The use of that term is important. She and her husband do not refer to what she does as her “work” or her “job.” It is always her “ministry.” I heard such respect for her in his voice when he estimated how many babies she had delivered. “Over five hundred,” he said. Then he turned to her for affirmation. “Is that about right?” She quietly amended that she had delivered well over that number.

She is tired from helping a mother through a long labor the night before, and her legs ache. She has her feet up on a stool when she asks her husband if he will make her some mint tea. Mint tea is a favorite among the Amish, and most have a small harvest of mint from the plants they grow each summer.

Making tea at their house is a bit more complicated than popping a cup of water and a tea bag into a microwave. Water has to first be heated to boiling on a wood stove, then poured over loose mint leaves and finally strained into a clean cup. Her husband cheerfully brings each of us a mug of it.

I am a little taken aback by being waited on by an Amish man, but Naomi takes it as a matter-of-course and continues the conversation we were having about her ministry as a midwife and my ministry as a Christian writer. When her husband goes outside to feed the livestock, she takes the opportunity to discuss in some depth how blessed we are to have husbands who encourage us to do the work to which our Lord has called us. I tell her that my husband has prayed for my writing every day for over ten years. Her eyes sparkle. “My husband prays for me,too!” she says.

This gentle scenario came to mind recently when a non-Amish acquaintance asked if Amish women weren’t terribly badly treated and downtrodden by their men. I can not speak about every Amish household in the world, but one thing I know–I have seen no evidence of it in the various Old Order homes where I’ve stayed. What I’ve seen, instead, is a mutual respect that most women would envy.

]]> http://serenabmiller.com/an-amish-marriage/feed/ 0 http://serenabmiller.com/late-night-amish-phone-call/ http://serenabmiller.com/late-night-amish-phone-call/#comments Mon, 09 Jan 2012 12:36:48 +0000 Serena http://serenabmiller.com/?p=508 Continue reading →]]> It was nearly ten o’clock. My husband picked up the telephone, checked the caller ID and said, “It’s Naomi,” (not her real name.)

I’m not a big telephone talker, but there was a smile on my face as I reached for the telephone. Naomi has become one of my favorite people.

“Are you busy?” she asked in her soft, lyrical Pennsylvania Dutch accent.

Of course I was busy. I’m always busy. But never too busy to talk with a good friend, especially one who has taken the time to walk out to an unheated phone shanty in the middle of January!

I got caught up on her daughter’s troubled pregnancy and how the other Amish were bringing in food and helping with housework so the daughter could be on complete bed rest. Naomi described the pregnancy problem in some detail. She’s a midwife with forty years of experience and has dealt with troubled pregnancies before.

As we got caught up on each others lives, I marveled at the miles, (she lives in a different state) different customs and vastly different lives that lay between us–and yet how easily we have connected–even on the first day I met her. We discussed in some depth a friend of hers I had met who has two special needs children, and a less than ideal husband. I found out how Naomi’s twin grandbabies are doing. (they’re crawling now and such a handful!)

As we prepared to hang up–Naomi was growing cold even though she had dressed warmly–she asked if this had been a good time to call, or if it was too late. I assured her that it had been a terrific time to call.

Then she surprised me. “Good,” she said. “Because sometimes I just really need to talk with you.”

Me too, Naomi. Me too.

It is set in 1871 Michigan, the year of a terrible drought. My hero is a widowed dirt farmer with five children. My heroine is an immigrant girl from Sweden by the name of Ingrid. It is a story of survival and enduring love.

The sequel part comes in when the farmer is forced to seek work in one of the lumber camps and ends up in Robert Foster’s. The reader gets to see how Katie and Robert are doing, but the book isn’t ABOUT Katie and Robert. So–this is not technically a sequel. And it is not a series because each book is a stand-alone novel. Now that that’s all clear, I think I’ll go read the dictionary so I won’t make that sort of mistake again:-)

That’s why getting to write the sequel to Katie Calloway was so satisfying. I had never written a sequel before, and getting to revisit the lumber camp, was so much fun. (I’ll tell you right now–Jigger did NOT enjoy his sojourn cooking for the health institute in Battle Creek, Michigan!)

However, in The Measure of Katie Calloway, it is Delia–the old prostitute–that I miss the most. This surprised me, because she was a minor character and only showed up at the very beginning and the very end. But there is something about her resilience, especially in the last scene where it’s obvious that she’s been beat up and she confides to Robert that she has been praying for a way out. There is just something about that scene that haunts me even a full year after I wrote it. Therefore, it felt wonderful, in the book I just sent in, to give Delia a voice and a life. She’s turned into quite a lady, that Delia has!

I have to admit, I’m dying to know what readers think of this lumber camp story. Drop me a line if you get a chance! I read and answer every e-mail and love doing it.

Not all Amish families are alike. From what I have read, not all Amish families are emotionally healthy. But what I saw this past weekend was a family at peace with themselves, with their world, and with God. Not one cross word or look from the mother or father to make the children behave. Instead, they seemed to simply LIKE each other enormously. I think perhaps part of the reason the children get along so well together is the respect I see their parents showing in their attitude toward one another.

At one point, I asked the mother to help me with the Pennsylvania Dutch language I was trying to sprinkle throughout my latest book. I had the phrases and words that I had managed to glean printed out on a couple sheets of paper. She looked it over and made various suggestions–but she was stumped when I asked her to give me some terms of endearment that a man and woman might say to one another. It took quite a lot of explaining. Finally she understood. “Oh, you mean mushy words,” her voice was laced with a hint of contempt. “I do not want my husband saying mushy words at me. I want him showing his love by his actions.”

Interesting.

Frankly, I kind of like mushy words myself–but I have to admit–if more people backed up their mushy words with loving actions–there might be a whole lot more contentment in our Englisch world.

A young cousin is marrying a Sugarcreek boy. Some Old Order Amish friends have invited me to stay with them. They have seven children, and I’m not entirely sure how they will fit me in, but the mother said with a laugh, “If you can stand being around all of us, we’d love to have you.”  I told her I could not wait to see them all again! Now–all I need to do is go unearth a really good flashlight and make certain it has fresh batteries!

I’ll let you know how things go!

There were three families, about thirty people. Everyone had pitched in to bring food–I stopped on the way there and got a giant pail of ice cream, which was pretty much empty by the end of the meal. I watched fifteen children go through the food line and not one appeared to be a picky eater. They simply filled their plates and enjoyed their food.

We had hamburgers grilled over coals in a pit dug in the yard. Homemade bread from whole wheat that had been freshly ground before baking.  Baked beans, which the grandma brought over from the daadi haus.  Homemade noodles. Hand squeezed lemonade–about four gallons of it in a huge glass jar with a dipper–which the children loved. Some vegetables. Chocolate sheet cake.

The adults sat at a huge oak table, and the conversation ranged over various wild animals that used to be nearly extinct around Sugarcreek and are now making a come back. Animals like wild turkey and deer. The new groom–the one I wrote about in a previous post–was seated beside me and he told me that wild boar are coming back into Ohio.

After the meal, the men went into the living room to visit, and after the women finished clearing up the dinner dishes, they told me about how hard it is to take care of waist-long hair. We discussed reflexology, the study of foot massage and how the grandfather had used it to keep all his children well, and how all of them were fairly proficient in it. The hostess showed me her baking center with the flour grinder. Another woman told me about how she makes Teddy Bears for people out of keepsake materials–like wedding dresses or grandfather’s old hunting jacket. We discussed the homeschooling they are providing for their children. They teased me about needing to learn Dutch because “all the really good stories have to be told in Dutch.”

It was comfortable in that kitchen, just like so many tables I’ve sat around after the dishes are done. Conversations about things important to women. Food. Health. Grooming. Home businesses. I was dressed in jeans and a sweater. They were dressed in prayer kapps and dresses. Our light was kerosene lamps. When I went out to my car, my way was thoughtfully lit by tiki lamps–put there by the grandmother who knew I wouldn’t think to bring a flashlight.

I came to them, a stranger with a list of questions–which they politely answered–even though I now realize that some of those questions were rude.  I wrote a book that they feared would make them look–as one of them said–”weird.” When they saw that I had treated them and their culture with respect–they relaxed.

Being welcomed into their home now as a friend is an honor. I am in awe of the unexpected and undeserved gifts that God puts into my life. I am in awe of the blessing of friendship.

Wonderful book signing at the Gospel Bookstore in Sugarcreek Oct. 1. A major highlight was meeting Doyle Yoder, the professional photographer who took the pictures used on the cover of my book. For a glimpse of his beautiful photos of Amish country, check out his link on my site. My son, Jacob, caught these pictures of the Kiddie Parade that was going on during the annual Swiss Festival this weekend. Another highlight was spending time with Rhoda and Freeman–owners of the bookstore.

Although I took notes like mad at all the great classes–high points for me were getting to hear the great Janette Oke (Love Comes Softly) speak and applauding like crazy as my agent, Sandra Bishop, won the “Agent of the Year” award.

But the highest point of all was being inspired by one lovely African American mother who came to our multi-author book signing. She had her three daughters in tow, and all of them were buying books and talking to favorite authors. “That daughter over there is in law school,” the mother said. “And the middle one is planning on becoming an engineer.” “The youngest wants to be a writer. All three are straight-A students.” She held up a copy of my book she had just purchased. “There are over 400 Christian novels in our home. That is how I’m raising good girls in a rough world,” she said. “By giving them plenty of books written by Christian authors.”

And then she said the thing that I will carry forever in my heart. “Thank you for writing what you write.”