A Return to the Bible: How Long Has It Been?
At the beginning of January, many people make new promises to themselves to do better. I must confess that my Bible reading had fallen by the wayside. How long had it been since I read through the complete Bible, and what was I missing?
I don’t know if I can get through it all this year but I am trying to read a chapter each day. If one counts the total number of chapters in the Bible (some very short, some quite long), that makes a total of 1189 chapters so if I read one a day, it will take me somewhat more than three years to complete, which is doable. If I read several short short chapters a day, it might take less than three years. The shortest chapter in the Bible of course is Psalm 117, only two verses long. Obidiah, has only 21 verses. And I could cite more.
In one very small way, I am not too embarrassed to admit my hiatus in regular Bible reading the last number of years (I do not know and don’t really want to tell you how long it has been). I have read the Bible, yes, when I’m down or in the mood or dealing with grief or illness of friends or family. And there have been assignments or projects, particularly when I’ve read devotionals (Rejoice! Magazine, which I also write for), and study diligently when I have an assignment.
But since I’ve sat down and read a chapter a day since the beginning of January, I am enjoying it far more than I ever remembered. Genesis has stirred me and reminded me that even though I know there are more wars and rumors of war in the Bible than I will want to go through, and more begats etc. than I will want to read, the Bible is an amazing collection of history, of rights and wrongs, stories that have been buried in my long long ago memory.
I never went to seminary (but thought about it awhile), but I must give one of my high school teachers the birth of my true following of the Bible. His name was Darrel Hostetler and I just learned that he died in January of 2024—somehow I missed that news. His wife, Marian, is still living. They went to the same church I did for 17 years until we moved away. But he also was a robust musician, and loved leading music at Bethany Christian High School in Goshen Ind. I was intrigued by his obituary stating that “in his later years, Darrel worked as a CNA (Certified Nursing Assistant), drove taxi and medical transportation.” The Hostetlers lost one child which was devastating to me and my high school junior classmates, most of whom attended the service for little Alan.
But Darrel’s class my junior year studying the book of Genesis and later the book of Mark have stayed with me through these many years. I still have notes and tests that help me remember what I learned. Darrel spoke to those of us who were juniors about our futures—and how important it was to make wise choices for our mates, and how to deal with relationships.
I’m moved how a teacher’s love and studying in a Christian high school—how important that was to my life in the future. I’m so thankful that Mom and Dad paid for those years (a pittance in today’s dollars) but more than that, the love and dedication and beliefs they shared were so meaningful for my life. Now and in the future. Thank you God and thank you Mom and Dad!
Now, back to reading Genesis! And many more books of the Bible.
***
If you like reading online, try “Bible Gateway,” especially if you want to compare versions and interpretations and find verses that you want to remember: BibleGateway.com: A searchable online Bible in over 150 versions and 50 languages.
Who was a special teacher for you at church or school, or your friends and neighbors?
What advice do you give me for getting back into regular Bible reading?
Today, I think I will paint, lest I fall.
We had a 12-step set of stairs going into our basement and a couple years ago, I painted a white strip on the last step—which helped tremendously if it was darkish, (to not miss that last step and fall down). Very important for us oldies in our 70’s.
But there was a step toward the bottom which always challenged me, if, again, it was darkish outside and I hadn’t yet reached the light switch to light the way. My husband suggested we add white paint strips to the rest of the steps. Today I painted strips on those steps too, and I’m oh so happy. I hope it is at least 50% better than the steps were, and I hope both the young and the old will pay attention and not skip or fall on those steps.
I include the young because when the grandchildren come to our house, we have some play area in the basement (and this past Christmas dinner included a table downstairs for—in this case, all boys—including visiting cousins). And they tend to scamper down the steps without worrying about falling. Unfortunately, our grandsons also are apt to break arms and body parts as they play basketball, football, soccer, or just plain run, and some body parts are not quite developed yet in their bone strength. So it is not only the older ones of us who have to worry about falling. Eh?
I enjoyed my rather peaceful painting of the steps this morning, hoping that it would help both my husband and me—and visitors too, keep from injury. No guarantees, of course.
Above is my painting effort.
And here were the boys:
Liberating Lomie: Memoir of an Amish Childhood
I recently purchased a book at a local store that was harder to read than I expected. Saloma Miller Furlong has written her third book, Liberating Lomie: Memoir of an Amish Childhood.
Saloma writes very well, but sometimes I didn’t want to go on.
Her other books include Why I Left the Amish—a Memoir, and Bonnet Strings—an Amish Woman’s Ties to Two Worlds (published by Herald Press, where I worked for awhile). Her story had been featured in two PBS American Experience films, “The Amish” and “The Amish: Shunned.” I have also talked to her at a conference and perhaps another meeting here or there.
I will let the details to those who decide to get or read the book, but for sure the amount of beatings and whippings and bloody punishments mentioned throughout the book were difficult to read through. Saloma herself was no quiet kid who allowed such things to just happen. She fought back and succumbed with resignation to the treatments from her mother, her father who certainly was mentally ill, her brothers and even her sisters. I would not have wanted to ever live the life she experienced as a child. Just one example: when Saloma did not behave the way her mother wanted her to respond, at one point the mother put chicken poop in a rag and pushed it into Saloma’s mouth. The taste stayed with her for days.
When she was just 11 years old, an older brother began to ask her questions about having babies, and later she, under pressure, simply responded to her brother “What do you want me to do.”
I was left cold and sick. You can read more in the book.
But I was also left so very thankful that nothing like that ever happened to me, and so grateful for a loving father and mother and siblings who—while we argued and teased and occasionally threw tantrums (maybe?) and cry, and felt unloved at times, it was nothing compared to what Saloma went through for over 20 years, and then some. I don’t remember ever getting a spanking. Our family had its difficult times and yes, did wrong things—but nothing, NOTHING like Saloma’s horrible existence as a child and youthful girl.
I won’t go into more details here but if you want what I feel is a genuine inside look at what some families go through—Amish or not—check out Saloma’s book.
Saloma does not leave out the good times, closeness to her mother sometimes, and hopes she had as a child, but if you know anyone who is being mistreated by family, friends, or enemies, please help them reach out for help.
As the author says in the opening pages of the book “If you have experienced or are experiencing abuse, know that you are not alone. May you find courage to reach out for help from someone who cares. Makes sure abuse does not get transmitted to the next generation.”
If you are interested in more information related to her life today, check out her blog here: Biography – Saloma Miller Furlong
A New Look at Grocery Stores
I know, a weird subject maybe, but since I’m in my 70’s and experienced a year living in Eastern Kentucky, a photo caught my eye recently.
I was just 18 when I went to live in Kentucky. I am now a little amazed that my parents were enthused and excited for me to take a year of voluntary service through our Mennonite churches program which sent young people like myself to areas in need of volunteers. In fact, I remember Daddy often saying he hoped one of us kids would do voluntary service, similar to what he did during WW2.
This morning, a photo online showing an example of grocery stores in the years after WW1 and 2, suddenly sent my memory to the store in the community where I served. It looked much like this (I don’t remember seeing a row of brooms like this) but the owner or a helper stood in back of a long counter and fetched items on shelves that you wanted. This was 1969. There was an old fashioned cash register at the time if people had the cash, or if not, their purchases or total were written down in a book which allowed “credit” of sorts, until the person got their next paycheck or whatever. Not too different to today’s actual credit cards, of course, when you think about it.
I wrote a book (my first one!) about my experiences that year. Rachel’s store, as it was known, was the place “for everyone to stop at least once a day. Men stopped on their way to work at the strip mines, buy a pack of crackers and Vienna sausages for lunch, children dropped by after school for bubble gum, candy bars, potato chips, and ‘soda water’” as they called it. Women came for a gallon of milk or eggs during the day. On Saturdays, whole families would clamber on to the back of a pick up and go to the store to lay in supplies for a week or maybe more. Rachel’s son, Bert, a bachelor, tended the store and you could buy almost anything from a dusty can of deodorant to good mellow hoop cheese. My husband, today, loves buying cheese like that.
2: Your truly hurrying to a class for middle schoolers where I taught cooking and sewing. 3. The bounty of the garden in mid-summer, which fed six of us, plus neighbors who were happy to get veggies.
We are fortunate these days to live about two miles from a similar store, called Grandles, named for the owner, (now deceased) and now that I’m remembering things, it is quite a bit like the store we went to in Kentucky. The owner usually stands behind a counter and makes you sandwiches if you want to eat them there with friends, or sends home well-wrapped meats and cheeses. If I need something for a recipe, I can scoot down there and pick it up—a bit pricier, just like in Kentucky, but saved time and gas from running to our nearest town, about 8 miles away.
So yes, I’m old enough to live to remember these things and am so grateful for all that I learned in the hills of Kentucky but also from my own father-in-law here in Virginia and my own Dad. I learned how Stuart’s family butchered hogs and laid away the cracklings and “ponhoss” to fry, in addition to packaging pork chops and later, bacon and “country ham.”
But today I’ve very glad to just push my cart (or a bag) through the neat and clean aisles at our local Food Lion store (which originated over in Europe, I understand). In Brussels, Belgium, where our oldest daughter studied for a semester, we saw a “Food Lion” store, where three brothers started a store in the 1860’s and chose a lion as a symbol of strength. (While our Food Lion stores in Harrisonburg are not perfect, I think most of the clerks and managers at the store I go to would “know” me recognize me as a frequent customer. For what it’s worth!)
Mostly, I’m grateful for the foods that are so easy to buy, use, and enjoy—knowing that my credit card will take care of the money—at least once a month.
Yes, I’m getting old. And loving the gift of food that our God saw fit (read Genesis) for fruits, vegetables, meat (and eventually, bread and butter!) and cookies and cakes and casseroles and oh my!
This third day of 2026, I appreciate these wonderful blessings. Amen.
On Troublesome Creek: A True Story About… book by Melodie M. Davis (Still available (at times), on Thriftbooks.)
Did you ever spend a year or more in voluntary service–somewhere?
Local or in another state or country? While not for everyone, the experience can change persons for a lifetime. Right? And experiences are not all good. Just some personal thoughts here.
(Also, if you’re a little surprised at the shortness of my dress here, remember, I was 18-19 in 1969-70. Wearing warm tights.)
A New Look at What It was Really Like at the Birth of Christ
Christmas is of course a beautiful season for most of us, filled with twinkling lights around cities and homes, highways and hills. Perhaps especially here in the Shenandoah Valley where the hills and mountains come alive with gorgeous lights, colors, and sweet and even funny decorations everywhere. “Grinches” anyone?
I hope some of the rest of you saw Kevin Costner’s movie last week on TV which he named “The First Christmas” which was a two-hour special on ABC-TV. I’ve often enjoyed Costner’s movies or films but this was out of the ordinary. Frankly, I had no idea he considers himself a Christian, growing up in a home where they went to church, and even shares what Christmas meant to him in his family growing up. In the movie, Costner also has various religious professors and experts give us an inside look and some background about real life in the days of Christ’s birth. It was not the sweet “Away in the Manager” we sing regarding Jesus’ birth.
It gave me a new glimpse of life in the time of Herod in Judah—where life was raw and crude and deadly for so many. As Luke states early in the New Testament, “In the time of Herod, king of Judea” … we soon see a clearly deranged Herod in Costner’s film. This king was known to gruesomely kill members of his own family and things were not beautiful and serene in his palace.
A beautiful Bethlehem, we may think, should have been the home for a sweet peaceful life. But not with an aging, insane king who feared the collapse of his reign.
The visit of Gabriel to Mary’s simple and poor (likely) home shows both her surprise, her amazement, and finally her acceptance of her future. Newsweek (online) wrote of the production, “An historically accurate version of the nativity story” including a probably truer location of Joseph and Mary laboring in a cave when baby Jesus was born.
As a woman and mother after birthing our three daughters (several years apart of course!), I loved this fascinating look at how it likely was in the days of Mary, Elizabeth, Zechariah, and Joseph as they dealt with their new offspring. And life in Nazareth, and then the escape two years or so later with Herod fearing a baby so much he makes his men kill all the boy babies under a certain age. Oh my. How very sick and sad. The weeping and agony of the mothers and fathers hit our hearts in sorrowful ways.
—
So. Like in many other homes, we have numerous “just so” nativity scenes all around our house which I love, but now realize how far from reality they certainly must be.
However, don’t put the nativities away: they carry stories for all of us, don’t they? The little darling nativity my 13ish daughter gave me after eyeing it in a giftshop at her camp, and giving it to me because she didn’t have enough money to also buy one of her own; another tiny nativity reminds me of the year I bought those sweet little boxes with little manger scenes to give to my Sunday school children one year; (I wonder how many of those are kept!).
And finally one more to share (I could do more), the tiny nativity pieces my mother bought in Spain which she treasured for 20-30 years, and which I now have owned for another 20ish years. So precious, and dear! I think Mother Mary and Father Joseph don’t mind the glittery versions we have on our windowsills, hutch, piano, and bookshelves.
We have enough bad Herod-like stuff in our world today on the evening news and elsewhere. Let’s celebrate what we can and live the Christ-centered life God wants us to remember and share with others.
Celebrating Christmas with you!
Who Started It?
It was a conspiracy. Or something.
I had forgotten to buy butter in town, one of the things that should have been on my list, but you know how that goes. I was mad enough to drive to the nearest store out here in the country, to get some butter for our supper.
However, the really bad part was late in the afternoon. I was working in our office bedroom and slowly become aware I was hearing something licking or slobbering out there in the living room.
Some background is needed here. Our cat, who has been with us four years now, hid in the basement for about 2-3 days when she first arrived. She was very shy. I can’t blame her, she had been attacked by some critter, and had to go to an animal emergency shelter a good 30 miles away. Eventually her owners decided they couldn’t afford all the pets/animals they kept if they hoped to build a house, so we said we’d try out Pumpkin. My husband had been looking for a cat—he’s truly a cat man. Our previous one had died maybe a year or so earlier.
Well. This Pumpkin now thinks it is her right to jump on our chairs to get to our “island” and clean up crumbs, and if possible, attack the butter—if we’ve been so dumb as to leave it uncovered. We have taken to spraying her with water to get her to jump back down. We’re just not into having cats ruin our food.
So, I’m blaming the cat for jumping up on the island today while I was in another room (hubby was gone), and then I noticed the unusual noise in the living room.
I was astounded. “Velvet!” I screamed. (She’s our dog.) And of course she pretended to be all sad and embarrassed (ha, ha) and wouldn’t look at me.
Don’t you love to shame a dog so that she or he turns her head aside, very sorrowfully and you make her just stand there while you pout and frown and maybe try to stare her out. (I have not yet been able to take a picture of her being very sorrowful.)
Well, a dog doesn’t have a long memory, except she knows when she’s been bad, and she just hopes you’ll get out of YOUR bad mood soon.
And of course I do.
While puzzling inside. What are we going to do? Keep the butter in the fridge maybe, or hide it in a cupboard? (We hate hard butter from the fridge.)
I have a feeling the cat in particular will find something else to indulge in. Like ice cream bowls that have been left sitting around, or cereal bowls, etc.
Pumpkin skedaddles to our bedroom (to get out of being in ‘the dog house’) and promptly starts cleaning herself, and then pretends to go into a deep sleep. Which she accomplishes pretty well. I do see her looking slightly exasperated at me when she hears me start up my vacuum.
Oh well.
They’re the only children we have at home anymore.
I throw Velvet a potato chip, and Pumpkin is now sleeping in her favorite place–in hubby’s chair of course, like she didn’t do anything wrong.
Bad kids they are. Sometimes.
Who owns our house, anyway?! Who owns yours?
Pet lovers? Or not so much? Allergic to them?
Do you keep your butter in the fridge after every meal??
Your thoughts and advice here!
Guest blog post by Susan Scott Estep
I haven’t written anything for a while until recently, after looking through some of my favorite books. I ran across a few of Maya Angelou’s writings and that’s where my title for this short story begins.
My take or interpretation of the title seems to blend with Maya’s.
The Cage is a means of control, whether it be an animal or human. The bird’s tiny but mighty voice sings for its freedom. It dreams of one day flying away to never return to its bondage.
I remember as a child, my maternal Grandmother had a caged pet parakeet. She loved the little birds and when one died, she would get another. The little parakeet sang its heartfelt melody with the more attention she gave it.
One day, Grandmother decided to let the little bird fly around the house to be out of its cage for a while. I watched as the bird lit on the curtains and flew around and into the kitchen area where its cage was.
Then suddently, the screen door flew open, and my cousin Charlie (about 9 years old) ran in. However, as he ran in, the parakeet flew out the open door.
My Grandmother screamed in terror as she watched her beloved pet fly away. For a brief moment it lit on a nearby tree, but as Grandmother got close enough to grab him, the bird burst into the air and disappeared, never to return.
Sometimes cages are self-imposed and sometimes they are forced. Whatever the case, cages are not good! It holds us down to realize who we are or who we could be.
We will sing our hearts out like the caged bird until the voice with us that has been stifled can be heard, felt, and understood.
***
Susan would love to hear from others who have ever felt like a “caged bird.”
***
Susan Scott Estep has been a long time friend, sending me frequent stories which were published in the Valley Living magazine I edited for a number of years; in 2022 she published her own book of stories and poems, titled “Dragonfly Lite Gently.” I assisted her on that book because she has limited eyesight in recent years. Earlier she worked as a geriatric and psychiatric social worker and enjoyed creating art. (Susan’s faithful dog for many years.)
Maya Angelou was a poet, essayist, and civil rights activist, born in 1928 and died in 2014. Angelou’s series of seven autobiographies focus on her childhood and early adult experiences. Her first, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings” brought her international recognition and acclaim. (from Wikipedia)
Blog post https://www.amazon.com/Place-Fold-Melodie-Miller-Davis/dp/B0FZ8WXG7R
I can still write in sentences—even though at my age the words in person don’t come as easily. I start a conversation and get tangled up in finding the right word, name or thing I was wanting to talk about. It’s embarrassing but I’m gratified I can still write (and talk, on good days)! And helpers are always at my doorstep: “Siri, what is the word for ….” And she usually scores it. Of course AI will give you pages of words and stories and ChatGPT can route whole trips for you if you want. (And I didn’t use AI or ChatGPT with this!)
But I digress. Over my working years, I was able to write a number of non-fiction books, partially because I worked for the Mennonite Media organization, and later Herald Press, a primarily Mennonite publisher.
My very first novel has been published and is sitting at Amazon for you to peruse and even buy! That wasn’t my main object (finding customers), but I’m so glad I persisted in my oldest daughter’s suggestion: Mom, why don’t you write what people like to read: fiction! She knew I had spent many years piecing together various non-fiction books—which was also a blast for me, sharing the experiences and ups and downs of the child-raising years.
More back info, probably more than you need. When she was an infant to 5-year-old, I didn’t have time to read fiction and if I did have a spare minute before hitting the hay, I would simply pick up a women’s magazine or sometimes newspaper or whatever—in addition to a daily devotional magazine or piece. That was all I had time or energy for.
When she was a 6-17 year old, I was buzzing her back and forth—some days—to her own activities and those of our two other daughters, you know?
But, who wouldn’t take up a challenge after they (the kids) have gone through high school and college and even ahhhhh have actual paying jobs, while I on the other hand am joyfully retired. Then I should/could/would take up her suggestion.
And in the end, had FUN doing so. She didn’t tell me what to write—she always had a book in her hand and even couldn’t find her way around town when she was finally able to drive – because she didn’t know where streets were because when she was riding with us, she would be lost in a book. Hmmm. Those days are over, and she and her husband bus, walk, and drive their three sons ages 7 – 12 to activities ranging (through the years) to soccer, basketball, football, cross country running, baseball and Tae-Kwon-Do or however you spell it. My two grandsons living in another state also have plenty of activities—many now revolving around Cub and Boy Scouts, church, and traveling adventures. And now we’re also blessed to have our youngest daughter and husband raising their girls, a 2 ½ year-old and a 2-month-old in the family. Sweet.
So. The novel I’ve written is about a wife and husband, married for five years, who are trying to figure out when they want to or should start a family. Tim, the husband is a busy and dedicated pastor; Monica, wife, is an accountant, hoping to finish her CPA degree at some point. But how does that work with a family? Especially since Tim is called away to visit members in hospitals and homes, and also organizes sermons, runs meetings, takes care of business at church, or organizes a funeral for a member. Monica loves orderly sequences for her work, cooking, housekeeping, watching over up their finances, and finding time for fun with friends and family. She worries about taking toddlers to the nursery at church while they scream at the top of their lungs while Tim tries to preach.
So family and friends tease them about when they are going to start a family and Tim especially doesn’t see the issues ahead, which stare Monica in the face. She will also be in charge whenever their dad has to run off to another meeting or emergency call.
That’s probably enough for now. You can check some of the reviews inside the book at http://www.amazon.com/dpASIN:BOFZ8WXG7R
and I hope it encourages you to take a look and maybe put it on your list for the Christmas season coming up. Or not. 😊 Thanks for reading this and my blog frequently.
P.S. My daughter helped me a great deal in getting this published (proofreading, etc.) and her name is in the front of the book, along with our other two daughters. I’m also indebted to my husband who has supported my efforts through the years. Such blessings, all!
Blog post
How Do You Feel About Authority?
At my church, we have small groups that meet several times a month (like many others do). It is certainly a helpful way to be more closely related to friends and folks from church.
Our group meets twice a month, and one of the things we do is choose a study book which often lasts a year or so. This past year, we’ve been enjoying—and learning from a book called The Gift of Years: Growing Older Gracefully, by Joan Chittister. She is an American Benedictine nun and has written numerous helpful books.
When I first looked at the chapter we were to study called “Authority,” I wondered, um, where is she going with this word? I’m not an authority, am I? I don’t really strive to be an authority.
But we all dug into this book offering new thinking, and I’ll capsulize it here. It gave me some new thoughts.
Okay, I’m no spring chicken but the opening quote from Cicero gave us pause: “Old age, especially an honored old age, has so great authority, that this is of more value than all the pleasure of youth.”
Well, I had to find out more about who Cicero actually was, rather than just someone to stump a Jeopardy contestant. Cicero was verifiably ancient—born 106 years before Christ and died in 7 BC. Before Christ. Wikipedia says he was a Roman statesman (politician??), lawyer, scholar, philosopher, a great orator, and writer!
So old age, he said, is better than our youthful days.
How, and what can aging mean for us?
We have a pick-up truck whose tires are aging, meaning that we better buy some new ones to keep the truck going. Most of us have equipment in our homes that is either failing or in need of repair. New stuff if what is needed, right?
Well, to an extent. But, with people, aging can be a special and delicious time of life.
As a mother of three daughters and now grandmother of five grandsons and two granddaughters (yay, finally, for the recent little girl arrivals to our family), I am thinking especially of how we adults and even oldsters can lead and teach and exert helpful authority. Not bossing around, but loving guidance and teaching of manners and love.
Chittister reminds us that it used to be in many societies all around the world, for those who were older, they were honored, respected, and in general, looked up to. Hmmm. Not seeing a lot of that although those of us who have been blessed with children and grands and great grands are—if they are taught well—can be grandparents who are looked up to. In ancient days, Chittister says “only the elderly were fit to rule.” I’m guessing that some were more fit and generous and helpful than others in their ruling. Be that as it may, as I get older, I can be happy that I can try to be a role model and helpful and loving.
My daughter was coaxing her daughter to apologize to her cousin after she hit him—not hard—but perhaps behavior observed or learned at her daycare. I don’t know. She pouted, didn’t want to apologize, perhaps didn’t know—although I know she’s been taught—what words to use. I said softly, just say “I’m sorry.” At last she quietly and quickly murmured “I’m sorry” and her oldest cousin responded nicely “thank you.” I wasn’t sure whether I should butt in, but I was so happy to hear her little “sorry.”
As older people, we do feel behind the times—can’t keep up with changes in technology, online or elsewhere. At least I do! I had to go without our computer for about two months this summer and when I finally got a working computer back again, I felt so out of it that I paid a guy I used to work with (who lives nearby) to come over and help me get started again with browsers and One Drive and Google photos etc.
We feel out of place and confused about many things—how SHORT do girls want their shorts to be, anyway?! Especially at football games, etc. We sigh and go on. Trends will change—nice long blue jeans and even long dresses and flowing skirts are also seen.
Chittister is now 86 and appears to be going strong as a theologian, author and speaker. She went to University of Notre Dame and Penn State University. She continues to be an influential person in social justice, peace and women’s issues, or so says Wikipedia. She says, “Clearly old age has a role to play in the development of the world around us. We do not live all these later years simply not to die. We live in order to make life better—both for ourselves and for others.”
She further points out that the calling to be comfortable and helpful in spreading wisdom doesn’t have a name in our current society. She mentions how “shamans” had roles as healers, religious leaders or counselors. Various religions have a role where those who are trying to help others and become even better persons as we age, is important. In such cultures there is “an understanding that in the older generations resides insight that is lacking to the younger ones,” says Chittister.
I like that idea, of trying to be better as we age. Retirement is for more than going to doctors (which is needed and important too, and understandably difficult as bones and diseases and muscles fade) and for long awaited vacations around the world. But we need to foster spiritual strength as elders.
Are we up to it? It gives us something to reach for in our older days.
It’s fall. October 7 now.
I have not made rolls or much of any yeast items for months, maybe even a year or two. I more often make instant-ish stuff, like sweet rolls out of a wrapped can of biscuits—which I douse with butter, brown sugar and cinnamon, and then after baking, top them with icing that I’ve mixed up with powdered sugar and cream. It worked for our family for a treat on Sunday mornings (when we used to be all home, five of us) and now after our Sunday morning yummies, my husband paces his share of the sweet rolls out for a quick breakfast treat the rest of the week, one day at a time.
Then I discovered I was totally out of bread in the freezer. Yikes, and I didn’t want to go to town or the little grocery 2 miles away. But luckily I had yeast and flour and shortening on hand.
So, I’m sharing an easy recipe if you enjoy making bread or rolls. This one comes from a well-known and top seller cookbook, Mennonite Country-Style Recipes & Kitchen Secrets, a collection by Esther H. Shank, and it received the Benjamin Franklin Award from Publishers Marketing Association back in 1987, with 100,000 copies in print at the point I received my copy. (Don’t know how many are in print now!) I’ve never tried this recipe, so I will let you know how they turn out.
I did make some delicious vegetable beef soup last night which will go great with these rolls, once I get them out of the oven!
Top-Notch Dinner Rolls
1 cup warm water
2 pks. dry yeast (2 tbsp.)
1 tbsp. sugar
Stir together until dissolved. Let set until foamy.
Then:
1 ½ cups hot water
½ cup shortening
½ cup sugar
2 ½ tsp. salt
Stir together until melted. Cool to lukewarm, and add to yeast mixture (or pour your yeast mixture into the water/shortening/sugar/salt mixture—is what I did.)
Then: Using approximately 10 cups sifted flour, or 8 cups unsifted, gradually add more flour, beating well. Then work in just enough more flour to make a soft but not sticky dough.
Grease the top of the dough, and then place in a greased bowl. Cover and let rise until double. Punch down and let rest 10 minutes, Shape into rolls and let rise until double again. Bake at 350 degrees about 25 minutes until lightly browned.
Yield: about 32 large rolls.
Ruby Petersheim
Esther Shenk is still living here in the Shenandoah Valley, as far as I know. She wrote a review for the cookbook I eventually put together (with others) in 2010, called Whatever Happened to Dinner.
Both books are available on Amazon.
Mennonite Country-Style Recipes – Herald Press
findingharmonyblog 