Plain Values Magazine | January 2023

WHO WE ARE...

P U BL ISHE R

From 2007 to 2012 we, the Millers, adopted our first three children, a preschooler on the autism spectrum and two babies with Down syndrome. We published our first issue of Plain Values in 2012 to highlight Biblical ministries, share the beauty of adoption, and to cultivate anchored community. In 2018 we welcomed our fourth child in a surprise adoption, this time a baby with Mosaic Down syndrome. We homeschool our family and enjoy working together to grow and raise food on our twelve acre homestead.

Marlin Miller SA L E S A DV ISO R - O HIO

Matt Yoder SA L E S A DV ISO R - M IC HIA N A + P ENNSY LVANI A

Aaron Stutzman E DITO R IA L M A N AG E R

Nic Stoltzfus Q UA L IT Y A SSU RA N C E

WHAT WE BELIEVE...

Sabrina Schlabach

Our values are plain values, steeped in the rich traditions of yesterday. We enjoy the simple things in life. Gathering eggs from the coop, getting our hands in the dirt to grow food, and cooking meals from scratch. Sometimes we sit around a fire and share life. We strive to walk humbly to strengthen authentic relationships with our families and neighbors. And, yes, we have taken a fresh pie to a front porch and surprised a friend… we didn’t even text them before! We just stopped by, walked up the steps, and knocked on the door! Just the way our grandparents used to do on a Sunday evening. They called it living in community.

We seek to serve our neighbors. Plain Values began with a prayer, hoping to play a small role in connecting a child with Down syndrome to his or her forever family. We have checked that box over a dozen times in the last ten years, and we will not stop until the orphanages are empty! We will rest in Heaven!

P RO DU C T IO N M A N AG E R

Isaac Hershberger M U LT I- M E DIA P RO DU C T IO N

Seth Yoder O F F IC E M A N AG E R /C U STO M ER S ERVI C E

Jan Schlabach F E BRUA RY A D C LO SE

January 9, 2023 WR IT E R – WHISP E RS O F HO P E

Stacey Gagnon WR IT E R – CO N F E SSIO N S O F A ST EWAR D

HOW YOU CAN HELP...

Joel Salatin

Join us as we pursue a more authentic life. By subscribing to Plain Values, a portion of each subscription goes directly to Room to Bloom, our non-profit that supports children with special needs.

WR IT E R – RO OTS + WIN GS

Rory Feek WR IT E RS – T HE RO U N DTA BL E

Ivan Keim & Jerry D. Miller WR IT E R – HO M E ST E A D L IV IN G

JOIN US FOR PORCH TIME! Every third Friday from 1:00pm – 4:00pm

Stop by, enjoy a cup of coffee or tea, sit on the porch, and visit for a while. We'd love to get to know you! We're located in the heart of Winesburg, Ohio—just down the street from the church.

Melissa K. Norris WR IT E RS – T HE HE A L IN G L A N D

Shawn & Beth Dougherty WR IT E R – T HE WIDOW ' S PAT H

Ferree Hardy WR IT E R – HO N E ST CO N V E RSAT I O NS

Wendy Cunningham WR IT E R – SE RV IN G O U R N E IG H B O R

Sabrina Schlabach CO N T R IBU T IN G P HOTO G RA PH ERS Millpond Photography Landon Troyer Photography Ashley Rivers Photography Cheryl Constable

Plain Values is published monthly by Plain Target Marketing, LLC. Please contact us with any questions.

A DDR E SS

P.O. Box 201, 2106 Main Street Winesburg, OH 44690 P HO N E

FA X

330-601-6106

330-601-4099

E M A IL

reachout@plainvalues.com WE BSIT E

www.plainvalues.com This publication and its contents are © 2023, Plain Target Marketing, LLC. Individual copyrighted items, trademarks, etc. contained within are the property of their respective copyright holders. No part of this publication may be reproduced or redistributed by any means without authorization from the publisher. Publisher is not responsible for advertisers’ offers, products, or services, and publication neither expresses nor implies an endorsement.

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contents

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January 2023 // Issue 115

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CONFESSIONS OF A STEWARD Marketing 101

ROOTS + WINGS Little Museum on the Prairie

COLUMN BY: JOEL SALATIN

COLUMN BY: RORY FEEK

"Farmers' favorite pastime is leaning on pickup trucks or buggies and complaining about four things: weather, price, pestilence, and disease. I call these the four horsemen of the apocalypse."

Rory and Indiana travel to Mansfield, Missouri, to visit the Laura Ingalls Wilder Historic Home and Museum. While they are there, they visit another place Rory has always wanted to see.

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THE HEALING LAND The Way Home

THE WIDOW'S PATH New Year's Resolution: Prepare

COLUMN BY: SHAWN & BETH DOUGHERTY

COLUMN BY: FERREE HARDY

Shawn and Beth share incredibly entertaining tales of something to which many of us can surely relate—runaway livestock. The escape artists at the focus of these tales? The humble dairy cow.

"Will you join me and my husband, Tom, in our New Year’s resolution? We both want to be better prepared for widowhood than we were the first time."

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ON THE COVER Mark Gregston—author, speaker, and founder of Heartlight Ministries—has spent the last 40 years working with teens and parents.

Room to Bloom Report Whispers of Hope: Real Love One Minute With Marlin Prayers for the Nations: Slovakia

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THE ROUNDTABLE Amish Insights on: Technology

HOMESTEAD LIVING Welcome to My Homestead

COLUMN BY: IVAN KEIM & JERRY D. MILLER

COLUMN BY: MELISSA K. NORRIS

This month, Ivan and Jerry answer a question that every one of us struggles with at some point: "How do we balance using technology with staying connected to our community?

We are honored to introduce our newest columnist to Plain Values, Melissa K. Norris! She is an accomplished homesteader, author, blogger, and podcaster with a passion for keeping the old ways alive.

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HONEST CONVERSATIONS WITH WENDY Chosen

SERVING OUR NEIGHBOR Heartlight Ministries with Mark Gregston

COLUMN BY: WENDY CUNNINGHAM

WORDS BY: SABRINA SCHLABACH

"Was I really loved by God? It seemed impossible and confusing.

No one chose me. I was the one who had built an identity around being unchosen."

"At Heartlight Ministries, founder Mark Gregston says, 'I've never met a bad kid. These kids are just like anybody else's. They are good kids; they're just making poor choices.'"

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whispers of hope

Real love S U P P O RT F O R T H O S E W H O F O ST E R + A D O P T

COLUMN BY:

I'M GOING TO TALK ABOUT what people don't often talk about within the foster care and adoption world.

And what I share might make you uncomfortable or even angry. You might think I'm pretty messed up because what kind of person doesn't love their adopted child instantly? What kind of person would be scared to death to bring home a child?

Me. I did not love my adopted child right away.

Adoption is not "instant love, just add water." It is seeds of hope thrown into a drought-ravaged field and a mother carefully cultivating any tiny, withered sprout that can grow in such rocky soil. Adoption taught me that love is a choice; even when it is not received, I must still pour it out. I have learned that love does not fix everything, and some wounds may never heal, and that is something we just don't say with adoption.

"Adoption is not 'instant love, just add water.' It is seeds of hope thrown into a drought-ravaged field and a mother carefully cultivating any tiny, withered sprout that can grow in such rocky soil."

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PLAIN VALUES JANUARY 2023

Stacey Gagnon

When we first picked Israel up from the orphanage, I did not love him. He smelled bad, his body looked scary, and his teeth were yellow. He screamed and cried for hours, and I locked myself in the hotel bathroom and cried. I actually googled "how to take your child back to the orphanage." At that moment, I was in a deep, black hole. To not love my adopted child was devastating and scary for me.

When we finally got him home and things began to normalize, I still wasn't bonded to him. Yes, his teeth were now white, I was getting used to the deformity of his spine, and the way he crawled across the floor with dislocated hips disturbed me less. Israel started smiling and learning a few words in English. But still, I struggled.

In fact, I was scared to be left home alone with him all day. I was scared to death that I had brought home a child that would live with me the rest of his life, and for some reason, this seemed unmanageable and terrifying. But worst of all, I sat there and realized I didn't love him like I had told everyone. Yes, I had spent months fundraising and dreaming about this little boy, a child I had claimed to deeply love. Even across the ocean, I claimed him with a mother's selfless love. In that moment, I realized I had lied.

As I write this, I actually feel ashamed. I feel guilt that I did not instantly love and cherish this fragile boy. I know it had nothing to do with him; it's more a stunning realization of my human nature. I had masterfully juggled and orchestrated an expensive international adoption,

read all the books, and followed all the advice. I wore my "Adoption is Love" t-shirt, carried his picture as my phone screensaver, and dreamed daily of this little boy being safely nestled in the love of our family.

I remember driving to the orphanage, picking Israel up, and the six-hour drive to the capital city to our hotel.

In the moment when I adopted him, all I could think was, "What have I done to my family?" and, "Is there a way for me to undo this?" The sweet boy from the orphanage had turned into an uptight, screaming mess. There was no way I could fix this level of trauma and brokenness.

So there's the raw and messy truth: I did not love Israel when we first picked him up. But, since that day, I have learned something beautiful: real love is not adoption. Real love is a choice.

Real love is wiping tears, wiping butts, and not counting the service; it's sitting for hours in a hospital room and comforting a small boy terrorized by trauma and nightmares; it's silently sharing the trauma and pain he has endured when there are no words; it's picking the

boy up when he is stimming (using repetitive behaviors to self-sooth) and rocking him in your arms.

Real love is listening to his non-stop chatter to fend off the silence that's filled with memories he fears; it's adding one more diagnosis to the bulging file and adding one more specialist to the schedule; it's reassuring him for the thousandth time that "yes, this is Israel's home, bed, chair. Yes, I am Israel's mommy."

Real love is gritty and sobbing messes that have no fix, emotional wounds that will never truly heal, and a chance to encourage a story steeped in survival and strength, not weakness and defeat.

Real love takes it one moment, one hour, and one day at a time because the future seems too big for one so small.

So, truly, real love is found in the actual choice to love, not in the return of favor. And as the moments rolled by and the hours became days, I learned that as I cared for Israel and poured love into him, it was no longer a job or a choice. I loved him, and it was real. //

Stacey Gagnon, along with her husband, Darren, are the founders of Lost Sparrows. They can be reached at P.O. Box 751, Winona Lake, IN 46590.

Learn more about Lost Sparrows at www.lostsparrows.org.

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One Minute with Marlin OVER THE LAST WHILE, Lisa and I have made a concerted effort to slow down and move away from technology. There are many reasons for this. At the same time, our team has been working on the editorial schedule for 2023, and a shift has been made to build themes into the magazine when it's good and appropriate. The irony is beautiful. My right hand surely didn't know what the left hand was up to in this case because, months ago, we themed January's issue around technology and how to keep the monstrous Hydra in check.

Our son Bennett celebrated his tenth birthday in November, and a few weeks ago, we heard an answer to many prayers come out of his mouth. Bennie is the sweetest little guy. Even though he isn't able to say many words, he gets his point across using a variety of means.

The technology of a speech app on his iPad is one way he lets us know what he wants or needs. So, we find

ourselves in this tug of war where, in this case, embracing technology opens the door for something good. We have prayed for years that Bennett would learn to speak more.

And then, when I was tussling with him one evening, he suddenly said, "NO WAY!" Let me tell you, it was so clear that we all just froze. We asked him to say it again, and then we all exploded in praise! It was a wonderful moment, and he is now proudly walking around the house with a hearty "NO WAY" in his back pocket, looking for reasons to let it rip!

Back to the first point, technology claims to make us better able to "multitask." I think that's a joke. In my experience, when I try to multitask, I do many things poorly! I want to become a "single-tasker!" For me, being a "single-tasker" means focusing on one thing at a time and doing it to the very best of my ability. My desire is to truly be where I am in that moment, with the people I am with every second of my day. When I fail, I will take a step back, slow down, and refocus on being present.

The theologian Walter Brueggemann said, "Multitasking is the drive to be more than we are, to control more than we do, to expend our power and our effectiveness ends. Such practice yields a divided self, with full attention given to nothing."

Today, I dare you to be fully present, put the screens away, and live in authentic community like Jesus and his disciples did. You never know, you might just hear a massive "NO WAY" shouted for the first time!

As always, may you find joy in the simple things. //

MARLIN MILLER publisher, always looking for more friends

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Bennett Miller

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Confessions of a Steward JOEL SALATIN

COLUMN BY:

Marketing 101 FARMERS' FAVORITE PASTIME is leaning on pickup trucks or buggies and complaining about four things: weather, price, pestilence, and disease. I call these the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

These four vagaries form the argument that farmers are in such a unique business, unlike all other businesses, that they need special governmental subsidies. After all, droughts don’t destroy phone lines, and grasshoppers don’t eat rubber tires off delivery vehicles. Victimhood creates excuses for all sorts of maladies, from sick animals to unprofitability.

We farmers love to absolve ourselves of responsibility because, after all, we’re subject to weather, price, pestilence, and disease—unlike the butcher, baker, and candlestick maker.

A close cousin in the whining department is the notorious middleman. “The middleman makes all the profits,” the farmer laments, excusing his poverty as if it were a requirement of his chosen profession.

photos by Millpond Photography

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"Marketing is all about serving others, finding out what they need, and then figuring out how to get it to them. Marketing is a different way to spell ministry."

The retail dollar goes to four primary places: producers, processors, marketers, and distributors.

Primary producers, otherwise known as farmers, get about a quarter of the retail dollar. It varies substantially from commodity to commodity.

Wheat is one of the lowest, at around 7 cents, while beef is one of the highest, at more than 40 cents. For the sake of discussion, let’s assume the retail dollar splits into four quarters, each going to those four aspects of the food system.

Everything other than the farmer—processor, marketer, distributor—gets roughly 75 percent of the consumer dollar and comprises the middleman. If the farmer’s income derives solely from production,

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all that income is subject to weather, price, pestilence, and disease. But the middleman income is not subject to those special vagaries.

True, the delivery van engine could malfunction (motor sickness), but mechanical problems are quite different than plant or animal sickness. You get a part and stick it in. Animals and plants aren’t machines. The more income a farmer can load over into these middleman components, the less subject his income is to unique farmer vulnerabilities like weather, price, pestilence, and disease.

As I already pointed out, a drought does not make your phone lines go dead. Grasshoppers don’t eat the tires on the delivery van. Mold and viruses do

not invade your stainless-steel processing tables. If farm income only derives from production, the farmer sits on a one-legged stool. But if the three legs of processing, marketing, and distribution can be added to the income stream, the farmer enjoys a more stable four-legged income stool.

Most farmers break out in a cold sweat as soon as I mention marketing, partly because it involves talking to non-farmers. Few professions are as cloistered as farming. To be sure, farming is a lonely occupation.

Conversationalists need not apply. I joke that most farmers don’t like people. In fact, they rather enjoy the tractor, cows, and tomatoes because none of these things talk back. Animals are always glad to see you. Plants don’t run away from you when you have a bad attitude. I understand the allure of noncommunicative partners.

But human relationship is what God is all about and what we should be about. That means loving people is at the heart of fully-functional humanness.

Marketing is all about serving others, finding out what they need, and then figuring out how to get it to them.

Marketing is a different way to spell ministry.

Beyond the communication hurdle, though, lurk two critical reasons why farmers shy away from marketing. The first is the fear of sounding greedy. “Buy my tomatoes” sounds self-serving and greedy. Indeed, the notion that someone should buy my tomatoes instead of those over there sounds prideful.

Farmers are a self-deprecating lot, often presenting an “aw just me” attitude. When have you ever heard a heart surgeon greet you, head down, with an

"...if we see our vision as providing health, building soil, stewarding God’s creation, and bringing the best to our altar of service, then our mission takes on new vitality."

embarrassed, apologetic “I’m just a heart surgeon”?

But we farmers too often don’t hold our heads high; we bring provenance to people and act like it’s not sacred or noble. We even fear sales rejection as something personal, as if people who won’t buy dislike us. What we sell does represent a more intimate expression of ourselves than most things, but choice is everywhere, and we certainly don’t have to take it personally. If somebody doesn’t buy my eggs, it doesn’t mean they dislike me.

How do we overcome this general reluctance to hawk our wares? I suggest the answer is understanding our mission, which comes from defining our vision. If our vision is merely to produce something for people to eat, our mission is equally unimpressive. But if we see our vision as providing health, building soil, stewarding God’s creation, and bringing the best to our altar of service, then our mission takes on new vitality. We’re God’s feet and hands, and God probably cares how His feet and hands interact with His creation. Don’t you think? This thinking brings purpose, nobility, and sacredness to the most menial task.

The second reason farmers don’t like to market is that they often feel undeserving of patronage.

America’s agricultural industrial complex preaches “cheap food” and “feed the world,” which places a heavy burden on the back of farmers that, somehow, we owe the world food. Not that the world should pay us a fair amount for providing food and fiber, but that

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somehow if a Cambodian child starves, it’s the farmer’s fault. And specifically the American farmer, since “we feed the world.”

Orthodox messaging within the conventional agricultural community promotes a global, worldcentric view that makes folks who live near farmers virtually invisible. If I’m responsible for all those

Never has the earth thrown away this percentage of perfectly edible food.

One of the most amazing experiences I’ve ever had was many years ago as a part of the U.S. delegation to the International Slow Movement Convivium in Italy. I liken this consortium to a United Nations of food and farm stewards. Some 130 nations sent delegations.

children out there on the other side of the world, by what conceited attitude could I ever set prices and act like a bona-fide business in my community? Like the burden on Pilgrim’s back in Pilgrim’s Progress, farmers hear about their responsibility rather than reward. Producing less in order to focus attention on processing, marketing, and distribution somehow short-changes the starving children in Africa.

Let’s set the record straight: nobody in the world today starves because not enough food is produced.

People throw away about 40 percent of all human edible food on the planet. It spoils, is the wrong size or color, or the Red Cross truck can’t travel into a needy area due to geopolitical turmoil or a damaged road.

Every time I had an open speaking slot, I made a point to visit a speech from an African delegation. Without fail, every single one said their country had plenty of resources to feed itself, and Western foreign aid dumped food (often processed foods) and displaced entrepreneurial farmers who otherwise would have had a market and livelihood.

These proud and self-empowered African delegations viewed us Americans with disdain, and I remember spending most of my conversations with them apologizing for U.S. foreign policy and corporate/ government collusion in the food dumping business.

“I’m not in agreement with the U.S. government,” I said over and over. Right now, I absolve all American farmers

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of the "starving child guilt" on their backs. Believe me, every country can feed itself.

The first and most important step a farmer needs to take in this journey toward putting on the middleman hat is to deal with these, often subconscious, expectations that hold farmers back.

Afraid to compare their products to others. Afraid of sounding self-promoting. Afraid of dismissing responsibility to starving children (as horrible as that is). A farmer stigmatized by these fears can never embrace neighbors and local folks with an attractive, compelling mission and messaging.

The spirit behind “buy my tomatoes” is not about personal promotion; it’s a desire to present excellence to appreciative customers (people).

Whatever we do, we should do it heartily, as unto the Lord. Whether we grow a tomato, gather eggs, or bake bread, sacred dimensions define and describe our protocols and products.

If mainline industrial agriculture is known for one thing beyond cheapness, it’s sameness.

In Peru, where potatoes were first cultivated and developed, people purposely save varieties and specimens that exhibit wildly different traits. When asked about planting some potatoes that don’t produce as much, or are gnarly instead of smooth, the consistent answer is to preserve diversity in the gene pool. Singularity created the Irish potato

What Would You Like Joel to Write About?

Joel is always looking for reader suggestions on which topics to cover. Please email all suggestions to: reachout@plainvalues.com

"In marketing, different is king. You don’t want to produce what everyone else is producing." famine; the Irish did not keep the weird looking and unproductive.

In marketing, different is king. You don’t want to produce what everyone else is producing. You want a different look, different taste, different texture. In a day of narrowing gene pools, a farmer daring to market will inherently be different than the norm, different than neighbors, and different than what’s in the supermarket. The current state of the food system offers plenty of room for improvement.

With sterile, tasteless, highly processed, nutrient-deficient food dominating our landscape, differentiation is not hard to achieve. With a little care, any farmer can raise a better pig, egg, tomato, or apple. And doing so is not selfish; it’s an expression of excellence. Is it too bold to suggest that perhaps bringing a more excellent product to the marketplace pleases God? //

Joel's Upcoming Speaking Events January 19–21

Dallas, TX (American Pastured Poultry Producers Association)

January 26

Paradise, PA (A Day with Joel Salatin)

March 7

Warwick, RI (Rhode Island Women in Agriculture)

March 17

Middlefield, OH (A Day with Joel Salatin)

April 21

Fredericksburg, TX (Force of Nature Meats)

June 2–3

Columbia, TN (The Homestead Festival)

June 30–July 1

Kootenai County, ID (Pacific Northwest Homesteaders Conference)

August 25–26

Marshfield, MO (Ozarks Homesteading Expo)

Joel co-owns, with his family, Polyface Farm in Swoope, Virginia. When he’s not on the road speaking, he’s at home on the farm, keeping the callouses on his hands and dirt under his fingernails, mentoring young people, inspiring visitors, and promoting local, regenerative food and farming systems.

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column by:

Little Museum on the Prairie January 2023

“Sometimes the places we think we are going to are only a part of the story.

They are just leading us to somewhere else that God really wants us to go…”

– rory feek

rory feek

LAST FALL, after performing a couple of nights in Branson, we stopped on our way back home to Tennessee at the Laura Ingalls Wilder Home and Museum in Mansfield, Missouri. The old homestead that they named ‘Rocky Ridge’ is where Laura and her husband Almonzo settled early in their marriage and where she wrote all the children’s books that the world has come to know and love… Little House on the Prairie, Little House in the Big Woods, Farmer Boy, and a half-dozen or so others. It’s also the place where they raised their daughter Rose, where they grew old, and in time, passed away.

Today the little white house and stone cottage behind it are treasured landmarks where people come from all over the world to experience Mrs. Wilder’s story and the life she lived. The tour guide explained to us that the original house was only one tiny room, barely big enough to fit two people. Although they later expanded the house, what they added on was very modest and primarily only what they needed. Not the sort of home where you might expect a world-renowned author to live. To this day, it remains pretty much the same as when the Wilders occupied it, filled with their personal items and furniture.

Down a path just below the house is a beautiful museum built a few years ago where all of Laura’s letters, writings, childhood artifacts, and even Pa’s fiddle are on display. I grew up watching the Little House on the Prairie TV series with Michael Landon and have been reading the books to Indiana since she was born. I enjoyed walking around with

Rory Feek is a world-class storyteller, songwriter, filmmaker, and New York Times best-selling author. As a musical artist, Rory is one-half of the Grammy-award-winning duo, Joey+Rory. He and his wife Joey toured the world and sold nearly a million records before her untimely passing in March 2016.

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"I grew up watching the Little House on the Prairie TV series with Michael Landon and have been reading the books to Indiana since she was born."

Indy, seeing the home, and gaining a fuller understanding of Laura and Almonzo’s world and their story.

It turned out that while I was a big fan of Mrs. Wilder’s, the ladies who run the museum were big fans and followers of our story. Before we left, we made sure to take a few pictures with them and shared our contact information so we could all keep in touch.

This past spring, the museum reached out and asked if I would come back and be part of their annual Laura Ingalls Wilder Children’s Literature Festival. The timing worked out so that it was during Indiana’s fall break from school. Therefore, in early November, we headed west again to Mansfield, Missouri.

A portion of the two-day event was held in a nearby community center where hundreds of children from the local schools and communities—along with many families—came to meet authors and illustrators the museum had invited into town. We spent a few hours signing books and meeting children, teachers, and parents. I took time each day to read to all the kids who gathered around us in the old gymnasium. On the second day, Indy even read one of my books to them.

The kids loved it, and so did Indiana.

Rory reading to Indiana when she was a baby

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PLAIN VALUES DECEMBER 2022

Rory and Jere at Baker Creek Seed Company

In the evening, a special award ceremony was held in the museum to give the Laura Ingalls Wilder Children’s Literature Award. This special medal honors a children’s author who follows in Mrs. Ingalls footsteps and brings goodness and light into folks’ lives through their books. They even took Pa’s original fiddle out of the glass case during the ceremony. A wonderful fiddler played four or five old tunes as we all sat and listened, imagining Pa playing for Laura and Mary in the little house in the big woods all those years ago. Before the evening ended, I shared a few songs and again met lots of folks who’d come to be part of the special night and festival.

While we were there, we noticed a sign at the same interstate exit for another place we’d been wanting to visit: the Baker Creek Seed Company. We have been buying seeds from them for years and are big fans of their catalog and their work to encourage people to grow and save heirloom seeds. Since we were in the area, we decided to stop in to say hello.

It turns out they not only have a store where they sell seeds, but they also have a restaurant, a bakery, an outdoor music stage, and what appears to be a whole little 1800s town where people travel to from all over to buy seeds and see the farm.

After a wonderful lunch in their cafe, Jere, owner and founder of Baker Seeds, gave us a tour of their little

town, farm, and seed operations. This was exciting for us because they have about thirty different green—or hoop– houses where they’re still growing lots of vegetables and flowers, long after most gardens around the country have already stopped producing and their plots have been plowed under. We were amazed by all the orange trees, limes, and avocados they’re growing and the many other fruits and vegetables they’ve planted that will keep producing through January and beyond.

Before we left, we bought a few things from Debbie, Jere’s mom, who bakes for, and runs, the bakery. She also makes sweet little prairie dresses by hand, so I let Indy pick one out, adding to the few she wears to our little one-room schoolhouse at home.

Looking back on our trip, it was memorable in so many ways. First, because of all the nice people we got to meet and things we got to see, but also because it reminds me how—quite often—the places we think we are headed are actually only places on the way to somewhere else that God is leading us to. If we hadn’t made the trip to Branson last year, we wouldn’t have discovered the Little House Museum or got to be part of their special event in November. And if we hadn’t come back to be part of the book festival, we wouldn’t have discovered the inspiring farm and the things they are doing at Baker Creek. //

rory

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AMISH INSIGHTS ON: TECHNOLOGY

This Month's Question:

The balance between the blessings and pit-falls of modern-day technology can be hard to find. How do we balance using technology with staying connected to our community?

Answered by:

Ivan Keim & Jerry D. Miller

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Ivan: “How do we balance using technology with staying connected to our community?” This is a more complex question than can be answered in a short column, but we will focus on a few key areas where technology is challenging us as a society. How do we view technology? What is technology? Webster’s Dictionary defines technology as “the totality of the means employed to provide objects necessary for human sustenance and comfort.” Imagine the mode of transportation since the beginning of time: humans and animals were designed to walk. If we wanted to move from one location to the next, we moved our legs and walked. Animals were hitched to sleds or other objects as they dragged them over the ground to move them, and then they added wheels to make it easier to pull. They could now carry more weight and pull it greater distances. This increased the comfort level for its users.

For thousands of years, man relied on animal power to pull their wagons with goods and people until the 1800s when the steam engine was attached to this wheel-driven technology that had been developed centuries prior. Technology has continued to improve our mode of transportation over the last 250 years. We can now travel across the globe in less than a day.

When Henry Ford started producing cars for the masses in the 1920s, our Amish forefathers were concerned that it would harm our family unit and be a hindrance to our communities. They chose to stay with horse and buggy transportation. This has kept us closer together and limits the ability to come and

"Controlled access to motor vehicles keeps faith with tradition while giving just enough freedom to maneuver in the larger society.

It allows the use of modern technology without being enslaved by it or allowing it to fray the social fabric." go with ease. As family members moved to other communities and employment started to move away from the farm, it also brought some challenges.

Today we have a network of taxi drivers that provide transportation in times of need when horse and buggy does not suffice. We can still see the benefit of horse and buggy travel to keep us together as a community, but we have recognized the need for occasional motor vehicle transportation. In his book What the Amish Teach Us, Donald Kraybill states the following: Controlled access to motor vehicles keeps faith with tradition while giving just enough freedom to maneuver in the larger society. It allows the use of modern technology without being enslaved by it or allowing it to fray the social fabric.

In this same way, we are being challenged with electronic technology, from the phone to the computer to the internet, which seems to connect everything in

"Electronic communication cannot replace the emotions and feelings that are shared when we look somebody in the eye and see their excitement or feel their pain."

today’s world. Some churches have opted to say “no” to all means of electronic technology, while others have chosen to use some of it, but with limitations.

Electronic technology is challenging the way that we relate to each other. Deep, meaningful relationships fulfill our lives. When we have conversations with each other, we get to know what the other person is experiencing. If we stop long enough to truly listen and understand what our friend is saying, we can understand how he is feeling. More is said by our body language and tone of voice than the actual words that are said.

Electronic communication has advanced so rapidly over the years that it has replaced a lot of our face-toface communication. Electronic communication cannot replace the emotions and feelings that are shared when we look somebody in the eye and see their excitement or feel their pain.

This fall, our son shot his first deer during the youth gun season. When we came home, we could all partake in the joy as he relayed the experience to his mom and his sisters. There were cheers and excitement and they saw his beaming eyes, complete with all the emotions experienced at a time like this. If we had sent home a quick text message, “kenneth shot deer,” the value of sharing the moment and the electricity with sharing it firsthand would have died off by the time we got home.

As our society relies more and more on electronic communication, we lose the ability to have those meaningful relationships that pull us together. We are able to relay messages better and quicker, but is it bringing us closer together?

Ever since the beginning of time when God said, “It is not good that man should be alone,” 1 man has longed to be in relationship with others. When Jesus

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walked on the Earth, he explained “thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” 2 We have been designed with a desire to be part of something that is greater than us. We get a feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment when we belong to a group of people who are working towards a greater cause.

When we belong to something, we also have a responsibility that comes with accountability. Growing up, we all belonged to a family. Each family had their set of rules that we abided by, and if we did not conform, there were consequences.

In the digital world, we can now belong to a “community” that has no responsibilities or accountability. There are online platforms for pretty much any interest that you may have. If it comes to the point where we do not agree, we just drop out. There are no responsibilities, and I am not accountable to anybody. In the end, this “relationship” does not bring the joy and fulfillment that a one-on-one relationship brings. It also does not teach us the grit and hard work that a good relationship requires. We get so used to just “dropping out” if it does not go well that we struggle to learn the art of “getting along with other people.”

With general society completely immersed in electronic technology and the Plain communities trying to traverse the raging waters of this digital sea, we are all affected by it. So what can we do to tame the tiger—or at least cage it—so that it will not devour us all?

First, for the people who are used to having electronic communication at their fingertips all the waking hours of the day, there are a few questions to ponder.

1.

2.

3.

Are you willing to lay it aside and enjoy the people around you?

Can you shut off all communication devices during meals and family time?

Would it be possible to eliminate electronic communication outside of work hours?

May I go so far as to suggest removing the TV from the main room of the house? Or consider this: are you willing to remove it altogether?

Start by setting an evening aside each week to do something together as a family with no electronic interruptions. Play a board game. Do a work project together. Take a walk through the woods, and enjoy the natural beauty that God created.

In the last chapter of his book, Surviving the Tech Tsunami, Gary Miller shares this with us: Our churches must be awake, aware, and actively addressing this issue. But we cannot stop there. Not everyone is blessed to be part of a fellowship that is seriously confronting this problem. Therefore, it is essential that we prepare personally for the coming onslaught. Regardless how often your congregation meets (and it should be often), or how much dialogue you have (and there should be plenty), or how much thought you give to collective agreements (and that should be much), ultimately it will be your personal connection with

God that will empower you to survive and thrive in this tech tsunami.

If you would like to learn more on the subject of technology, Surviving the Tech Tsunami by Gary Miller is a good read. //

F O OT N OT E S :

1) Genesis 2:18

2) Matthew 22:37–39

Jerry: Unless the Lord builds the house, those who labor build it in vain.1 Jesus taught us in the Sermon on the Mount, “seek ye first the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you.” 2 So you ask, how do we balance using technology and community? Maybe for starters, we have to recognize that not all technology is wrong. I, for one, am thankful for the technology that brought us toilet paper, as I have no desire to go back to the Sears and Roebuck days. As a person from the Plain community, we have the tendency to view something new as dangerous, and rightly so. Still, the Bible does not necessarily teach that new things are wrong or sinful in themselves, but it says the lust of the flesh­­— the lust of the eye and the pride of life3—is what’s sinful. If I continually want my own thing in my own way, I know that leads to death. The Biblical

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view naturally leads us to a life of counterculture and nonconformity to the old, sick society. We are called to build a culture that heals instead of destroys. This is an exciting process of liberation.

We must realize that righteousness is not isolated (me by myself); that is self-righteousness. As we become righteous, our relationships take on real flesh and blood—our visions, goals, and desires we share with real human beings, not some techno-visual-electrified being without a soul. We must remember the great Achilles' heel of the technosphere in which we live is that it doesn’t make us as happy as it claims. Therefore, we must actively seek ways to limit technology and do more ourselves. The old proverb, “if you want a friend, be a friend,” still holds true. If we truly desire the comradery of a neighbor, we must be a neighbor; this means eating together, working together, and crying together. These actions build relationships that stand the test of time.

As I consider the moral decay of society and how technology has contributed to it, it behooves me to think about how I grew up and how vastly different it is now.

Growing up, I knew instinctively that every man was our neighbor and stood for things rightly. Our neighbors did everything they possibly could to protect us boys from ourselves; we knew that without being told, and it protected us from pornography and all its evil influences.

Now we have fathers willing to give little Johnny a device that connects him directly to the pits of Hell with the admonition, “Please, Johnny, don’t look at it.”

Who are we kidding?!

Yes, I realize we need a certain amount of tech to survive in the business world. But I also see a good friend of mine who operates a furniture business without a cell phone or email, and he still walks 500 yards to the neighbor to use his telephone. His business is thriving, and he stays busy without this technology.

He told me recently that “If I had a phone in my office, I would become a total slave to it.” The old tenets of

About Ivan and Jerry Ivan, Emma, and their four children live on a 12-acre homestead where they strive to raise as much of their own food as possible. Each year they have a large garden, harvest from their orchard, use raw milk from their own cow, and process chicken, turkey, beef, and pigs for their freezers. Ivan is a minister in the local Amish community. He builds tiny homes and animal shelters for a living. His models can be seen on tinyhomeliving.com or by calling 330-852-8800.

Jerry and Gloria Miller, along with their six children, operate Gloria’s home farm, a 173-acre organic dairy. They milk between 60 and 70 cows with a few small cottage industries supplementing the farm income. Jerry is a deacon in his local Amish church. Questions and comments can be directed to Jerry at 330-600-7481.

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"As I consider the

moral decay of society

and how technology has

contributed to it, it behooves me to think about how I grew up and how vastly different it is now."

– Jerry D. Miller

honesty, workmanship, and integrity still hold true.

This is especially true because more and more people long to do business with a person, not a machine. As a general rule, the more machines, the less community.

We need to reaffirm the importance of the Sabbath day: times of rest and fasting from production and consumption. Time spent in solitude, resting, and waiting without the interruption of technology. We must view community as essential; in other words, the needs of my neighbor exceed my own. We must approach technology with open skepticism, or we become slaves to our choices. Therefore stand fast in the liberty wherein ye are called.4 //

Submit Your Questions!

If there's a question you'd like The Roundtable to answer, email it to: reachout@plainvalues.com or mail it to: The Roundtable, P.O. Box 201 Winesburg, OH 44690

F O OT N OT E S :

1) Psalm 127:1a 3) 1 John 2:15–16

2) Matthew 6:33 4) Galatians 5:1

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COLUMN BY:

Melissa K. Norris

Homestead Living WELCOME TO MY HOMESTEAD

SOME OF MY EARLIEST MEMORIES are of planting beans in the vegetable garden behind our white 1974 single-wide trailer home. My job was to drop the bean into the indent my mother made in the soil, as I was too young to know how deep was necessary.

As years passed, I would plant by myself. In late summer, Dad and I harvested the beans, delivering them to Mom for the stringing and snapping to fill the Mason jars lining the cramped countertops in the kitchen. We pressure-canned the beans to fill the pantry. There was never an August without the punctuation of the pressure canner’s hiss and jiggle.

I thought it was commonplace that every family raised a garden and putup food for the winter months.

Growing up, I felt I didn’t quite fit in with many of my peers. Instead of preschool, dance lessons, or little league sports, towering evergreens were my playmates, and old-growth, hollowed-out stumps were my forts.

Though I am one of ten children, I’m the oldest from my father’s second marriage. All of the older kids from his first marriage moved out by the time I was one, and my younger brother wasn’t born until I was eleven.

Living rurally, we were lucky to get two channels on TV when there was snow on the mountain. If we turned the antenna attached to the porch just right, the signal bounced off the white-capped peaks, giving us photo by Cheryl Constable

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a grainy picture and audio. Entertaining myself fell to imagination, reading, and the forest outside our trailer.

Laura Ingalls Wilder was my best friend growing up. Every night, my mom would read a chapter to me before bed. We started with Little House in the Big Woods. No matter how much I begged, it was a strict one-chapter-a-night rule (I’m sure she knew if she gave me an inch, we’d be reading until past midnight).

Once I learned to read on my own, I reread the entire series. If you bend a vine-maple sapling over, straddle it near the top, and push off with your feet, it recoils just enough for you to believe you’re riding Pet and Patty with Laura on the trail.

My mom homeschooled me for preschool and kindergarten. A few months into first grade at public school, my teacher knelt and said, “I’m really proud of how well you’re doing without having been in school before.”

She meant it as a compliment (and to this day remains one of my favorite teachers), but even at six years old, it meant there was a distinction between

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me and the rest of my classmates. I wasn’t the same as them.

My mother sewed many of my clothes. At that time, it was cheaper to sew clothes than it was to buy (though that’s no longer the case with the cost of fabric and notions compared to cheap, ready-made items available today). I longed for a store-bought dress so I wouldn’t look different than the other kids.

Two life-forming events happened the year I turned eight.

The first: I discovered that one could write books for a living. I vowed I would one day become an author.

The second was when my best friend told me her stepmother said, “I don’t know why you want to go to their house. They just live in an old trailer.”

My best friend, in anger, relayed the sentence to me.

With wisdom far beyond her years, my best friend liked to come to our house because she could feel the warmth and love inside the walls, but my eight-year-old self only knew that some people looked down on our home, and that transferred to looking down on me.

"Two life-forming events happened the year I turned eight.

The first: I discovered that one could write books for a living.

I vowed I would one day become an author."

When I reached high school, we moved a half-mile up the road to an older two-story house, and I thought I’d left that trailer behind.

Then I met a boy and when we got married and started our life together, guess where we ended up.

Yep, right back in that 1974 single-wide trailer.

Though I grew up living close to the land, as a newlywed who worked a day job, I discovered why

convenience foods became popular in the first place. Because they’re convenient. When you don’t walk through the door until 6pm or later, it’s hard to put a completely from-scratch home-cooked meal on the table.

But convenience comes at a cost. After the birth of my second child—my daughter—the heartburn I’d experienced with both pregnancies didn’t recede as it did after having my son.

It got worse; a lot worse. I took prescription medications up to six times a day, and it still didn’t control the acid. At twenty-nine years old, I checked into the hospital for an endoscope. While I was out, they performed a biopsy on my upper stomach and esophagus for cancer.

Thankfully, it came back negative, but the results showed erosion and cellular change. The specialist told me, “You should never have been allowed to be on these doses or these medications for this long. You must figure out a way to control the acid by the foods that you eat, or the next time you come in, you won’t be this lucky.”

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"Thousands of others responded to what I shared on my website, seeking to return to a simpler and from-scratch kitchen while still living in a modern world."

A fat stack of papers sat beside my purse on the passenger seat on the long drive home. With each mile, my resolve grew. I knew I had a choice to figure out a way to control the GERD and acid literally eating away at my stomach, or I likely wouldn’t be around to see my babies graduate or dance at their weddings.

I set out on a mission to eliminate all genetically modified ingredients, high fructose corn syrup, food dyes, MSG, and any ingredient label I couldn’t pronounce or didn’t know what it was. I turned back to the foods of our forefathers. Real grass-fed butter, lard, and coconut oil. To afford or find versions with ingredients meeting these criteria, we had to grow and make the majority ourselves.

We’d always had a garden, and we’d been raising and canning our green beans and grass-fed beef (because grass was much cheaper than grain). That was the only thing we produced enough of to eat from the entire year.

Quickly, we began to produce 99% of all our meat, from grass-fed, grass-finished beef, pasture-raised pork, meat chickens, and hens for eggs to over 70% of our fruits and vegetables for an entire year for our family of four.

All of this we did while still commuting and working day jobs. Though I had the advantage of watching my mother cook from scratch as a child, I was the first woman in my family who practiced homesteading while working a full job away from the homestead.

During this time, not only did I work at the pharmacy, but I also pursued my goal of becoming a published author. I started a blog because I learned publishers no longer sign authors unless they have an online platform.

I was not the only one who sacrificed health on the altar of processed convenience foods, albeit unknowingly. Thousands of others responded to what I shared on my website, seeking to return to a simpler and from-scratch kitchen while still living in a modern world.

My tutorials, recipes, and videos became a bridge.

I’ve discovered many lessons in the thirty-three years that have passed since I was eight. What a small and sad person who believes someone’s worth is tied to the type of home they live in.

You may think I’m referring to the stepmom of my friend, but I’m actually referring to myself.

I never looked down on others who lived in trailers or homes past their prime, but deep down inside, I carried shame, and the embers secretly flared when someone joked about "trailer trash." I unconsciously looked down on myself.

It took decades for me to see the immense value of coming from that trailer. The reason I didn’t see our trailer as something undesirable—until that careless comment—was because it was filled with love.

My mom cooked almost every meal in the tiny kitchen. Though we didn’t have much by worldly standards, we frequently had extra guests at dinner.

The worn table overflowed with simple food, laughter, and tall tales.

Any building can shelter you, but it’s the people who fill it that make it a home.

I’m now the author of several books, including my newest, Everything Worth Preserving. //

Blessings and Mason jars,

Melissa

Melissa K. Norris is a 5th generation homesteader who married a city boy… but that city boy quickly became a country boy and turned into a bonafide farmer when they moved to Melissa's family property. With their two children they believe in keeping the old ways alive. She is an author, blogger, and podcaster. Learn more by visiting: www.melissaknorris.com.

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COLUMN BY:

Shawn & Beth Dougherty

THE WAY HOME FROM WHERE OUR HOUSE IS PERCHED, halfway up the south slope of Wallace Hill, you can see most of Jeddo's Run holler, from the woods below Barnes' field almost all the way to Yankee Run. If we raise our eyes from the kitchen sink, we're looking over the woodshed roof and beyond, to the fringe of woods that laps down over the brow of Rex Hill, where, last summer, we lost two heifers.

We've kept cattle in that pasture for years without any escapees, but this time was special. Something spooked them, and in less time than it takes to tell, they were over two gates and a fence and into the woods.

It was June, and the witch hazel, sassafras, and spicebush were so dense that in ten steps, the heifers just disappeared. Fear gave them more than their usual speed, and by the time we knew what had happened, they were just gone.

A Little Local History Tim, our mechanic down in the village, once told us a story about a cow that got loose in the spring of 1972. It was Easter and there was a parade with floats and wagons and three teams of farm horses, and someone got the idea that there should be a cow marching with the 4-H and FFA kids. Actually, three cows were volunteered, and they looked wonderful sashaying along behind the Buckeye Broncos float right up until they reached the Dairy Isle, and then someone threw lighted black cats into the street and those cows lit out for distant parts.

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Two of them were caught after just a couple of blocks—dairy cows aren’t made for speed— but somehow the third one got away. She just disappeared, down an alley, maybe, and no amount of searching could turn her up. She must have made it to the woods along the river, though, because a week later two men fishing at the head of Brown’s Island caught sight of her, swimming across the river to West Virginia. After they’d caught their limit they went down to the White Front Cafe and told what they’d saw, and of course nobody believed them because nobody had ever heard of a cow swimming almost a quarter of a mile. But five months later she turned up in New Cumberland, strolling down the sidelines during a highschool football game. They penned her behind the concession stand, and the next day the owner came and fetched her home.

Lost Sheep With that story in mind, we didn't lose heart when our two Jersey girls flew the coop. After we'd combed the woods without success, we went from door to door all over the length and breadth of Rex Hill. It's mostly just trees on a slope, but there are three twisty lanes and about twenty-five houses; we knocked on doors, talked to people, and left notes where there was no one home.

Folks thought it was kind of funny to hear of cows so close to the village, but they took down our number and promised to call if they saw anything.

It was an interesting thing that here we had lived for more than a quarter of a century less than half a mile from most of these folks and had never met them.

But there's no straight road up our hill; the county road that used to cut through the home pasture was relocated so long ago that the grass grows thick in the old roadway and our cows make milk out of it. The woods are so steep that few folks ever venture in, and Yankee Road, which used to be the lane folks on the hill took down to the grocery store, has beech trees over two feet in diameter growing right in the middle.

People who want to get down to the village use the blacktop county road and drive fast.

We met Uvalde, whose house just above our farm first belonged to his great-aunt back when black folks weren't welcome to live in the village. He promised to pray for the heifers' speedy return, and so did Carl, who 36

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lives in a trailer up by the radio towers and took out his phone to show us before-and-after pictures of his spinal surgery. Reverend Bob was patching concrete in his driveway and had to find his hearing aids before we could tell him what we were looking for, but he turned out to be the biggest help, calling us when the heifers were spotted and acting as traffic cop while the neighbors watched us round them up.

It wasn't all that easy. The heifers were jittery; we couldn't get close, and there was not one fenced yard to hold them while we thought about it. Then the boys had the idea of bringing up one of the mama cows from the farm. They ran home, loaded Delphinium into the trailer, and brought her up. That did it! The moment those heifers caught sight of Delphi, they just about laid down and cried; they were so glad to see her. They loaded right up, and in the end we got them home. Now they wear collars with bells, so if ever they get into the woods again, we'll have some chance of finding them.

The Road Home Looking out now through the kitchen window, it's hard to believe those woods were ever too dense to penetrate. A few months can make a lot of difference.

Today black tree trunks make stripes against a background of snow, and a red fox who dens under the big fallen oak shows up like a dropped mitten. Deer stepping delicately down the steep hillside in search of windfall apples are easily counted, seven white-tailed does and four fawns. Crows in a sycamore look like a line of straggling quarter notes, marking a silent tune against the pearly evening sky.

After the heifers came home, we baked cookies for our neighbors up on Rex Hill, taking them around one Saturday when folks would be home. Children asked how the cows were doing; their escape and recapture

had figured as an event in the summer. We got some joshing from older folks who still thought it was funny that we keep cows, especially dairy cows, on a little farm in the woods, but it was all good-natured. In that short time, we had become known to one another.

When darkness falls, we'll see Uvalde's porch light through the trees on the ridge, and to the west, sometimes there's a light in the Wilsons' back window.

It's nice that now we have names to go with them.

When the Kreugers' husky got loose and came down through the woods to visit our chickens, we knew whom to call.

Today, in January, the woods are wide open. Next June, when the spicebush and sassafras are leafed out and we can't see ten feet, we'll still know the way up the hill. Then if anything wanders off the farm, we'll get it back—especially now that the heifers are wearing bells. //

Shawn and Beth Dougherty live in eastern Ohio, where their home farm is 17-acres designated by the state as "not suitable for agriculture." Using grass as the primary source of energy, they raise dairy and beef cows, sheep, farm-fed hogs, and a variety of poultry, producing most of their food, and feed, on the farm. They are also the authors of The Independent Farmstead, published by Chelsea Green Pub.

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T H E W I D O W ' S P AT H

New Year's Resolution: Prepare COLUMN BY:

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Ferree Hardy

THE BEGINNING OF A NEW YEAR is a great time to review your life and make changes and necessary updates. Will you join me and my husband, Tom, in our New Year’s resolution? We both want to be better prepared for widowhood than we were the first time.

Even though it might not happen for another twenty years or more, we realize that it could happen today. In either case, we want to make our passing away a little less stressful for our family.

Tom and I are among the statistics: 3 out of 4 women will experience widowhood at least once during their lifetime; 1 in 4 men will be widowers. We’ve both experienced widowhood once, and one of us will experience it again. The one statistic that’s totally reliable is that 1 out of every 1 person will die. This year, as

we prepare for that reality, perhaps some of our findings will help you prepare too.

This article will present three important areas: Relationships, Responsibilities, and Riches. Then I’ll summarize with some final points of Reality. Thinking ahead about these things will help you get your money’s worth when you consult with a lawyer, accountant, funeral home director, or financial advisor in the weeks to come. Interview two or more of these people and find someone you’re confident in. The decisions you’ll make with them can set the trajectory for your money to grow and be safeguarded—or not. The difference could cost hundreds and even thousands of your hardearned dollars, so choose wisely.

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Relationships Family, friends, and your relationship with God, not material things, are your most treasured valuables. Live at peace with God and people. Mend the terms with siblings or parents that have separated you. Sit down with your spouse for a good talk about the future; discuss what to do if God calls one of you home this year.

When some people marry, they like to isolate themselves in their own little “love nest.” But such privacy creates further tragedy. It leaves the widowed spouse to navigate the lonely land of widowhood without the confidence or outside friendships he or she needs. Both husband and wife should have some solid, same-sex friends of their own in addition to the friendships they share as a couple.

There are other much-needed relationships too.

Write out a list with the names, addresses, and phone numbers for doctors, dentists, veterinarians, banks, lawyers, etc., so that both spouses will easily know where to go for helpful services.

Responsibilities Take responsibility for your future. How will you survive the loss of your spouse? Begin to find out what you need to know and what you need to do. For example, if you are the wife, will you need to find a job to replace your husband’s income? Begin to develop the business or artisan skills you need now. Are you familiar with the bill paying and the household budget so that you can take it over? Too many bank tellers have sad stories of widow ladies who come to them in tears because they don’t know how to write checks or balance their accounts. If you are the husband, can you cook yourself a meal, wash the clothes, stay in

"How will you survive the loss of your spouse?

Begin to find out what you need to know and what you need to do."

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tune with the needs of the children, and get everyone going in the morning?

A very important responsibility is that the married couple comes to an agreement on how to handle their current finances together. Each should know how much money gets paid out every month, if there is any debt, and how much needs to be saved.

Make regular “deposits” into your memory “bank.”

Memorize Scriptures, songs, and hymns, and build positive habits like exercise and healthy nutrition.

Strengthen your mind and body for the years ahead instead of neglecting them. Both mind and body will be cherished assets.

Riches Tom and I certainly wouldn’t say that we have riches, and you probably wouldn’t either. But instead of picturing a stack of gold coins or piles of hundred-dollar bills, let’s consider the word “choice” as our currency.

How many choices can you make today? Do you have more than one set of clothes to wear? More than one spoonful of food to put on a plate? More than one plate? If so, then compared to much of the world, you are indeed rich.

As a widowed person, you will be rich with choices.

Too many choices at times! For example, what will you do with your loved one’s clothing or tools? Store them, give them away, sell them, or throw them out with the trash? Some decisions appeal to us much more than others, so these should be discussed ahead of time. More importantly, choices about money and property can change our life; therefore, a good financial plan is crucial.

Here are some basic questions to consider about riches: • Whose names are on your banking, investments, or retirement accounts?

• When was the last time you checked deeds, titles, and financial accounts to ensure they were up-to-date in both names and beneficiaries?

• How long will those funds last?

• How will monthly bills be paid when the savings run out?

• What does it take for the surviving spouse to feel comfortable and secure?

Also consider this: have you built up an emergency fund? General wisdom says to save at least six months of income to be used during crises. You might need more money to help with medical bills, a mortgage, or a business loan. Check with local funeral homes to see if they offer plans for pre-paid funeral expenses. English funerals can easily add up to $10,000 or more! My father planned for his funeral before he died, and this was a real help and blessing for us. Amish have the blessings of the community and traditions for their funerals.

If you have a will, make sure it is valid. Are you able to find the lawyer who wrote it? Is he or she still in practice?

If not, who can answer your questions or make changes to the will? If you don’t have a will, perhaps now is the time to consider one.

Reality You’ll need cash. Widowed people can’t just sit and grieve in a dark corner. They need to pay bills and provide for their ongoing needs. A term life insurance policy provided funds that helped me pay for the funeral and replace my first husband’s salary for a period of time. Not having to immediately look for a full-time job (or two) allowed me to remain a stay-at-home mom.

Not everyone needs life insurance, but it helped me to keep our house and provide for our children.

You’ll need to know where to find stuff. Decide on a secure place to keep important papers and small valuables. Make sure that your spouse and at least one other person know where this place is and that they also have the extra keys, lock combinations, or passwords.

Let family members know who that person is. Bank accounts, wills, and investments are useless if loved ones don’t know where to find them. By the way, sometimes accounts are simply forgotten about, and the money sits there for years. These are turned over to your state to be held until they’re claimed. Search by name and state at www.missingmoney.com for unclaimed funds.

You might need safeguards. Not everyone is sympathetic to widows and widowers, and some people are like vultures. You don’t need to live in fear, but don’t be naive, either. Be aware and mindful.

If anyone makes you uncomfortable or suspicious, pressures you into an investment, or offers a deal that sounds “too good to be true,” walk away and consult with people who know you well. Take your time—don’t let anyone impose a deadline on you. Don’t make irreversible decisions during the first year of widowhood.

Planning ahead can provide a safeguard against selling property or remarrying too quickly.

Preparing for widowhood is a New Year’s resolution that needs more than a few hours to complete. We’ve barely touched upon some basics, and this information is not a substitute for legal, tax, or financial advice, but at least now you have a start. Keep learning and seek professionals who can advise you regarding your specific situation.

When you make this resolution a reality, your surviving spouse and family will be thankful you did.

Your preparation will leave them with a thoughtful, loving, and more secure legacy. Begin today by reading these pages together with your loved ones. // Until next month,

ferree l

To learn more about widowhood, order a copy of Postcards from the Widows’ Path—Gleaning Hope and Purpose from the Book of Ruth. It’s a gentle, biblical guide for widows that has many saying, “This is the best I’ve ever read!” Mail a check for $14.99/copy (paperback, 248 pgs.), along with your address to: Ferree Hardy, 76 Grace Ave., Ticonderoga, NY 12883. Please allow 2-3 weeks for delivery. Free shipping for all Plain Values readers!

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COLUMN BY:

Wendy Cunningham

Honest Conversations with Wendy C H OS E N

PART II

WHAT A JOY IT'S BEEN walking down memory lane with y’all. But don’t forget, these past two months account for years of my life. It’s easy to share my testimony with a pretty little bow on it, but I have to stress again before we continue that this season was all uphill. Evangelizing is tough business, and I’m wildly stubborn. It’s unlikely we’ll see Kingdom fruit from simple conversations. We must be willing to weather the storm and go the distance. After all, it’s souls we’re talking about. But be encouraged; it’s worth the fight.

I’m so grateful my husband never gave up. I pray you won’t either.

It’s strange to think back to a time when I wasn’t a believer. Now, every part of my life is informed by the One who sits at the center; the One who I once denied existed.

And really, that’s what it came down to in the end. Denial. It’s not that I couldn’t believe in the possibility of a Creator. Surely, anyone can entertain the idea of God. It’s that I didn’t want to believe.

Believing changes things.

For some, the Good News is not entirely good. At least not at first. In my case, the existence of a God who required a move from me meant that I would have to swallow my pride—and after years of arguing against a deity, there was a lot to gulp down. It also meant I’d been wrong; my entire life was built on a lie. I’d have to go back and rethink everything I thought I knew for sure. That’s daunting.

"We must be willing to weather the storm and go the distance. After all, it’s souls we’re talking about. But be encouraged; it’s worth the fight."

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"A year after we started dating, Tom did what you’re absolutely not allowed to do if you’re a Christian.

He married an atheist."

Believing in God meant there was a line I’d have to cross— the line of salvation. Although it meant great things for my eternity, it might mean terrible things for those I loved who’d be left on the other side of the divide. How could I make them understand? Would they still accept me? Could I lose them in eternity and in the here and now? And what about those I loved who had already passed away? What did all this mean for them? It was a lot to consider.

Perhaps the hardest part was realizing how much would have to change if God was real. The way I dressed, the things I said, the movies I watched, and the friends I kept were all up for re-evaluation. If God existed, what would be required of me? Surely I’d be accountable. I’d have to look at everything through a new lens, one that seemed very foggy and intimidating.

Yes, believing would most certainly change everything.

Denial was the way to go.

You know what else changes everything? Two little pink lines on a pregnancy test.

A year after we started dating, Tom did what you’re absolutely not allowed to do if you’re a Christian. He married an atheist. As a parent, I have been very honest with my children in approaching this conversation. Of course, my desire aligns with God’s in that I pray my kids do not end up unequally yoked. But I have told them what I will tell you: Tom’s act of what you could view as “disobedience” was perhaps the single biggest blessing of my life.

He led me to Jesus.

I realize mine is not necessarily a typical story. Not every atheist comes to know the Lord, that’s for sure. We shouldn’t go marrying non-believers in the naïve hope that we’ll save them in the end. Advising young adults on this topic will take discernment. But I can tell you this—Tom married me for two reasons. One, God had confirmed Tom’s decision through prayer. In that sense, Tom wasn’t acting in disobedience. And two, the Holy Spirit helped Tom discern that I was earnestly seeking God. I may not have arrived, but I was on the journey.

Two years into our marriage, although our conversations about heaven and hell hadn’t stopped, I’m sure Tom sometimes wondered if we were getting anywhere. But God had already taken up residence in my heart and soul, not that I would have admitted it. He burdened me—not in heaviness, 44

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"Parenting is an amazing parallel to our relationship with God. Through my pregnancy, God revealed exactly how He felt about me."

but in that the presence of God had become truly unavoidable. I’d thought on it, I’d researched, I had even prayed, and I’d concluded that a Creator was very likely the answer to every unanswered question. I just couldn’t get myself to surrender.

And then God met me exactly where I was.

I always wanted to be a mom. Playing dolls as a kid all the way up until I left my attempted career as an actress, my heart was centered on this one thing: motherhood. I do not think it’s by accident that God created us to be creators. The fact that I can grow another human inside my body—literally and figuratively closer to my heart than anyone else can ever be—is not coincidental.

God is intentional.

Parenting is an amazing parallel to our relationship with God. Through my pregnancy, God revealed exactly how He felt about me. As I marveled at the life growing inside me, it became apparent that God marveled at me. As I fell deeper in love with this child I did not know, I realized perhaps God felt similarly about me—His child whom He knew like no one else. And as I got closer to the day when this baby would live outside of my care and control, I recognized there might come a day when this child would reject me. It was possible, after all, that my baby would become an adult who would choose to sever ties with me, deny me. After all, I hadn’t spoken to my own father for years. Perhaps the same brokenness would befall my family. Surely, no parent ever wishes for that, yet it happens all the time.

The thought was devastating.

And suddenly, a light illuminated something that had been dark for a long time. Maybe even forever.

Had I rejected God? There was no way someone so insignificant as me could have hurt the heart of Someone so huge as God,

right? Was it possible that He cared for me specifically, the way I cared for my unborn baby? I knew the Bible called all of us “His children,” but that had to be a metaphor…

Was I really loved by God? It seemed impossible and confusing. No one chose me. I was the one who had built an identity around being unchosen. My father, whom I loved, was a very broken man. He struggled with addiction all the days I knew him. He didn’t have the capacity to choose me. Before Tom, I had a lengthy string of broken relationships. All those men chose others over me. I had been cheated on, betrayed, lied to, broken, and left…

But never chosen.

This world is broken. I am broken. How on earth was I going to help my child navigate the pitfalls of the life he or she was about to enter into? How could I keep them safe? How could I ensure they felt chosen?

Did these thoughts plague my Heavenly Father?

I had the extraordinary sense that He wanted to show me who He was and Whose I was. At last, I was ready to know.

I could finally see it, just a little bit, the way He saw it.

And so, one afternoon in the midst of folding laundry, as these thoughts were swimming around in my mind, I surrendered. I didn’t have all the answers yet, but I knew enough of the Father to know that He loved me more than I could fully comprehend. With a gentle hand on my growing belly and tears on my cheeks, I became who I was always meant to be…

His. //

~ continued next month

Wendy Cunningham is wife to Tom and homeschool mom to three amazing gifts from God. In addition to that calling, she is an entrepreneur and author. Her book What If You’re Wrong?, blog, and devotionals can be found at gainingmyperspective.com. She is also host of the podcast Gaining My Perspective. Wendy loves Jesus and inspiring people to step into their calling—whatever that might look like in this season. When she’s not working, writing, traveling, or podcasting, she can be found homesteading and chasing kids and cows on her farm in Middle Tennessee.

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COLUMN BY:

Sabrina Schlabach

Loving Kids Regardless Heartlight Ministries with Mark Gregston NO ONE EVER SAID raising kids was easy. In fact, it's hard. Especially in a world that is redefining absolutes, a culture that teaches self-love above others, and where abuse and trauma are everyday occurrences.

Did you know that two-thirds of children report a traumatic instance by age 16? That list includes physical, psychological, or sexual abuse, bullying, domestic violence, national disasters, sudden loss of a loved one, and serious accidents. As adults, we struggle to react in healthy ways, so how can we expect our children to respond positively to these horrific situations?

We've all known kids we've written off as "obstinate, rebellious, or beyond hope." Why is it so easy to give up on these kids? Have we ever taken the time to understand why a teen is acting that way? At Heartlight Ministries, founder Mark Gregston says, "I've never met a bad kid. These kids are just like anybody else's.

They are good kids; they're just making poor choices."

Sometimes the consequences of those choices have led teenagers down a rough path; they don't know how to come back from it and find themselves in a continual downward spiral. Parents don't know how to pull back from the situation and gain perspective or do anything different, which means the cycle continues.

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Heather is your typical all-American teenage girl.

She's beautiful and smart, a kid any parent would be proud of. But over time, she begins to turn to alcohol.

Soon Heather drinks alcohol every day and is drunk most of those days. Things she used to love—her youth group, playing sports, family—she has given up and views them with disdain. Heather has been kicked out of every public and Christian school in Denver.

Her parents don't know what to do or how to help.

What happened to their once-innocent daughter?

Desperate to save Heather's life, her parents call Heartlight Ministries for help.

Heather's story is a typical one for teenagers who arrive at Heartlight. The names are different, but all struggle with something: alcoholism, drugs, unhealthy relationships, abuse, addictions, and more.

Heartlight is a Christian boarding school located in east Texas. They help teens aged 13-17 who have made trauma-induced poor choices or have family/ environmental issues. Teens consent to live at the boarding school for about one year to receive focused intervention.

"I'm one of those guys who thinks you can either raise your kids to live in a zoo, or you can prepare them to survive in the jungle," said Mark. "Kids need to learn how to survive."

For those at Heartlight who work with teenagers, relationships come first. They aren't strictly an evangelistic group that says: "If you just get your life committed to Christ, everything will be okay." Teenagers will see right through that. Actions speak louder than words, and while Christ is a foundational part of their organization, it's more about helping the kids and their families learn principles to survive and thrive in the world their child

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"There's nothing you can do to make me love you more.

There's nothing you can do to make me love you less."

will be living in. "I'm one of those guys who thinks you can either raise your kids to live in a zoo, or you can prepare them to survive in the jungle," said Mark. "Kids need to learn how to survive."

Heartlight Ministries began 35 years ago in Texas, but the seeds for it were planted long before that. Mark and his wife Jan (then girlfriend) were still in college when they were initially approached about working with Young Life, a program that encourages teens in their faith. They agreed and began meeting with high school students. Within a couple of weeks, a man walked up to Mark and said, "I'm really struggling with my kid. I don't know what to do." Mark's initial thought was, "And I do?" but he responded with: "Well, let him come live with

me." From that time on, there have always been kids living with the Gregstons.

A few years later, the Gregstons moved to Branson, Missouri, where Mark became the area director of the local Young Life program. At that time, they also had around 20 teenagers living with them, building some extra houses for them. "I don't have a degree in counseling or ministry, but I've always been in ministry.

My degree is in real estate investment and finance, but my heart has always been with kids, especially the ones who are struggling," shared Mark. From early on, God taught Mark how to engage these young adults. It looks a little different, but he's learned some practical ways of interacting with them. Love kids regardless; no ifs, ands, or buts. Don't add clauses and expectations to your love. "I tell the kids all the time, 'There's nothing you can do to make me love you more. There's nothing

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you can do to make me love you less,'" Mark said. "In any situation, there is hope. Unconditional love given over a period of time can warm the coldest of hearts."

Once Mark and Jan left Missouri, they expected to run a small organization raising horses and working with struggling kids. But God had other plans. "Little did I know that I was going to be living with 65 high school kids for years and years," said Mark. "And now we've had over 3,000 kids live with us!"

Before a teen arrives at Heartlight, they have to be clean—they cannot use drugs or alcohol there, and some need to go through a detox program first. Over their time at Heartlight, their heads begin to clear, and they realize they need to make changes. That's when the hard part comes for both the teen and the parent.

"Heartlight is probably more of a change for the parents than the child," said Mark, "because when that child comes home, the parents need to be ready to handle them." The same child—who is wired the same way, coming to the same environment, and still has the same friends—needs parents to have tools to counter those things, allowing their child to be healthy. As a teen goes through the different levels of the program, the parents are also going to leveled retreats. The retreats help parents understand where their child is at and how to make necessary changes to best aid their teen once they return home.

Students enrolled in the program at Heartlight attend accredited curriculum classes for 3 ½ hours daily—boys attend classes in the morning and girls in the afternoon. Along with daily classes, they go to

"They're searching for something, and they are finding it at Heartlight.

We create structure and atmosphere, but we're not the ones that make changes in kids."

counseling three or four times per week and attend group meetings separated by age, gender, and level (the levels represent the progression through the program). Finally, peer support plays an essential role in their recovery. Even though teens deal with different issues—be it depression, eating disorders, or abuse— they learn to support one another.

"It's iron sharpening iron, not friction that causes more fires," said Mark. Many of the teens look forward to attending classes, counseling, and group meetings. At Heartlight, they are kept busy with many activities. As a result, they have less time to concentrate on themselves and realize a tiny measure of how big the world really is.

As each child experiences the consistent and intentional relationship-building measures from their counselors, staff, and peers who have been in the program longer, the teens begin to trust and share more openly. A large portion of attendees come from a Christian background. They've been influenced by biblical principles but don't know how to apply them to their lives. If you ask the teens, many will say they are anti-God and hate everything. That is only because their understanding and experience are skewed. However, Mark shared, "Although Bible studies aren't mandatory, most kids want to go to church. They're searching for something, and they are finding it at Heartlight. We create structure and atmosphere, but we're not the ones who make changes in kids."

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For these reasons, the Heartlight staff are selectively chosen. They must live on campus, be single, be in their twenties, and be healthy, relational, and mature. These qualities help to ensure that they are young enough to relate to the kids and energetic enough to keep up with the many daily activities such as hiking, horseback riding, water skiing, fishing, work projects, and taking care of the horses.

Another priority is that they are Christian.

Heartlight seeks out young adults who are true believers who understand that how they live makes all the difference in the world. As believers, we're called to emulate Christ, and the staff members are no different.

They realistically live out John 1:14, "And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us…" They reinforce those biblical principles in such a way that it's evident they are living differently. The staff aren't "shoving the gospel down anyone's throat;" it's about a lifestyle that a teenager can observe and say, "There's something different about him" or "I want to be like her."

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Heartlight may be necessary for some families, but Mark has also developed material to help prevent the need for Heartlight. Mark has never read a single parenting book, yet he's written over twenty of them. He operates Family in Crisis conferences, has podcasts and radio broadcasts, and offers resources on his Parenting Today's Teens website.

He shared that it isn't a "Follow me because I've got this great idea" mentality. Instead, it is about listening and learning from every teen who comes through Heartlight. It's about what he has learned throughout the years, systems that work—and ones that don't— and imparting that knowledge to others. Because at the end of the day, the two most important things are 1) making positive differences in each teen's life, helping them to achieve their goals and graduate from Heartlight, and 2) preparing the family for the child coming back home so that everyone can succeed.

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"Our faith is one where we are called to reach out and help our neighbor. Jesus calls us to love others. So when we see parents struggling with their children, remind them there is always hope."

The world is changing at a rapid pace. How do we hold onto our beliefs when we live in a nation with legalized marijuana and other drugs, alcohol advertised during every major sporting event, gender confusion, and deep political divisions? How do we provide hope to children during such chaos?

Our faith is one where we are called to reach out and help our neighbor. Jesus calls us to love others.

So when we see parents struggling with their children, remind them there is always hope. Point them in the right direction, letting them know that there's a place and organization dedicated to helping parents and teens get through these difficult times. Every time we turn a blind eye to the drowning, we tell them that we give up, they aren't worth the bother, or that our God is not big enough—when nothing could be further from the truth! //

Parenting Today's Teens P.O. Box 480, Hallsville, TX 75650 www.parentingtodaysteens.org www.heartlightministries.org Sabrina and her husband live near Ragersville, Ohio, and have been blessed with four spunky children. She values time with her family, loves to bake, and is an avid reader.

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