Plain Values Magazine | March 2023 by Plain Values

P U BL ISHE R

WHO WE ARE... 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 / BO O K K EEP I NG

Sabrina Schlabach

WHAT WE BELIEVE... 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 twenty times—and counting—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 A P R IL A D C LO SE

March 8, 2023 WR IT E R – CO N F E SSIO N S O F A ST EWAR D

Joel Salatin WR IT E R – RO OTS + WIN GS

Rory Feek WR IT E R – T HE G RA N DFAT HE R EFFEC T

HOW YOU CAN HELP... 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.

Brian Dahlen WR IT E RS – T HE RO U N DTA BL E

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

Melissa K. Norris

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.

WR IT E RS – T HE HE A L IN G L A N D

Shawn & Beth Dougherty WR IT E R – T HE WIDOWS 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 – R E M A R K A BL E JOY

Sabrina Schlabach WR IT E R – SE RV IN G O U R N E IG H B O R

Nic Stoltzfus CO N T R IBU T IN G P HOTO G RA PH ERS Millpond Photography Landon Troyer Photography Ashley Rivers Photography

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MARCH 2023

contents

March 2023 // Issue 117

CONFESSIONS OF A STEWARD Fake Meat

ROOTS + WINGS Changing Lives... One Bite at a Time

COLUMN BY: JOEL SALATIN

COLUMN BY: RORY FEEK

Joel steps into the cultural divide to tackle a highly debated topic in our world today—the development and consumption of synthetically grown meat.

Marcy and Joey opened "Marcy Jo's Mealhouse" in early 2007, and nothing about Marcy's life today remotely resembles what it did when they turned on the “open” sign for the first time.

HOMESTEAD LIVING The Art of Sourdough

THE HEALING LAND The Slack-End of the Year

COLUMN BY: MELISSA K. NORRIS

COLUMN BY: SHAWN & BETH DOUGHERTY

Sourdough bread is unique, delicious, and boasts numerous health and digestive benefits. However, the process of making your own can be daunting—but fear not! Melissa is here to help.

Even under the cold damp hand of March, we sense that the end of winter is near—and with that end, a new beginning. Mud will give way to growing things; spring will follow winter.

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ON THE COVER Joel Salatin, herald of regenerative farming and co-owner of Polyface Farms, doing what he does best—making livestock happy. photo © Millpond Photography

Room to Bloom Report One Minute with Marlin Remarkable Joy: The Wurdeman Adoption Story Sight and Sound Theatre: A Story of Deliverance & Faith

6 8 55 59

THE GRANDFATHER EFFECT Part One – Prologue

THE ROUNDTABLE Amish Insights on: Restoration

WORDS BY: BRIAN DAHLEN

COLUMN BY: JERRY D. MILLER & IVAN KEIM

The beginning of a multi-part series with Brian Dahlen, from Moody Radio. Join him on a journey to uncover the mystery of generational sin through a family disownment from his grandfather.

Jerry D. Miller and Ivan Keim are back and excited to share their thoughts on the question: "What does restoration look like in your community?"

THE WIDOWS PATH Loss & Legacy

HONEST CONVERSATIONS WITH WENDY God Gaps

COLUMN BY: FERREE HARDY

COLUMN BY: WENDY CUNNINGHAM

Each loss we suffer leaves us with a legacy. Have you ever thought about that? So often, people focus only on the loss, but on the flip side of that loss is a legacy.

"I was certain He was going to move mountains. And He’d better because there were quite a few blocking our path forward. I lovingly deemed these obstacles 'God gaps.'”

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One Minute with Marlin WHEN WINTER COMES, Lisa and I move our morning porch time together indoors. We sit, drink coffee, and talk as we watch the eastern sky brighten. December 20, last year, the sunrise was incredible with a massive pillar of light rising towards the zenith. From our little hilltop, the view was wonderful, and we began snapping a few photos to capture the Lord’s artwork. It reminded us of the Exodus, and we talked of what the pillars of flame and cloud might have looked like and the reality of seeing with your own eyes the one and only I AM. Up close and personal! It would be impossible to forget. The day came and went, only to find the sunset much the same! It was absolutely amazing to see the same rare phenomena happen twice on the same day. We tend not to over-spiritualize life, but it does cause us to pause and wonder what it means. If we take God’s sovereignty at face value, then there aren’t really any co-inkydinks, and we are in a world where He allows and causes things to happen as He sees fit in His perfect will. What an incredible truth that brings incredible peace! I could think about it all day! As always, may you find joy in the simple things. //

MARLIN MILLER publisher, always looking for more friends

One last thing—last month we forgot to give credit to the wonderful Michael Hayes for capturing the cover photo of Rory and Indiana in front of Hardison Mill School. We so appreciate all the hard work that he, and Rory, put into it.

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Confessions of a Steward JOEL SALATIN

COLUMN BY:

Fake Meat THE CURRENT DARLING of the industrial food system is fake meat or lab meat. Proponents argue that this will save the planet from the ravages of domestic livestock, offer better nutrition, and eliminate the ethical and moral dilemma of killing things for human sustenance. I’ll deal with the first two quickly to put attention on the third one, which can be a stumbling block for people of faith. The “animals are destroying the environment” mantra has numerous flaws, but the biggest one is that 500 years ago, the world had more pounds of animals on it than it does today, including people. In other words, if you could put all terrestrial non-plant life on a scale, the weight centuries ago is more than it is today. In fact, in the U.S., the pounds of domestic livestock have not changed in more than a century. In 1900, a third of the weight was in draft power: mules, horses, and oxen. Even with industrial factory farming, the total pounds of animals has not exceeded what it was in 1900. I’m including wildlife here as well. Clearly animals are not the problem. I agree that the protocols to raise animals in confinement are not ecologically beneficial but blaming animals for farmers’ failure is neither honest nor fair. Animals can be—and have been—grown in ecologically beneficial

photos by Millpond Photography

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ways for millennia. The deepest soils on the planet are all under grasslands, not forestlands. The second argument is about nutrition. Supposedly red meat increases the risk of cardiovascular problems and colon cancer. The only problem with this notion is that America’s per capita consumption of beef has been falling annually for the last thirty years, while these diseases have been increasing. Without getting into the scientific nitty-gritty, the red meat = disease theory simply doesn’t stand the test of even cursory perusal. But what about this moral and ethical dilemma? It’s touted by fake meat proponents in every flier, every news interview. It’s a big deal. As a livestock farmer, I’ve certainly been accused of being a murderer or being unable to love because I kill animals. This sentiment is not going away; in fact, it’s getting stronger by the day. As a Christian, I really don’t like to be called a murderer. A bit of historical context can help us appreciate the roots of this issue. The year 1837 was an interesting confluence of three things. First, a British scientist named Charles Darwin set sail on The Beagle. Father of evolution, Darwin’s observations led him to conclude the biblical

"As a livestock farmer, I’ve certainly been accused of being a murderer or being unable to love because I kill animals. This sentiment is not going away..." creation narrative is a myth and that humans evolved from monkeys. He took God out of life. The same year, an Austrian chemist named Justus von Liebig, trying to solve the soil fertility problem, used vacuum tubes to isolate nitrogen, potassium, and phosphorus (NPK), announcing to the world that all of life is simply a rearrangement of these three elements. Think about how that supplemented Darwin’s ideas that God wasn’t necessary. Life was simply an inanimate pile of protoplasmic structures. The third 1837 occurrence was Cyrus McCormick’s invention of the reaper in his blacksmith shop on the family farm in Raphine,

Virginia. This is now viewed as the official start of the Industrial Revolution because it made the scythe obsolete. McCormick’s reciprocating cutter bar is still the backbone of modern grain and forage harvesting equipment. With Darwin’s Godless existence, Liebig’s lifeless existence, and McCormick’s mechanical invention, the new enemy of biblical faith was not paganism, animism, or pantheism; it was no-theism and a mechanical view of life. Gradually, life became less about biology and more about mechanics, physics, and chemistry. Today’s effort to take life out of food is a natural extension of taking biology out of life. We should not be surprised that artificial food follows artificial fertilizer. Our nation has embraced artificial food for some time, from squirtable cheese to high fructose corn syrup. The foundational idea that you can have life without death is not only fairly new in human history but is also fundamentally an assault on truth. Something has to die in order for something else to live. Everything is eating and being eaten. Lie down naked in your flower bed for a week and see if that’s not true. Or in the pig pen. Nothing provides a more poignant object lesson of Jesus’s sacrificial gift of life than when an animal gives its life for human sustenance. The problem is that our western culture does not ascribe spiritual and attitudinal protocols to our domestic livestock. The average person does not see farmers asking how to make happy pigs or how to respect the pigness of pigs, in normal agriculture. What the average person sees are agricultural experts seeking only four objectives: how to grow pigs fatter, faster, bigger, and cheaper. They aren’t asking how to make pigs happy. They view pigs as mobile piles of inanimate protein to be manipulated however cleverly human imagination can conceive. For folks who do think it matters how we treat pigs, such

thinking is egocentric, selfish arrogance in its worst manifestation. Too many Christians make fun of these folks who care, rather than repenting of our own disrespect and mindless exploitation of the beings God entrusted to our management. It’s not just nuts and bolts in a bucket; these are beings, much lower than humans, to be sure, but beings that need our stewardship nonetheless. No less than bumblebees and earthworms. The other issue that clouds thinking today is the ubiquitous disconnection from life and death. For the average person, pets represent the only animals in their personal frame of reference. When the only animal you ever encounter has a name and sleeps in your bed, it fosters a jaundiced view of animals in general. Suddenly every cow is a dog. Every chicken is a cat. Every pig is a pet gerbil. I’ve actually debated with people who said since I had no problem killing a chicken, I’d probably have no problem coming to their house and killing their cat.

"Too many Christians make fun of these folks who care, rather than repenting of our own disrespect and mindless exploitation of the beings God entrusted to our management."

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Interestingly, then, we have both the desecration of life on the one hand and the inordinate elevation of it on the other. Combine that with a disconnection to the barnyard, and you have a recipe for dysfunctional philosophy. Sacrifice can be either sacred or sacrilege, depending on the circumstances. For example, the thieves crucified with Jesus on the cross do not elicit our sympathy; they were bad guys being punished. Nothing is sacred about their sacrifice. Jesus’ sacrifice is sacred because He didn’t do anything to deserve it. In like manner, nothing is sacred about the sacrifice of an industrial factory-farmed chicken; it was never respected as a chicken in its life. Dispatching that chicken carries no emotional impact. But a chicken you raised, fed, watered, protected, loved—that sacrifice occupies sacredness in our thinking. It’s how we honored and respected the being in life that makes the sacrifice sacred or sacrilege. When the proponents of fake meat invoke the moral and ethical dilemma argument, of course, they do not separate the two kinds of sacrifice as I’ve just

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done. It’s not that nuanced for them. What they do know is that animals in western domestic livestock culture are not respected; they’re not in a habitat that engenders happiness. With one broad swoop of fake meat, therefore, they think we can rid the planet of this kind of atrocity. The problem is that you can’t have life without death. A compost pile is a shining example of the life, death, decomposition, and regeneration cycle. Indeed, the regenerated compost, ready to feed new life, looks nothing like the components that went into the pile initially. The finished compost doesn’t look the same, smell the same, or feel the same. I love reaching down and picking up handfuls of compost; manure, not so much. Manure after composting is wonderful; you can put milk on it in a bowl and eat it for breakfast. That’s a joke. But it’s really good-smelling stuff. How do I truly live? I lay down my life for others. This is fundamental to biblical living, but the faith community too often fails to apply the respect for the sacrifice prior to death in order to make it a sacred thing. The sacrificial lambs of the pre-Christ Israelite

"Eliminating death from life does not indicate some new elevated plane of spiritual nirvana; it’s a devolution into profound misunderstanding about what true life, what true living, depends on." object lesson were chosen carefully, often raised as pets. This connection brought to each person the specialness of life and the gift of death. Eliminating death from life does not indicate some new elevated plane of spiritual nirvana; it’s a devolution into profound misunderstanding about what true life, what true living, depends on. When Liebig dismissed earthworms, actinomycetes, and the billions of soil microorganisms as critical for life, he missed an important truth. In fact, he was incredibly wrong, and the world is still suffering from the simple NPK mentality he brought forward with such assurance. Sometime in the future, fake meat will be found to be as lacking to sustain life as NPK to sustain fertility. Sometimes it takes a while for the truth to come out, but it does eventually. When someone exalts their spirituality by claiming nothing has to die in order for them to eat, you can ask them, “Why are you opposed to sacrifice?” See where the conversation takes you.

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

Indeed, our intestines are full of beings eating each other. Everywhere we look, we see life and death. On our skin. In our immune systems. The notion that we can have life without death is not only wrongheaded, it’s antithetical to the gospel’s core message. Food and farming offer wonderful object lessons to represent truth to our world; let’s be consistent in the physical aspects of the object lesson so we can be attractive in the spiritual aspects. //

Joel's Upcoming Speaking Events March 7

Warwick, RI (Rhode Island Women in Agriculture)

March 17

Middlefield, OH (A Day with Joel Salatin)

March 18

Akron, OH (Local Food Symposium)

April 21

Fredericksburg, TX (Force of Nature Meats)

June 2–3

Columbia, TN (The Homestead Festival)

June 9

Richmond, VA (Home Educators Association of Virginia)

June 21–22

Walnut Creek, OH (Food Independence Summit)

June 30–July 1

Kootenai County, ID (Pacific Northwest Homesteaders Conference)

July 17–18

Swoope, VA (Polyface Intensive Discovery Seminar)

July 21–22

Swoope, VA (Polyface Intensive Discovery Seminar)

July 28–29

Lancaster, PA (Family Farm Day)

August 4–5

Swoope, VA (Polyface Intensive Discovery Seminar)

August 17–19

Swoope, VA (Bio-Fert Seminar with Jairo)

August 25–26

Marshfield, MO (Ozarks Homesteading Expo)

October 13–14

Front Royal, VA (Homesteaders of America)

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. 15

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column by:

changing lives... one bite at a time March 2023

"What the Mealhouse serves best isn't on the menu..." – rory feek

rory feek

ABOUT A MILE FROM OUR FARMHOUSE sits a ram-shackled old general store with a hard lean to the south and chipping paint that flutters away like the leaves in the fall. It barely looks inhabitable, let alone like a place that's thriving, but it is. The parking lot is filled with cars most days from 7am ’til the lunch rush is over, bearing license plates from distant places: Vermont, California, Illinois, and pretty much everywhere in between. On the front porch, there's an hourlong line of folks with their names on the list, and inside, the tables are hopping. They've all come for one thing that's not even listed on the menu… to have their lives changed. Now, you wouldn't think biscuits and gravy or a cinnamon roll could change anyone's life, at least for the better, but they have. First off, starting with my sister Marcy. She and my wife, Joey, opened "Marcy Jo's Mealhouse" in early 2007, and nothing about her life today remotely resembles what it did when they cut the ribbon and turned on the “open” sign for the first time. The restaurant has given her life purpose and meaning. And much to her surprise, it's even made her “rurally” famous. Like myself, she gets stopped in the produce aisle at the grocery store and pumping gas at Love's. People just want to shake her hand and tell her how much they love the restaurant and the food there. It had all begun as an idea over a cup of coffee at our kitchen table, with Marcy saying, "Hey Jo, we should turn that old run-down store on the corner into a coffee shop." And since Joey's dream of having

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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a music career was in what you might call a lull, she was quick to say, "Why not?" A few months later, they served their first customer; a neighbor named Danny Smith, who liked the restaurant and the food so much that the next time he showed up, he had a brand-new A/C unit on his shoulder. He'd seen how hot the kitchen got and wanted to try to help them the same way they were trying to help the community. Danny had grown up in our area and missed the days when neighbors and friends had a place to gather and drink coffee, shoot the bull, or find out if someone was in need of something. In no time, the back table of the cafe became his and a bunch of other old codgers' morning hangout. It didn't take long for the Mealhouse to begin to change the life of our little community. I'd been living at our farm for seven years by then and knew hardly any of my neighbors, and the cafe gave Joey and me—and Marcy—the opportunity to meet our neighbors and for them, in turn, to meet others. Soon, just like my sister's life, our little corner of the world was a little different, better than it was before. It didn't take long for it to change Joey's life, too, in a big way. Before then, mostly working at horse-vet clinics, my wife had never worked for herself or even thought about it. And although opening the restaurant was exciting, it was also scary for her. She didn't know if she'd be any good at it or if anyone would like the

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recipes they made. I can still remember one afternoon that first spring when Joey got out of her truck and put her arms around me, almost in tears, and whispered, "People really seem to love what we're doing, what we're making..." She was so proud of what she and Marcy had created. It changed her. For the first time, she was able to see what she was capable of, what God could do, if you were brave enough to trust Him. In the coming decade, that would happen over and over again, and Joey and I would find ourselves in awe of what He's done. And then, in July 2012, when the first episode of The Joey+Rory Show aired, that little building began to change the lives of strangers from all walks of life in faraway places—or at least impact them enough to get in their cars, trucks, SUVs and RV's and make the drive here to Middle Tennessee to see the Mealhouse for themselves. At the end of each of the 52 cooking segments on the TV series, where Joey and Marcy shared one of their favorite recipes, they would end with, "…There you have it folks. Come see us at Marcy Jo's Mealhouse. Where we're changing lives… one bite at a time." This past January, the Mealhouse celebrated its 16year anniversary, and I'm amazed at how it continues to be a “bucket list” destination that folks travel to from all over to experience not only the cinnamon rolls and sticky buns but the dream itself and all that

has happened there and at our farm only a mile away. When people pull up to the restaurant for the first time or walk through the front door, they are often very emotional. That little place means so much to them. They've watched our story unfold through the years, and Marcy Jo's has been a big part of it. From their homes they've celebrated with us and cried with us. They watched Indiana being born and, a few years later, put on her own little apron and take orders just like her Mama. I'm proud of that little run-down building and what it's become. And I'm proud of my little sister Marcy for not only helping get that dream started with Joey but also continuing to keep the doors open and the wood

stove warm, even though she's had to do it all by herself the last seven years. Through sinking floors and soaring food costs, heat waves with no A/C, ice storms that busted all the pipes, a pandemic that closed most of the restaurants around us, and a hundred other challenges over the past 16 years, Marcy Jo's continues to do what they do best. To make home-cooked meals, love their customers, and believe that what they're serving—and what they're doing—can truly change lives… one bite at a time. //

rory

Marcy Jo's Mealhouse and Bakery 4205 US-431, Columbia, TN 38401 • (931)380–0968 Monday........................................... Closed Tuesday......................... 8:00am–2:00pm Wednesday...................8:00am–2:00pm Thursday.......................8:00am–2:00pm Friday..............................8:00am–2:00pm Saturday.........................7:00am–2:00pm Sunday...........................8:00am–2:00pm

Marcy Jo's Mealhouse today

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PART ONE

PROLOGUE

Special thanks to Brian Dahlen and Moody Radio for allowing us to share this series with our readers.

WORDS BY: BRIAN DAHLEN

How do you forgive a dead man? Particularly when he’s your grandfather? In this limited series, Moody Radio host Brian Dahlen takes a five-year journey surrounding family mystery, forgiveness, and faith in the face of generational sin.

THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT... Ever heard of it? If you’re not familiar, it’s part of something called Chaos Theory. You see, most science operates in the realm of the predictable. Things like chemical reactions and gravity. But what do you do with unpredictable things? That’s where something like the Butterfly Effect comes in. In the 1960’s, MIT meteorologist Edward Lorenz was studying long range weather forecasting. Could it be possible to predict weather patterns weeks, or even months, in advance? Some of his colleagues thought with enough data, sure, it could be done. But Lorenz was skeptical. So he created computer weather models that contained twelve variables. You know—weather stuff like temperature and wind speed. And he discovered that small changes, at the beginning of his models, to just one of the twelve variables produced wildly

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unpredictable results over time. Anything from a beautiful sunny day to a tornado. As an illustration of his discovery, he said that something as insignificant as a singular butterfly flapping its wings in one part of the world could ultimately cause a tornado in another. I know—it sounds hyperbolic. But think about it for a minute. If we take this idea out of meteorology and into everyday life, you can see how seemingly inconsequential events can have unpredictable yet momentous consequences—whether positive or negative. Consider those hurtful words from a bully in middle school that forever impacted your self-image. Or the casual encouragement from a teacher that nudged you toward your career.

Well, I think I inadvertently stumbled onto a new “effect” of sorts. And I didn’t mean to. All I was trying to do is figure out why my grandpa disowned me. Let me explain. As a little boy, I lived just a few miles away from my grandfather. But I never saw him. He wanted nothing to do with me or my family. All I knew was that the entire relationship crumbled over something silly. Something so seemingly trivial that it was difficult to comprehend. And yet—it wasn’t something we ever talked about as a family. We just moved on without him. But if I’m being honest with myself, I didn’t really move on. I took it personally. It really did affect me. I wanted a grandpa who loved me, protected me,

It’s the flutter of those little things in life that change everything. And we simply can’t predict how they’ll impact our future. But the Butterfly Effect isn’t alone. There’s other effects out there as well. Take for example, the Hawthorne Effect—that is the phenomenon where subjects perform better when they know they’re being observed. If a carpenter is assembling a cabinet in a workshop and he knows his boss is watching him, don’t you think he will be more productive? And then there’s the Pygmalion Effect, where people’s expectations impact their actual performance—for example, if a carpenter expects he is going to do a good job on building a cabinet, he will work harder to meet his expectation, and the results will show in a well-built cabinet. Or how about the IKEA Effect, where you value something more if you built it; that carpenter cares more about the cabinet he built than one he could buy from some big-box store. So—why do I bring all that up?

and guided me as I became a man. A grandpa that told me dumb jokes and gave me candy. A grandpa who loved me unconditionally. Instead, I had a grandfather who loved me conditionally. Who rejected me. Who, for some undiscovered reason, abandoned his love for me and pretended I didn’t even exist. But why? Since I’m supposedly a grown-up now, and work in radio, I figured I’d do a few interviews with my family and find the answer. Then I’d slap on some music, toss in a few witty comments and voila! A great segment for my radio show. Maybe even a special episode on my podcast! Boy was I wrong. What I thought would be a few weeks of casual questioning turned into a five-year, heart-wrenching journey. And beyond wildly underestimating the duration of my investigation, I also completely misdiagnosed the problem itself.

"I urge you to read this story with an open heart. I think what you may discover is a family who, like all of us, fell victim to the generational impact of the Fall. Maybe you’ll even discover something that looks a little bit like your family."

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You see, I consistently presumed this was going to be a podcast series about disownment. In fact, “Disowned” was the working title for years. It wasn’t until I let the story itself guide me that I realized everything was much more complex. Much more nuanced than I ever could’ve imagined. This wasn’t one of those run-of-the-mill disownments that happen because of an intense disagreement. A situational falling-out. An irreconcilable difference. Sure—there was a specific incident that served as a catalyst. And we’ll get to that. But as you’ll see, it was really about so much more. And candidly, in a lot of ways, the depth of the whole thing made it much more painful for me. It would’ve been easier to walk away with a simple explanation. With justified blame. Maybe a clear villain. I urge you to read this story with an open heart. I think what you may discover is a family who, like all of us, fell victim to the generational impact of the Fall. Maybe you’ll even discover something that looks a little bit like your family. And if that’s the case, my hope is that you’ll fully realize that you’re not alone. That there isn’t a single person who’s ever lived that was utterly unaffected by those who raised them. Or, in my case, those who didn’t raise them. So how has all of this affected me? Come on—this is only the prologue of the story! I won’t give too much away yet. But here’s what I can tell you. While I set out to analyze the behavior of others, I was unexpectedly forced to look inward. I ended up holding a mirror that peered painfully deep into my own soul. The story gave me a clear picture of my own sins and shortcomings. I’ve begun to see the origins of my trust issues. My intense drive to please other people. My misguided efforts to gain worldly success, thinking it would earn the love and attention of others. My fear of rejection. My use of humor to deflect painful emotions. And that’s just scratching the surface.

When I completed this journey, I was able to look back and see this whole thing wasn’t just about me or my family. It’s about family dynamics in general. About how the sins of one generation effect succeeding generations. It’s a common phenomenon experienced by countless others. Which brings me back to my addition to the list of effects like the Butterfly Effect and others. I wish I had a pithy definition for this new effect. Perhaps that will come with time. For now, what I can offer instead of a definition is an invitation to join me on this very personal journey of discovery. As we travel the road together, you’ll be able to build your own in-depth understanding of this effect in the broader context of the story. With that—let’s go back to the beginning where it all started. In late 2016, I sat down in a recording studio in Cleveland and recorded what would become Act 1 in this series. It would also inadvertently become the first phase of discovering something called The Grandfather Effect. // TO BE CONTINUED...

Brian Dahlen became a Cleveland morning show host after working at Moody Radio in Chicago as a radio host, producer, and co-host of a weekly podcast. Brian caught the radio bug while teaching history at a public high school near Minneapolis, where he was co-host and producer of a weekly radio program. After teaching six years and graduating with a master’s degree in education, Brian lives with his wife and five children in Broadview Heights, Ohio. For more information on Brian and The Grandfather Effect, visit www.moodyradio.org/grandfather.

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AMISH INSIGHTS ON: RESTORATION

This Month's Question: What does restoration look like in your community?

Answered by:

Jerry D. Miller & Ivan Keim

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Jerry: Restoration. The word has a ring to it— something restored to its former luster and shine. When we think about restoring or rebuilding an old car, tractor, or worn-out piece of equipment and bringing it back to its former state, seeing the finished product is exciting. Still, as with many things in life, we fail to see the work, the mind-numbing amount of elbow grease that went into making the old new again. Restoration usually takes a lot of time, regardless of what we are restoring. Is it not so with life; are not our churches full of restored sinners? Yes, we do well to use our Bible as a roadmap, and first and foremost restoration needs to be personal. In Matthew, Jesus taught so well the lesson involving the mote and the beam.1 And in Galatians, “Brethren, if a brother be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual, restore such an one in the spirit of meekness...” 2 The Christian life is a continual struggle, and we need to be surrounded with fellow believers who will help us as we travel along. Allow me to tell you a little story about my mother. We will pick up her story in 1965 when she buried a child. My mom’s life involved many difficult times. She had 12 children in 16 years, so there were many days of not feeling well. In February of 1971, my dad passed away under tragic circumstances—he lost his grip of reality and died under his own hand, leaving 11 children, a farm, and debt. The load for Mom was very heavy at times—more than she thought she could bear. In January of 1978, the famous blizzard took down the barn. This was the old eight-corner barn, a landmark that stood for many years along County

"Still, as with many things in life, we fail to see the work, the mind-numbing amount of elbow grease that went into making the old new again. Restoration usually takes a lot of time, regardless of what we are restoring. Is it not so with life; are not our churches full of restored sinners?"

Road 172. With the help of neighbors, church people, and complete strangers, that barn was rebuilt. Ten years later, tragedy struck again—this time, a barn fire. I was still living at home, being the youngest in the family, and I well remember Mom sitting on the front steps of the old farmhouse lamenting the fact that it was her again. Could it not have been someone else? Why, oh why, do I have to drink this cup again? Deeply moved by her plight, a neighbor man of few words stepped up to Mom. He laid his hand on

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"Yes, twelve days later, another barn stood erected once again with the aid of the community. Such is restoration, done quietly without great cheers, without great publicity, just a monument to the human spirit." her shoulder and said these timely words: “Ach Verna, we will just build another one.” Yes, twelve days later, another barn stood erected once again with the aid of the community. Such is restoration, done quietly without great cheers, without great publicity, just a monument to the human spirit. In meekness, not one of the people who worked or helped wanted to be singled out as the one who “did it,” truly not letting the left hand know what the right hand gives. As it says in the Bible, “Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God... casting all your care upon him; for He careth for you.” 3 So many times in the restoration process, we like to cast our cares upon Him, and we forget the humbling part. As the years passed and Mom’s health declined, my wife and I had the opportunity to sit by her bedside; when it became obvious that Jesus would soon take her home, we still had the time to ask her a few questions.

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I remember the dark days, the days when Mom’s tears mingled with the dishwater, when she saw almost no light at the end of the tunnel, when she came to the supper table with a small dish of cottage cheese and smiled so slightly and said, “I am just not hungry.” When grief and cares of this life almost overcame her... yet, she plugged on for her children, yes, always for her children. I understand this now. It was in the last days of her life when we sat at her bedside, and I asked her, “Mom, your life, was it a long time?” She answered, “Ach Jerry, it was a few days, and I had such a good life.” I know of no better example of restoration. Yes, God’s grace is sufficient for all circumstances. So, as we continue to seek to live a life of restoration— be it spiritually, physically, or healing of the land— remember it takes a lifetime. 1) Matthew 7:3-5

2) Galatians 6:1a

3) 1 Peter 5:6a, 7

Ivan: He inquired about his fellow brethren back in Jerusalem. He asked about their well-being. The answer that he got, “[They] are in great affliction and reproach: the wall of Jerusalem also is broken down, and the gates thereof are burned.”1 The Prophet Nehemiah was concerned about the remnant of Jews that had returned to Jerusalem. It had been over 150 years since Jerusalem and the Temple had been destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 B.C. and nearly a century since some of the Jews had returned to Jerusalem. Their work in rebuilding the Temple had taken 20 years, and because their work was hindered by the Gentiles, they were never able to complete the walls and gates. Nehemiah asked permission from the Persian King to go back to Jerusalem and complete the walls. After arriving in Jerusalem, he assembled the Jewish nobles. He explained to them his mission to rebuild the walls. Their reply was, “Let us rise up and build.” 2 Nehemiah had a vision, but he knew that he could not do it himself; standing together and by the work of many hands, they could accomplish it. Later Nehemiah said, “So we built the wall… for the people had a mind to work.” As progress was made, they were once again hindered by their Gentile neighbors. They tried to destroy their work. Half of the workmen had to stand guard, and the other half continued the work. They did not despair but continued forward towards their goal of rebuilding the wall.

When there is a catastrophe in our community, causing damage to property or buildings, many of the community members come together to help clean up and rebuild. This summer, we had a damaging windstorm go through our community. Many people pulled together, cleaning up the damage, helping to rebuild the destroyed buildings, and cleaning up the many downed trees. In order to restore something, like Nehemiah, we must come to the realization that something is in need of repair or rebuilding. Over the years, our lifestyle has heavily revolved around agriculture. We read through history how our forefathers moved from one area to the other throughout Europe. They were recognized as farmers who were able to restore unused and barren fields to productive farmland. Their life revolved around their

"In order to restore something, like Nehemiah, we must come to the realization that something is in need of repair or rebuilding."

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faith and raising food for their family’s survival. The first order of business upon arriving in America was to clear the land and plant their crops. They continued to restore the areas they inhabited to become productive for their sustenance. Most of the Amish continued to be involved in some sort of agriculture-related occupation through the 1950s and 1960s. Over the last 75 years, that has gradually changed. According to research done in the Ohio Amish Directory, in 1980, 55% of our households were occupied in farming and other agriculturerelated occupations. The rest were in construction, manufacturing, and woodworking, along with a few other outlying occupations. Twenty years later, in 2000, we had 30% of our families making a living off agriculture-related activities, while almost 40% of our population was involved in lumber or woodworkingrelated occupations. We fast forward another twenty

years to 2020, and our agriculture-related occupation has dwindled to only 20% of the population, with construction, lumber, and woodworking occupying 60% of our people. Our Amish community has shifted from being an agriculture-related community to being a manufacturing community. We are known throughout the country for quality and craftsmanship. This shift has also affected the way that we live. As our livelihood has shifted away from agriculture, our discretionary income has increased. We see more leisure time and a consumer-minded lifestyle. Do we consume more of our food than we produce? How much of the food that we eat was raised on our property or farm? How much of it was raised within five miles or within our community? While the majority of us are no longer making our living off the farm, our children can still enjoy the values that come with an agrarian lifestyle. We can do

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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"While the

majority of us are no

longer making our living

off the farm, our children can still enjoy the values that come with an

agrarian lifestyle." – Ivan Keim

this by putting our hands in the dirt or teaching animal husbandry to the next generation. In recent years there seems to be a spark rekindling amongst our people to raise more of our own food. Families are planting more vegetables and fruit trees and butchering their own animals. The joy and values that a family experiences when the first berries ripen or when the pig has a new litter of hogpiglets cannot be replicated. Oh, the joy after a day of butchering and packaging the meat in our canning jars and freezers. The taste of the juicy peach as you bite into it and juice dribbles down over your chin. You stand reveling among the fruit trees in awe of a Creator who allows the seasons to come and go. He ordained... seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter...3 // 1) Nehemiah 1:3

2) Nehemiah 2:18

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

3) Genesis 8:22

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COLUMN BY:

Melissa K. Norris

Homestead Living THE ART OF SOURDOUGH

SIMPLE DOES NOT EQUATE EASY. Many of us, myself included, seek the simple life because we feel there is a deeper purpose to life than "fast food" living. But there is a part of us that romanticizes the simple life. The warm scent of freshly baked bread filling the house, glass jars of milk with cream on top from the cow, vine-ripened tomatoes in a basket from the garden with fresh basil gracing the countertop next to them in a tidy kitchen, just swept clean with a broom we made ourselves. If that describes your kitchen, kudos to you. We both know it will need to be swept again shortly, the hornworms are coming for your remaining tomatoes, and there's a whole lot of dishwashing that needs to happen before the next trek out to the field to milk the cow. While we may think we want easy, you likely won't find it as you venture down the path of homesteading, farming, and simple living. Before you toss this magazine down, I have one word for you—sourdough. A sourdough starter is two basic ingredients, flour and water. Simple? Yes. Easy? Debatable, especially in the beginning. Way back when my husband and I were first married, I wanted to try my hand at sourdough. Growing up, my mom didn't have a sourdough starter or do anything sourdough, but the rare times we ate at a restaurant or somewhere sourdough was offered, I snagged it. Once

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married, I noticed that whenever we went out and had the option of choosing sourdough bread or buns or rolls, that's what my husband and I always went for, so I decided I had to try making it at home. I found a recipe for a sourdough starter that had flour, water, sugar, and yeast, and you mixed it all up in a bowl. It instructed me to mix all the ingredients, set it aside in a bowl, and leave it for a week. Well, as you can imagine, it grew lovely shades of different mold and ended up stinking to high heaven. My first attempt at a sourdough starter had totally failed. Do not feel bad if you haven't had success with your sourdough starter in the past. I'm sure our ancestors would marvel at how I didn't know how to create a sourdough starter or bake with it, almost how today's generation would marvel at someone who didn't know how to operate a telephone. I confess I had more failures with sourdough than I care to admit. I threw in the towel and would go years before trying again, but the more I researched gut health and began to understand nutrition, I couldn't escape the fact that the easiness of instant yeast and store-bought bread filled with additives and preservatives wasn't the best for our bodies long term.

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Easy has a price. My health was the payment, and I was no longer willing to sacrifice it on the altar of convenience. While my first attempts at creating a sourdough starter had failed, I discovered it failed because I didn't give the starter what it needed to grow and thrive. Sourdough is fermented, which means it has colonies of natural, wild yeast and lactobacilli bacteria. If you've heard the terms "wild yeast" or "wild fermentation," that's what we're doing when we make a sourdough starter. We're creating an environment for that wild yeast already on the flour and growing our starter with the naturally occurring yeast and bacteria in our homes. Once we understand our sourdough starter is a living thing, it's easy to see why it doesn't just taste good, but, like all fermented foods, it's beneficial to our health too. Plus, the fact that it's fermented means that it's got natural preservatives because fermentation is basically nature's way of preserving food. And since that yeast and bacteria are essentially consuming the mixture of flour and water, they are pre-digesting them for us. This is good for our gut health, which is why live cultured and fermented foods of all kinds are so good for our digestive system and

"Once we understand our sourdough starter is a living thing, it's easy to see why it doesn't just taste good, but, like all fermented foods, it's beneficial to our health too." overall health. It also means that sourdough products are lower on the glycemic index. When it comes to sourdough, though, the bacteria aren't alive when we eat it because we're not eating our sourdough starter raw. Instead, we're using it for baking. But when we put our flour in it or whatever grain medium we're using (i.e., brown rice, quinoa, buckwheat, gluten-free flour, etc.), it's being pre-digested for you. This means our bodies can get the nutrients out of it that much easier, even though we're baking it and killing the bacteria. When we're making our baked goods, we're not worried about that. It's already done the work for us.

How to Make a Sourdough Starter Now that I've filled you in on all the basics, here's how to start your very own sourdough starter. Ingredients • ¼ cup flour (30 grams) • 2 Tablespoons warm water (30 grams) Directions 1. Mix together ¼ cup flour and 2 Tablespoons water (or 30 grams of each for 100% hydration). 2. It's ideal to use warm water, around 65 to 70° F. If your house is on the cool side, you can increase the water temperature to 80 to 85° F. 3. Every 12 hours (or so), discard half your starter and feed it again.

Feeding Your Sourdough Starter At each feeding, you'll use ¼ cup (30 grams) of flour and 2 Tablespoons (30 grams) of water. Your goal is a thick, pancake-like batter consistency. Try to keep your feedings 12 hours apart, but don't stress or set a timer. Twice a day is ideal for keeping your new lactobacilli bacteria fed, where they can multiply to establish your colony. Why You MUST Discard Half Your Starter Don't skip the discard; this is important during this stage and means you'll use less flour throughout the first week. The lactobacilli aren't established and can't sustain the full amount of flour and water if you don't discard them. If you'd like, you can use the discard in regular recipes that call for flour and water, but it's not truly a sourdough discard yet (not to mention it's only a small amount). I hope you use the discard in recipes, but if you can't, other options are adding it to your compost pile, feeding it to your livestock, or placing it in the trash. DON'T put it down your sink unless you want to call a plumber.

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Where to Store Sourdough Starter

Example Sourdough Starter Feeding Schedule

The best temperature for your starter is 70 to 85° Fahrenheit. Our house cools down between 60 to 65° F overnight as the wood stove cools and then is back in the low to mid-70s during the day and evening, and my starter does just fine. If you see good bubble action, don't worry if your temperatures dip. If your house is colder, you can place your starter near a heat source (not on it, we don't want to cook it) or in the oven with the light on and the oven door cracked (just don't forget it's in there when you need to preheat your oven!).

Day 1 Am feeding = Add equal flour and water and stir until well combined, scrape down side of jar and bottom. Pm feeding= Add equal flour and water and stir until well combined, scrape down side of jar and bottom. You may start to see a bubble or two!

Signs your starter is active: • Bubbles on the sides of the jar • Bubbles on the top of the jar • Domed on top a few hours after feeding • Starter doubling in size a few hours after feeding • Liquid on the top as you come due for the next feeding

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Day 2 Am feeding = Discard ½ the amount of your starter (this is very important to establish your starter with a healthy colony). Add equal flour and water and stir until well combined, scrape down side of jar and bottom. Pm feeding = Add equal flour and water and stir until well combined, scrape down side of jar and bottom. Day 3 Am feeding = Discard ½ the amount of your starter. Add equal flour and water and stir until well combined, scrape down side of jar and bottom.

Pm feeding = Add equal flour and water and stir until well combined, scrape down side of jar and bottom. You should be seeing quite a bit of bubble action now! Some starters will even double at this point BUT it's not ready for bread. If your starter is extremely bubbly right now, don't be alarmed if at day 5 or beyond it suddenly stops being so bubbly, this is normal for a young starter. Day 4 Am feeding = Discard ½ the amount of your starter. Add equal flour and water and stir until well combined, scrape down side of jar and bottom. Pm feeding = Add equal flour and water and stir until well combined, scrape down side of jar and bottom. Day 5 Am feeding = Discard ½ the amount of your starter. Add equal flour and water and stir until well combined, scrape down side of jar and bottom. Pm feeding = Add equal flour and water and stir until well combined, scrape down side of jar and bottom. Notes: Even if you don't see signs on day's 1 and 2, continue with the feeding routine and have patience. Your starter will likely smell yeasty, sour, tangy, and/ or even like alcohol in the beginning stages. You now have an active but young starter and can begin using it in non-rising sourdough recipes like pancakes, waffles, muffins, quick breads, crackers, and cakes. Day 6 through 28 At this point, you can continue along with the twicedaily feeding amounts OR use the alternate once-aday feeding. Alternate once-a-day feeding is ½ cup flour (60 grams) and ¼ cup water (60 grams). This can be used once your starter is bubbly and active. If you feel it's sluggish, stay at the twice-a-day feedings and amounts.

Once your starter is four weeks old, it will likely show consistent signs of doubling a few hours after feeding and be ready to try in bread recipes. At this point in my sourdough journey, it does feel easy. It's a natural part of my kitchen's rhythm, but it took me many years to get to this place. If it had been easy from the get-go, would I have the thrill of satisfaction as strongly as I do now when I pull that perfect loaf out of the oven? Maybe, but I doubt it. The things that we must fight for, the things that feel hard, are the things we appreciate and give us deeper meaning. With this article, your sourdough starter journey is made a little easier. I hope that it encourages you for whatever hard thing you're facing right now. //

To sign up for my free sourdough starter class, showing how to use different flour types (including gluten-free) and my favorite sourdough discard starter recipes, go to www.melissaknorris.com/ sourdoughclass. Or you'll find them in my book, Hand Made: the Modern Guide to Made-from-Scratch Living.

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 SLACK-END OF THE YEAR MID-MARCH. The view from our kitchen window is black-and-white, like a snapshot from the 1940s. There is the barnyard, where the most recent snowfall has been trailed by someone delivering a bucket of skim milk and squash peelings to three young pigs. Beyond that, bare pasture is punctuated by a line of fence posts and barbed wire; still further are steep woods mounting to the high ridge of Rex Hill. Mid-day dinner is over, but the comforting smell of fried potatoes and onions, ham, and buttered toast lingers after the last dishes have been washed and put away. The family is settled by the wood stove to work quietly for a few hours before the evening chores draw us outside again. There is coffee in the pot on the stove.

Winter Waiting Our farm is settled into the lull of waiting. Winter still has us in its grip. At noon the thawing patches on the south side of the house and barn speak of warm relief to come, but the ground is still cold, even frozen, and the only green things to be seen are the somber dark greens of hemlock, pine, and spruce. January may start the year on the calendar, but on the farm, where winter is an annual death laying to rest the efforts of the previous year, January is a dark month, tucked under a blanket of snow or encased in an iron frost. February coaxes sugar out of the seemingly lifeless trees as an amusement to lighten the days of waiting. March, encased in PLAIN VALUES

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at the spring, trails reach out like the arms of a muddy octopus headed to late-winter pastures. Ten years ago, mud covered a lot more of this farm. Under previous owners, field-kept hogs stripped it bare, leaving the unprotected soil to run away in rivulets of rainwater. Traffic of humans, animals, and tractors churned the naked ground into mud. The sun baked the ruts of tires and prints of boots and hooves to concrete; then with the next rain, everything turned back to mud. When we came, the land was struggling to protect itself under an armor of blackberry, greenbriar, and wild rose. On this March day we can still see remains of that armor: here and there clumps of cane, like twists of barbed wire, trace black scribbles on the snow.

The Animals Came in Two by Two

cold mud, is a month of stolid endurance. When the life of the soil is inaccessible, then animal life—human, livestock, and wild—continues on the principle of hope. So this is the real slack-end of the year, the quiet time before strengthening daylight restarts all the business of Nature. Right now everything is hidden under a thin layer of snow, marked out in trails of muddy footprints.

Written in Mud Mud is our primary crop in March, coming up in patches wherever work is being done. By the woodshed, a layer of chips has been churned into a relief map by the feet of boys splitting firewood, a modest mountain range traced over with the rut of the wheelbarrow that carries split wood up to the house. Outside the barn door, the cows coming in to be milked take their last few steps through knee-deep mud. In the kitchen garden, bedraggled hens step fussily over the decay of last summer’s mulch, beady eyes cocked for the smallest sprouting chickweed, the least last seed of nasturtium, winter squash, or corn. And from where the cows drink 42

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As it was animals who stripped the grass from these hills, it is animals who have reclothed them. Goats pushed back the briars so grass could move in again. Now cows and sheep graze here, and the briars are mostly gone. Dozens of species of grass and broadleaf flourish, carpeting the ground with wildflowers from April to October. Early on a June morning you can catch orchard grass in bloom, clouding the hillside with yellow pollen sifted from tiny purple flowers. Midsummer, hidden in the tall grass, Deptford pinks—small five-pointed magenta stars on hair-slender stalks—and mists of tiny bedstraw flowers delight whoever goes out to tend the cows. This is the difference twenty-odd years of careful management can make to a farm. A lot of folks made it possible: the Franciscan Sisters, welcoming us to their land and giving us permission to put it in service; local farmers helping us with their experience; all of our children, in the work of building fence, clearing pasture, milking cows and goats. Just as this farm is connected on all sides to other farms and woods and fields, and crossed by streams spanning townships and counties, so is the work of keeping a neighborhood productive and healthy, a community labor.

To Tend the Earth By mid-April we will be deep in outside work, moving the grazing herds fast over greening pastures, keeping an eye on calving heifers, putting in the first potatoes, milking five or six cows instead of the winter’s

"Even under the cold damp hand of March, we sense that the end of winter is near— and with that end, a new beginning."

three. May will find the farm in full swing, with cows and sheep belly-deep in grass and all the gardens to be put in at once. Once the work of the farm really gets going, life won’t slow down again until November. Maybe big farms, the tractor-and-row-crop kind, look more impressive, but the complex work of a farm like this one, where a family manages grass, cattle, a few hogs, poultry, and garden crops just to feed themselves with maybe a little to sell, is enough for us. Each part of the farm is like a piece in a complex puzzle, everything touching, everything giving and receiving back. Grass feeds cows and sheep, and they feed everything else: garden, pigs, poultry, and, of course, humans. Nothing is wasted; very little needs to be bought from off the farm. Sunlight and rainfall are our principal resources. Our job is to tend the earth.

In the Beginning... We’ve been here over 25 years now, years during which the tide of mud has receded. What mud is left has other meanings now, like that mud in the hands of

our Creator when He made the first gardeners. There are trails of mud that thread from maple tree to maple tree in February, all the trails ending at the sugar shack, where steam rises from the shallow sap pans. Out back there is mud where the boys, in anticipation of warm weather, are laying stones for a new fire pit, ringed with benches made of stumps and split logs. Mud in the lane speaks of bare feet in summer. Even under the cold damp hand of March, we sense that the end of winter is near—and with that end, a new beginning. Neighbors stopping on the church steps on Sunday morning compare reports on sprouting tomato seeds. Calves are being born, and even under a winter storm they tell us that green grass cannot be too far away. The hens tracing paths over the snow-covered garden are in lay again, so there will be plenty of eggs for coloring and baking for our Resurrection celebrations. Mud will give way to growing things; spring will follow winter. //

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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COLUMN BY:

Ferree Hardy

Loss & Legacy 44

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EACH LOSS WE SUFFER leaves us with a legacy. Have you ever thought about that? So often, people focus only on the loss, but on the flip side of that loss is a legacy. Even a child or stillborn baby leaves a legacy. I might write about the loss of a child in the coming months, but for now, my thoughts come from the later years of life’s spectrum. Several months ago, it seemed I’d joined a morbid “Funeral-of-the-Month Club.” What really happened, however, was that I entered a season where I had several elderly loved ones. Having lived 80-90 years or more, they seemed to be lining up like elegant jets on a runway, getting ready for a take-off to heaven. The first was my father-in-law, whose passing took us by surprise. The loss is still heavy, especially for my mother-in-law. They were that cute elderly couple who did everything together; she misses him deeply, every moment. But she has his legacy. Her years with him developed her faith, strength, and the traditions she cherishes. His final days brought great mercy from God and poignant moments of grace—like when they had a chance to say,

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"Freshly plowed fields of springtime lie adjacent, bordered by budding forest. I’ll always carry the scene in my mind and heart. But another land is just as real—the place we are ultimately meant for."

“I love you” to each other—not knowing it would be the last ambulance ride. My father-in-law spent that night in a hospital eighty miles away and woke up in heaven the next morning. Three weeks later, my first husband’s mother died. Again, unexpected. Why is it that we can know death is inevitable, but it is always a shock? Even though there

Eight weeks after this, I received one of those unbelievable messages. I’m sure you’ve had some too, and my heart goes out to you. My mother’s youngest sister, an auntie I was very close to while growing up, had been admitted to the hospital the night before. Less than 24 hours later, her five children and their families were called in to tell her goodbye.

were a few days for the family to hear what was coming, it was still unthinkable. We never quite know how we will go on without our mother, do we? Her funeral was filled with memories of her sweet and godly days. I learned she’d been the first person in her family to commit her life to Christ. Her influence speaks for itself with the fact that the majority of them followed. Isn’t that a wonderful legacy? Yet, God’s grace allowed for even more. Her final days were preceded by a stroke that paralyzed her speech. This seemed tragic but became a blessing in disguise; it released her loving personality, which had begun to be bound by dementia. When her husband of 71 years, their adult children with spouses, and many grandchildren hurried in to see her over the next few days, they saw her eyes light up with recognition. Her love, generosity, and kindness once again shone through. God gave them their mom back, and then she, too, woke up in heaven.

How could this be happening? She was so lively and energetic! She’d just healed from a broken leg, and her old farmhouse had just been remodeled. Memories flooded me: there were the flower girl dresses she’d sewn for my cousin and me to wear in her wedding; then she’d made us nurse’s hats and capes so we could play and pretend to be just like her. We’d planned fun parties and showers together, along with 4-H projects, sharing recipes, and swatting sneaky boys away from her homemade dumplings before Thanksgiving dinners. Most recently were some meaningful phone conversations when my dear uncle came down with Parkinson’s disease. At first, she was his caretaker, and then she was his widow. But most of all, I will remember my auntie’s legacy. She had married into a family with a farm that her husband’s grandparents started in the 1800s. Throughout the years, she embraced their history, togetherness, and spot on this earth as much as she did her own. As my cousins and I would play tag under the maple trees at twilight or squeeze as many wiggling kittens as possible into our arms, we knew we were all “family.” We knew there was a deeper meaning too. “We come and go, but the land is always here. And the people who love it and understand it are the people who own it—for a little while.” (From “O, Pioneers!” by Willa Cather, 1913). The land… I picture the family farm with its rolling pastures dotted with black and white dairy cows. Freshly plowed fields of springtime lie adjacent, bordered by budding forest. I’ll always carry the scene in my mind

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and heart. But another land is just as real—the place we are ultimately meant for. As my auntie lay in a hospital bed with all those monitors, gadgets, hoses, and shields attached, she had the wherewithal to understand what was happening to her. Knowing she had only minutes left in this world, it seemed that she looked forward into the eternal land, her heavenly home. Later, at her funeral, the pastor told of how she spoke to her children and grandkids gathered around her that day. What did she say? “Make sure that I see you in heaven.” Our losses change everything. The whole of life changes, from sunset to sundown, springtime to winter. Everything seems rather flat, pointless, and tasteless for a while. We grieve not only our loved ones but also their place at the table. Who will fill it now? But their legacy lives on, and eventually, so do we. An awareness of legacy helps our eyes slowly begin to scope a greater view, to bring into focus the point on

the horizon of eternity where we can “…see what God has done.” (John 3:21). We all have a legacy. Certainly, it might be land, generous bequests, foundations, and memorials. But it’s also a swelling in the throat or a teardrop rolling down the cheek. It’s that one word that will come to mind when we recall a face: Faith. Strength. Tradition. Love. Generosity. Family. Laughter. Music. Kindness… Like the other side of a coin—legacy composes the other part of loss. The two are inseparable, for both are a part of life and love. Legacy grows out of who we are and is manifested in the most precious moments and memories of life. How would you like to be remembered? Begin your legacy by making the most of today. // 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! PLAIN VALUES

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COLUMN BY:

Wendy Cunningham

Honest Conversations with Wendy GOD GA P S WHAT IS FAITH? Hebrews 11:1 tells us, “Now faith is the reality of what is hoped for, the proof of what is not seen.” I love that: the proof of what is not seen. Grammatically speaking, faith is a noun. But is that all it is? A “place-holder” reality while we wait for God to fill in the missing pieces? If that’s the case, how do we grow in faith? Faith, like love, is a noun, yes. But it’s also a verb—an action word. As Bob Goff’s book title Love Does suggests, love is an action. It’s the practice of loving that exemplifies it. How do you know you’re loved? You feel it. Love is an experience. Faith is the same. How do you know you have faith? You prove it in everything you do (or don’t do). I have learned this lesson many times throughout my walk with God. One such example is my journey from suburbia in Nevada to homesteading in Middle Tennessee. One does not make such a leap without faith. And I believe one most certainly can’t walk that road without God. In 2015, my husband and I sold our home in Nevada and moved into a rental nearby. We believed that God was calling us away from that place, but He hadn’t yet revealed where our Promised Land would be. We took several trips up the West Coast, hoping to find our piece of heaven, but nothing felt right. Well, wouldn’t you know it, God chose to reveal our Promised Land at the worst financial moment. It was right there on Realtor.com as if it had been cut out of our very

"How do you know you have faith? You prove it in everything you do (or don’t do)."

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dreams and put on the world wide web. The perfect farm. In Tennessee. But a brief phone call to the agent connected to the property revealed that our hope of buying this property was unlikely. It fit our hearts, but it didn’t work out in dollars and cents. It was hard to make sense of what God was doing in that season. I believed He was revealing something. But what? I finally tucked away the experience as a confirmation that what we were hoping for did, in fact, exist. And it existed in Tennessee. That’s where we were being called. But the timing was off. A year (and a lot of distractions) later, we were ready to take out a loan, but the clarity that came in the previous season about Tennessee had fogged over. Was that really where we were being called? Should we go back to the drawing board? Our hearts were obedient, but our vision was cloudy. I don’t know about you, but when I need to hear from God, I take a shower. Maybe it’s the steam, or perhaps it’s the escape from kids for four minutes, but that’s where I hear from my Father in Heaven most clearly. One evening in early October of 2016, I found myself in one such prayer session. I asked God for direction and a sign. When I went downstairs, Tom casually informed me that while I was in the shower, the realtor from the Tennessee property we were interested in a year ago had called him—out of the clear blue sky. The farm was still available, and the family wondered if we were still interested.

After the shock of such a specific and quick answer to prayer wore off, I told my husband we had to get on a plane as soon as possible. He believed I was getting ahead of myself, but I believed God was moving, and we needed to respond in faith. Not two weeks later, Tom and I were on a plane to see if Tennessee was going to be our new home. Faith is a verb. The memory of that trip is a blur, but I recall one important thing: when I pulled through the tree tunnel that opened up onto the property we now call ours, I knew without a doubt God was saying, “Yes.” Nothing else really mattered. I was certain He was going to move mountains. And He’d better because there were quite a few blocking our path forward. I lovingly deemed these obstacles “God gaps.” The issues that plagued Tom—like how we’d pay for the farm, where the down payment would come from, the complications of our business and how we’d qualify for a loan—were all just details yet to be worked out. They didn’t bother me in the slightest. I had faith, and my faith meant it was assured. “The reality of things hoped for, the proof of what is not seen.” My faith was the proof. My husband wasn’t convinced. What transpired over the following months was one of the great miracles of my life. I came to understand what faith in action looks and feels like. And what’s more, I had the strange perspective of

The Tennessee property

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"Faith requires sacrifice. We must give over the glory, but it’s an exchange; we don’t have to carry the weight. James, Peter, and others tell us to consider it pure joy when we face trials in this life. Trials force us to put our faith into action. And faith is the revelation of a relationship with a good God." walking my faith out alongside my husband whose faith told him such an impossible feat could only be achieved in his—my husband’s—own strength. Tom’s faith was just a noun. An inanimate object. By a great miracle and through the accomplishment of a great many phone calls, we qualified for a loan. The first God gap had been closed and we were on our way. I won’t say it was smooth sailing, but come January 2017, we were a week from closing on our dream homestead. We happened to be in Maui with my company when we received a call from our lender. Due to several nuances that were outside of anyone’s control and (apparently) foresight, our loan was falling through. Unless we had another $25,000 (and we didn’t), it wasn’t going to happen. I saw another God gap that He was going to close for us. Tom saw only defeat. We flew home from Hawaii determined to figure out our next step. My husband is a fantastic man of God, but this shook him like nothing I’ve ever seen. I could sense the physical weight on his shoulders, the burden he was carrying, as he tried to close this gap on his own. Strangely, the more I told him God was going to move in our circumstances, the more irritated Tom became. My faith bothered him. As the next several hours and days ticked by—the end of the line as it would seem in the natural—my faith only grew stronger while the little my husband held onto crumbled away. So, what is a devoted wife and follower of Christ to do? I took a shower. It was a Sunday afternoon—the Sunday before our final day to “save the deal”—and I prayed. I told God I knew He was moving. I believed this was going to work out. I had no fear. But even still, I asked for the solution. What were we supposed to do? Secondly, I reminded

God that we were out of time and that we needed guidance that very day. Lastly, and most importantly, I asked God if He would be so generous to give the answer—whatever that answer was—to my husband. I already had faith. Tom needed the blessing of revelation. It might be hard to believe, as I’d be tempted to wonder if I hadn’t been there myself, but God delivered the most beautiful miracle no more than an hour later. Tom received a phone call from his dad. As God (not luck) would have it, the day our loan fell through, my father-in-law received a piece of mail. That letter was from a former employer—one he worked for nearly two decades before—and it was sent to inform my father-in-law that he had a benefit they were hoping he’d agree to liquidate. Given the fact that he’d take a tax hit to liquidate it, they’d inflated the benefit to $250,000. A multiple of what we needed. My fatherin-law was just calling to see if he could offer us the money to close the deal. Faith is a verb. I’ll never forget seeing Tom fall to his knees, the tears spilling from his eyes, as his Father in heaven— through his father on earth—lifted the burden and replaced it with faith. My husband has never been the same. That day, faith became a verb for him too. So, what is faith to you? Is it a noun? An inordinate, intangible thing? Or is it freedom? Is it an experience? Is it proof of God? Faith requires sacrifice. We must give over the glory, but it’s an exchange; we don’t have to carry the weight. James, Peter, and others tell us to consider it pure joy when we face trials in this life. Trials force us to put our faith into action. And faith is the revelation of a relationship with a good God. // ~ until next month, Wendy

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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The Wurdeman Adoption Story

Remarkable Joy words by: SABRINA SCHLABACH

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I'M SURE EACH OF US has met someone, whether it’s a stranger or a treasured friend, whose smile radiates with joy. It’s a contagious smile, full of light and devoid of any judgement. We can’t help but smile in return. In that moment, the lighthearted feeling of pure delight brings an unmistakable peace amid all the other thoughts clamoring for our attention. Those are the kinds of moments, and people, that we are drawn to and cherish. For Brice and Amanda Wurdeman, they experienced that remarkable joy when their youngest son Rusk was born. While all of their children are special and bring joy to the family, Rusk has the distinction of being born with Down syndrome. “We didn’t really know anything about caring for a child with special needs, but what people say is true—they really do bring an extra joy,” shared Amanda. This also spurred something in Brice’s heart, and he was ready to adopt.

Children have always been a part of Brice and Amanda’s life. They spent 15 years in the mission field growing hearts for Jesus and growing their family. In Haiti they lived near orphanages, in St. Vincent they assisted with a preschool, and they have often cared for the children extended beyond their four walls. All throughout her life, from a very young age, Amanda was interested in adoption, however Brice did not feel that same call. So, Amanda remained content in ministering to her children and all the kids she encountered. In April 2020, Rusk was born with Down syndrome. Together the family began learning how to care for a child with special needs, and as they did so, they discovered just how precious and full of joy Rusk is. Even though the Wurdemans had worked with children and orphanages, Amanda shared, “I’m so sad to say that we avoided and ignored those kids that had special needs, just like everyone else. We didn’t know how to ‘handle those kids.’ Once Rusk was born, he really changed our hearts.” For Amanda, having six children and not getting any younger, it had settled in her heart that they were done having kids; it was time to close that chapter. However, Brice’s heart began stirring and he told

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Amanda, “We should adopt.” After the initial surprise of finally hearing those words, she was all in. Amanda shared that they didn’t choose to adopt so that Rusk could have a “buddy,” it was because they saw the need out there and knew the joy that children with Down syndrome bring. “There’s other kids that need a family and we know how to do this,” she said. Throughout their missionary service, the Wurdemans had learned to pray: God, whatever Your will is for us, we want to be there. “But this time we prayed very specifically. We asked God that if there’s a little boy with Down syndrome for us, to please show us,” said Amanda. For several months, they were actively reaching out to NDSAN (National Down syndrome Adoption Network) and the countries they served in, seeking that child. This was not an easy road, and quite frustrating—to the point that they thought perhaps this is not what God had for them. Foster care told them they had too many kids and weren’t a good fit. NDSAN said the chances of being picked were slim because of their age and six kids. Haiti had such a long wait that they hesitated to go that route; and the woman from the orphanage in St. Vincent told them it was never going to happen. Had they misheard God? Was their desire to adopt never going to be realized? In May 2021, having just moved back to the U.S., the woman from St. Vincent reached out to Amanda. She wrote a letter saying that she had the perfect little boy for them; he had Down syndrome and was only one week younger than Rusk! This was exciting news, and they began picturing their little Caribbean boy. What Brice and Amanda

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didn’t know was that this woman worked with orphanages from several countries, and their little boy was actually from Serbia. The Wurdemans, after seeing a picture of a cute, healthy, round-cheeked boy—and praying—quickly said yes to Sutter. The adoption process in Serbia is a little different than in the States: First a child is matched, and then the home study process begins. Now that Brice and Amanda said yes, they had to submit a letter to the Serbian government about their family and their desire to adopt Sutter. Serbia said yes and the long paperwork task began. “We initially received two videos, five pictures, and some doctor’s notes,” stated Amanda. “Then we got nothing—for 13 months.” It was a difficult waiting period, but they were committed to Sutter. It helped that Amanda was able to connect with a group of women who had also adopted from Serbia. “It’s a very small group since Serbia only allows 4-6 adoptions per year [to outside countries],” she said, “but they were able to give tips and advice on how everything worked.” They learned that only one family can travel at a time, it would be a three-week trip requiring both Brice and Amanda, and that Serbia shuts down during the summer. Which meant it was unlikely that they would be allowed immediate entry—even after months of waiting. Our God, however, is not limited by worldly restrictions. He opened the doors for the Wurdemans to travel to Serbia in July. Amanda was excited to meet Sutter and talk to the orphanage, to find out how they cared for him. What she found was not at all what was expected. After Sutter had been matched with them, he moved from the baby floor to

the older children’s floor. In that time, he basically reverted to an unhealthy newborn. Sutter was unable to hold up his head, he laid in his crib all day, and only got a few syringes of pureed food. Sutter only weighed 17 pounds at the age of 2. (Amanda was just glad they got him when they did, as there were much older children laying nearby that weighed about the same as Sutter.) As the Wurdemans prepared for the adoption finalization, the orphanage disclosed that Sutter had epilepsy. This resulted in him receiving medication which heavily sedated him. “He could barely wake up when we were there,” Amanda said. “They told me that it was normal, but we thought ‘no, this is not how a two-year-old should be.’ Something was wrong.” The Wurdemans knew that they wouldn’t be walking into a perfect situation with over 200 children in the orphanage, but it was worse than they had expected. Brice and Amanda visited Sutter at the orphanage for one week, then they spent two weeks getting to know each other while waiting on paperwork and going to doctor’s appointments. The plane ride home brought its own challenges. “Sutter didn’t like to be touched. He wasn’t used to it,” shared Amanda. “So, we laid him on the seat between us to try and keep him calm, all while others were shouting at us in Serbian to pick up our kid.” And changing his diaper has been a trial, too. He just screams, making Amanda fear what had been done to him. “The mom’s group told me that was normal. At the orphanage they strip off the diaper and spray them down with cold water,” she said. Naturally, that is a traumatic experience.

In the few months since they’ve been home, they took Sutter to several different doctors and specialists to find out exactly what he needs. They’ve been adjusting his medication, and since July, he’s begun to improve. The doctors told them to treat him like a newborn. Take it one step at a time and surround him with love. Sutter can now hold his head up, is beginning to eat more food, goes to speech, occupational, and physical therapy (along with Rusk), and enjoys interacting with his family. The Wurdemans pray that more people’s hearts would be opened to adoption. Amanda shared that they felt called to adopt and trusted that God would provide—so much so, that they didn’t really look into the cost of adoption. They were astounded that it was nearly $42,000. “But there are so many grants available, and God absolutely did provide. Don’t let the cost of adoption scare you off. If God calls you to it, He’ll provide for it.” Every twinkly eyed smile that warms our hearts with joy far outweighs the cost. //

If you'd like to support the Wurdeman Family, you can send a donation to:

Room to Bloom Foundation P.O. Box 201, Winesburg, OH 44690 Be sure to write "Wurdeman Family" in the memo line.

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WORDS BY:

Nic Stoltzfus

A Story of Deliverance

Faith

IT WAS A COLD JANUARY MORNING in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, and twelve-year-old Katie was glad to be inside, where it was nice and warm. She was looking out the window at the Sight & Sound Theatres’ Entertainment Centre across the road. Grandpa Glenn and Grandma Shirley had started the company many years ago before she was born, and she had lots of fun memories of the place. She acted in the shows and, when it was done, quickly changed out of her costume and into her regular clothes and ran the concessions or cleaned the bathrooms with her cousins, and then quickly changed back into her costume again for a second performance. It was great fun! As she looked at the theater, she noticed a curl of smoke spiraling upward out of the theatre. Katie heard the wail of the sirens, now growing louder. And then she saw the firetrucks rushing up the hill on Hartman Bridge Road, rushing towards the Entertainment Centre.

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Having Faith in God “Daddy, there’s a fire in the auditorium. I don’t really think it’s that bad… but you might want to stick around until we get back to you.” Glenn Eshelman knew immediately what his daughter Kim was talking about on the phone. There was a construction crew doing some routine maintenance work. Maybe something happened? Tragically, sparks from a welder’s flame grew into a raging fire that engulfed all but two buildings. Thankfully, all 200 employees and the entirety of the construction crew made it out alive, but four people were rushed to Lancaster General Hospital for treatment of smoke inhalation. Late that evening, Glenn sat with his wife Shirley, thinking about all that had been lost. Sight & Sound was his calling from God—but now it was gone, all gone. What would he do next? Shirley turned to her Glenn and said, “Do you want to come back again? Do you know what this is really going to mean to come back again? This is a high calling that God has put on our lives many many years ago.” And Glenn thought back to where it all began.

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Growing up on a dairy farm in Lancaster County, Glenn saw the beauty of God’s creation surrounding him, and he desired to preserve that in artistic form. Already at 5 or 6, he was sketching farm scenes with a pencil and paper. As he got older, he started painting bucolic scenes of Lancaster countryside. Later, he got a camera to reference the scenes. After he married Shirley, he sold his pictures out of the back of his pickup truck. One day, a lady from his church asked him to do a slideshow presentation of his photos for the congregation.

"Glenn displayed the photos up on the screen using a slide projector, used a turntable for musical underscore, and narrated it all using a microphone."

"...in 1976, they opened their first venue in Lancaster County: the Living Waters Theatre. Over the next decade, Glenn added more and more elements to the production." Glenn displayed the photos on the screen using a slide projector, used a turntable for musical underscore, and narrated it all using a microphone. The audience at Glenn’s church was wowed by his presentation. This multimedia presentation was cutting-edge technology for the ‘60s, and it was a hit. Glenn and Shirley took their show on the road and traveled all over the United States, venturing as far as Colorado. But they wanted to build a home base for their productions, so in 1976, they opened their first venue in Lancaster County: the Living Waters Theatre. Over the next decade, Glenn added more and more elements to the production. “In order to kick this up a bit, I started to incorporate live elements along with the multimedia, and it grew into an all-live studio theatre production.”

In 1987, Eshelman Studio Productions did their first full-length Biblical production Behold the Lamb. This was the precursor to today’s Sight & Sound live theater productions. Because of their popularity, Sight & Sound outgrew this theater and opened an expanded Entertainment Centre in 1991. The Centre—located on Hartman Bridge Road/896, just north of the town of Strasburg—had an 80-foot screen, 24 computerized projectors, and 32 dancing fountains. And only seven years later, it was all gone. The headlines on the local paper the next morning read “Blaze damage at $15 million: Sight & Sound theatre ruined.”

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Looking back, Shirley reflected, “When negative things come into our lives, it can either make us bitter or better…” For over thirty years, she had supported her husband’s dream, and she encouraged him to rebuild. Eighteen months after the fire, Sight & Sound’s Millennium Theatre was finished. The first production shown there was Noah, and audiences of up to 2,000 at a time were awed by the state-of-the-art production. Live animals walked past them two-by-two in the aisles, theatre-quality sound rumbled and crashed to depict the thunder of the flood, and audience members gasped as they “became part of the ark” when set pieces came together on the immersive 300-foot stage. Today, over a million people from all over the world travel to Lancaster County every year to watch Sight & Sound productions. It is Lancaster County’s most popular venue and is one of southeast Pennsylvania’s biggest tourist attractions.

Moses: An Epic Story of God's Deliverance On March 10, Moses will return to Sight & Sound theatre for a limited showing that ends in October. Sight & Sound is thrilled to welcome this epic production back to its stage. “There are things that are going to blow you away,” says Josh Enck, director for the 2014 premiere of Moses. “Our desire was to take Moses off the mountain, bring him into our level and actually be able to relate to him.” In Sight & Sound’s immersive show, we follow our unlikely hero Moses as he grows up in the palace of the Pharoah; journeys into the mountains where the Angel of the Lord asks him to lead his people out of Egypt; returns to Egypt to deliver the ten plagues for Pharaoh’s unwillingness to free the Hebrews; frees his people in a mass exodus out of Egypt through a parted Red Sea and into the Promised Land; and, finally, receives the Ten Commandants from the Lord on the top of Mount Sinai.

But this epic story—one of the largest shows Sight & Sound has ever done—begins with a quiet and intimate scene of a mother with her two children. The Egyptian Pharoah ordered all baby Hebrew boys to be killed, and Yocheved fears for her baby boy’s life. As her daughter watches on, Yocheved places her son in a basket along the banks of the Nile River. As the basket floats down the aisle, past the audience, Yocheved sings, “Into Your Hands,” praying that God would take mercy on her son and protect him.

"Our desire was to take Moses off the mountain, bring him into our level and actually be able to relate to him." This is one of the largest productions Sight & Sound has ever done.

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Lead writer Jeff Bender considers this moment to be the heart of the story. “Moses’ mother wades into the river at night holding a basket that she made with her own hands, puts her baby boy in it and then lets it go… it’s the heart of the story because every character after that is defined by that moment. Are they able to let go of their own dreams, desires, things that they want and let God have His way in their life?” //

Sight & Sound Theatres invites you to experience one of the Bible’s most epic stories as MOSES comes to life with massive sets, special effects, and live animals in this original stage production. To purchase tickets for the 2023 production of Moses, visit www.sight-sound.com or call 1-800-377-1277. Moses ends in October, and tickets sell out fast, so reserve your tickets today for Moses’ epic return to the stage.

Sight & Sound – Lancaster, PA 300 Hartman Bridge Road Ronks, PA 17572

Sight & Sound – Branson, MO 1001 Shepherd of the Hills Expy Branson, MO 65616 www.sight-sound.com • 1-800-377-1277

Nic Stoltzfus is the editorial manager at Plain Values magazine. He and his wife Jen live in Reading, Pennsylvania, with their three crazy cats and rescue dog, Paul. They hope to have children soon! Nic loves volunteering in his community—he is teaching Sunday school next spring, is involved with the Schuylkill River Passenger Rail Authority’s plan to bring back passenger rail to Berks County, and he serves as secretary of the Nicholas Stoltzfus Homestead Preservation Committee. He is currently working on a novel about the immigrant Stoltzfus family.

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