Song, Sunshine, and Stories: September 29-30 Memorial Service for Elizabeth Bitikofer

Beautiful butterfly

Summer has come and gone, and Fall is in the air. This blog has been sadly neglected, thanks in a large part to a temperamental laptop that's literally coming apart at the seams so the guts are visible. It decided to turn on this morning, and I am quickly banging out a few items before it randomly shuts down again! I do not enjoy typing out my ramblings on my smartphone.

September 29th we attended my Grandma Elizabeth's memorial service, and next day we buried her ashes in the ancient cemetery filled with half my ancestors. It was the most moving ceremony I've ever had the privilege of being part of! Just close family were there, in that sweet, peaceful little field dotted with gravestones, next to the oldest Mennonite church in the country. It was far off the beaten path, a mile or two from the nearest paved road, bordering the farm my great grandfather Fred Bitikofer bought in 1912 which is still run by his grandson Dennis. The sun smiled down on the beautiful landscape, the breeze whispered through the trees, and we sang together the beautiful old hymn "In The Bulb."

In the bulb there is a flower;
in the seed, an apple tree;
in cocoons, a hidden promise:
butterflies will soon be free!
In the cold and snow of winter 
there's a spring that waits to be, 
unrevealed until its season, 
something God alone can see.

There's a song in every silence, 
seeking word and melody;
there's a dawn in every darkness 
bringing hope to you and me.
From the past will come the future;
what it holds, a mystery,
unrevealed until its season, 
something God alone can see.

In our end is our beginning;
in our time, infinity;
in our doubt there is believing; 
in our life, eternity.
In our death, a resurrection;
at the last, a victory,
unrevealed until its season, 
something God alone can see.

I cried. I didn't expect to, but I couldn't help it. My husband held me in his arms; my two little girls ran and played and climbed gravestones, their innocent laughter rippling across the sylvan landscape as the angels smiled. I have never felt such a strong sense of belonging before; I could sense the presence of my ancestors who passed on before me all around. You read about the horror of death and watch scary movies where spirits haunt their graves. This was the opposite: the beautiful history of generations of hardworking, salt of the earth, God fearing folks was a tangible presence in the air. It was amazing, one of the most beautiful things I've ever felt!

The pretty pink urn containing Grandma's ashes was lowered into the ground as we sang, and Grandma's children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren scooped earth into the hole with small trowels. Isabella and Elizabeth enthusiastically participated. Aunt Kathleen planted the bulb of a flower appropriately on top, and the group broke apart, visiting and reading gravestones and wandering around the old place.

I wanted TJ to see the old farm, and Uncle Dennis happily gave us a tour. The girls went wild over the cows, the old barn their great-great-grandfather built with his own hands, and all the clean and well kept tractors. It felt like coming home!

We had such a wonderful trip. The Jack family graciously hosted us at night, and our girls made instant friends with their two boys who are each a year older. It was so nice to see them again! We also enjoyed the blessing of an upgrade on our vehicle rental: a 2018 Ford F150, a sleek, roomy monster, silent and smooth as a sports car but with plenty of room for us and our luggage. It was a delicious driving experience we still remember fondly!