Old Order Mennonite Memoirs

The sound of breaking ice was loud under the steel tractor wheels on Tuesday morning as my husband and I went for an unusual excursion across the ice-encrusted, snowy fields. The bright sunbeams reflected off the snow and into our laughing eyes as we headed for the hills that were calling me. Unyielding ice covered everything on the ground and unlike the tractor wheels, our feet could not break through, much less take confident steps. Jagged ice pieces lay in the wake of the wheels as we headed for the top. When we sent some of the big pieces down the hillside, they clattered and rattled all the way down. It was a new and unusual sound, but sledding on that hill was nothing new for us. We knew which direction our sleds would go.

The rides were wild, too wild for Grandma and Grandpa. We plowed full speed into the corn stalk stubble far below before we came to a halt with shaky knees. Walking to the tractor track went much slower. If only the corn stubble wouldn't have been there, but then with more than three rides, the muscles in my arms might have been even more stiff in the following days.

Since that sunny morning with the unusual sounds, I've been thinking about other sounds in my week. The harmonious sound of hymns sung at the house of our friends...... the gentle sound of rain pattering on another fresh snow cover.......... the whispering sound of my rotary cutter rolling along edges of square patterns on scraps of fabric....... the roaring sound of the snowplow trying to make safe roads....... the purring sound of my sewing machine after another cleaning and oiling......... the steady rhythmic sound of milkers on the cows and the beep-beep sound, indicating take off time.

Soundless was the sun, however, shining on the icy twigs on Thursday morning. But the warmth from its beams caused the ice to lose its grip and fall with little unique clatters on the ice-encrusted snow. The rising temperatures made the ice and snow on the roofs drip reluctantly, slide slowly, hang lengthily.

Soundless were the seeds sown into soil by my daughter who biked in the sun to my little greenhouse. The fans whirred to cool down the heat of the bright sun.

The driveway alarm beeped to announce the arrival of my friend who took me on a round to buy and/or pick up things on my list. The mixer droned to mix the batter of a birthday cake and dough for fresh bread. My timer beeped to remind me to take them out of the oven when they were ready.

The next day my broom went whoosh over my floors and my spin mop spun speedily to aid me in my hurry to finish my weekly cleaning so we could take a birthday meal to our daughter and her family. Clip, clop went Rammy's hoofs with our load of treasures, gifts from God for our daughter, our gift from God, 33 years ago.

Another sound was the ring from the phone to tell our son he can hitch a ride in the van that's hired to attend the singing along Salemville Road on Saturday evening. Drip, drop went the rain again and trickled down the lane and down the hides of the cows as they went for their daily exercise.

The sound of hoof beats on Piney Creek Road came to my ears as we traveled to church to worship the God who generates powerful winds. My husband and I had just biked home from visiting our sister-in-law when the predicted high winds came pushing in. I hear it roaring now as I sit here, safe on the other side of the wall. Hearing wind comforts me because it's a sound only God can make. It tells me that God is the Ruler yet.

Oswald Chambers says, "If we are children of God, we have a tremendous treasure in nature and will realize that it is holy and sacred. We will see God reaching out to us in every wind that blows, every sunrise and sunset, every cloud in the sky, every flower that blooms and every leaf that fades."

But leaves aren't fading. They are growing, small and green, alive and well, in my little greenhouse. Like powerful winds, little seeds bursting into plants are a miracle created by God.