Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

community

What I really want when I envy the Amish

The first time I saw an Amish buggy in person, I nearly drove my car off the road.

I was newly married, working for a newspaper in central Illinois, on an assignment in a little town called Arthur, where there’s an Amish settlement. In those days, I stared more than is polite, and I asked a lot of really stupid questions. When I had to call an Amish business for a story about a fundraiser, I called the chamber of commerce director first and basically asked her how I was supposed to talk to the Amish.

Back then I wouldn’t have imagined living among them in the Amish tourist capital of the United States (Lancaster County, if you’re not aware). But I did imagine what life might be like for them. I remember driving by a house and watching an Amish woman play with her children in the front yard. (Although now that I think about it, it could have been an older sister instead of a mother, but who knows?) I envied the scene. I wanted nothing more than to stay at home with kids. (Mostly because journalism is a hard job made harder if you’re an introvert.)

Then I got my wish. We moved to Pennsylvania, my husband started seminary and I was a stay-at-home mom. In the years since then, I’ve given up thinking that the Amish live an ideal lifestyle, but I still find myself drawn to their ways at times.

PA farmland

But what is it I think I actually want?

Books have been written on the subject, and I hear people dream of giving it all up and living off the grid like they do, but I don’t think that would solve anything for me.

I like electricity. The threat of losing it for a day or longer throws me into a panic. I like refrigerated food and a washer and dryer to launder our clothes. I like indoor plumbing (I’m not sure all Amish have outhouses) and technology. I like my online life and the ability to stay in touch with family even though we live in another part of the country. I love the ability to travel and expand my view of the world. Do I overuse and overvalue those things? Undoubtedly. But I don’t think I’d want to live without them.  I don’t want to give up my clothes or conform to a way of thinking that might stifle my God-given gifts.

So, really, what do the Amish have that I desire?

For one, there’s an order to their lives. Washing on a certain day. Grocery shopping on another day. And a day dictated by the sun and the natural rhythms of life. I wonder how my life would be different if lights, television and the computer couldn’t keep me up long after the sun went down. In fact, people who were without power last week told a newspaper reporter that they went to bed early those nights.

My life is often disordered and harried, and I’m a slave to a schedule of my own making.

There is value in living an ordered life.

Related to that is rest.

The Amish work hard, yes, but they rest, especially on the Sabbath. No cooking, no cleaning. Sundays are for church or visiting. (This might be a good time to mention that I am not an expert on the Amish. These are observations based on living in this community and books I’ve read by authors I trust to get the details right. I may be wrong in some of these assumptions.)

I don’t get enough rest. Even on Sundays there is still cooking and cleaning to be done. I’m still too busy. I don’t plan rest into my week. And I’m worse for it.

Then, there’s community. They help each other out in times of trial. They take care of their family members in their old age. They take meals together. Cook together. Quilt together. No, they’re not perfect. They’re people who quarrel and envy and hurt each other, but they model a togetherness that is foreign to most of us.

Order.

Rest.

Community.

I could learn a lot from the Amish about these ways.

Just don’t expect to see me in Plain clothing anytime soon.

How I need to remember that change is gradual

I woke up feeling unwell in body and spirit. A challenging sermon on holiness at church yesterday and the onset of a cold that’s making its way through our family have left me drained before I’ve even started today. That, and the need to do EVERYTHING ALL AT ONCE IMMEDIATELY.

Tell me your Mondays are like this.

With piles of laundry mocking you as a failure.

With kitchen counters covered in dirty dishes singing “You’re no good, you’re no good, baby you’re no good.”

Back to school. Back to a sometimes routine. The first full week of a new year.

And I’m blowing it already.

—

While it’s true I no longer make resolutions, I still feel the need to make changes in my life every time the calendar turns another year. Maybe I’m not calling them resolutions, but I’m still taking the opportunity to change.

And there’s plenty of opportunity for change.

As the first of the year dawned, I pledged to myself (again, for the third time) that this would be the year I finish my novel.

Last year, I felt mostly bland about my writing. Frustrated. Discouraged. Sure that I’d never make anything of myself. I chipped away at the story, adding words here and there without regularity.

Give up. Give up. Give up. The voices told me lies, but I wanted to listen.

Nevermind that my husband switched jobs and we moved and our daughter started school. Transition upon transition.

And when I dared to look at how much writing I’d actually done, I was surprised to learn that in all of 2013, I added 20,000 words to my novel.

It felt small and like nothing when it was happening. But at the end, it had amounted to much more.

—

I tried on three outfits before church yesterday because I’m having a love-hate with my body. I have some clothes I’d like to wear, to rediscover, and they.don’t.fit. Curse them.

I had a plan for Christmas Eve, to wear this purple dress I love and got on sale and haven’t worn in two years. It looked awful, which in my mind means I feel like I look awful.

But Christmas is full of holidays and eating so I allowed myself the feast, knowing that there would be a season of less come January. On December 31, I started a new plan. I would get up early. I would exercise. I would intentionally eat healthier. Oatmeal instead of a bagel. More fruit. More salad. I love all those things but they take more time to prepare. More effort. And, of course, I have to have them in the house in the first place.

As of today, I’ve worked out four times in the last week, which is four times more than all of fall, I think.

Yet I feel like a failure because there are no results.

It’s only been a week.

Time. Discipline. It won’t happen overnight.

(And for the record, I’m not aiming for a weight or a size but a healthier lifestyle overall. The older I get the better care I want to take of myself so I can enjoy my kids and life as a whole.)

—

A few months ago while sorting through some old newspaper clippings of columns I’d written back in my mid-20s, I had the urge to wad them all up. Or burn them. Something destructive.

Because the girl who wrote those words has changed in ways I couldn’t have imagined. Some of it was her choice. Some of it wasn’t. But she’s different. I feel like that girl barely exists in my memory. I wanted to shake her. Or punch her in the face. And tell her that she had no idea what she was talking about.

Life wasn’t like she thought. Faith wasn’t what she thought.

It was like looking in a mirror and seeing a reflection of me 10 years ago. And I saw not only how I looked on the outside but what I thought on the inside.

The urge to destroy passed, and now I’m grateful for the look into the past.

Because change has happened. It has taken years. But the differences are obvious to me. Ten years seems like a long time, but with those clippings in my hands, I felt like no time had passed at all.

—

A week is not a worthwhile measure for change.

It is good to want to change. It is good to have a plan. It is good to pursue what is better and whole.

It is not good to expect immediate change. But oh, how I want a quick fix for everything.

It is not good to expect perfection. But oh, how I want to do it right the first time.

It is not good to give up after only a week. But oh, how I want to say “forget it” to all my plans and intentions.

Here is what I am learning. Slowly, but I’m learning.

Change can’t happen alone. I need community.

Part of my writing plan was to join a group for word count accountability. Nothing happens if I don’t meet my goal, but I can be encouraged by what others are writing and knowing I’m not the only one struggling.

As for the other areas where I want to change and need to change: community applies there too. But that’s hard. I can’t go to a gym right now. But I can let someone else know my plans.

Invitation is a key to transformation. I have to let people in, and that starts with talking about my failings. Then it moves to sharing my plans. It continues with commitment. And it doesn’t end with failure.