Archive for the ‘My Hutterite Heritage’ Category

Note: Because I know so many of you are wondering what happened to the couple I talked about in my Hutterite pieces, I decided to post the conclusion. Forgive the delay. I shouldn’t have attempted so many things all at once. I’m not finished with my part of the story–or rather, it’s laying secluded in some file document right now and I have too many other things on my mind at present. I’ll add it later, perhaps next week.

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The day came when the sun shone brightly, warming his cold heart again. The healing had begun and letting go didn’t seem like the “impossible” anymore. Although he scowled at his mother when she repeatedly uttered the words, he now acknowledges that “time is a great healer.”

 The wound has not completely healed. Vivid memories still have the power to draw him in, away from the reality of today. He’s now accepted that their tomorrows will not be spent in each other’s company. Days pass without him even thinking about her. There are bad days too, like when he walks past the mailbox and memories of a familiar handwriting darken his mood. He often wonders what “could have been.” He’s not afraid to admit he’s never regretted loving her.

 Starting over for her was like starting a new life. She wanted to crawl home only about a hundred times. But she must believe she’s made the right choice. She isn’t turning back, it’s not an option. And although she has built a new life for herself, she hasn’t forgotten him. There are days when it’s two steps forward, three steps back. But she refuses to dwell on it. She steers her heart away from those thoughts and prays for strength to face another day. On bad days she wonders if she did the right thing. On good days she knows she would make the same decision all over again.

 She often wonders why the Lord brought him into her life if only to take him away. But then reminds herself that she made the choice to give her heart away, not the Lord. This was her doing. She must live with the choices she made. She wouldn’t be afraid to tell anyone that loving him made her a better person.

 She hears very little of him these days and is often tempted to sit down and write him a letter. But what good would that do? She knows how much she hurt him. She’d never deliberately do something that would cause him pain. So she turns her thoughts into prayers.

 He’s kept in touch with her siblings and her name comes up occasionally. His heart doesn’t break at the mention of it anymore. His vision of living in community is stronger than ever. It’s where he wants to spend his whole life and live out his dreams. Where he wants to raise a family and love a godly women. In his backyard there is a swing that he wants to spend lazy Sunday afternoons watching them grow. He needs a help meet with the same vision and zeal to nurture his dreams. He will not settle for anything less. Right now he’s content being single and growing in the Lord. But he prays for the day when he can watch the sun set with his hand clasped warmly in the embrace of a woman.

 The future is a faceless mystery for both of them. At times they are taunted with the past.  Other times tempted with the future. The bend in the road ahead is thus far but a flickering outline. The songs in their hearts have different melodies. They pray that each may find a heavenly harmony along some different road.

 They are both at peace with today.

The comment that stung the most was when she said, “You can’t live the deeper Christian life in a Hutterite colony.”

What was that supposed to mean? And where does that put him? Isn’t that what he was doing? The statement brought as much ire as it did hurt.

From this point fort they confess that the relationship became strained. She remembers he’d visit more frequently because he thought she needed “straightening out.” He shrugged off her convictions and she became wary of sharing them with him. He remained respectful because she knew he loved her. It was obvious he was fighting to keep the relationship together. Phone calls became strenuous and silence would often make them short and uncomfortable. The letters she’d loved writing to him now seemed more like a chore. She believed her eyes had been opened and while she still felt strong affections for him, he didn’t share her vision. After praying about it, seeking advice from trusted friends, she finally wrote him asking if they couldn’t spend some time apart. She needed to make decisions without him constantly pressuring her.

Her request stung, but he reluctantly agreed.

There was no turning back for her. She wanted something more, something altogether different. She wanted the freedom of making her own decisions, wear cloths not allowed by strict colony traditions, see and be with the people she couldn’t see here. Likewise, she was attracted to the lively church meetings her new friends talked about. She’d always felt their German readings were dull; they didn’t stir a fire in her like the tapes her friends gave her.

She hadn’t told her parents yet, but she was leaving the Hutterite lifestyle. She didn’t fit in anymore; she saw things in a new and different light. She agonized over how she was she going to tell him.What they’d been to each other and the friendship they shared had been so beautiful. Her heart ached at the thought of a permanent separation from him. How would she remove him from her life? He was so securely situated there. She dreaded even thinking about it. The price tag attached to leaving her whole life behind grieved her.

She was spared from explaining it to him. He knew. The writing was on the wall. The light in her eyes when she looked at him was gone. Built around her was a guarded wall he couldn’t touch anymore. This pierced him deeply and needless to say he felt it keenly.

For a long time after she left, he couldn’t feel anything but hurt…he just lived—indifferent to everything going on around him.

Would this wound ever heal? Would there ever come a time when every thought wasn’t somehow connected with her?

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A mother’s touch heals. She was created to be a healer. It’s intuition. They are designed to heal and soothe the scars we carry within us. Thru the centuries mothers have been perfecting the skill at mended torn patches in the lives of their children. Their love refines us. She is usually the one that will make the first steps in restoring a strained relationship.

In the long run, I do not think I would have stayed in Neuhof if I would not have had at least some relationship with my parents, especially my mother. I can easily understand if young people leave because of strained parental relationships. Parents should be the backbone that their children can fall against. If, as a young person, you do not have a solid relationship with your parents, you are missing out on a major part of God’s plan. Living under the same roof while nursing a rift with mom and dad is a hard burden to bear.

Several years ago I had a light bulb moment when I read a book called The Mission of Motherhood. The author explored the power of a mother’s mere touch. Memories of years gone by flashed thru me…scenes of a mother repeatedly knocking on the door of a rebellious heart, her soft pleading voice soothing the anger and turmoil brewing there. I don’t know how, but she always managed to calm my troubled state. As these flashbacks flooded me, I realized that my mother touch healed a lot of hurt in my life. The touch of a mother’s hand isn’t something a child will easily forget or disregard. Many great men have remembered and drawn strength from the healing touch of their mother’s hand.

Do you ever consider what our mothers do for us? The life of selfless servant hood they lead. I once heard someone say that when a woman gets married she’ll sacrifice half her time serving her husband. When she brings a baby into this world she gives up the other fifty percent. They toil tirelessly, often without a word of gratitude or praise from their children. Godly mothers don’t have time to complain when they are looking out for the welfare of their families. They are multi-taskers, builders, mediators, peace-makers. They are the keeper of our dreams when the rest of the world laughs at them, the cool hand on a forehead, the voice over the phone asking about our whereabouts, the tender look of understanding, the gentle rebuke that keeps us from falling, they shape our outlook and mold our faith. They are the lantern guiding us to the Lighthouse.

I want to encourage young ladies to pursue a relationship with your mothers. A mother’s advice is timeless. What you’ll learn from your mother no one can take away from you. I’ve learned that it’s especially important for younger diene to keep your mothers words of discretion and virtue about buem close to your heart. Her advice isn’t old fashioned or out of date. I love sharing my secrets and dreams with my mom. They might be ridiculous and completely unattainable but she won’t laugh at them. Sometimes she fears that they will actually come true. I strive for my mother’s blessing in everything I do. She reads the work I won’t let anyone else read, she still listens to stories brought home from Africa, she quietly takes note of my dreams about raising a family and is patiently teaching me how to be a keeper of my own home. Your dreams are important to your mother because she had similar ideals when she was a young lady. She is now passing them down to you. You are her legacy. I hope to claim my mother’s legacy someday.

I still like to hold mom’s hand on days when the world seems to be against me. Her touch is still a welcoming relieve–it’s warmth still brings healing. The hardest part of my whole day is walking out the back door to go to school—half of the day will pass before I’ll be able to enjoy my mother’s company again. I am eternally grateful that I’ve spent the last half decade learning by her side.

She is the most precious gift I have. She is my best friend.

Today, take the time to tell your mother you love her. She is the gift you can keep opening again and again. Isn’t the legacy she’s living worth passing on? Isn’t it worth claiming?

**I do realize that not every person is inheriting a worthy legacy. For those among us that have been hurt by parents you can make a new beginning, you can start a legacy. Every journey starts with a dream, a seed. It is within your reach. It is possible.

Their courtship started with fairy tale flair. Those were happy, happy days for both of them. Memories trail his mind…how his parents fell in love with her when he brought her home for their first meeting. She was dining room talk dozens of times. Nothing quite matched the thrill his heart felt when his mother presented him with a letter from her. It was priceless.

They talked about their dreams often. She remembers telling him what she longed for in a husband. He recalls seeing the same qualities in her that he admired in his mother. For him that was like striking gold. Sharing their dreams lead to conversations about marriage. But they both decided to wait a bit before seriously considering it. She said she wasn’t ready to give up the freedom her single years offered. It’s not easy marrying away from your family, your birth colony. He willingly promised he’d wait, she was worth it.

Perhaps they waited too long…

He can’t pinpoint exactly when it became apparent in a change in her. The reality of it blurs his memory. For the longest time he wouldn’t admit it. In hindsight though, all the puzzles fall into place…the friends she started keeping, the comments she made, and their shifting convictions about living in community…


Could they compromise? Would he be able to persuade her? Could he still reach out and draw her back?

In my case everything I’ve come to appreciate about my life had at one time seemed of little importance. For many years the disregard I felt towards my heritage was no secret and I made it blatantly obvious. I regret that deeply. Perhaps it’s because of those mistakes that I strife to preserve it more today. It’s disheartening to watch the behavior I had towards the Hutterite lifestyle in so many, many of our young people today. One thinks, “They’re young and rebellious, they’ll get over it.” True, they might. But is that enough? If they do not have zeal, a godly vision, what’s the purpose? With each generation we lose more, less is kept intact. The Hutterite way of life, the fundamental Biblical principals upon which we were founded on, is in trouble–it’s crumbling. Can you even imagine where our colonies will be in fifteen, twenty years? If enough of us have a vision couldn’t we rescue, restore this godly heritage? I hope to touch more on that later on.

The questions, letters and phone calls from friends, even strangers, as to why I stayed in Neuhof after all that’s happened in its sixteen year history still follow me. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve not only been asked that, but harshly challenged. Mostly from ex-Hutterites/members that were at one time or another associated with Neuhof’s tangled history. Recently I dug up some of the letters to refresh my memory. Little wonder we drifted apart. I need people in my life who build me up, not try to tear down what I want so much to succeed.

Ironically, their rhetoric didn’t sway me. Well, maybe that’s a stretch. Surely it affected me somehow, but the memories are vague. I do recall how it further convinced me to gird my feet, buckle up and attempt to bloom here. Aside from that I had several girlfriends who were solid pillars, picking me up…or dragged me along…when I fell. But there was a much greater force keeping me home. And as time went on and years passed my heart has become completely committed.

Looking back I know it was my father that persuaded me to stay. More importantly, it was the life he lived on a daily basis in the midst of rebellion and confusion. The observation of what rebellion can do was a revelation for me. Moreover the way my father handled those incidents also proved as turning points for me. When the storm hit hardest he was the strongest. My father is my hero. Fallible, imperfect, but he is my hero. For many years now I have watched and learned and listened to him in the best and worst of circumstances. He doesn’t falter. It has frustrated and fascinated me. It challenges and chides me. It kindles my faith and draws me to the One that I see him reach for in time of need. My father has been struck with many blows in life, some swung by me. Where these blows have hardened and rendered me unforgiving, they’ve softened and made him more compassionate. It is a ministry to me and presently I am completely content sitting at this feet and taking it all in. It’s an awesome thing to be resting under a godly father’s authority.

In the days when my life was measured by discontent, my father issued two challenges to me. The first one was, “if you can’t see a future here, be the future.” That has become a guiding light and my vision. I see a future in Neuhof these days. I look into the eyes of our children and I’m excited for the future generation and that I am a part of it.

The second challenge was, “Be a Joseph. If you think you’re alone here, be a Joseph. Live the life of integrity and purity that Joseph did.” Dad uses examples from the life of Joseph alone in Egypt to encourage me even today. It’s no great mystery that my students hear that line repeated to them frequently as well.

Let’s be the future for strong, spiritual Hutterite colonies with passion and vision.

Let’s be Josephs…

He fell in love with her charm and loving nature almost immediately. It captivated him. She was kind and her deep, musical laughter lightened the troubles he carried in his heart. He wished she would notice how he felt, how his eyes followed her at a distance. But she was oblivious. She smiled brightly at him in passing but other then that he was just another Hutterite young man. Easy on the eyes, but she remembers thinking him “not quite tall enough.”

The day came when a friend probed her, “Can’t you see how he watches you, how he likes you?” Truly she hadn’t noticed the signs. From the corner of her eye she started observing him and from a shy smile here and a stolen moment there, a friendship flourished. She became completely selfless in her service to him. She loved serving him and he blossomed under her respect and care.. She thought, and he believed, they would spend the rest of their lives together…

I’ve been spending a lot of time writing and thinking about my Hutterite heritage. With the many misconceptions floating around about the Hutterites, I get a lot of curious questions about my faith as a Hutterite young lady. Very tentatively I’ve been patching together a series of writings on my journey to appreciating what a true Hutterite heritage means to me and why it’s worth so much. This is a personal story, my own story. I write what I think, what I feel, and most importantly, what I believe in. With mixed feelings, coupled with fear, I endeavor that which is so personal to me. But I believe the godly inheritance being handed down to me is worth sharing and fighting for.

I want to remind readers that this is my story. Each of our journeys and godly heritages are special. This is special to me because it’s my own. Yours will be special because it was passed down to you by the people you love and cherish. Do not take any of my personal convictions out of context. I do not put them above what your parents and grandparents have preserved and handed down to you. My Hutterite heritage is special to me because of its rich and turbulent history. It’s special because it’s persevered so much. But it’s faltering. There is much work to do, the fields are ripe and there are so few harvesters in sight. I want to be one of those harvesters. I want to be a laborer in the field to preserving and carrying on this unique heritage. I’ve learned that it can only be done if you’ve set your heart on the right course, if your heart is in a place where Lord can use you, if you’ve placed your life at the feet of the Savior for His service. (I admit I struggle with this). But only then can I succeed in carrying on a godly Hutterite legacy into the next generation.

At the beginning of every My Hutterite Heritage post I will be featuring a continuing story about a Hutterite couple in Italics. Though it’s a story based on facts I’ve changed enough details about their relationship to protect their privacy. You will not be able to figure out who they are, please do not try. I have permission and enough details of their story to share with you where their dreams and visions as Hutterites took them. It is a bittersweet story with an unfinished ending. Both recall how painful it was the part ways. But it’s been an inspiration to me as I continue to learn what it means to hold on to what you believe in. Cultivating and clinging to your dreams comes with a price. In their case their different ideals and goals in life took them in two separate directions.