia. Our planes were scheduled to arrive in Zürich within an hour of each other. 

Our plane left on time as we headed along the east coast of the United States and heading toward the ocean as we left Canada. We were over Maine when we received word from the captain that something was wrong with the aircraft and we had to return to DC. Our plans to join the group were dashed. However, little did we know by how much that would mean. The captain assured us that another plane was being prepared to take us to Zürich.

When we landed in DC, the landing was quite bumpy. We later learned that we didn't land on a typical runway, but rather on a gravel one. The plane limped along to the gate from which we had left. Before entering the gate, fire trucks surrounded the plane on both sides and sprayed water all over the wheels of the plane. It was scary to behold, but one of United's goals is safety, so we were glad that we had avoided any more serious event.

We deplaned and waited for the replacement jet to arrive. After some time, we re-boarded the replacement plane. As we waited, the new crew kept telling us when they thought we would leave. First they announced that we had to wait until the plane was refueled. We waited some more. Then they announced that food for the flight had to be loaded and we waited some more. We now had been waiting for more than an hour.  

Suddenly, all the lights on the plane went out. They announced that there was a mechanical problem that needed to be fixed. By now we were waiting on the plane for two hours. We kept being encouraged by announcements that we would soon be on our way. It was getting hot and stuffy inside the plane. After three hours, they said that the mechanical problems couldn't be fixed, and we needed to deplane and rebook.

We were extremely lucky when a new line for rebooking was set up, and we were the first in line for rebooking. The earliest flight available for us was at the same time, but the next day. We were given vouchers to stay overnight in a nearby hotel. Exhausted, we finally arrived at our hotel at 4am. We had to leave the hotel by 11 am, so we got about four hours of sleep before we had to return to the airport.

The next morning, the shuttle bus to the airport was filled with others who had the same experience as we did. We shared our experiences and I was amazed at how everyone seemed to take into stride our inconveniences. We returned to the airport at around noon. United Airlines provided us with vouchers for a free meal back at the airport. We found a nice restaurant and asked if they accepted the vouchers, and they assured us that they did. We whiled away the time and asked for the check. Our waitress took the check along with our vouchers. We waited to leave, then waited some more. Finally she returned with the manager, who tried to explain why they couldn't accept the vouchers despite the fact that we were told up front that they could. It set us back $60, and more forms to fill out for reimbursement from United. What else could go wrong on this trip?  

Fortunately our plane left on time, and we arrived in Zürich at the time allotted. On the plane, the woman who sat beside my wife shared how she was returning to Switzerland to attend her graduation, and how she would barely make it to her ceremony. I wonder how other passenger's experiences were.

Through constant emails between me and our tour leader, we were able to arrange a place for us to meet the group in Zürich to join up with them. This required us to navigate our huge suitcases through the airport to the train station, then walk quite a few blocks with them to where the tour bus was parked. We were glad to finally be able to get rid of our suitcases and join the group for a walking tour of Anabaptist places of interest.

Then followed a wonderful time exploring our roots in Switzerland and other places in France and Germany where our ancestors lived.

Esther and I stayed two more weeks beyond the tour to visit her family and several friends. On the 27th of October, we returned to the states. Thus began the second part of our travel problems. It started by trying to check in 24 hours before our flight. We had booked with United, but our flight from Zürich to Amsterdam was run by their partner airline: Swiss International. As per normal, they asked for our confirmation number. I carefully typed in the number we had for United, but it wasn't accepted. They needed a confirmation number for Swiss International. I had never been given that number. I searched their rather unintuitive website (unusual for the Swiss) until I finally found the number, and we were checked in. Or so I thought.

We arrived at the airport in Zürich in plenty of time to make our 7:15 am flight to Amsterdam before changing planes to get to our final destination. However, nothing that I had done on SI's unintuitive webesite was valid. Our boarding passes were rejected and new ones had to be issued. On impulse, decided to have a light snack and a cup of coffee before boarding. Our flight was to be two hours long, so we expected to receive some food on our way to Amsterdam. We soon learned that high winds in Amsterdam delayed our flight by an hour. Looked like we would have a difficult time making the flight to DC.

As we approached the airport in Amsterdam, we were buffeted by those high winds, and had a very unusual, but safe landing. We had little time to make our flight, and depending where the gate was, it might be impossible. And we received no food on the flight. So much for the "high quality" of Swiss International. We found the gate and started walking to it. We nearly ran, but every time we thought we were approaching the gate, there were more signs that pointed to more distant places in the terminal.

Time was getting short. We speed walked nearly .75 miles until we arrived at our gate, sweaty, exhausted and hungry. The gate was closed by the time we arrived, but since we were in the last group to board, we made it. 

By now it had been more than two hours since I was able to use the bathroom, and I thought I had time to do so before we boarded, but alas, the bathroom was closed! I had to wait until after I boarded to use a facility. 

We were taken to the airplane by bus, and then had to walk a few yards to the stairs to board. It was rainy and cold, and since passengers with overhead bags took forever to get seated, we were in the rain and wind for a long time before we could finally get into a sheltered place. The plane ride to DC was uneventful and we arrived right on time despite leaving a little late. And we had loads of food and drinks. 

I knew that the chance of our bags arriving with us was slim since our plane from Zürich to Amsterdam had arrived late, so I was prepared for the worst. Sure enough, our bags were still in Amsterdam, and we had to go through the process of claiming them. The assured us that they would be delivered to our doorstep the next day. Our bags were filled mostly with dirty clothes, along with quite a stash of cheese and chocolate. I guess those items could wait for a day. (update on our bags. I checked United's bag tracking this morning, and one of them appears to be in Chicago. Too bad for the cheese and chocolate).

The next hurdle was paying for long-term parking. Some where along our month-long journey, I had lost our parking ticket. I had googled what to do if this happened, and google assured me that it wouldn't be a problem, that all I had to do was push the help button at the pay station. I wasn't at all sure that this would work. To my surprise, they knew exactly how long my stay in the parking lot was, and I paid and we continued our journey. Despite my anxiety, the process only took a few minutes, and we were on our way.

After nearly 22 hours of anxiety, we arrived home safely, but rather exhausted. Yes, I think I am too old for this. 

Musings on Anabaptism from Recent Trip

 

Our group posing in front of Konrad Grebel's
house in Zürich, Switzerland

My wife and I recently participated in an Anabaptist Heritage Tour led by Masthof tours. We were exploring the roots of the Clymer/Clemmer and Huber/Hoober in Switzerland, Germany and France. At each of the places we visited, we had an historian give us lectures on the history of the area. I learned a number of things about Anabaptism that were new for me. 

Over the years since the Constantinian Compromise (313 CE), when the church and the state became one, there were hundreds if not thousands of Bible study groups that arose trying to live faithfully the teachings of Jesus. 

The Catholic Church which became the official church of the Roman Empire, repressed any of these efforts. One exception was the movement started by Francis of Assisi. His theology paralleled many Anabaptist themes. It was tolerated as the Catholic Franciscan order of monks.

Peter Waldo started a movement in Lyon, France, ca. 1170 which eventually was called the Waldensians. He had the New Testament translated into French and took on a vow of poverty. As he read the New Testament in his own language, he became bolder in his critique of the Catholic Church. His preaching attracted a large number of people, and he was eventually excommunicated in 1184. 

Peter Waldo portrayed on the Reformation
monument in Worms, Germany

According to Philip Schmuki, retired pastor of the Mennonite Church in Langnau, the Waldensians, who had now penetrated much of Europe, made their way across the Alps into Switzerland from Italy, fleeing persecution. Schmuki claims that the Waldensian ideas laid the groundwork for the influx of Anabaptism in the Emmental Valley. 

While staying at my brother-in-law's house in Gümligen, I was asked to give a presentation about Anabaptism to their small group. I was delighted to know that some of them knew that this year is the 500th anniversary of the movement. They also all knew who Ulrich Zwingli was, but no one knew who Konrad Grebel, Felix Manz, or Georg Blaurock were. I told them that despite agreement on many issues, they wanted a more radical reform than Zwingli, and wanted the reforms to be instituted more quickly than Zwingli wanted. The main issues that were too radical for Zwingli were adult baptism, not bearing arms, not swearing of oaths, and the separation of church and state.

I asked them if they were aware of the book by Katharina Zimmerman titled Die Furgge. An historical novel, this book traces the story of Christian Hershey, who immigrated in 1717 to the USA. It describes the situation of Anabaptists in the Emmental Valley in the 17th Century. It sold over 350,000 copies in Switzerland and raised the awareness of the Swiss people about the severe persecution that they endured for their faith. Before this book, the Anabaptist story had been mostly erased from the consciousness of the Swiss people.

I traced for them the real Christian Hershey story, since I am also a relative. Along with that, I talked to them about the 2.2 million Mennonites in the world, and described the celebration of the 500th Anniversary in the Grossmünster in Zürich. They were surprised to know that there were so many Mennonites in the world, and that the majority of us are people of color.

I am thankful for the opportunity to have my own understandings stretched, and to pass my knowledge on to others who are not so aware.

Longing and Legacy

Aeronka Defender Aircraft

Among other comments under my High School yearbook picture was written, "interested in aviation." Interested was an understatement. I was longing to fly.

I waited patiently for the monthly magazine "Flying" to appear in our school library. I would read every page, drooling over the latest small aircraft advertisements. I would ride my bicycle with a friend nearly six miles to the local airport and pay for rides in small Cessna aircraft. 

After High School, I began taking flying lessons at the same airport. I reached the amount of hours needed to begin to my solo flights. During that time a group of friends interested in getting our pilot's licenses, formed a club and bought an old 1945 Aeronka Defender (like the one pictured above) to fix up and get ready to fly. It would save us a lot of money to have our own aircraft to complete our training for a license. I was longing to fly.

Life interrupted my longings. I was drafted during the Vietnam War and ended up doing a two-year alternate service assignment in Honduras. I listed "flying" as an interest of mine, so I got assigned to a job that involved a lot of flying, despite the fact that I had no credentials for it. I enjoyed flying from place to place in Honduras in small planes. I got to know the pilots, and when I had a seat beside them, they often let me take the controls. What fun, feeling the aircraft respond to my touch! Although getting my own license was postponed, my longing to fly was still within me.

Those 2-plus years I spent in Honduras impacted me greatly. I wrote a memoir of this time titled Coming of Age in Honduras: A Young Adult's Struggle with Faith, Poverty and Sexuality.  When I returned home, I decided to go to college, now five years older than those who would be my peers. Unfortunately, this postponed my longing to fly. As the cost rose and the job market shrank, my dream to be an aviator died. I sold my share in the aviation club, and didn't look back. Eventually I became a Spanish teacher and taught for over thirty years. 

In a recent Sunday school class, I was leading a discussion of the longings of Leah and Rachel from the Old Testament. Neither got exactly what they longed for, but their legacies live on to this day. As I was sharing my longing to be an aviator and how I had to give it up, someone from the class piped up: "Your longing was unfulfilled, but your legacy of influencing hundreds of students over the years lives on." I choked up at the comment. 

Before I left Honduras, my best Honduran friend said to me: "Never forget what you learned

My best friend in Honduras

while you were here. Tell your story to everyone you meet." His comment became my new longing; to tell the story of Honduras. My years of teaching Spanish and leading students on cross-cultural adventures to Guatemala was the means by which I told their story. Later, I began writing about these experiences and got them published in religious magazines.

My father, upon reading these stories in national magazines commented: "Your experience in Honduras really changed your life, didn't it?" to which I replied, "Yes, dad, Honduras had changed my life forever." That is the last line in my Honduras memoir mentioned above.

My legacy didn't come from what I had planned or wanted. It came through events that I didn't control. Like Leah and Rachel, our longings may not be fully satisfied, but God can transform them into unexpected legacies. 

Do You Believe in Angels?

I have neuropathy. Over the past several years I have become increasingly unstable on my feet. It also applies to riding a bike. 

This year our "men's group" (we've been doing something like this for many years) traveled to Greenbrier National Park in West Virginia to ride our bikes on the Greenbrier River Rail Trail on a Saturday, then hike on another trail the next day. The weather was perfect, the scenery gorgeous with the leaves beginning to change color. 

I was led to believe that we would ride out 11 miles on the rail trail, turn around and go back, totaling 22 miles, about my limit for such adventures. When we got to the turn around point in the trail, the rest of my companions decided that they wanted to ride another 11 miles to a tunnel up ahead. That would be 44 miles. I knew it would be too much for me in my condition, so I decided to return alone to our beginning point.

At the time I was feeling pretty good, but the return became increasingly difficult the more I rode. I discovered that the more tired I became, the more my balance issues kicked in. I was having trouble keeping my bike within the narrow tire tracks we had to travel on. I nearly wiped out once when my bike went off the path into the bushy weeds. I was miraculously able to steer my bike back on to the trail without falling over.

I had to rest nearly every three miles as my tired muscles increased the imbalance caused by my neuropathy. Several times when I stopped, riders passing me going the other way would stop and ask me if I was okay. Since there really wasn't much that they could do if I WASN'T okay, I pressed on. 

Sometimes I walked the bike for a few minutes before jumping back on. I kept thinking that our AirBnB was just around the corner. My fatigued condition kept getting worse. At one point, rather depressed about my situation, I got off the bike and found a place to sit down, hoping to regain some energy. Added to my woes were two other factors. My rear end was not taking kindly to the bike seat I had to sit on, and my toes constantly pushing against the front of my shoe were starting to develop blisters!

An iron bridge on the rail trail

While sitting, a man approached on his bicycle from the other side. His bicycle was the latest model with a very sophisticated computer attached to his handlebar. However, he was dressed formally with a Sunday-white button-down, long-sleeved shirt and dress slacks on. By now it was nearly 80º and had no trace of sweat on his brow or shirt. I was sweating profusely. He wore no helmet. He was trim and looked fit, only a few years younger than me, or so it seemed.

He stopped to chat and asked me where I was going. I told him, even though I really didn't know the name of town. He was local, and when I described to him what our AirBnB looked like, he knew exactly where it was. Apparently I had passed it over three miles before. 

Now I was really discouraged, but at least I knew where to go! I thanked the stranger profusely, turned my bike around and headed back. To think that I could have already been under the shower and relaxing with my feet up on an easy chair made me kick myself for not being more observant about our starting point.

Knowing where to go, I pressed on. Thankfully, those three miles went by much more quickly than I imagined, and I made it back safely, breathing a huge prayer of thanks and relief that I made it, and that although very sore, I was still in one piece.

It wasn't until I was relaxing on that easy chair, freshly showered and with my feet in the air that I realized something strange. The man on the fancy bicycle, who was in better shape than I, and who was headed the same direction as I, never passed me on my return home. He had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared. 

What would have happened to me if I hadn't met him? How would I have found my way back? I will never know, but I thanked God again for the angel God had sent to rescue me. 

A bit of color along the trail

Retirement: Am I Still Relevant?

Giving a seminar on my book in Colombia.

Dreams were a very important factor in helping me deal with a mid-life crisis from my mid-to-late thirties. I read as much about Jungian dream work as I could get my hands on to try to understand them. I recorded my dreams faithfully in notebooks and had a spiritual guide help me understand them. It is very difficult to understand one's own dreams because our waking conscious does not normally want to deal with the shadowy parts of our unconscious. 

As a result of my inner work on dreams and other methods, I wrote a book with my sister titled: The Spacious Heart: Room for Spiritual Awakening. (see column on the right). 

Today we have AI as a tool to help us get to potential meanings for our dreams. So I ran the following dream which I had last night through AI. "I was talking to a colleague of mine at Eastern Mennonite University. He told me that my position at EMU had been eliminated for financial reasons. I walked by other colleagues and they seemingly ignored me because I had lost my position." This dream was disturbing.

What's interesting, is that both my former colleague and I are retired. My initial waking response to this dream was to feel compassion for those at EMU who had actually lost their positions for financial reasons as well as many in our country who have lost their jobs for political reasons.

My dream seems to refer to me not feeling relevant since I retired. Am I still emotionally attached to my former role and feel "invisible," or worthless around my former colleagues as they ignore me? 

Jung gives some helpful insights to the dream, saying that dreams are meant to restore balance. In my dream the balance needing restoration could be between my active identity with my retired/elder identity, my personal experience with collective compassion and my fear of irrelevance with the wisdom I carry.

Indeed I often deal with thoughts of irrelevance during my retirement years. While I was working at EMU, I was so involved in preparation, presentations, meeting with students and grading, that I had little time to reflect on how relevant my life was. However, feedback from colleagues and students affirmed my relevance, even if I wasn't reflecting on it. 

Jung stated, "When the Hero retires, the Elder appears." These are both Jungian archetypes.

Giving a seminar on my book in Switzerland

Perhaps I was a hero by surviving those years in front of students. But that hero has retired and the Elder needs to appear. AI describes me this way: "You’ve likely lived a life of deep insight, discipline, and experience. Now, your dream signals a possible shift from active contributor to wise guide. 

I like that picture of me. In some ways I have made the shift to "wise guide." I continue to write blog posts, teach Sunday school classes, deliver seminars on my book in three languages and four countries. I teach for both JMU and UVA's life-long learning programs. I have also been tutoring Spanish for various groups and individuals. I've written about these in a previous blog on a dream I had: Mentoring. 

Yet I have lots of free time on my hands, and during those times I often wonder if I am still relevant. I guess I'll have to work with more of my dreams. They are now like the notes and cards I previously received from my students and colleagues.

If you are retired, how do you measure your relevance?

Mentoring

As a middle schooler, my Sunday school teacher traveled over 30 minutes once a week to meet with me for a Bible study. This was long before mentorship programs began in many churches; he did it all on his own. These sessions were extremely valuable for me and gave me a different male role model from my father along with deepening my connection to my church and faith. 

Mentoring students on intercultural programs
 leads to some unusual experiences.

Over the past number of weeks, I have been working on my dreams and their meaning. Dreams are a special way of learning more about what is happening in one's unconscious and can be messages from God. I had a spiritual director who said: "Dreams are like letters from God. If you received a letter from family or a friend, would you refuse to open it?" 

With guidance from some online sources, my dreams overwhelmingly affirmed my role as a mentor, both in the past and currently. They point to a need to continue my deeply ingrained love of being a mentor, and the joy that accompanies it. 

I retired from teaching in 2016, mentoring young adults for more that 30 years. Retirement ended my mentoring role with them, even though I have kept in contact with many former students through social media and emails. Unfortunately, these engagements have faded as the years went by. I keenly feel this loss, but I hope I have had some influence with my students like the church member who mentored me in my youth.

Group of students on a cross-cultural program to Mexico

I have kept up my mentoring in other ways. I have given numerous seminars in three languages on the book I wrote on spirituality. I teach my adult Sunday school class at least twice a month. I have taught courses for James Madison University and the University of Virginia's life-long learning programs. I consider this mentoring.

My dreams are an interesting mix of satisfaction from my past mentoring involvement, and my desire for future involvement. It seems to indicate future desire for mentoring young adults. Since I am no longer surrounded by young adults, is mentoring through my teaching and writing enough? I think so.

According to Erikson's stages of life, I should have moved on from "generativity" to "ego integrity vs. despair." Generativity is mentoring. My dreams indicate to me that I should continue in the stage of generativity if I want to satisfy my inner desires.

Do you work with your dreams, God's letters? What have you found to be life-changing?

Are you mentoring? How does that give you meaning and purpose?

From Rossmere to Celtic Spirituality: Expanding My Roots

 

Rossmere Mennonite as it appears today.

I dreamed I was at Rossmere Mennonite Church, my home congregation during my growing-up years. However, in my dream, not only was the interior of the church much larger, but the auditorium was packed with congregants. While growing up, the attendance rarely went over 75 people.

I take this to mean that my spirituality is rooted in my past, yet it has grown significantly since I was a teenager. 

I had a very simple faith as a youngster, but as I ventured out into the world, not only has my worldview expanded, but also my spirituality. I have drunk at the fountain of Celtic spirituality, Liberation Theology, Spanish mysticism, and spiritual formation practices. I wrote about them in the book The Spacious Heart. Needless to say, I have strayed far beyond my idyllic boyhood spirituality, and yet I remain rooted in it.

Yet many of my friends and family over the years continue to be stuck in their teenage idea of spirituality. They can only see the flaws that existed in the church of their youth and not only have rejected it, but have left it altogether. 

My family roots are in the Anabaptist/Mennonite movement, and they go back eight generations to Valentine Klemmer, who came to the USA in 1717. He became Anabaptist in ca. 1698. He had to flee Switzerland and go to Germany where he was still a second-class citizen, so eventually he made it to the USA. Many of his contemporaries were tortured and killed for their faith. How can I reject this heritage? These are my roots.

Indeed, I can't live off his legacy. I need to build on it. It makes me sad to see so many reject their roots without building on it. How much richer their lives would be. 

My hope is that I can continue to grow and expand my spirituality while remaining connected to my roots at Rossmere. 

I have visited the Grossmünster in Zürich, Switzerland, on many occasions over the years in my trips to Switzerland while visiting my wife Esther's family and tracing my Swiss roots. I have never wanted to be there more than today, May 29, 2025. It is where the worship service was held as the culmination of Mennonite World Conference's celebration of 500 years of Anabaptism in Europe. I had to settle for watching the live stream from my home in Harrisonburg, VA.

View of the Grossmünster in Zürich, Switzerland

Despite not seeing it live in Zürich, the ceremony touched me deeply. The service opened with a traditional hymn "Grosser Gott Wir Loben Dich," a hymn that has been loved through the years by Mennonites. In English it is known as "Holy God, We Praise Thy Name." The mass choir consisted of people from all over the world, representing the diversity of the Mennonite church worldwide.

For me the highlight of the celebration was the statements of reconciliation between Mennonites, the Catholic church, the Lutheran Church and the Reformed Church. All three of these church movements persecuted the original Anabaptists.

The Catholic Cardinal present read a statement from Pope Leo IV. That the head of the largest Christian denomination in the world, knew about the 500th anniversary of the Anabaptist movement was a pleasant surprise.

Foot washing ceremony

The other reconciliation moment that was moving was when the leader of the world conference of the Reformed Church, and the leader of Mennonite World Conference washed each other's feet; one an African, and the other a Latin American.

The 2-hour service ended with a recessional while everyone sang the African song "Siyahamba" or "We are Marching to the Light of God." 

Some Latin American friends in the audience

César García, President of MWC delivers the sermon

EMU's Choir was part of the mass choir.

EMU's Nancy Heisey led in prayer

Expanding My Horizons: Five Languages and Six Cultures in One Day

A street scene from Italy

Probably like many of you, I am sick of the political nonsense that surrounds us these days. I can't go on to any social media platform without being bombarded by posts from all ends of the spectrum. It leaves me exhausted and full of dread--especially regarding the future of my five grandchildren. I need perspective. I need to broaden my horizons.

Yesterday I did just that. While being in English and in the USA most of my day, I had delightful forays into other cultures and languages.

While I was exercising on my stationary bike, I watched an episode of an Italian film on my PBS/VPM app. Although my understanding was aided by English subtitles, I was delighted with how much Italian I could understand.

Later in the day, I was reading a novel that took place simultaneously in England and Australia. Although the language was English, I encountered many unfamiliar words and expressions. 

Immediately after dinner, I taught Spanish to two adult learners at the Spanish Lab and Learning Center that was established by a former language assistant of mine at Eastern Mennonite University. Along with typical grammatical and vocabulary exercises, we looked into some of the cultural aspects of Peru. Previously we had studied other Spanish-speaking countries--Mexico, Guatemala and Puerto Rico. 

Finally, my wife Esther and I watched a documentary in German about two elderly women in Austria who continued to farm with no machinery like their ancestors. Although the film director spoke in Standard German, the women's responses were in the Austrian dialect. Even though their answers were given in standard German in the subtitles, my familiarity with other dialects of German aided my understanding.

Antigua, Guatemala

Five languages and six cultures in one day. Not only did this help lift the fog of the political nonsense enveloping me, but also expanded my horizons. At the end of the day, as I reflected on where I had experienced God (consciousness examen) I was able to fall asleep grounded it the fact that I am not alone, and that the world is bigger than the bubble most of us live in.

Solo Dei Gloria

Oh, to be a Writer

Eastern Mennonite University hosted a writer's read tonight (02/28/25) featuring Rachel Yoder and her book Nightbitch. Several years ago I presented my own book at such an event: Coming of Age in Honduras: a Young Adult's Struggle with Poverty, Faith and Sexuality. 

Every time I hear a writer speak, or whenever I read someone else's work, I get the renewed itch to write. Writing is cathartic. Writing is spiritual. Writing is life-giving. At least that is the way I have come to understand this magical process.

In order to write, one must have a project. I've written a book on the Beatitudes, I've written a book on Spirituality, I've written a book on the experiences of my daughter while she was in Mexico, I've written a memoir and I have consolidated my blog posts into a book.

So what should be my next project? A novel? An historical novel of the lives of my ancestors who emigrated from France to Switzerland to Germany and finally to the USA? Should I write about my son's experiences in Switzerland like my daughter's in Mexico? 

Rachel Yoder in her presentation said that she was inspired by a writing group to write 1,000 words a day which she would do for several weeks, then stop for several months before beginning again. Is this how I should begin?

I have a good friend who encouraged me to do the historical novel about my ancestors. He is a scientist, and I asked him if he would be interested in a book about a dialog between science and spirituality. 

Despite these ideas, one needs some sort of inspiration, or impetus to write. I am waiting for that impetus. I am waiting to be inspired so that I can put my need to write into gear. 

Any suggestions?

Thank You, My High School Teachers, Thank You!

I was sick of seeing all disheartening news on social media, and my distraction by reading a novel was getting old. Something pulled my eyes toward some old note books bound by Guatemalan patterns and colors that I saw beside me on a bookshelf.

Inside I found a collection of thank you notes from former students over the years that lifted my spirits and misted my eyes. Themes emerged: thank for your authenticity, for your humor, for your vulnerability, for your empathy, and for the energy and enthusiasm with which you teach your classes. Thank you for listening; for caring for us as individuals. These notes helped me to see that I had made an impact on some of my students' lives. I am grateful for the chance I had to do something notable for them.  

I was transported back to my High School years and thought of the teachers who made a significant mark on my own life.

Mr. Carey, my Spanish teacher who was a little quirky, was a chain smoker and came to class with an oily black mark on his forehead on Ash Wednesday. You taught me my first words in Spanish . . . and look where that took me. Thank you!

Mrs. Weaver, my English teacher. She was prim and proper and pronounced the "d" and the "c" in adjective when no one else did. She read my short story out loud to the class as an example of creative writing . . . and look where that took me. Thank you!

Miss Smith, my choir director. You chose me for the select choir even though I was only a freshman, and most of the others were juniors and seniors. I auditioned with the required Brahms' "How Lovely Is Thy Dwelling Place" without knowing how to read music . . . except from the shaped-note hymn books from church . . . and look where that took me. Thank you!

Mr. Weaver, my gym teacher. You begged me to go out for sports that were forbidden by my family, but when he watched me performing gymnastics, he pulled me aside and asked me if I had ever considered going to college to become a Physical Education teacher . . . and look where that took me . . . not very far except for entertainment at family reunions.

Bro. Dietz, my Anabaptist history teacher. You gave me a sense of identity and love for my heritage that I tried to hide from in public schools . . .  and look where that took me . . . teaching in four different Mennonite/Anabaptist colleges. Thank you!

All of these mentors have now left this earth. While they were here, I didn't take the time to thank them for how they influenced me. How much their encouragement meant to me. I am sorry for not recognizing them, because I now know how much those Thank Yous mean. I will treasure them for the rest of my life. 

Having been in the education system for over 30 years, I know how heavy the load is for teachers. I also know that over the course of those years, the loads have become increasingly heavy with assessment requirements and social issues we never had to face. So, kudos to you teachers who persevere. You never know what kind of impact you will have on a young life. 

Honduran Woman Thanks VSers on 500th Anniversary of Anabaptism

Me with a young friend on the Bay Island of
Guanaja, in Honduras

This letter appeared on the Facebook page Honduras Voluntary Service Connections and Memories on January 21, the anniversary of 500 years of Anabaptism. Some 78 people, mostly men, who served their alternative service in Honduras, are members.

Dear brothers,

Today, January 21, as we celebrate the 500th anniversary of Anabaptism, as a Honduran I express our most sincere gratitude to you and your parents for the sacrifice, dedication and love with which you have taught us the gospel of Jesus Christ. Your work in the missions has not only allowed us to know the truth of the Word of God, but has also integrated us into a community of faith that deeply values ​​the principles of peace, love and commitment to the Kingdom of God.

Thank you for having paid the price, for persevering in the midst of challenges, for sharing the hope we have in Christ. Thank you for showing us, with your example and teaching, how to follow Jesus in a life of justice, humility and service. Thank you for having transmitted to us not only a message, but a way of living that reflects the heart of God.

Today, as part of this people celebrating 500 years of Anabaptism, we recognize that, thanks to you, we can walk under a faith that calls us to live according to the values ​​of the Kingdom, always seeking what is just and true. Your dedication and commitment have not been in vain, and their fruits are seen in the community that we form together.

May God bless you abundantly, and may the legacy of your missionary work continue to multiply in the generations to come. Thank you for your obedience to God's call, for being instruments of transformation in our lives. May we continue forward together, celebrating God's faithfulness and extending his love to the world!

With gratitude and blessings

Mary Cano from Honduras