I only knew one or two English words when I started school in the fall of 1995, but it was not because I was stupid or had a speech impairment. Walking the hundred yards to school that first morning was a gigantic leap for my six-year-old self. Dad walked with me to the end of the drive and then watched as I trudged slowly towards the white block schoolhouse at the corner of the farm we lived on. This was unfamiliar territory; life would never be the same again.
As I neared the schoolyard entrance, joyful shouts drifted through the morning from Grandpa’s yard opposite the school; my cousins, Stephen, Elizabeth, Esther, and an older brother, were racing towards me. I knew them well as our parents were siblings on both sides. Elizabeth was one month older than me and also on her first day of school. Stephen and Esther chattered excitedly about how fun school was and hurried me inside to find my desk.
Shortly, one of the teachers rang the bell, and my formal education commenced. Teacher Rachel was a kind individual, but we all soon learned a specific look on her face when we had crossed the line. Under her expert eye, we nine first graders quickly learned to color, trace shapes, do simple math, speak English, and eventually read and write.
All eight grades were taught the basic skills of an elementary education, in the small one-room schoolhouse. The two teachers each taught four grades. A privacy curtain through the center of the building was pulled shut during classes to visually separate the school into two classrooms. The ceiling-to-floor curtain was opened for recess and when visitors stepped in. This created an ideal learning environment in many ways, as the younger pupils could learn much from listening to the older classes.
On one particular day, the eighth graders encountered a math problem involving a very large number. Several pupils had severe trouble wrapping their heads around this specific problem, so Rachel patiently explained it from multiple angles. Still, the problem did not click for the older students. After some time, the entire school began paying attention to the conversation around this “difficult” problem. At some point, I, a little first-grader, had an aha moment and understood the problem and the solution. I could barely stay in my seat to think that I had understood the answer before the eighth graders did. “I would remember that problem and avoid this hassle when I reached that age!”
I filed the answer away in my brain, and the school years plodded along. Every once in a while, I would think about that problem and its solution. Would I recognize the problem when I came to it in the eighth grade? Then, one day, as I looked over the day's arithmetic lesson, I noticed the problem. Bingo! I knew and quickly wrote down the correct answer.
As I moved through the mid-grades, I had several challenging years. I had a vivid imagination, and spending hours daydreaming was so much more fun than the routine boringness of repetitive, pointless problem-solving in books. I learned to love reading and spent as much time as I could pouring over early American history books, books about wildlife, or books about machinery like steamboats and trains. In the seventh and eighth grades, I set myself the goal to read the world book encyclopedia set from A to Z. Week after week, I paged through these large volumes and devoured the interesting entries.
My love for learning did not end when I graduated after the eighth grade. That first year after school, I read every book about honey bees I could lay my hands on and thoroughly taught myself the ins and outs of that interesting little insect.
A little later, I decided to learn to write the old German cursive. I set myself a schedule to learn a new letter each week, and every evening before going to bed, I wrote part of my journal in German. Until I could read and write German cursive with considerable ease.
Learning and understanding things was something I had a passion for. Conversations with Cousin Joseph fueled the curiosity. Whenever he and I got together, he stretched my mind and inspired me to more consideration. Dad often chided me, saying that knowledge was a pursuit in emptiness. He would quote in German, “Man’s wisdom is foolishness before God.” Still, I questioned many things about life. I was relatively young when the mechanics of my physical origin clicked. Several years later, when Dad began telling me about the facts of life, I took pride in the fact that he had told me nothing I didn’t already know. The one subject that fried a bunch of neurons was the origin of God; somehow, the reality of having been without beginning has defied logic.
While I spent time at Whispering Hope, I soon became nick-named Professor Stoll, a title I didn’t mind carrying, as I gladly engaged in debates about almost any subject. After returning home, Joseph, Stephen, and I connected from time to time. As iron sharpens iron, we discussed many different matters, from scientific to medical to spiritual. We were here to learn and encourage each other to explore beyond our current island. Since we lived miles apart and text messages were not a thing for us, we started a circle letter. In this letter, we wrote about any number of subjects that we were considering, updating our own letter with each round, answering each other's questions, and posing our own new questions. We also began having three-way conference calls once a month in which we talked late into the night and covered many topics.
In my upper teens, I developed several health concerns, and others in the family also had health issues. With Great Uncle Mark as our coach, we three cousins became particularly interested in learning about human health and how natural nutrition and herbs can support the body on a healing journey through noninvasive means. Mark had become recognized as a local health coach, and he gladly taught us what he knew, mentored us through helpful reading material, and encouraged us to attend various seminars.
Around this time, Joseph made a startling confession, “While in town, walking down the street, God clearly told me I need to get a computer for the work he has for me!”
This startled us immensely as hearing from God and getting a computer were both entirely outside of the box. We were all comfortable and committed to the Amish way of life. Getting a computer would not fit into the box any way you put it. Plus, I was unconvinced, “Why would an almighty God need a computer to do something?” We concluded that we would take time to see what God reveals.
At some point, we began hearing stories of a young Amish man from Ohio who knew much about agriculture. This piqued our interest, and eventually, we hired a driver and traveled to meet him at a winter meeting where he was presenting. The guy’s worldview and knowledge were addicting. Here is someone who could help us continue broadening our horizon, connecting several dots on how vital agriculture is to human health at that first meeting.
Our friendship grew quickly, and the shoreline of wonder expanded significantly with our new friend’s reading list, insight, and connections. We soon expanded our monthly call, making it a subscription-access conference with paid speakers. Our audience was natural health coaches scattered throughout the Amish and Mennonite communities. The paid subscription also included a monthly printed newsletter with helpful articles and information. We were on a path to greatness!
On the home front, I was busy managing HOPE Produce and involved in various other farm-related marketing projects. Tina and I had set up housekeeping and enjoyed our small but profitable farming venture, including grazing a small flock of sheep as part of the rental agreement and two hundred hens that more than paid for our groceries.
Life was looking good. I found myself reflecting frequently on where I had come from and how grateful I was to have all the mess of my teens behind me. Here I was, a young husband and father—an upbuilding member in good standing with the church. I felt right with God and was happy to be contributing to the community in a meaningful way.
Earlier in my teens, while at Whispering Hope, I had latched onto the idea of truly knowing God in my heart even as He knows me. Even as I struggled with demonic strongholds for many years, my heart cried for God to make Himself known to me. Now, I felt a closeness to God the Father that was tangible in some ways. My prayer became for God to reveal His truth to me.
At this time, I experienced a miraculous deliverance. Something that had taken up residence in my life got evicted. The shift was tangible. I knew that something that had been tormenting me was gone, but there was no context for talking about what happened among any of my family or friends except with Joseph and Stephen.
Mark and I worked together that fall and winter to plan the annual HOPE Produce growers meeting. Since the co-op was grower-owned, an annual meeting was hosted to share the sales numbers for the past year and prepare for the coming season. These meetings had become a boring necessity, and I expressed to Mark that I would like to host something new, something non growers would even want to attend. So he and I put together an agenda for the meeting, including several speakers from out of state which we hired to come for the day.
I arrived early that day, as the moderator, I wanted to be prepared. I envisioned this meeting to be something that sparked new life in the community. The numbers were good. I enthusiastically displayed graphs drawn on large cardboard posters showing year-over-year growth in total sales as well as on several key crops. The speakers were top-notch, and the event flowed without a hitch.
Mark’s topic was the last one at the end of the day. I forget the subject, but the presentation was not the day's highlight. We wrapped things up and thanked everyone that had come. I stayed around to clean up and organize as people left. Mark and I thanked and paid the speakers. As he prepared to go, I spoke briefly with him and became distinctly aware that something had shifted. There was something different about the relationship between Mark and myself at the end of the day than what there had been in the beginning. It was a cold winter day. Darkness was settling over the Ontario landscape as I hitched up Sir Ben, and we drove towards the sunset —towards home where my dear Tina and our little daughter would be waiting with supper.
Less than a month later, things began falling apart in my world. On our monthly call, the speaker we had invited spoke of experiences that couldn’t be fully explained with known physics. Mark began sounding the alarm. “The Boys are into questionable things!” An emergency meeting was called. Ministry from the three districts gathered along with Joseph, myself, and our wives. They questioned us extensively, but it soon became apparent that they didn’t believe what we said about what we believed. Mark gravely shook his head, “and the next step is they will be speaking with the dead.”
Over the next week or so, the ministers issued their verdict: Joseph, Stephen, and I were not to speak with each other until further notice, we were to cut off all contact with our Ohio friend, and we were to suspend the monthly call, refunding our subscriptions. This was a rather hard pill for us to swallow, but we concluded that the best thing to do was to sit quiet and allow the tempest to blow over.
Spring gave way to summer, and the busy produce season was upon us. Our contact with each other was reduced to an occasional voicemail message or a muffled conversation when we met. Sometime in early summer, the three deacons from the three districts of Aylmer schedule a meeting with each of our families. The air was rather thick that morning as Tina and I settled down at the kitchen table with the three men. Mark’s horse stomped at fly’s out by the hitching post. After various small talk, one of the men launched into a lecture on the dangers of Rudolf Steiner’s work, reading from a multi-page report he had put together over the past weeks. I was like, well, I have never read any of Steiner’s books…
Eventually, they left, chatting about the weather as they made their way toward Joseph’s house.
As the summer months dragged on, I had several agronomic questions I wanted to ask our Ohio friend. I could have sent him an email at any time via our fax delivery service, but I was an open and honest individual and not one to do things in secret. Besides I still wanted to believe the best about the ministry, as I had been taught. I concluded that an acceptable process would be to run any communication through Mark. So I typed up a letter and took it in an unsealed envelope to Mark, explaining the situation, and asking him to review and send it.
About a week later, I look up from feeding the hens to see Mark’s buggy pull into our drive and park at the hitching rail. I walk over to see what he has to say. He greets me with a jolly chuckle and comments about the beautiful day. Then he turns serious and talks about how he does not want to hurt me or anything, but he discussed my letter with several others and that he has been advised to not send my letter. He understands that this meant a lot to me, and he is very sorry to have to say this, but he believes that for him to send my letter would be a violation of the bishop’s order to cut all contact.
I thanked Mark and told him not to worry. Inside, the camel’s back had broken. This was nothing but politics. Had nothing to do with serving Jesus Christ; not the tiniest bit of this was about right and wrong. The whole thing was about Mark controlling and manipulating and sitting on me. I was DONE with the game.
My voicemails to Joseph begin to be much more frequent. And cryptically, I began hinting that we needed a better communication method. At the same time, I start realizing that he already has a means I knew nothing of. He suggests we go shopping —in my barn.
Tina and I have a conversation and spend time praying. A few days later, we plan for him to come over after supper. Butterflies stir my stomach to a froth. Supper out of the way, I wander here and there doing odd jobs to appear busy. Then, up over the railroad track, I see Whistle plod plodding. I meet Joseph at the hitching rail. Whistle stomps and neighs. From his briefcase, Joseph produces a flat rectangular device. A click of a button lights up the front, revealing a photo of Joseph and his family on the lock screen.
“But you mean you take photos!” Is the first thing out of my mouth.
“Well, you don’t need to if you have convictions against doing so.”
“Right, I guess that’s true.” Some of the adrenalin drains away. Furtively, I glance around, “Let's go to the barn.”
For the next 30 minutes or so, Joseph talked about what type of device I might want. It’s all French to me, and besides, every little sound might be Mark or someone else happening to stop by. We finally settled on an iPad mini 3 from Walmart with a sim card from Rogers. We pay with my credit card, and Joseph was on his way home again.
Over the next few days, we kept a close eye on every delivery vehicle, and soon enough, a suspicious-looking box appeared. After several glitches with setting up a new device, and falling back on Joseph for assistance, I become the proud owner of an email address and am introduced to the fantastic world of electronic connection. And music. And websites. And anything I could think about, only a few clicks away.
In the next few months, it became increasingly apparent that there was no future here in Aylmer for us anymore. We could not continue on the path God had started us on and stay in this community. This was a monumental realization. Everything and everyone we loved, knew, and cared for was here. Leaving it would mean a complete loss of everything. On one hand, I was completely and totally committed to everything God had for me. On the other hand, I was completely and totally committed to my family, the Amish way of life, and the church there in Aylmer. To realize that the two were no longer compatible was unbelievably earth-shaking.
Tina and I talked. We prayed. Earnestly. And deep within, there was a calm assurance that God was worthy of our trust. He would lead us one step at a time, no matter what.
You may wish to begin reading starting at Early Teens.