The Amish Forgiving

“He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.” Isaiah 40:29

The laughing from the other room was just proof she didn’t belong.

Emma looked out the window and into the garden. The early afternoon sun beckoned her outside, but a part of Emma needed to hear what was being said. It was the dual nature inside her. She liked to pretend she didn’t care, but large parts of her wanted to fit in; to belong.

But Emma felt distant, and others picked up on it and it seemed as if they treated her as such.

Sighing to herself, she resigned once more to just let it go. Probably for the hundredth time, Emma reckoned she had better get outside before she drive herself crazy. No matter how much her mother helped her learn to quilt, she never could produce anything worthwhile no matter how patient her hand. And if her mother had been there that day, she would likely have tried to get her to join them once more, most likely embarrassing Emma, although without trying. She couldn’t blame her mother; it was a few of her friends that watched with a critical eye. Why she put up with them was beyond her, but who was she to question her mother’s friends?

Emma slipped her shoes on and went out to the back porch. At least she could be of use to her mother out here. Her apron was already dirty from the morning, and Emma set about her weeding. She enjoyed weeding, it gave you mindless purpose. She had read about that recently; checking out books in the library was another favorite activity of hers, and often she would peruse books in a new section. They called it Zen, or at least that was the name of the practice she was learning about. It was foreign to her, but a lot of it had clicked with her just the same.

The idea was giving yourself to a purpose to the exclusion of all else. The eastern mysticism didn’t resonate with her of course, but there were some great takeaways and Emma had pursued more books about it. There was a tranquility about it. Emma liked the idea of quieting her mind, or rather, letting her thoughts go where they please as she watched from a distance. But meditating on the Lord was more her thing, so she combined the two and enjoyed the process.

Still, from what she had read it was peaceful to think of letting life unfold around you. She used to grapple with who she was, but now she accepted it and knew her place. She saw life as something to do while waiting on her future in heaven; work hard, serve others as unto the Lord and be humble in all things. It suited her that she didn’t have anyone in her life to share a little romance with. She wanted a family—maybe. But for now she was content to let herself live for the day, toil hard and go to bed, only to do it again the next day. And in between? She loved books. All kinds of books.

Emma could spend hours in the library and she often did. She’d come home with books she could never finish before they were due. Oh, she got to most of them, but her eyes were pulled in so many directions, and her mind loved learning about new things and ideas that it almost became too much. That’s how she discovered mindfulness. Her mother had said there was nothing wrong with it as long as it didn’t become an idol which she wholeheartedly agreed with.

As the sun bore down, and she worked the weeds, Emma’s mouth curved in a smile as she noticed the patterns in the dirt and roots were a sort of Zen-garden of their own. What made her smile was the realization that quilting wasn’t much different. Stopping her work, she sat back on her heels and wiped her brow. Her hand reached down after a moment and lazily traced patterns in the soil as she wondered why she lacked any true talent for quilting. Was it creative? The fine needlework? Emma didn’t think she had a problem with persistence and patience. Was it creativity?

Emma dusted her hands off. She would try again with the group inside. She had thoughts she could contribute too. Her mother never noticed what felt like barbs at her expense from the others. To be fair, it was only one or two women who said anything, and it was light at that, but it still stung.

Still, Emma wanted to fit in at least a little, but her own feelings got in the way, she knew that. She even thought she knew why although she could never confess to it in front of others; the shame would haunt her without them knowing as it were already.

But here was her chance. She was in a good mood and decided to just go for it. She’d grab a seat and join the fun. Maybe she’d tell them about what she was learning in her books, and they might just see her as the adult she was. True, she was only nineteen, but she had a lot to offer, and her insight about the soil, patterns, and the quest for making sense of intricate details… well, it all sounded good in her head. She’d just join in and see if she could contribute for once and maybe even be taken seriously.

She knew her mom would love her insights at least, she always did. Many times her mother asked her what she thought about this or that, in light of whatever she was reading at the tine. Her mother encouraged her which was nice.

Emma’s footsteps creaked on the old wooden floors as she hung up and traded one apron for another. She smoothed her dress and took a breath, hearing the merry voices from the other room and proceeded to enter.

No one stopped talking, but Emma noticed that out of the four women, her mother had stepped out and two of the four were the same women that gossiped. Nerves unsteady she smiled and grabbed a seat. Mrs. Stoltzfus patted her arm as she sat and smiled encouragingly at her.

Emma was about to open her mouth when Mrs. Yoder looked over after laughing at something, and her face went blank as she told Emma, “That’s your mother’s seat dear.”

“Oh, of course, I’ll just grab—”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working outside? This is for the women honey.” Her sidekick chuckled over her needlework.

“Emma can grab another chair, can’t you doll?” said Mrs. Stoltzfus with a gentle smile, coming to her rescue.

“No it’s fine, maybe I’ll just—”

“Nonsense, Bella,” said the other woman, “her mother said she had things to do.” She leaned into her friend’s ear. “Probably go read something inappropriate for that matter.” She said the last under her breath as she resumed the work in her lap.

Emma didn’t need them as friends. But for whatever reason, she wanted respect from these women. Yet she never seemed to get it.

No matter. She wasn’t worthy. Amish in life, but not in heart. They were right. If she were like them, they’d feel it. As it were, they knew. Maybe not the specifics, but they sensed it because Emma wore the guilt for all who looked. Her mother insisted no one outside the council knew, and few at that.

“No, it’s okay,” she said to the room at large. She looked out the window and saw her mother coming back from the barn. She wanted to be out before her mother saw her anyway. “I do have stuff to do.” She hesitated, then gave them all a smile and walked back to the kitchen.

Emma overheard a few comments as she grabbed a drink. Mostly about her needing both good discipline and a young man in her life. She agreed with neither. But only because she had the first and couldn’t have the second. Again, life was life. Someday, maybe…

Emma wiped at the corner of her eye and chided herself for feeling all emotional over the stupid quilting circle. A part of her knew it was a metaphor for her life and that’s why she wanted to just be like them. Yet she was different, and she’d have to live with it.

But her secret was her own, and for now she’d continue to practice her humility and thank the Lord for the home and work she did in it all day long. She could always stay busy and never really need those women’s approval anyway.

She had tried.

But another tear had to be wiped away before she went back out to weed.