The Last Kiss.

"It was early in October

on our little farm in Gardners

when we lost our little brother

in the pond beside the barn"

Frances Drost

Beside the Barn

This old photo of our pond on the farm in Gardners was recently sent to me by a relative.
Perfect timing for this blog.

I asked my older sister, Aspen, if she'd be willing to share how she experienced the death of our brother, Nathan.

So in the words of Aspen....

"I remember walking up the lane with Mother and Adriel (our older brother) – where was Frances?!

It strikes me now, after all the study I have done around death, how exceptional and important an act it was that Mother carried Nathan in her arms from the pond to the end of the lane, and then up to the house. There is something about feeling the weight, having the body register experientially the sensation, the reality of the death of the loved one.

When I first wrote my talk about death (see below) I did not even clue in on this subtlety but I get it now. Here is my own story of how I (Aspen) encountered death as a 7 year old, and again at 21 – how these predicaments with actual dead bodies became my most poignant moments of encountering death."

Aspen's "talk" about her experience with Nathan's death:

"My first encounter with death was when I was about 7 and my little brother, Nathan, was 2, and he drowned in the pond on our farm. That was 1966, in Gardners, Pennsylvania. My older brother was 8 and our little sister was 6 months old. I was at my girlfriend’s house up the road. A call came that I needed to go home right away. The scene at the end of the lane stopped me from getting too close – there was my mother, and I guess the doctor, and perhaps a neighbor, all there, bent over and busily doing something….. it was CPR they were doing. An unsuccessful attempt, as it turned out. I was looking at my first dead body.

They took Nathan up the lane to the farmhouse, laid him on a blanket on the living room floor. It was a long evening. Thinking about it now, it was this time with Nathan that made all the difference…. To be in our own house, in the middle of our living room where we played and had birthday parties, where we had Christmas, where we made forts, where we practiced the piano.

To see that he wasn’t getting up.

To see that he wasn’t sleeping.

This was serious.

There was now a gap between us the living siblings and our dead one, a gap we couldn’t grasp but at least there was time – time to take in a kind of sweet rawness about just being there, being in our own living room; just having time to take it in. And when the undertaker came to take Nathan, and my mother cried desperately “– you can’t take him! you can’t have him!” (My father wasn’t back from his conference yet and she couldn’t fathom all of this happening without him there.)

They wrapped Nathan in a blanket and just before they took him away my mother said she gave us, my brother and I, “the privilege of kissing him.”

The last time I saw Nathan was at the funeral at Air Hill Church. I remember two details: That we sang this song – When He Cometh, When He Cometh, and I distinctly recall my mother leading us up to the casket before it was closed for the last time, her leaning, and kissing the face of Nathan. Then, she wanted my brother and I to do the same. I wanted to, but not really wanting to, and doing it anyway.

Orville, Bertha, Adriel and Aspen viewing Nathan, at the funeral home in Mt. Holly Springs, PA.

So began my spiritual and cultural immersion with death— how we love the dead.

What we do with the dead. How the community and larger family responds.

I watched as my parents moved through this territory.

They did not shield us.

They didn’t think about shielding us."

Sorrow is Better Than Laughter. WHAT???

I've always had a very serious side to me. In fact, my whole family is pretty serious. We think and feel very deeply. I also have a quirky side to me and the more freedom I experience in my life, the more that side is coming out. But obviously, the heaviness that I grew up with still shows up even when I write funny songs.

"Even the funny songs that you write still have a serious edge to them", came the words from my manager. I sighed inwardly (and probably outwardly too). I didn't notice that until he pointed it out. The critique session was so rough I wondered if I should keep writing music. "Absolutely", he said. "I just want to see you get better overall and that includes your songwriting."

As a songwriter, it's always been my aim to be the best writer I can be, which has meant allowing professional people to speak into my writing. It isn't always easy to hear a critique of what you wrote, even when it's given in love and intended to make you better. I'm thankful to have people around me who love me enough to be honest with me about my writing, so I took his words to heart and began doing all I could to learn more about writing better songs. 

Up until then, I had written mostly from inspiration only. I'd hear lyrics and a melody in my head and sit down at the piano to write. Now, I still write from inspiration, but I've also learned how to work hard at the craft and develop the seed of inspiration with the sweat of perspiration.Yet, no matter how hard I work at getting better, I'm afraid my serious side still shows up. 

So when I read the following passage this week from someone else's blog; Solomon—the wisest man who ever lived—I almost laughed out loud in light of the story I've been sharing the last couple of months in my blog. Perhaps this explains the underlying theme of death and heaviness that shows up in so many of my songs;

"Better to spend your time at funerals than at parties. 
After all, everyone dies, 
so the living should take this to heart.
Sorrow is better than laughter.

A wise person thinks a lot about death,

    while a fool thinks only about having a good time."
Ecclesiastes7:2-4

If sadness has a refining influence on us, than I should be as "fine" as gold. LOL! 

Yes, I see now that all of the sad stories in my family history put us ALL through the fire. 

A few weeks ago when I was reading a book on songwriting, the author (who is a hit songwriter) said "write what you know". That's exactly what I've been doing. I had an epiphany in that moment. I decided to embrace my history, my story and all the heaviness and sorrow that came with it. It's what I know and it's what I've written. I do have something to share and yes, it might have a certain slant to it, but that's who I am. 

That doesn't mean I won't keep trying to improve in my writing, but I realize that as Solomon said, sadness has a refining influence on us, so I've decided to accept my past and at the same time, keep moving forward. I know as I keep growing in wisdom and understanding (a prayer I pray often) it will be reflected in my voice, both on paper and audibly.

So with that, I will continue the next phase of the story of the death of Nathan in next week's post, but this time, you'll get to hear from my sister, Aspen, as she shares what the death of Nathan was like for her (when she was 7) and how it has impacted her life.

Until next week, I thought a picture of someone having a good cry might feel appropriate right about now.  ; )

Beside the Barn

It was my first big trip to Nashville, Tennessee, as a songwriter, planning to record an album with a new producer I had met previously at a music conference. His name was Eric Copeland and he was president of Creative Soul Records. From the first time I met him and heard some of his artists perform their songs and share their heart, I knew it was a divine appointment. I made a mental note that the next time I needed a producer I would call him. That time had come.

Now, I was preparing to meet with Eric at a prestigious recording studio called Dark Horse Recording in Nashville. The plan was for him to listen through all the songs I had been writing and help me determine if I had any material that was worthy of recording.

Eric sat at a big recording console with his back to me as he listened through all my songs. As soon as the demo of the song "Beside the Barn" started playing, the tears began to trickle down my face. I hadn't expected any emotion that day, only nerves, so the tears took me by surprise. He turned around from the big studio console with all the fancy knobs and lights and was about to ask me if the song was a true story, but he stopped mid-sentence when he saw my glistening face. He simply nodded as if to say, "I see the answer to my question". He swung back around in his chair and nothing more was said until the song finished.

"Beside the Barn" was an immediate "yes" for the album. I still remember Eric saying, "Well THAT song will sell a CD for sure." But THAT seemed like a long way off.

At the end of the day, Eric made an observation that I wrote a lot of songs about death; something I had never noticed, ever. I went home pondering why. Though it certainly seems obvious to me now, at that point in my life I had no answer.

Working on songs at Dark Horse Recording with Eric Copeland.
Lots to think about!

The song went through many re-writes before we recorded it and some of those re-writes wrote the emotions right out of the song, so in the end, we went back to one of the original versions.

"Beside the Barn" is about this next story that has touched our family in a way that I'm not sure any other event in our lives ever did, from my point of view. At least, speaking for myself, it left an imprint so deep in my psyche that it showed up in many of my songs late into my 30's and 40's. It became apparent, from my writing, that I had an issue with death—and it's no wonder.

It's at this point we'll continue on with the story in my mother's own words.

"Nathan was born on October 7, 1964. He was a little clown and he made us all laugh, especially his baby sister, Frances. She would sit in her toddler chair, bouncing herself up and down with delight, as Nathan danced around in his 2-year old way, getting her to respond. Frances would put her head back and laugh and laugh! They were quite a pair.

Nathan C. Heisey October 7, 1964 - October 11, 1966

Just the weekend before the tragic day, we had gone to Ohio to visit Grandpa and Grandma Heisey (Henry P. and Lela Fern—Orville's folks). We had been planning to leave Nathan with friends and not take him along, but Brenda and Adriel put up such a fuss about it and said if Nathan wasn't going, they didn't want to go either. So Nathan went along. I was so glad we took him.

Brenda (Aspen), Orville (holding Nathan), Bertha (holding Frances) and Adriel.
(Doug was now in Africa, serving as a missionary.)

On the way driving home from Ohio, we had seen the results of a bad accident on the highway—there were people lying on the grassy banks, covered with sheets. That night, I had a dream or a vision, was I sleeping or awake? I saw plainly our two families—the Sollenberger and Heisey families in the basement of Air Hill church, waiting to be ushered upstairs for the seating at a funeral as was the custom...and I said in the dream—"That means there is someone in our family—Orville's and mine, that has died".

It was Tuesday, October 11, 1966, a few days after Nathan's 2nd birthday, later in the afternoon, and Nathan was tired (it had been a big weekend going to Ohio) and I should have put him to bed for a nap, but he wanted to go outside so badly. It was chilly, so I dressed him up in a couple of layers and he went out. He must have headed straight for the farm pond—he had recently discovered it, playing fetch-the-ball with his older siblings. It hadn't been very long at all but when I went to check on him, I couldn't find him. He was nowhere to be seen...

And then, I saw something in the water, floating.

My heart sank.

I could see his plaid flannel shirt—white and black and red.

I ran in and took him from the pond; carried him quickly down to the end of the lane. I thought maybe there was a chance we could revive him. I flagged down a car and asked them to hurry and get a doctor.

The doctor seemed to come fairly quickly.

We gave him artificial respiration.

But Nathan was gone.

They wanted to give me something to keep me calm but I wouldn't take anything.

They wanted me to get in the car and ride up the lane but I wouldn't get in.

I carried him in my arms, up the long lane to the house.

I wanted to carry him myself.

I needed to carry him.

We laid Nathan in the living room. When they asked me who we wanted for an undertaker, they were shocking words. I resisted allowing them to take my child saying, "you can't have him; his father is not even here!"

I wanted Orville to get home...didn't want to do anything else until he was there, but he was not reachable by phone as he had gone to Bucknell University for the day to a conference, and wouldn't be back until 8 or 9 o'clock.

Orville got there just in time before the undertaker took Nathan away."

Frances here:

I'm 52 years old and I still cry as I type this story.

I don't know if there was ever a time that mother told this story that we didn't all cry.

I guess that's how the story became so alive in my own heart and sank deep into the place from which I write songs. I can see now, as I look back in my songwriting, that every time I felt I needed a scenario in a song to express the dark side of life and how to deal with it, I went right to the topic of death to help me cope with my overwhelming sense of sadness that I seemed to live with, even as a believer in Jesus. The problem is, I wasn't really facing it head-on.

It wasn't until I went through some counseling that I realized how the story of not only Nathan's death, but all the deaths my mother would talk about (such as her first husband...and more deaths to come, as you'll see), would continually remind me that death is a part of life, but amplified in ways most children would never have to think about, because it happened so much in our family.

There's one line in the chorus of the song that is even more powerful now than I realized at the time I wrote it...

"Still my heart is where that home was."

Now I see, in part, the reason for my struggle. My heart could never quite leave that 'place' of mourning.

The pond beside the barn where Nathan drowned.

I have no video to point you to for this song. I've considered creating one with old photos of Nathan and the farm, but my producer (Eric) and I feel like the best way to capture this song is to go back to the farm and do a music video.  Plans are currently in motion for this to happen. For now, it is available on iTunes if you type in the title, "Beside The Barn".

Cows, Raggedy Ann and Broken Legs.

This week's portion of my mother's life story reflects the joy she had with her new husband and her growing family. I love reading this part of her story. I wasn't around yet for most of this, but my family talked about it so much that I feel like I was there in some small way—if only as an observer, like a foster child trying to fit in to a family unit already in motion. Their story became part of my story too.

Bertha's story continues:

"Orville divided his time between teaching Chemistry part time at Messiah College and working the farm. Life there was rich with gardening, animals, beekeeping, and cycles of the seasons. In the winter we went tobogganing, ice skating on the pond and cut down our own Christmas trees from the woods.

We had food from our own garden, we had our own meat from the beef and chickens we raised; I baked our bread and our one Jersey cow gave us milk and cream from which we made butter and ice cream every week."

Frances here: (This could very well be where I learned the habit of eating ice cream at least once a week...I needed this evidence to convince my husband, Tom, that it's in my "blood" to crave ice cream weekly. When we go for motorcycle rides in the summer evenings, it's hard for me to not beg for a treat...which always means ice cream!)

My father milking our jersey cow; Doug (left), Adriel (middle), Brenda (right).

"Sewing many of our own clothes was very satisfying to me; I said to Orville one time, "I feel like I'm really living when I'm sewing!"   One year, I even managed to create Halloween costumes—Adriel's was a burlap-bag bear, and Brenda (Aspen) was a Raggedy Ann. They both won prizes in the school costume contest."

"One time, we were boarding a horse for someone, and our 7-year old Brenda had been guarding the special food for the visiting horse from a cow who was intent on eating it. When the cow wouldn't shoo away, Brenda kicked it in the hindquarters, and the cow kicked her back. Orville heard the screaming and found Brenda flat on her back, picked her up and carried her to the house.

She of course, was crying and screaming in pain, and her leg was dangling in such a way that it was obvious to me that a bone had been broken. And I exclaimed, "Why, her leg is BROKEN!" And Orville looked at me and said "SHHHH!" as if we could keep it a secret—don't let HER know that!
Even in the midst of it, though this was not fun for Brenda, I had a moment of great laughter because of how ridiculous it was to me that Orville thought he could keep it a secret from Brenda. It makes me laugh out loud, still, to think of it."

Brenda (Aspen) with Woody, her school bus driver, first day of school (1965).

"But the next story I want to tell regarding God preparing my heart prior to a tragedy, is......."

Frances here:

This is the part where my life begins to intersect with the little family already in place on Willow Springs Farm. Their world was about to be turned upside down.

California and Courtship

No, I'm not going to California and I'm not courting anyone. I'm happily married. This is about my mother.....

As I continue sharing my mother's story, you'll see how God kept working out the details of her life. God knew there was a beautiful job and a new man in her future. That man had a LOT to do with the fact that I'm here today—which is a perfect segue into Father's Day for this coming weekend.

In the later years of my mother's life, I saw a woman whose sense of adventure seemed limited, compared to mine. She found delight in simple things, like cooking, going for a drive and making special "snack bags" for her friends in the retirement community where she lived. She had no desire to fly anywhere, even to see her children (she had experienced enough "terror" in her life, she used to say). But as I learn more about her younger days, I see a very adventurous young woman. Some who knew her before I did gave her the nickname, Bert, indicating a woman who was a lot of fun. Early videos that I've seen reveal a woman who loved to laugh. This next section of her life shows that fun-loving side of her.

We continue my mother's (Bertha) story here:

"Both my parents had gone to California when they were young, before they even knew each other. I had grown up hearing stories about it, and since I had never been to California, this seemed like the time to go. I invited a girlfriend to go with me—Gladys Sollenberger Stickley. In the fall of 1950, she and I and Dougie, then four years old, set out for California.

We were out there about a year, had an apartment, found jobs working in homes for various people and were connected to the Upland Brethren in Christ Church. It was a welcomed change, an adventure that I needed. Gladys's friendship to me and Dougie helped to give me solid ground during a time I needed it.

Gladys Stickley and Dougie Crider in CA.

While still in California, I began praying that I would find a place to live when I returned to Pennsylvania..not just any place, I wanted to live within a Christian Community.

The three of us eventually returned to Pennsylvania, and I faced the reality of getting a job. I answered ads in the paper and finally, I took a job working in the Heinz Tomato Plant in Chambersburg, Pennsylvania.

I wasn't there long, maybe a few days, when a woman from the office came and said, "Bertha, there's a gentleman out there who wants to speak with you."

It was C.N. Hostetter, President of Messiah College! He had come to the factory and asked if I would come and work as a secretary, keeping track of the academic records for the students. It involved a lot of typing and I hadn't typed since 1941, when I graduated from High School. My first reaction to him was, "I'm not qualified!" He said that was all right—they wanted me to come anyway. He also said there was a brand new apartment waiting for me to move into.

So Dougie and I moved there and started work at Messiah College in the fall of 1951. It was another case of God answering the prayer I had made in California—to live in a Christian Community. I enjoyed my life at Grantham living with Dougie, but after a few years, I was beginning to think—"This boy is getting older and he needs a father!" So I began to think about marriage again.

Eventually, I met Orville Heisey. He was a teacher at Messiah College. He gave me something for Christmas and I was suspicious of his motives! We had a six—month courtship, and married in 1956.

The dashing H. Orville Heisey

Orville and Bertha made a "plain-lady" snowman

Wedding day, August 18, 1956, Air Hill Brethren in Christ Church.

Dougie, 8 years old at the time, was pleased to have a Daddy.

Orville and I had four children, Adriel, Brenda (Aspen), Nathan and Frances. Even though Orville taught Math and Science at Messiah College, his dream was to have a farm. This dream came true eventually, but first we lived in Westerville, Ohio (near Columbus) so Orville could finish his degree in Chemistry at Ohio State.

In 1964 we decided to move back to Pennsylvania. I remember driving around in the Mt. Holly Springs area looking at farms. We saw the For Sale sign and drove up the long lane—I was taken by the feeling of how it was nestled back in away from the road with lots of trees. The house had a screened in porch in front and summer kitchen in the back, a barn and various out-buildings. And there was a spring with a pond. It was love at first sight.

We bought Willow Springs Farm, 52 acres, in Gardners, Pennsylvania, south of Carlisle. How we loved living there!"

Moving to Willow Springs Farm in 1964, Gardners, PA. Even the bees came along!

A Prayer, a Phone Call and Lots of Books!

As I read back through my mother's stories, I'm reminded again and again of how God took care of her in the midst of so many trials and setbacks. I learned the power of prayer from watching her. She would pray about everything, and as a child, I must have learned more from her than I realized.

It seemed God often heard her prayers and met the desires of her heart in simple, yet profound ways. Even when she didn't feel very pretty after the bad car accident and was still mourning the death of her young husband, God was taking care of her and met an unspoken desire of her heart to be around books. (I remember her telling me once that books were rare when she was growing up and she longed to have access to them.)

Finding a job for a young widow back in the 1940's would not have been an easy thing, but you'll see how God was already working on her behalf through prayer. A phone call not only opened up a job opportunity for her, but to her delight, it also gave her access to all kinds of books!

One of my favorite pictures of my mother, Bertha.

More from Bertha's life–

"From that day on, I've had that peace and joy and contentment that I wanted so badly but didn't know how to get. I had surrendered my all, my everything to the Lord. I remember saying to God after that—"I want to glorify you, but I don't know how to do it. If you can use me to glorify you, don't let me know that you're doing it, lest I become proud."

Even now, when I go through something difficult, I say, "Lord, back there in 1947 when I told you to glorify yourself, that still holds, if you can use anything about me."

I have the deep settled peace in my heart that God is still directing my steps. If I didn't have that, I don't know how I would have gotten through the difficult times.

A few weeks later, I had a phone call from Avery Heisey, from the Christian Light Press, (now Lifeway Christian Store in Chambersburg, Pennsylvania) offering me a job to come and work in his bookstore in Chambersburg (located downtown at that time).

My response was "Do you know how I look?! My jaw is crooked; my face is swollen; I'm not fit to work in public."

He said, "I know, but it's okay."

He wanted me to come and work there anyway. I was very grateful for a job where I was surrounded by so many wonderful people, good books to read, and music."

Back to Frances—

Yes—God even cares about the smallest, hidden desires, like access to books!

What is the desire of your heart today? Have you told Him lately?

"Trust in him at all times, O people;

pour out your heart before him;

God is a refuge for us." Psalm 62:8

Here's a song I wrote with Darwin Moody years ago based on the very principle that God sees everything about us; the things we want to hide about ourselves and the dreams we have. All we need to do is give Him permission to look into the deep places of our hearts. He loves to free us from the ugly stuff we might feel about ourselves (like a mis-shaped face from a broken jaw) as well as delight us with giving us the desires of our hearts.

Listen to the song, "Nobody Sees" HERE.

"Come Ye Needy One and All"

Many people who knew my mother view her as a hero of faith. Heroes are usually formed in the fire of great trial, the crucible of hardship. As I continue sharing the story of my mother's life (as told by her), you'll see from this particular story that the death of her high school sweetheart (and first husband, Paul) began to shape the faith of a woman many people admire.

We continue with her story.....

"After that car accident in April, life seemed rather heavy and I had just said to Paul while getting ready for bed on a Sunday night early in July—we were talking back and forth about the car accident, and I said: "Well, honey, I feel that I can go through anything as long as I have you to go through it with me. If you were taken from me, I'd hibernate the rest of my life." 


Paul turned to me and said in surprise, "Honey, I'm disappointed. I wish your faith in God would be strong enough that you could accept whatever happens as God's will for your life. Look at my parents. No two people loved each other more than they, yet when my father died, Mother accepted it as God's will and went steadfastly on her way."

The next day, Monday, July 7, I was hanging up my laundry on the clothesline outside, and thinking just how happy I was...I did love my life. I had a lovely son, and I was happy being the wife of Paul Crider. And then my mother and a neighbor lady came knocking on my front door, both looking very grave. They told me that there had been an accident on the job where Paul was working—building a silo in New Oxford. He had fallen from a height of about 40 feet and he was seriously injured. They told me he was in a coma, in the Hanover Hospital, and if I wanted to see Paul alive, I should come quickly with them to the hospital. Well, I went, I did get to see him alive, but he never regained consciousness. He died four days later on July 11, 1947.

After Paul died, and I remembered the conversation that had taken place so close to his death; it felt like somehow God was in it—He had prepared my heart, gone before and arranged that Paul would give me this message in the calm and quite of home. "Have faith in God, that no matter what happens, you will know it is God's will for your life." It was almost as though it was a parting note from Paul.

My heart is deeply moved when I realize the graciousness and love of God that He had gone before and provided for something He knew I would greatly need. But that did not erase the pain, the heartbreak, the disappointment that followed. I didn't want to live without Paul. Life was empty—nothing to live for. Here I was, a young widow with a 7-month old baby, and a face that had been permanently rearranged from the automobile accident.

What was I going to do? I remember I had $400.00 in the bank...that's how much we had saved from Paul's work so far.

That August, I told my mother I wasn't going to go to our annual Roxbury Camp Meeting (a local camp meeting within our denomination). I didn't want to face people. I wanted to hibernate. Her response was firm: "Bertha, you can't stay home...We won't allow that." So I went, but I stayed in our cabin; I didn't attend any of the services. But I could hear all the preacher's messages because our cabin was on the front row and there were outside loudspeakers.

That week that I spent there at the cabin, I was seeking God with all my heart. I was praying that Dougie and I could die, but there was still that fear—the fear of meeting God if I wasn't ready. As a result, I began seeking God as I had never done before—confessing out everything I felt God may not be pleased with in my life.

It was on the evening of August 10, 1947 (just four weeks after Paul's death) that I presented myself to God and asked Him to fill my empty shell. The biggest and hardest thing for me to confess was jealousy. I had jealousy in my heart towards a certain person and I wanted to be rid of it. I knew it was standing in my way.

That person of whom I was jealous just happened to be there at the meeting. So I went and told her. She laughed and said she had something like that too that bothered her—she understood what I was talking about.

Then I went to the altar. I knelt down, my arms crossed and my head down.

They asked me why I was there.

It looked like an impossible monster but I confessed everything until I felt completely emptied. I wanted to die and no price was too great. I "cleaned house"—my physical body even felt empty, as if it were only a shell. There's a song—"Bring your empty earthen vessels, cleansed through Jesus' precious blood, come ye needy one and all".

That was me. I came to God in a way that I had never done before. I was as clean and empty of self as I knew how. I felt a need to be filled, now that I was empty.

They prayed for me for a time. Then they took hold of both my wrists that were on the altar, and lifted my arms so that my face was lifted up. After a while, they asked, "How is it now, Bertha?"

I was just so full—I began weeping—and I said, "I'm full!" in a breathless voice.

God so surprised me and filled my shell with an overflowing love, joy, peace, contentment, and security that I never knew existed. It was a gift because all I was seeking for was an assurance that I was ready to meet God. I had wanted to die; I didn't want to live. I had only wanted to be able to ask God—please take my son and me to heaven.

But a whole new life opened up to me. Now I no longer wanted to die. I wanted to live. There seemed to be so much to live for. God in His graciousness began opening doors of service to me that made my life rich and fulfilling. I enjoyed my dear little son."

Bertha and her son Doug.