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The Amish Voice

MAP

P.O. Box 128

575 U.S. Highway 250

Savannah, OH 44874

(419) 962-1515

July 2016

Welcome to part one of Emanuel

Schrock’s true life story.

1. Church

The sound of the steady beat of Betty’s

hooves on the pavement mingle with the

soft, rumbling din of the family

buggy wheels. It’s a sound that is

so much a part of who I am that it

is like music in the background of

my life, constantly reminding me of

who I am and what I belong to: I

am Amish, not by choice, but by

birth. I was born into a family of

twelve, and since my parents and

grandparents were Amish, fate had

already decided that I was destined

to be Amish as well – like it or not.

To me it is strange how this works:

Except in a few rare cases, the only way

to be Amish is to be born that way, and

the only way to stop being Amish is to

become a sinner and turn one’s back on

everything one has been taught. It is as

though a sheepfold has been prepared in

which exists the one true way to live and

the right way to please God; to be born

into that fold is to be privileged and

chosen above the rest of the world. One

is on the right road to God because of his

Amish birth and not by choice.

Being Amish, then, becomes your life,

and to you, nothing else matters more.

Your existence becomes a life-long

mission of preserving this precious

heritage into which you were born and

had no part in creating. You accept it

without question as the right way, simply

because your ancestors have always done

it this way. You trust that somewhere in

the history of your heritage there was a

person who had the authority and the

information to know what way in life is

the right way; that he had some special

revelation of God or a deep insight into

the ways of righteousness that gave him

the right and power to create this blessed

fold into which you were born, and in

which, if you remain, you are assured

that you are safely on the right road to

being in favor with God. This is the

Amish way.

It is Sunday morning and my family is on

the way to church. I am nestled in the

front seat of the buggy with my

father, who is driving, and my two

brothers. My mother and my

sisters are in the back seat. Dad is

sitting silently on the edge of his

seat with a blank expression on his

face. Mom is giving occasional

orders to the young girls on how to

be behave, while chatting with my

older sister in anticipation of

meeting with the other women at

church.

In my mind, I am secretly dreading

the ordeal of church. Why couldn’t today

be an in-between Sunday? There were a

few things about church that I didn’t

mind. I enjoyed some of the singing, and

if there was a good preacher, I enjoyed

the preaching as well. But generally,

going to church was a matter of waiting

for the day to be over. I didn’t really

fit in with my friends very

well, and I didn’t try very

hard to. I was a quiet

thinker, and would

My Story, Part 1

By Emanuel Schrock