This article is a part of "The Amish Cook Column", a weekly series of featuring a story & recipe from Gloria Yoder, Amish widow & mother of six from Flat Rock, Illinois

The long awaited day had come. Daniel’s parents, Ephraim and Lydia, who were in Mexico for eight weeks,  were on their way home.

It had been hard to see them go, yet we trusted God to overshadow them and yes, we were also thankful for doctors there who work with cancer patients. With Lydia’s colon cancer also having gone to her liver immediate action was required. Upon her request, she was anointed before leaving for Mexico. It was a special occasion as we sang, prayed, and shared together.

When it worked out for me to go join them for a few days in the sixth week, I was delighted to spend the time with them and get to know some of their new friends, meet the doctors, and experience a bit of the culture there. I was appreciative of how modern, sterile, and professional the hospital was. The doctors and nurses worked together in an amazing way. I listened closely as I observed their interaction. There was that sense of respect for every person around them. The words of the Carrillo, one of Lydia’s doctors, rang in my ears long after we came home. When asked a question he would answer it the best he could in broken English, yet he honored the five other doctors who teamed with him in the same hospital, all doing what they specialized in. This is what he said, “If the surgeon gives you an answer different than mine, do what he tells you to do. He is the expert, not me.”

I couldn’t help but comment to him about the honor system they have for each other and how there is absolutely no bickering or competition in their relationships. His response was so genuine, “Oh no, no, that would never work!”

Soon it was my turn to watch the two little ones so my sister-in-law could go take a turn with Mom. I pondered and wondered over that attitude. How could I take this home and apply it to our family? How would it look if our greatest concern for others was to honor them instead of trying to prove who is right and who is wrong? What would it be like if children, and adults alike, were passionate about caring more about others than yourself? As much as I longed to go home and plant this mindset into our home, I knew that even with sheer determination, I couldn’t make this happen on my own, I simply told God about it, asking him to enable me to lead.

The night of Lydia’s surgery we all felt incredibly blessed, but were also worn out. It was past supper time and time to get the little ones back to the motel and get settled down for the night. Being unfamiliar with the area we were unsure where to go to get supper. The taxi drivers were as friendly and helpful as could be, willing to take us where we needed to go, but it just didn’t look appealing to be out with the little ones trying to find something at this hour. My sister-in-law offered to go down to the cafeteria and see if there are any late night options. Once more I was amazed over the hospitality and care they showed. No, they were closed for quite some time already, but one of the girls who always had a ready smile and willing heart was quick to offer to make fruit smoothies for us. We took the car seat, or bags, and the children down and sat in the now dimly lit booth and savored a delicious smoothie. I observed many workers throughout, still laboring away; I knew that they, too, must be tired, but their happiness was not based on what they needed to do, they were simply happy to serve.

Today I miss those dear people we grew to enjoy in that brief stay, but the lessons they taught, I hope, will go with me for a life time.

Now, with Daniel’s parents finally coming home, and the cancer in remission, we were truly thankful. Unknown to them, everyone in church was invited to come to their house to help welcome them back. Helium balloons had been filled, welcome home flowers, notes, food, were in the kitchen, and we were getting ready to line up beside the driveway.

Four grandsons held a welcome home banner constructed of plywood and two-by-fours, decorated with streamers, their balloons having been tied to their arms or suspenders to keep them from escaping. My favorite was little Joshua and Cousin Karla, as they stood next to each other holding a smaller welcome sign, also decked with streamers, quite pleased to play their own important role.  The rest of us hung on to our balloons or tied them on, as we lined up on either side of the drive. Uncle John wove pink and yellow streamers from person to person, crisscrossing his way down the driveway. Someone started singing, “Bind us together”, we all joined in. The sun shone gently and streamers blew softly in the spring breeze as we kept watching for the black SUV to round the corner of the dusty gravel road.

Twenty minutes later they made their appearance. As the taxi driver approached with his precious cargo, cheers erupted on all sides, children blew whistles and blew bubbles. Slowly they drove under the welcome banner and then right through the zigzagged streamers. As the vehicle stopped we walked up, singing what used to be Daniel’s favorite song, The Best is Yet to Come.

Among the food waiting for Dad and Mom was a rice casserole. I’ll include a recipe I used to make for Daniel when we were young married.

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