Moving On

When my husband and I were first married, we lived in Amish country.
He moved into our apartment in June of that year.
I moved into our apartment in October after we were married.
I loved the farmland, the country living, and most of all, the Amish buggies.

I was infatuated with the Amish culture.
I remember going to the post office and standing behind an Amish mother and her children.
These beautiful children had rosy cheeks and wisps of hair popping out from their bonnet.
I smiled at the one little girl who kept looking back at me.

She didn’t shy away like some children will do towards a stranger.
She didn’t hide behind her mother’s legs.
She looked right at me with a serious, much older than her years, expression.
She never smiled or waved back.

If I drove behind an Amish buggy that happened to have children in the back, I waved.
Sometimes, I would get the same serious stare.
Sometimes the Amish child waved back.
The wave was always accompanied by a glance in the direction of the mother, just in case.

I always thought it would be wonderful to spend a day with an Amish family.
I wanted to know how they all worked together.
I wanted to see an Amish kitchen and taste some of the delicious Amish cooking.
I wanted to sit in their home at dusk and watch the candles flicker inside the rooms.

The Amish are hard working, God fearing people.
Their simplicity captivates me.
Their plain beauty is astounding.
I wanted to understand the nature of the serious look that is reserved for outsiders.

I have had years and years of wondering with nothing to go on but suppositions.
However that all changed.
It changed in a small Mennonite thrift store.
It happened in a most unexpected way.

I waited in line behind a woman who only had a few things.
She was charging her purchases with a credit card that had the new chip technology.
The Mennonite woman behind the counter was kind and gracious to this older woman.
The woman did not seem to know how to use this new type of credit card.

The woman was apologetic to me for keeping me waiting so long.
I assured her it was fine.
Out of nowhere an older Amish woman walked up to the counter and got behind me.
She had a few note cards in her hand.

She looked right at me and instead of the serious stare I am used to, she smiled.
She saw that the woman in front of me was taking a while.
Oh, I don’t want to keep my ride waiting, she said quietly, almost to herself.
Would you like to go ahead of me? I asked.

She seemed surprised that I heard her and that I spoke to her.
Yes, thank you; they are waiting for me, she said with a lovely smile.
As she stood in front of me I noticed her black dress.
The sash around the waist was pinned tightly with straight pins.

Straight pins with black heads were neatly placed just so.
Her stockings were black.
Her shoes were black.
Her head covering was white.

When it was her turn, she spoke to the woman behind the counter in Pennsylvania German.
Having German in high school and a bit in college, I could pick out words here and there.
Mostly, it seemed to be a dialect all its own.
They were able to go back and forth between Pennsylvania German and English with ease.

How is Ephraim and Miriam? The cashier asked in English.
The woman answered her in both languages.
And how are you doing? The cashier asked with great concern.
I go on, the Amish woman answered.

The Amish woman turned to me before she left.
Thank you for letting me go in your place; my ride is waiting.
As she walked away, she looked at me and added my husband just died.
As quick as that, she left the store.

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world. (James 1:27)

I imagined someone waiting in a car for her.
I imagined the note cards she bought were going to be used for thank you letters.
I looked at the cashier.
Such a sweet woman, I said and meant it.

She is; she just lost her husband, she said with such tender care.
How long were they married? I asked expecting to hear fifty years at least.
This was her second marriage; she has buried two husbands, the cashier answered.
What would we do without the Lord? I asked knowing that the question needed no answer.

Indeed; He knows and He holds us, she said with certainty.
I left knowing that though we are culturally different, we are spiritually the same.
We are sisters in the Lord.
Clothes, head covering, up-bringing, and cultures didn’t matter; He is Lord of all.

When I got out to my car, I saw an Amish buggy parked in a place designated for buggies.
I had seen the horse and buggy when I went inside the store.
There were so many Amish women in the store; it was hard to know whom it belonged to.
Then I saw her; the woman who just lost her husband.

She was talking to another Amish woman who was sitting on the back of the buggy.
I smiled and put my things in my car.
I closed the door and followed the prompting that was so strong I had to obey.
You left so quickly; I wanted you to know that I care.

The women looked at each other.
You said your husband died and I am sorry about that, I said searching for the words.
The other woman spoke up; this is the second husband she has buried.
What would we do without the Lord? I said knowing this was all that could be said.

The women both smiled and in an instant a bond was formed.
I know where my husband is, the widow said with surety, and soon I will be moving on.
Yes, then you will join him, I said with the same surety.
I don’t know what people do without the Lord, the church, and the community of believers.

I didn’t mean to say all of that, but I meant it.
What do people do?
How do they survive when this world is all there is to them?
How do they expect to “move on” with surety?

This is my daughter, the old Amish woman said pointing towards the woman on the back.
Yes, I am waiting for my husband; he is still in the store, she said swinging her legs like a child.
I said goodbye but I really wanted to talk to them some more.
As I looked in the rear view mirror of my car, I saw a long-bearded Amish man approaching.

I smiled as I put the car in reverse.
My ride is waiting for me.
Little did I know her ride was a horse and buggy.
She was moving on.

We all are.