Moise Miller’s house is rising right over the highway in front of both of our houses, and it is a wonder of hard work and ingenuity.

It is hard to believe how hard he and his family have worked and how much they have accomplished. Their once barren land is full of green and life and beauty.

The house surprises me for its visibility and size; it towers over the road and is, I think, a clear and conscious statement by Moise: We are here for good, we are staying, we have plans.

There is a lot more work to be done, outside and in; the family doesn’t expect to be living in their new home until February or March.

This openness is not the usual Amish message: “leave us alone, leave us in peace.” When people ask me about getting to know the Amish, the rules are simple: you are always welcome in the kitchen but don’t expect to get into the house.

Oddly, the house frame reminds me of the first farmhouse I bought when I decided to move to the country and live in the hamlet of Hebron, beautiful and remote. My big-old farmhouse house towered about the small town; I always joked that I felt like living in the British Governor’s Mansion in New Delhi.

I can’t say what was in Moise’s head, but he knows what he is doing, and he makes his presence known. Moise has big plans for his family.

The Amish preach humility and practice it, but the house is not what I would call humble. That is not the message. It is saying something else.

It is proud,  even bold, and it towers above our neighborhood. Maria instantly joked that it seemed Moise and I share a strong ego as well as other things. I winced but saw the truth of it.

A couple of weeks ago, some friends of Moise’s complained that I was writing about him too often and revealing more of Amish lives that most of them are comfortable with. This touched off some intense dialogue and reflection; I’m surprised it took so long for people to complain about me.

Moise told me about it, and I stopped writing much about him and decided to take very few photos of the farm or the family, if any at all.

Since then, Moise and the family have made it clear that they want our friendship to continue, and I believe them and want the same thing. It feels like everything has snapped back to normal.

The other day, though, Moise and I had an exchange that made me uncomfortable, and I thought it was a turning point in our friendship, a positive one, I believe, and hope.

Friendships take a lot of work, and friendship between an Amish Elder and patriarch and religious leader and a Jew turned Quaker turned Jesus admirer will take a great deal of calibrating, listening, changing, and learning.

We could hardly be more different; we could hardly be more alike. That is a formula for reflection.

I think I’ve often had this fantasy about friendships that they are about devotion, love, and loyalty. Like in the movies. I tend to romanticize them, and they tend to disappear.

Friendships are, of course, all those things,  but they are about other things as well, as I am learning over and over again.

Most of the friendships in my life have either failed or withered away; my fault, I am sure, I was just too troubled and distracted.

I am what Thomas Merton calls an inalienable solitary.

I do better by myself and am happier by myself, and now, with Maria at my side, happier than ever. It’s enough. It’s more than I need. It’s just what I want. The closest people to me live far away, and I’ve never seen most.

Moise Miller and his family have come into this reality, turning all of it upside down. And since it’s what I do, I share it on my blog.

Moise is an Amish leader and faithful church member above all, and I am a writer above all. These two things are not always compatible.

Maria says we have similar egos and are used to having our way. That, she says, is what binds us. She might be right. I hope that’s not all there is. Maria knows me as well or better than anyone in my life; I’d be foolish not to listen to her.

I have often been called ruthless and stubborn in my life, although age and life are breaking me down and changing me, mainly for the better. Some of the bad genes die off, I think.

One of the reasons I love my blog so much is that it helps me understand what I need to do to change and grow. I can’t help but be honest there, sometimes too simple. It’s where I face the truth about myself, which is the goal of meditation.

Monday, I pulled up to the farm to watch Moise and his family work on their new house, rising quickly and dramatically over the road. It’s got a lot of the town buzzing.

Most Amish I’ve met do not like to be seen or known too well by us English. They make it a point of not being too visible.

Moise is saying something else with his new house. He is a confident man, a builder, and a strong presence. That doesn’t always mesh with humility.

Moise came over quickly to the car. I was standing next to it, and I knew this was likely to mean he needed a ride or for me to buy something online. He never interrupts his work to make small talk. He has awesome focus. If he can come and talk with me, he doesn’t need to buggy over to our farmhouse.

“Hey, Johnie Boy,” he said. “Are you still a boot master?” He referred to my very long effort to get boots for his family and his brother-in-law Jacob’s family.

Between their absolute and unwavering demands and many confusing kinds of boots, and the difficulties finding and getting them in the post-pandemic mayhem, it took about five months and countless return trips to Fedex or UPS stations,  and hours of online trawling to get the proper boots on the Amish right feet.

It was a good thing to do, especially as winter approaches, and I have no regrets or complaints about it. It turns out I still need one more pair of boots for young Barbara; hers seem to have been given to another couple of feet.

I’ll make sure she gets hers next week.

I think I knew what was coming from Moise, but the specifics took me aback.

Another brother-in-law, living in Argyle, saw his boots and asked where he got them. He asked if I could buy ten other boots of varying sizes and uses for a family of relatives that live in another town.

Moise said he was sure I’d be happy to do it; I’ve never declined any request of him or his family. But ten boots for his brother-in-law weeks before Christmas? Bells went off in my head.

We went back to the farmhouse, and he came out with a list of sizes and numbers. He was excited and seemed to have no doubt that I would say yes. He had taken the trouble to write out a detailed order list. It was long. I admit to feeling taken for granted.

This was no quick search online for ten different boots. This would take hours and hours, and undoubtedly, many returns and crossed signals on both sides. The feed and seed companies selling the only boots the Amish wear are neither high-tech nor efficient, they have few sizes and none for kids or women.

There was quite a gap between what I ordered and what I got. Dealing with Amazon spoils me, generally, you get what you order and pretty quickly. The boots were a whole different story.

Some don’t refund and only exchange; others are complicated to communicate with. Boots were coming and going and filling up the dining room.

Still, I’m very devoted to helping the family when I can and have said no; I took the slip of paper Moise gave me and $300 in cash he handed me for starters (it would cost more, I told him) and went home.

My first thought was, wow; this is a big deal; how great to get boots for yet another family. I was almost flattered, which I realized was not healthy.

I turned on my computer and started looking for one boot that was hard to find, and a gong went off in my head. What am I doing? I never told him that Moise had no idea how hard it was to get those boots.

Did he care? I don’t know. And with Moise,  it’s okay to say no. I just had never done it.

I know it wasn’t his intention, but I did feel taken advantage of and taken for granted. It was no big deal for him to ask me this; it never crossed his mind that I might be too busy.

This is a powerful friendship, but perhaps off balance. Patriarchs and leaders are like that; they get used to giving orders.

I am not like that; I am never used to taking orders.

A fog cleared.  I have a lot of work to do and am busy almost every hour of every day. This was for people I don’t know and perhaps will never meet.

I decided I needed to draw a boundary. I’ll help get things for his family, but not for every Amish family. Nothing kills off a friendship quicker than a lack of boundaries.

And I won’t go searching for ten more boots for anybody at this point, it’s a good line, but I am not a “boot master,” I’m a writer with a lot of things to do, including helping out refugees and the elderly. Because I never said no before, it perhaps did not occur to him.

The work of the Army Of Good is not a part-time job. I work very hard at it and am fully committed to it every day of my life. Few things in my life are more important to me.

I took the money and the slip of paper and drove fight back to the Miller farm, planning on returning it to him in person.

Moise wasn’t home. I sat in the car and wrote a note explaining that I was too busy to do this now and couldn’t purchase boots or other things for any other family.

I am happy to buy something online that the Miller family needs, but no more big boot or other purchases for strangers.

As it happened, young Barbara came out to the car to say hello to me, and I gave her the note and money to give to Moise. Since then, I  haven’t seen him; he’s working on two other Amish houses in the county.

This felt good to me. It felt liberating.

It reminded me once again that boundaries are healthy and necessary and that friendship is not always about saying yes; sometimes, it’s about saying no.

The idea is to keep a friendship, not lose it, another lesson about giving and receiving. I have so much to learn.

As I pulled away, I explained to Barbara that I couldn’t get boots for her cousins and uncle’s family, I was just too busy, and it was too much work. I’m sorry, I said.

She paused and looked at me in the eyes. “What does this mean for my boots?” I know how badly she wants and needs new boots.

I smiled and met her gaze. “Your boot is coming on Tuesday,” I said, “and if it doesn’t fit, I will return it and get another one.”

Good decisions feel good.