Sherry Gore - The Plain Choice: A True Story of Choosing to Live an Amish Life

Also by Sherry Gore

....

Simply Delicious Amish Cooking: Recipes and Stories from the Amish of Sarasota, Florida

Me, Myself, and Pie: More than 100 Simple and Delicious Amish Recipes

ZONDERVAN

The Plain Choice

Copyright 2015 by Sherry Gore

Requests for information should be addressed to:

Zondervan, 3900 Sparks Dr. SE, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546

ePub Edition July 2015: ISBN 978-0-310-33560-3

All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version, NIV. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by Zondervan, nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The author is represented by The Steve Laube Agency, LLC.

Cover design: James Hall

Cover photography: Barbara Banks Photography

Interior design: Kait Lamphere

First printing June 2015

This book is dedicated to Jacinda, Shannon, and Tyler I am so grateful to be your mother

And to Denise youre still my best friend after all these years

CONTENTS

You dont know anything about me.

From all outward appearances, this could have been true. She was a young African American girl, her face ash gray and swollen, cratered like the moon. Shed been hit. More than once. I, on the other hand, was pink with summer sunburn, in a pastel dress and a white head covering.

I belonged to the Plain community. She, I was nearly certain, made her living as a prostitute.

What could we possibly have in common? More than she might think.

I was standing outside Sarasota Memorial Hospital when I first saw her. My daughter, Jacinda, was in day treatment for a six-hour infusion, and Id stepped outside to find someplace to have lunch. The young girl was slumped against a hospital bench, an ID band from the ER around her wrist, the wounds on her cheek fresh.

She looked so frail she couldve floated down from the sky and gotten stuck on the fresh paint of the bench.

Hello? I said, walking up to her. Are you waiting on someone?

She shook her head. Her lips were crusted white and chapped.

Maam? the hospital valet said. Your vans ready.

I stepped closer to the girl. Look, can I give you a ride somewhere?

Where?

Her response told me so much. People only say where when theres no place to go.

Your choice, I said.

She rubbed her nose on her sleeve. Sure. Okay.

I had to help her into my van, and I brushed close to her bruised face while buckling her seat belt. It broke my heart. Hers was a face without hope. I knew that face. Id worn it myself.

I can understand why you live like you do, I said, climbing into the drivers seat. I wanted to reach out to her, make her less afraid. But she was hardened by her life.

You dont know anything about me.

Maybe not the details, no. But I can imagine youve made some tough choices. Ive made a few tough choices too.

She glanced at my Plain dress. Youre nothing like me.

I shifted in my seat to face her directly. Curled against the door, she looked just like my daughter had looked during long trips to a Cincinnati hospital, in the early days.

Listen... I dont have any answers for you, I said. I dont have any idea what youve faced in your life, what youve done, or whats been done to you. But I want you to know something. I caught her eyes with mine. I want you to know that I care for you.

What?

You heard me. I care for you.

Gimme a break, she said.

Listen to me. I touched her shoulder. I care. Do you hear that? Listen to my words. I care. And Im not alone. I pointed upward. God. Him too. He loves you.

It was all I knew to say in that moment a simple declaration of the only real truth I know in this world. I care. He loves. Thats all. And happily, the warmth of those words broke her resolve a bit, and I saw the face of a scared little girl bubble up from the darkness below.

Were closer than you think, I said to her. Dont confuse what I wear with who I am. This dress doesnt say Im perfect. It says that I am not.

Quiet tears licked at her face. I... I just cant get anything right.

I couldnt either.

Im so ashamed...

I was too.

She fell into her hands, then told me about her boys, ages six and seven, who lived with their grandmother since they didnt have a house of their own. She said she took street jobs to save up for an apartment.

But it dont even matter, she continued, because my boys will grow up, and theyll learn what I do, and theyll never understand. Theyll hate me for what Ive done.

They wont, I said.

Its true I know it.

Okay, so make them proud of you instead. Do what I did. Find the love in your heart and let it guide you.

She blinked slowly. Love... thats the one thing I cant ever seem to find.

I smiled and patted her hand. Then I took a deep breath, and I told her right then and there how it was that I found love; I told her my story, one heart to another in a van parked outside of a hospital. And when I was finished with the telling, and we finished crying, I drove her to a corner street in nearby Bradenton, where she said she knew some people.

When she stepped down onto the sidewalk I knew Id never see her again. But I prayed as she walked away that she would find her own love, just like I did even if, like me, she found it in the most unexpected of places.

Orange County, California, is a home for the fabulously rich, the famous, and the fortunate, where Botox and detox clinics live on the same block, and bleach blondes practically grow on trees. Its home to Newport Beach, Disneyland, and Surf City USA and at one time, it was home to me.

Of course, I was a bleach blonde then, just like the rest. I spent my days racing a motorcycle around LA and my nights on-mic as a disc jockey.

My days look quite different now.

My name is Sherry Gore, and I am an Amish-Mennonite woman.

Its natural to wonder how I got from one lifestyle to the other spray tan to a head covering. The journey was quite a ride, taking me across the country and back again, and there were times in between when I didnt know if I would make it out the other side. Its a complicated tale, but one worth telling because of a simple truth at its center:

I made a choice. A plain choice.

We all make hundreds of minor choices every day, but some can change the course of a life. Some choices define who we are or set into motion events too unimaginable to foresee and too overwhelming to understand.

My choice did both.

Today my home is Pinecraft, Florida, a sun-kissed Amish community nestled in Sarasota about five miles from the beach, and about five feet from some of the finest Amish cuisine in the world. Most days youll spot me pedaling through my snowbird community on a Hawaiian-motif, cream-colored Electra bicycle with an eye-catching wicker basket. Im the one in a blue dress with a white head covering, probably on Kaufman Avenue next to Big Olaf Ice Cream or riding down Beneva with some fresh produce from Yoders Fresh Market. Its my own Amish version of the Sunset Strip, and it couldnt be farther from my days riding down beaches in a bikini with my curly blond hair blowing in the breeze.