REFLECTIONS ON TIME
AND THE MEANING OF LIFE

Elizabeth Raid

Each summer I return to southeast Iowa, where the General Conference Mennonite Church began in 1859. Sometimes a family reunion draws me. Other times we mourn the loss of an older family member. hen the Zion Mennonite Church, Donnellson, Iowa, celebrated its 150-year anniversary on October 14, 2001, this provided a joyful reason to return.

This article emerged from one such visit. I had just left family, church, and my employment of almost ten years at the General Conference Mennonite Church headquarters to move to a new city to begin seminary. The questions of who we are and why we are here seem to resurface during times of change and uncertainty. During my time of transition, I looked for connection and hope in the church and community where both of my parents, Howard Raid and Pauline Krehbiel, grew up.

Speak to me, O stones! Cry out, O graves! Rise up, those who lie forgotten! As the wind blows through the mighty oak sheltering you, leave your silence and awake. Speak! Tell me who I am. What hopes and dreams did you leave unfulfilled for me to discover? What gifts have you left unused for me to explore?

Here lies great-great-great grandfather Henry Ellenberger, first Mennonite minister west of the Mississippi. Here lie Christian and Johannes, Barbara and Anna, pioneers in this land, founders of my church denomination. What genes have come to me through grandparents: August and Laura, Clara and Harvey?

Dear Ann Marie, cousin whose sweet smile and happy laugh I remember—but at age twelve stilled by polio—what have I learned from you?

And Uncle Arlo, whose passing brought me here today—what of your gentle spirit and gracious living with those in need am I to carry?

Sweet Mother, your name Pauline Victoria, so regal, so full of spiritual elegance. Come, hold my hand and rock me gently in your arms. Sing soothing songs to still my restless spirit. You left too soon—before I could give back to you enough of all the love you gave to me.

Blank is the line of date of death by your name, Father. “Howard, leader of church and college” is engraved on the stone. The blankness of your mind through Alzheimer’s leaves unwritten all I’d wish to say to you, if you were standing near, remembering your brother, laid to rest today.

So what remains when we return to dust and ashes scattered here? Which of your joys and sorrows have I not shared? What is left for me to live that has not many times already been?

I sit in silence waiting for your words for me.

Before I leave, I pause to read the verses etched upon your stone, dear parents. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight. In all your ways, acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths” (Prov. 3:5-6).

How can it be that these words burn deeply in my heart and often echo in my mind! They give shape and meaning to my journey as they must have to yours, somehow connecting us through endless time. Perhaps in the stillness of your womb you spoke to my spirit and placed those words upon the altar of my soul long before I read them on your stone.

And what of me? Will I give gifts to those who come after, as all of you have given to me?

One verse remains unread. Father’s verse holds the key: “But be doers of the word, and not merely hears who deceive themselves” (James 1:22)

The gifts received from each of you today give courage and purpose for the journey. What verse will be written on my stone? May the answer come in the living of my life.Written at Zion Mennonite Church cemetery.

Editorial by Howard D. Raid
in The Mennonite, May 29, 1962

It was relaxing to drive the familiar roads of eastern Iowa. Memories flooded my mind of bygone days—of riding in a buggy on a muddy clay road, of sitting on the little folding seat behind the stinging tails of the trotting bays, and of driving cattle along this same road. But a newsflash from the car radio crowded these memories out of my mind. The United States had successfully launched a man into space. As I pondered this I came to the old family cemetery where I turned aside to contemplate the world around about me. How important was it that we had another man in space?

As I stood before the tombstone of my great-grandfather, I wondered what he was like. This man had passed on to me many of the characteristics which I possess. He had no way of knowing I was to come into the world. He left his home country, traveled the unknown sea to a strange and wild land. He had faith that man would go on, and that there would be those who would come after him who too would wrestle with the great problems of life.

More than a hundred years in this great land had done things to his children’s children. All of the opportunities of a great new land were to be those of his progeny. The land had changed even his name—it had Americanized it. The land provided economic opportunities so his children’s children had the economic resources needed for the “good life.” Even beyond the security of food and shelter they had the opportunity for education, to accumulate the learning of the ages. Greater than these was freedom: the right to worship God according to the dictates of their hearts without control by the state.

Thus I stood and pondered this man who was my forefather and yet whom I had never seen, who however determined that I was to come into the world, who influences my life beyond measure. As I thought of this I wondered why he came to this new land, what was he seeking? Did he find here those things that he wanted?

In turn I wondered about those who would come after me. Would they someday stand beside my stone and ask questions like this? Would there be those who would be thankful that I, too, had lived? Would they be pleased that I in my own way had pioneered and enabled them to find the opportunities to earn a living, to secure an education, and to worship God?

Is this the way man goes marching on down through the pages of history standing on the shoulders of those who have gone before, reaching to greater heights than ever dreamed of by those preceding him? Are we now so wise in our own knowledge that we shall destroy all of this good earth which God in His wisdom has given us? Of what value is the man in space or a two-thousand-mile-an-hour bomber unless it provides the basic needs of life that our bodies be fed and our souls enriched?

How Connected Life Is

After I wrote my reflections, I discovered the above editorial by my father while researching the book I’m writing about him. How connected life is! How generations have the same wonderings, the same questions, the same hopes and dreams.

—Elizabeth Raid lives in Bluffton, Ohio, where she is ministerial intern, First Mennonite Church. She plans to complete her M.Div. in 2002 and looks forward to service in the Mennonite world. Her passions are reading, writing, walking, travel, and meeting new people.