Big Decisions (31 page)

Authors: Linda Byler

BOOK: Big Decisions

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T
HE YEARS PASSED, MUCH
as time passes for any family. The day came when Lizzie had her fortieth birthday, which made her feel very old. In fact, the thought of being halfway through her years here on earth was quite alarming. Didn’t most people die between 70 and 90 years of age? She had better do some very serious thinking, that was all there was to it.

Was she prepared to die anytime soon? Didn’t people say it was all downhill after 40? Her side often hurt a lot; in fact, quite often and severely, now that she thought about it. She was at the age where people got cancer or pneumonia or arthritis and became quite sick and died.

She didn’t know exactly how one went about preparing to die. Just walk into the living room, sit down on a chair, look up at the ceiling, and ponder all your sins, she supposed. But when she did that, she felt so hopeless, the amount of sins that piled up.

Her worst sins, she felt quite sure, were her lack of patience, her love of beautiful things, and wanting everything perfect all the time. She yelled at the children, six in total now. She also talked about people behind their backs. Honestly, Lizzie thought, she was hopeless, she really was.

She had often decided to stop saying anything negative about a person, ever, but it had only lasted for a day, maybe less, before she started gossiping again. The same thing happened when it came to yelling at her children, although, she reasoned, that was getting better as she became older, so she didn’t really know how serious that was in God’s eyes.

So, as hopeless as it all seemed, this trying to be good enough to get to heaven on your own, fortunately there was grace. She did believe Jesus died on the cross, shedding his blood for everybody. That was the only hope of salvation, the only boost to Lizzie’s confidence when she thought about dying. It was tremendously reassuring.

So turning 40 years old increased her faith in Jesus’ power of salvation. She grasped more fully the futility of trying to be perfect so God would like you, as she had so often tried in her younger years. She guessed God knew her nature. After all, hadn’t he given it to her? He would mold her and shape her the way he saw that was best.

That was comforting but often hard to grasp, although Mam insisted that was how it was. Mam knew a lot about the Bible because, for as long as Lizzie could remember, she read it every morning. Lizzie could never get into the habit of reading her Bible every day. Sometimes reading your Bible was boring, and you just read it to ease your conscience because you knew it was a good thing. Sometimes when you sat down to read it, instantly pressing thoughts or worries crowded in, and you were reading but not even comprehending one tiny little thing. Lizzie supposed that was the devil trying to keep you from doing something that was right and good.

That spring, on the third day of April when Andy was not quite 16 years old, Christopher James was born. He was a big boy, weighing almost 10 pounds, with large wide-set eyes like Stephen’s.

Lizzie was still, at the age of 40, as happy and appreciative of Mary Swarey, the midwife, as she ever had been. Mary’s sister, Barbara, the other midwife, had married a widower from another community and went to live with him and his family. Mary’s daughters had come to help her, which was much the same as having Barbara there.

Stephen wanted to name his little son Neil. Lizzie thought she had never heard of such a dull name as Neil, but she didn’t make too many arguments against it, not wanting to hurt his feelings. Stephen was so proud of his new son. As it was, they soon agreed on Christopher as his name, but then, when they returned home, Laura was a bit miffed because she wanted that name for her own son someday. She was 17 years old now, and, of course, was thinking about these things, although Lizzie thought that was a bit dense. What if she chose not to get married until she was 24 or more?

And so Christopher, a strapping little boy, joined the family. Andy was thrilled to have a brother, although it hardly seemed as if he was a real honest-to-goodness brother with the age difference. When Andy held Christopher he seemed a bit unsure of himself, uncomfortable even, and was glad to hand him over to one of his eager sisters who were much happier holding a baby.

“Babies just aren’t my thing,” he admitted ruefully and went on his way.

Lizzie felt as if seven children was the right amount. Her quiver was full, as the Bible said. Stephen was more than thrilled to have another son, a small boy to tag around with him when he was actually old enough to have a grandson.

And wasn’t life like that? Lizzie mused. As you aged, you naturally became mellower, more patient, not as quick to lose your temper when things went wrong. If you thought about it, the youngest person in the family profited by having parents who were more willing to accept the ways of a child. Before, when she was younger, she hadn’t quite realized that a young child is exactly that, a little person who is not perfect. She had expected perfection from her older children, even when it seemed to be a losing proposition.

So she had teenagers, school-aged children, and a baby. Her daughter, Emily, was six years old and would be attending school in the fall, and here was Lizzie, 40 years old with an infant to care for and no little ones to run for a diaper or a pacifier.

Laura was a schoolteacher now at the new school the community had built on Stephen’s parents’ land along the winding country road that passed in front of the big house. Stephen had been dead set against Laura teaching school, saying she would never make a teacher with her lack of self-confidence. He reminded Lizzie about the fact that Laura couldn’t say a poem at the Christmas program in school without crying. How in the world did Lizzie expect her to teach school?

Lizzie insisted that Laura was quite capable. Didn’t she have the same Mennonite teacher for all eight years of school? She was taught well, consistently having been given work that challenged her. Of course, she could teach school.

And Laura did. She taught school for eight years after that and enjoyed her time in school immensely. Andy went to work on Stephen’s construction crew. Lizzie and Stephen’s daughter, Becky, taught school for two years, then worked for a landscaper after that. Trials and troubles, laughter and tears came and went in the big house. Life was much the same for Stephen, Lizzie, and the children as it was for everyone else.

The wooden rockers on the front porch were filled with friends, neighbors, Lizzie and the girls, and sometimes Otis, the big black Labrador Retriever. Crocks and other planters filled with impatiens and geraniums lined the porch, the sun rose and set, each day bringing new challenges and inspiration.

As Lizzie grew older, she often sat on the porch to unwind. Every morning in good weather she drank her coffee on the rocker that faced west, thinking about things and musing about life in general. That porch corner was her mainstay, her sanctuary before starting the day.

Sometimes Stephen joined her, which reminded Lizzie that they were getting older. Hopefully, they would be able to live the remainder of their years growing old together, sitting on these very same porch rockers, finding greater portions of peace as they aged. Wasn’t that what life was all about, learning to love more fully, becoming a person who quite naturally became more loving and closer to God?

Things like open stairways and neck reins on horses’ harnesses and porch railings and everything Lizzie had cared so intensely about no longer held quite the significance they had in the moment. That was just how life was.

She was even making peace with her weight, that ever-present source of consternation and serious frustration. How could a person weigh so much and feel so skinny and hungry? It was one of the biggest mysteries of life. It wasn’t that she sat down and ate a whole package of Oreo cookies or anything like that. She tried to eat healthfully and responsibly. But she couldn’t really help it if she wasn’t quite full after having eaten a sandwich and ended up making part of another one and eating that, too.

Food was such a comfort, such a cozy thing to have when worries assailed you. All you had to do was make a toasted cheese sandwich with plenty of butter, the Velveeta cheese dripping off your fingers as you ate it, and the world instantly became a better place. But if you weighed a lot, then eventually you’d just have to accept that you were fat. Lizzie was not an accomplished dieter. She could cut way back on her food intake, lose five pounds with the best of them, eat a piece of cake, and regain the entire five pounds in no time flat.

She faced a losing proposition from the start, that’s all there was to it. Mam and Dat Glick had both been heavy in their early years, and large uncles and aunts abounded everywhere on Lizzie’s family tree. Right there you had it, and she didn’t care what anyone said. If your ancestors had a weight problem, nine times out of 10, so would you. That was the way it was. So to try and be thin when you knew it meant that you’d never enjoy the foods you loved was far too depressing, and anyway, what did it matter?

Stephen loved her the way she was, which was a huge blessing right there. She would absolutely hate to be married to someone who watched every bite she put in her mouth, raising his eyebrows and sniffing, the way men do when they don’t approve of someone.

Stephen never made her feel unattractive, although she knew full well she often was. Especially when she wore a
dichly
, that small triangular piece of handkerchief, to do work around the outside. When Lizzie wore that, her whole ears were exposed, and not just part of them as they were when she wore a covering.

Ears continued to grow as long as you live. So did your nose. But especially ears, and Lizzie’s were not small. In fact, her earlobes were rather long and fat, which that made her feel very homely. But that was all right. Stephen didn’t think she was homely, but Lizzie knew her girls thought so, the way they tried to help her pin her
dichly
on just so, sniffing a bit and trying not to laugh.

That was the thing about having teenage girls. They certainly kept Lizzie humble, or tried to. But she didn’t go down easily. She was like a balloon that is squeezed, but just keeps popping up some other place because it still has air!

Lizzie supposed that’s just how it was for everyone with daughters. They just kept on correcting you all the time. Even the way you pronounced words. She had always been proud of the fact that she could pronounce words correctly. She had been very good at vocabulary in school, read books all her life, and, actually, always thought of herself as fairly intelligent. Until Laura grew up. Then it was one correction after another, and Lizzie lived for the day when she could correct Laura about how she pronounced a word. It was all in good humor, and they didn’t actually fight about it. They just let each other know when the other said a word and it didn’t sound quite right.

And so, Lizzie had large ears, was overweight, and seldom pronounced all her words correctly, according to Laura, who really didn’t know everything. Lizzie sincerely hoped she would always remember to laugh at herself, because life is so much easier if you didn’t get too dead serious about trivial things.

That’s what caused big bad feelings, she decided, and so she hoped to enjoy the rest of her journey of life with a good sense of humor about most things and a smile on her face. Anything else was of the devil, Mam would say. And, whether Lizzie admitted it or not, even at age 40, she knew that what Mam said still counted.

Dat was nearly a complete victim of multiple sclerosis now, spending his days in a hospital bed by the low window where they wheeled him each morning. He was able to watch the birds at the bird feeder, the traffic on the road, or whatever caught his attention. His patience was a constant reminder of the resilience of the human spirit and gave Lizzie courage to face the future. You just did what you had to do, she had learned. Some people said that was God-given strength once life got really serious, and she supposed they were right.

Dat was amazing, the way he spent his days in bed, often miserable but seldom complaining, waiting for the hour when angels would come to take him home.

And so, with the love of family, especially from Stephen and her children, Lizzie would enjoy the remainder of her life with a smile on her face, large ears and all.

The Recipes

Lizzie’s Favorite Recipes

Chocolate Cake

Cinnamon Rolls

Broccoli Cauliflower Soup

Potato Chowder

Farmer’s Market Tomato Casserole

Barbecued Meatballs

Spaghetti Sauce

Bread and Butter Pickles

White Bread

Chocolate Cake