Bernice Koehler Johnson has accomplished more since she retired than most people do in a lifetime.

Bernice had a well-paying but otherwise unrewarding job.  She bought property for a Minnesota county, frequently invoking eminent domain. She hated negotiating deals that forced owners to sell. She had grown up on a farm in northern Minnesota; she understood the deep connection people have with their land.

At 58, Bernice took a six-month leave of absence. She wanted to pursue a master’s in creative writing, which at the time required a second language. So she moved to Mexico to study Spanish and to see if she could live without her salary.

Learning Spanish was harder than she expected, but she stuck with it. She was afraid of failing, but told herself, “Just do the best you can.” Slowly, Spanish seeped in. And she learned that if she lived frugally, she could get by. At the end of the six months, she returned to work, wrapped up a few projects, and quit.

She arranged her life around the seasons. Each fall and spring, she took courses. Each winter she fled Minnesota for warmer countries where she taught English. She looked for a new country each year: Spain, Indonesia, Ecuador, the Dominican Republic, Guatemala. Each summer, she joined her mother on the home farm in northern Minnesota.

When she finished her master’s in creative writing, she started a master’s in liberal arts at the University of Minnesota. Tuition is cheap for people age 62 and over.

Bernice’s mother didn’t value this late education. “You’ll be eligible for social security by the time you finish.” Bernice laughed and said, “I know. Isn’t that great!”

In a philosophy course Bernice read Mary Oliver’s poem, The Summer Day, which ends with, Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

It was one of those before / after moments. You know, the kind of moment where you think of your life one way, then something happens, and you are different.

Bernice suddenly realized that taking classes and teaching in warm countries gave her life “structure but not meaning.”

Now, I’m no poetry scholar, but I don’t think Mary Oliver was being judgy in The Summer Day. I don’t think she was suggesting that we aren’t doing enough. In fact, she tells us what she was doing: being idle, knee-deep in grass, examining a grasshopper. Mary Oliver was paying attention. She was aware of how she was spending her time. And she was inviting us to think about how we spend our time. No judgment. Just invitation.

Bernice accepted the invitation.

Outwardly, nothing changed. Bernice kept her seasonal schedule. But, inwardly she sought something more meaningful.

She found it in Thailand.

In 2002, Bernice accepted a position teaching Shan refugees on the Thai/Burma border. The Shan are an ethnic group being persecuted by the Burmese military. Bernice taught children who had fled across the border, some leaving their families behind. They are considered migrants—not refugees—so they receive no international aid. Bernice felt like a surrogate mom to the children who were away from home. She changed her routine. Instead of finding a new place to teach, Bernice returned to the Thai/Burma border the next year—and every year since.

Bernice journaled because she didn’t want to forget the kids. And she wrote letters to a beloved aunt who always encouraged her. The letters described the school, the children, the history of the area, and her experiences. Eventually she used her journals and the letters to write a book: The Shan: Refugees without a Camp. Proceeds from the book help support the school.

Bernice never imagined herself a fundraiser, but after learning how little it takes to make a difference in the lives of Shan refugees, she started asking friends and relatives for small donations. As contributions got bigger, people wanted receipts for their taxes. In 2008, Bernice formed Schools for Shan Refugees, a 501c3 nonprofit.

With help from others, she created a board and a website, and organizes an annual fundraiser.

Their goal is to help Shan children who live in migrant camps get a basic education, while helping their teachers, young Shan adults, earn regular wages.

When I met Bernice, I was struck by how tiny she is—maybe five feet and 100 pounds. I asked if her size caused her problems. She said it is just the opposite—Asian cultures respect elders, so looking like a grandma gives her power and status.

I asked Bernice if she is ever afraid. “Of course! I am often afraid. And then I do it anyway. The key is to learn to ask for help.” When she was younger she thought she should be able to do things by herself. Now she understands that we need others to get things done.

Since leaving her job over 25 years ago, Bernice learned Spanish, earned two master’s degrees, traveled and taught around the world, published a book, and founded a nonprofit. She is in her 80s and spends four months a year in Thailand, giving homeless kids love and a second chance.

Bernice didn’t have a long-term plan when she retired. She just followed an interest, which led to a new interest, which led to a new interest. And she paid attention to how she used her time.

I think Mary Oliver would be impressed with what Bernice Koehler Johnson did with her one wild and precious life.

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