Miss-Delectable
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Ministry offers communication, light
The sun beamed yellow on wave petunias dangling in the soft, summer breeze July 7 as nurses changed shifts at Betz Nursing Home in Auburn. Inside, people in wheelchairs were parked in front of an episode of “The Golden Girls.” The phone rang. An alarm by the door beeped. Carts erred along as wheels turned on the linoleum floor. And in the background, a preacher gave a sermon.
Mary Ponko didn’t hear any of it. She didn’t see it, either. Most days, for Ponko, it’s as if nothing else exists. For the rest of the world, it’s easy to forget Ponko.
Her life is silent. And dark.
Ponko, 78, is part of an often-ignored segment of the population — the deaf. In her world, she can’t hear, and most can’t comprehend the movements of her arms, hands and fingers. She’s what doctors refer to as oral deaf, meaning she lost her hearing late enough in life and knew enough about sound to create words, but her intonation and annunciation are skewed.
Thursdays are the highlights of her weeks. Tammy Mack and her husband visit with Ponko and sign during the church service for her. Although Ponko’s sight is incredibly limited, she can see well-lit objects or people sitting directly in front of her.
For two hours each week, she feels connected to someone, something, and that gets her through her lonely routine.
When Ponko was four years old, she contracted whooping cough and lost most of her hearing as a result of high fevers.
“I didn’t talk when I was a child,” Ponko signed.
In the early 1930s, Ponko’s parents sent her to the Indiana School for the Deaf in Indianapolis. Ponko believes her parents had no choice but to send her to the school, as local public schools could not offer her services.
“My parents weren’t happy about me being deaf. I grew up with the feeling that they didn’t like me signing or speaking about deaf people,” Ponko signed. Her parents referred to sign language as the “devil’s language.”
Ponko reached for tissues as she recalled her past. At the time, she said parents commonly ignored deaf children. Her parents and siblings never learned to sign so they could communicate with Ponko.
Ponko encourages parents of deaf children to be involved in their schooling and learn to sign.
“Make sure that kids don’t tease the deaf child,” Ponko added.
At the deaf school, Ponko came into her own and met others who helped her overcome adversity. She went bowling and fishing and joined the girls softball and volleyball teams.
“They called me a tomboy,” Ponko said with a smile.
While at the deaf school, Ponko met her husband, William, who also was deaf. They married in 1947 and moved to Elkhart.
“I would say he’s a good man and good provider. He feared Satan caused his deafness,” Ponko said.
She enjoyed raising her children and loved being a mother. Shortly after her the birth of her first child, however, she went completely deaf.
She taught her children to sign, and they also helped each other learn, Ponko said. Now, her grandchildren also know some sign language. One of her favorite shirts features the names of her grandchildren with the sign for “I love you” drawn in the center of the shirt.
Ponko said that she came to know Christ through a sign language interpreter. She was raised Catholic, but later went to a Baptist church, where someone interpreted the sermons.
“I heard the Gospel, and I realized I had to have salvation,” Ponko said.
Many deaf don’t get the opportunity to hear about Christ, according to Pam Helton, who teaches sign classes at New Hope Christian Center in Waterloo. Only 10 percent of deaf people attend church, and of the 10 percent, only one percent have heard the message of salvation, Helton said.
About 15 years ago, Mack and friend, Pam Helton, felt that a person who showed up at church had a right to hear the Gospel, no matter their hearing capabilities.
Mack first started signing at her church, and believes working with the deaf is something God called her to do. Mack said that when she was a child her mother took her family to sign language classes at a Methodist church near Pleasant Lake.
“She said we’d learn to sign and fight quietly,” Mack said with a laugh.
Helton got interested in sign language when she was in the Girl Scouts. Later, she met a woman who was deaf and got severe headaches after church from straining to read the pastor’s lips during sermons. Helton felt so compelled to communicate with her that she went to a training institute at Concordia Lutheran Seminary.
Helton also fostered a young girl who was deaf. Helton took her to church and was able to alleviate frustration in her life because she knew her language. Helton believes she is now the only licensed foster parent in Indiana who knows sign language.
Mack and Helton now offer sign language classes and deaf interpretation during services at New Hope Christian Center in Waterloo. They have taught between 400 and 500 people to sign. They added that the classes are open to anyone, regardless of religious background.
“Some (who attend classes) are parents with deaf children. Some think it’s cute. Others want to start a ministry at their church, and some are losing their hearing,” Helton said.
Usually, mothers of deaf children come to learn sign, but often fathers and siblings stay at home. The women were excited when a family of 13 — children, parents, aunts, uncles and grandparents — came to learn sign language after learning the family’s newest addition was deaf.
“We want to focus more on being missionaries for deaf people,” Helton said. “We have this wide-open mission field right under our noses.”
People such as Ponko are part of that mission field. Rather than let Ponko sit in silence and darkness, the women offer her words and a little light.
“You really don’t see yourself helping so much,” Mack said. “You really don’t realize the impact you make until you hear feedback from other people. You don’t realize how much it touches people to know they can ‘hear.’”
The sun beamed yellow on wave petunias dangling in the soft, summer breeze July 7 as nurses changed shifts at Betz Nursing Home in Auburn. Inside, people in wheelchairs were parked in front of an episode of “The Golden Girls.” The phone rang. An alarm by the door beeped. Carts erred along as wheels turned on the linoleum floor. And in the background, a preacher gave a sermon.
Mary Ponko didn’t hear any of it. She didn’t see it, either. Most days, for Ponko, it’s as if nothing else exists. For the rest of the world, it’s easy to forget Ponko.
Her life is silent. And dark.
Ponko, 78, is part of an often-ignored segment of the population — the deaf. In her world, she can’t hear, and most can’t comprehend the movements of her arms, hands and fingers. She’s what doctors refer to as oral deaf, meaning she lost her hearing late enough in life and knew enough about sound to create words, but her intonation and annunciation are skewed.
Thursdays are the highlights of her weeks. Tammy Mack and her husband visit with Ponko and sign during the church service for her. Although Ponko’s sight is incredibly limited, she can see well-lit objects or people sitting directly in front of her.
For two hours each week, she feels connected to someone, something, and that gets her through her lonely routine.
When Ponko was four years old, she contracted whooping cough and lost most of her hearing as a result of high fevers.
“I didn’t talk when I was a child,” Ponko signed.
In the early 1930s, Ponko’s parents sent her to the Indiana School for the Deaf in Indianapolis. Ponko believes her parents had no choice but to send her to the school, as local public schools could not offer her services.
“My parents weren’t happy about me being deaf. I grew up with the feeling that they didn’t like me signing or speaking about deaf people,” Ponko signed. Her parents referred to sign language as the “devil’s language.”
Ponko reached for tissues as she recalled her past. At the time, she said parents commonly ignored deaf children. Her parents and siblings never learned to sign so they could communicate with Ponko.
Ponko encourages parents of deaf children to be involved in their schooling and learn to sign.
“Make sure that kids don’t tease the deaf child,” Ponko added.
At the deaf school, Ponko came into her own and met others who helped her overcome adversity. She went bowling and fishing and joined the girls softball and volleyball teams.
“They called me a tomboy,” Ponko said with a smile.
While at the deaf school, Ponko met her husband, William, who also was deaf. They married in 1947 and moved to Elkhart.
“I would say he’s a good man and good provider. He feared Satan caused his deafness,” Ponko said.
She enjoyed raising her children and loved being a mother. Shortly after her the birth of her first child, however, she went completely deaf.
She taught her children to sign, and they also helped each other learn, Ponko said. Now, her grandchildren also know some sign language. One of her favorite shirts features the names of her grandchildren with the sign for “I love you” drawn in the center of the shirt.
Ponko said that she came to know Christ through a sign language interpreter. She was raised Catholic, but later went to a Baptist church, where someone interpreted the sermons.
“I heard the Gospel, and I realized I had to have salvation,” Ponko said.
Many deaf don’t get the opportunity to hear about Christ, according to Pam Helton, who teaches sign classes at New Hope Christian Center in Waterloo. Only 10 percent of deaf people attend church, and of the 10 percent, only one percent have heard the message of salvation, Helton said.
About 15 years ago, Mack and friend, Pam Helton, felt that a person who showed up at church had a right to hear the Gospel, no matter their hearing capabilities.
Mack first started signing at her church, and believes working with the deaf is something God called her to do. Mack said that when she was a child her mother took her family to sign language classes at a Methodist church near Pleasant Lake.
“She said we’d learn to sign and fight quietly,” Mack said with a laugh.
Helton got interested in sign language when she was in the Girl Scouts. Later, she met a woman who was deaf and got severe headaches after church from straining to read the pastor’s lips during sermons. Helton felt so compelled to communicate with her that she went to a training institute at Concordia Lutheran Seminary.
Helton also fostered a young girl who was deaf. Helton took her to church and was able to alleviate frustration in her life because she knew her language. Helton believes she is now the only licensed foster parent in Indiana who knows sign language.
Mack and Helton now offer sign language classes and deaf interpretation during services at New Hope Christian Center in Waterloo. They have taught between 400 and 500 people to sign. They added that the classes are open to anyone, regardless of religious background.
“Some (who attend classes) are parents with deaf children. Some think it’s cute. Others want to start a ministry at their church, and some are losing their hearing,” Helton said.
Usually, mothers of deaf children come to learn sign, but often fathers and siblings stay at home. The women were excited when a family of 13 — children, parents, aunts, uncles and grandparents — came to learn sign language after learning the family’s newest addition was deaf.
“We want to focus more on being missionaries for deaf people,” Helton said. “We have this wide-open mission field right under our noses.”
People such as Ponko are part of that mission field. Rather than let Ponko sit in silence and darkness, the women offer her words and a little light.
“You really don’t see yourself helping so much,” Mack said. “You really don’t realize the impact you make until you hear feedback from other people. You don’t realize how much it touches people to know they can ‘hear.’”