A Chapter Closes

Daniel and I just returned from his father’s funeral. It was, as expected, a bittersweet time. We celebrated a life well lived yet, mourned the closing of a chapter of his life and ours. Dan’s mother died nine years ago. We were surprised his father lived as long as he did. We have, as a family, said our goodbyes to him countless times thinking the end was near...but he always rallied and was still singing hymns and trying to cheer others up till the end.

Daniel and I have talked a lot about how this really is a chapter closing in our lives. All the countless trips to Ohio to spend holidays and birthdays and Father’s Day and Mother’s Day have come to an end. Yes, we both still have a few relatives in the area but any trips north from now on will be, well….different. Very different. We figure we have made well over one hundred journeys to Ohio (a nine-hour trip) through the years. Hauling kids, grandkids, gifts, toys, baby gear, bicycles, and luggage. Our now grown children have incredible memories of sharing times with Grandma and Grandpa. Some are hilarious. Some have shaped who they are in some form or fashion. These grandparents left major footprints on all our lives. Especially mine.

I was kind of thrown into the Miller family on a snowy evening just before Easter in the early spring of 1967. I had met Danny Miller (as he was known back then) on my very first day of college at Ohio State University (branch campus) in the fall of 1966. I was seventeen and he was eighteen. I had never heard of the Mennonites and the Amish. I was not accustomed to going to church and never knew the concept of Christianity. Through Dan I learned and grew and began going to church. I became a committed Christian at eighteen and he and I joined the very small choir in the Brethren church where we ultimately got married in 1968.

I came from a single parent home, never really knowing my father. Mom had been divorced three times. During the time I dated Daniel, my mother was going through a very difficult time in her life and was very threatened by my new-found “religion” and Daniel’s interest in me…taking me away from her. On that snowy night I first met the Miller family, I was locked out of my house because I was fifteen minutes past my 10:00 pm curfew due to our staying late at church to practice a duet Dan and I were doing in the Easter pageant. I was a teenager with no place to go, scared and crying. Dan called our pastor who instructed him to take me home to his family farm. Little did that pastor know how that evening would change my life.

This was the sixties. I had on a mini-skirt, make-up, fancy hairdo and jewelry. I certainly did not look like the conservative Mennonite girl Dan’s parents would have picked out for their son to date. Not by any stretch. And to add to the drama….I had been kicked out of my house. Definitely not how you want to meet your potential in-laws. Daniel and I had been brought up in very different worlds. Mine was very worldly compared to his staunch conservative Mennonite upbringing. He was searching for a new meaning to his beliefs and I was searching for someone to show me a better way. I have no doubt that God orchestrated our connection.

I had a lot to learn about living a Christian lifestyle and about the amazing heritage Daniel came from. The first time I experienced Christmas at their house I was shocked that there was no Santa, no tree, no fun and festivities. Instead it was solemn, quiet, and over quickly. Each person got one utilitarian gift and we read scripture and that was about it. I, being raised “heathen” was used to my mother (who was usually on welfare) borrowing money at the holiday and my two sisters and I having elaborate Santa Christmases and lots of food and family time with relatives (all women...all the men had been divorced out!) We had a lot of “cultural” differences to overcome and lots of compromises to make.

(Ray and Clara at our wedding March 23, 1968)

The years have created lots of changes in our own lives and also in the lives of my in-laws. They became my parents in so many ways. Daniel’s mother and father became mine. I have no doubt what-so-ever that they grew to love me just as much as they loved their own children. And I have no doubt that God put me in their lives to teach them more about Grace and normal", Love and Family. Dan’s mother, Clara, told me that many times. Dan’s Dad showed it to me in many ways. I wrote them handwritten letters for years. When Clara died, Ray told me many times how much those letters meant to him. I sent him pictures and we visited when we could. Lots and lots of drives to Ohio.

I know the Amish and conservative Mennonite heritage Daniel and his siblings grew up in was very restrictive and caused frustration and at times, anger. But that upbringing left an indelible imprint on Daniel of strong roots, good work ethic, integrity and spiritually. No family is perfect. Ray and Clara didn’t have an exemplary record for parenting and in marriage. But there was a strong spiritual, ethical and cultural thread running through their lives that fulfilled a need I had, as a disturbed teenager-searching for something to hang on to. And there were roots Daniel knew he didn’t want to deny in spite of his strong desire to break free of the confines of legalism.

During these days following Ray Miller’s death and burial we all welcomed the familiarity of those roots. The beautiful Amish-made plain pine coffin made by “Apple Dan”, the hand-made spray of apples, corn shucks, fall leaves, and wheat we put on top of that coffin, the lifting of A-Capella voices singing all the old favorite hymns we learned in many years of going to church; the lines of Amish coming to pay their respects and gratitude to a man who provided transportation to them in their own times of need; the comforting meals provided with love and care by countless Mennonites; the long-time neighbors who expressed tearfully how Ray and Clara had touched their lives in so many ways. All those memories. All those expressions of love and kindness and goodness.

The chapter may be closed now but the story doesn’t stop with their deaths. Their progeny consists of five children, fifteen grandchildren, and so far sixteen great-grandchildren. And that’s not counting members brought into the family through marriage. The family tree will continue to produce and be fruitful in many ways. And we will remember the good times we spent at Grandma and Grandpa’s house... And I, for one, will always be grateful for the role they played in my husband’s life and in mine and the heritage they gave to our children. A chapter closes but the story continues………