I've been doing family tree research for well over a decade. I've done family trees for friends, just for fun. I've answered questions, found lost family branches, and even helped a friend find his birth father. I've also researched the family trees of the people who owned my house, The Parsonage Inn, and learned a lot about their lives in my home. 

When I have free time, I love to do historical research, especially if someone has a need to know. 

​Thus, this is what Dutch Root is for.

Deb Koster wrote this on the passing of Steven's brother, Tim Koster, 21 September 2016, at age 54. 
Our God surely loves fishermen.
Beginning in Genesis, when God created fish, he sent people out saying, “let them have dominion over the fish of the sea.” Psalm 8 tells us that God has given us dominion over the works of his hands including “the fish of the sea and whatever passes along the paths of the seas.” God intended that we would be out looking after his fish.

 God is a Fisherman
 We know that God is a true fisherman because, in the book of Job, when God reminded Job who was better at this fishing thing. God said to Job, ““Can you draw out Leviathan with a fishhook or press down his tongue with a cord?” For we know that fishermen are all about making comparisons, and God always has the better fish story. But here God truly has the advantage as he can calm the weather when the lake gets rough. He can even go without the boat and just walk on the water if the lake isn’t cooperative. God is not shy about flaunting his fishing prowess.

God can even be a bit of a show off when it comes to fishing, as we can see when he enlisted a great fish to swallow Jonah. Jonah 2:10 tells us that God is the best fisherman because when he talks to the fish they actually obey, for when “the Lord spoke to the fish, it vomited Jonah out upon the dry land.” Getting fish to follow your instructions is a very helpful fishing skill indeed.

God Loves Fishing
We know that God loves fishermen because he knows how to find all of the best fishing spots. Jesus instructed the disciples in John 21 to “cast the net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” “So they cast it, and then they were not able to haul it in, because of the quantity of fish.” Jesus could be a really helpful fishing buddy.

We know that God loves fisherman because Jesus couldn’t get enough of time out on the water. He recognized that if you just stayed out a little longer and modified your technique, the fish might come. In Luke 5, Simon answered Jesus saying, “Master, we toiled all night and took nothing! But at your word I will let down the nets.” And when they had done this, they enclosed a large number of fish, and their nets were breaking. They signaled to their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both the boats.” As any good fisherman knows, if you are just patient long enough and use just the right technique, you will find the big catch.

We know that God loves fishermen because Jesus knew the value of a good fish dinner. In Matthew 15 he used a few fish and a prayer to feed the multitudes that were gathered to hear him. He knew that a little fish and bread could go a long way among friends. Later on, when Jesus appeared to the disciples for the third time after he was raised from the dead, he did so over fish. He chose to chat with his dearest friends over a breakfast of broiled fish. John 21 tells us that, Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and so also with the fish. As true fishermen know, some fish shared among friends makes for a special communion feast.

We know that God loves fishermen because Jesus knew the value of getting away from the crowds in a boat. Matthew 4 tells us that, “when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a desolate place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns.” Even Jesus struggled with the busyness of life interfering with a quiet day of reflection on the boat.

​In fact, Jesus enjoyed the boat so much he even figured out a way to preach from the boat. Luke 5 says, “Getting into one of the boats, which was Simon's, he asked him to put out a little from the land. And he sat down and taught the people from the boat.” Serving the congregation without getting out of the boat is a really good gig if you can get it. ​

God Loves Fishermen
​God surely loves fishermen. He invited the stubborn, hot-tempered fishermen of his day to hang out with him and learn from him. Fishermen were the faithful companions with whom Jesus chose to spend his earthly ministry. Matthew 4 tells us that, “While walking by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon (who is called Peter) and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea, for they were fishermen. And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men”. You see God too knows the value of a good fishing buddy.

Our God surely loves fisherman because he not only gave his life for them, he also made fishing the model for his ministry here on earth. He told his disciples that they were going to be fishers of men drawing his people back to their God. You see, God recognized that fishing was good training for all of life. Sitting patiently and waiting on God’s provision helps us to develop our muscles of trust in God.

Our God loves his fisherman, Tim Koster. He invited Tim, like he did his first disciples, to be a partner in his ministry here on earth. Tim has followed the heart of God and served him through all manner of choppy waters. Tim was himself a stubborn and strong-willed fisherman with a wry sense of humor much like the fishermen of Jesus’ day. God trained him up to fish for men, and Tim has faithfully served that calling. As God says, “Well done my good and faithful servant, enter into the joy of your master,” we know without a doubt that God loves his precious fishermen.

Ten years ago, just as I was leaving home for my morning commute to the office, I got an email alert from CNN that a plane had struck a skyscraper in New York City. The image in my head was of a kite stuck in a tree.

Shortly after I reached my desk at the office, I received another email about a second plane. Then my phone rang. It was the wife of a staffer, Tom, whom I had sent to New York that day to retrieve some beta-tested equipment from a customer in Manhattan. Tom had left to fly the shuttle from Boston to LaGuardia hours ago, and she wanted to know if we had heard from him. So I called him, but he didn’t answer his cell. The company he was supposed to visit didn’t answer either. Shortly, Tom’s wife called again even more distraught than before, but I had no news. I wasn't even fully clear what the fuss was about.

 I walked over to our in-house travel office to confirm his flight info, and found people beginning to gather at the TVs in the cafeteria. I hadn’t really seen any visuals at that point. In the travel office, the chief travel agent added Tom’s name to a list on the white board. They were beginning to track all staff known to be travelling that day. It was only beginning to be clear that not only were the explosions deliberate, but multiple planes and targets were involved.

Calls to Tom and the customer remained unanswered. Obviously, he wasn’t going to fly home that day, and even surface traffic had been halted on the island. People had to walk the bridges to leave Manhattan. But even if he walked, Tom had no where to go--I imagined him in the chaos of people fleeing, but having nowhere to evacuate to. So I started calling hotels and made a reservation in midtown. At least he'd have a safe place to go. I went back to the travel office to confirm, and by then they had started crossing off names of those confirmed to be safe. Half of about 20 or so names were lined out. The cafeteria was now full of people, and all work had pretty much stopped.

Finally, after a few hours, I got a call from Tom’s wife. He had finally called home. Later I learned he had landed at LaGuardia as planned, but he never made it to Manhattan. He was in a taxi on the bridge, but was turned back just as the first tower fell right in front of him. He took the cab back to the airport and took whatever rental car he could get. He was lucky to get any. He drove the rental back to Boston and was home by dinner time.

Meanwhile, I cancelled the reservation, and let the staff know Tom was OK. I wandered over to the travel office to let them know they could cross off his name. There I found the CEO and a trembling travel agent. Soon, there was only one name left on the board. It wasn’t Tom, but Doug Gowell. His itinerary put him on United Airlines Flight 175, which was emerging in the news as a highjacked plane. We later learned this was the second plane.

There were three people in our company that did Business Development work. Doug, Ken, and occasionally me. Doug was on that Boston to LA flight, as he was most weeks, to visit customers in the entertainment industry. I had been on that same flight often myself, and for the same reasons.

We hoped all day that Doug had somehow missed the flight, that we’d still get a phone call. But it never came. His name stayed on the whiteboard. He was indeed on that second plane we all saw hit the tower. His plane is the one everyone saw on every channel ever since.

More memories follow. The next day, my wife and I went at lunchtime to pray at a tiny clapboard church down the road from my office. A few days later, I went with my officemates to Doug’s funeral at a Catholic church in Methuen. Since two of the planes came out of Boston, it seemed like every suburb and town around us had lost a few people. Everyone I knew in Boston knew someone lost.

Later that year, I took the train to New York on business, but didn’t go to ground zero. It was still a mess. The impromptu walls of photos became an icon of the aftermath. Paranoia was in the air. Bomb threats became common--both my office in Tewksbury and alma mater Calvin College, back home in Michigan were closed down based on bomb threats. Real Anthrax-by-mail attacks and white-powder imitation attacks followed, even in my little town post office in Reading, Massachusetts. It's hard to remember how imminent the threats of violence felt everywhere.

I recall making a collage of editorial cartoons that depicted both our grief and anger as a nation. A sleeping giant had been viciously provoked, and nothing would stop us from inflicting justice. A decade later, we will have to let historians decide if justice was done.