Spiritual Things Matter

Gratitude is when memory is stored in the heart and not in the mind.  ~Lionel Hampton

We spent eight days in Germany over Spring break, and it was one of the most rewarding vacations we’ve had.  It was too short to see all that we wanted to see, but the time we did have was filled with so many impressions.

This time, because of our children, we rented our own flat and car.  We mainly just slept in the flat, and the rest of the time we were doing things with our friends, Simone and Heiner.  Simone and Heiner live in the heart of downtown Munich and are true trendy city people.  As we walked around Munich together, I realized how much I miss the energy of its active, vibrant streets.  There was life everywhere.  I wanted my children to experience the wonderfully fresh bread (brödchen) and pretzels that were available in the bakeries there.   Heiner, who is a wonderful cook, often prepared for us delicious and thoughtfully prepared meals, and then we would sit around for hours drinking, eating, and laughing together.  My children felt completely at home with them as it was apparent that they both love children.  I  soaked in every moment, not having laughed this much in a very long time.  My husband loves to travel and see other cultures, wanting to experience the true essence of being a part of that culture.  He always enjoys visiting Germany because he has been received with open arms by my friends and my brother. Taking time off from his busy career, he enjoyed the wonderful laughs and the great conversations we all had with, of course, a good glass of wine or beer.

We experienced many wonderful moments there, one of which was when Heiner, who is from Austria, took us to Salzburg, Austria.  This was a day filled with so many beautiful images.  We stood on one particular overlook and I was taken back by the beauty of old Salzburg.  I counted 10 steeples clustered together, each being a different shape and size with the beautiful Alps in the background.

One thing my son wanted to see was the concentration camp “Dachau” which was only 10 minutes from our flat.  He studies history often on his own and was very interested in seeing it for himself.  I am amazed how much information lies in that place. The German people have made sure that such a horrific event can never happen again. Every document that they still find is displayed in some museum somewhere. To this day, one becomes aware, that the German people as a whole have suffered and are still suffering from the atrocities which took place in WW II. One young person told me that many are still ashamed to even show their German flag: they would rather be called “Europeans” than “Germans.”

Heiner wanted to show us some villages south of Munich, and they indeed were the picturesque Bavarian houses that you would see on postcards and calendars.  One town in particular, Bad Tölz, was a wonderful little town with intricate painted houses up and down its main street. It just so happened that this town was also the home town of my friend Annelise of whom I wrote about here. I also had the opportunity to be with her and her family for one day during our visit.

It was delightful to hear my family try to exercise the German they knew.  My daughter especially was not afraid to try to speak to waitresses and check out clerks in German. I was really proud of her how free and uninhibited she expressed herself.  Children are amazing!

One day we wanted to visit Augsburg where I grew up.  Since we were going to the orphanage anyway we decided to visit downtown Augsburg after that.  One place we visited is called the Fuggerei which is the oldest social housing project in the world, built in 1521 and operated by a catholic church today.  There are 140 apartments in the 67 houses that were built and to this day people who are allowed to live there only pay .88 Euros per year and  they are asked to pray 3x per day for Herr Fugger and his family. When I walk through its small winding little streets, I feel as if  I am in a medieval city within the city of Augsburg.  It has its own gate which is closed each night, its own little church, and community. You can’t help but stand in awe of the incredible amount of vines, which are very old, growing on these little homes, winding itself around the small window shutters, and having reached high up its walls. It is an incredible sight.

My brother, Jean, drove to Munich to spend three days with us.  You may recall the story about my brother, and how it came about that we were separated.  It took over 25 years for us to be reunited again in 1996.  Another 13 years had passed since we saw him again for the second time on this trip.  One of the things that Simone, Jean, and I really wanted to do was go back to the orphanage where Jean and I were kids, and Simone was employed as a social worker.  I have written about my impression of Simone here. Simone had already called the director ahead of time and arranged the meeting.  All of us, including my husband and children, Simone’s husband, Heiner,  and Jean,  drove to Hochzoll, Augsburg, to visit the orphanage.  We were welcomed and invited into a meeting room.   The director wanted to answer any questions we might have, as well as share how things have changed over the years, and what has stayed the same.  She appeared to have been very moved and interested by our visit.  Afterward, a social worker came into the room who has been working there for about 20 years.  He showed us around the entire property and he was amazed at just how much we all remembered our experiences there.

Simone was with us for two years.  Her energy, vitality, laughter, and love brought an enormous amount of joy into our group.  Even though many years have passed, she still has such a positive and happy outlook on life.  She was as moved as I was as we walked through the various buildings and rooms.  We often would just embrace each other when we would remember a particular instance.  Simone, Heiner, and I would also remember the times Heiner would come to visit.  We would rough-house with him until we were completely worn out.  I have one such photo where I was getting ready to attack him.  He is, to this day, a very dear man.

My brother, Jean, who left this particular orphanage at 8, still had such vivid memories of the bedrooms, the arts and craft room, the learning room where we did our homework, the dining room, and the entrance foyer room where we would polish our shoes.  Jean remembered so clearly how we sat on the little benches polishing our shoes there, something I had totally forgotten until he brought it up.  On occasion, he would simply place his arms around me.  Words were not needed.  We understood each other.

I can’t begin to find the right words to express what this visit did for me.  It was in some way, perhaps, an expression of gratitude.  Jean and I are now in our mid-40’s, and Simone, who was only 23 at the time, is now approaching 60.  Jean was already gone when Simone first arrived at the orphanage, but his memories of him and I being together there were deeply moving for me.  Oh, how I missed him when they took him, and how thankful we both are that we were brought together again.

During my years of living at the orphanage, Simone was the one social worker who left such an impression on my heart.  It was her laughter, her energy, her light heart, and her sheer joy of being alive that moved me so deeply.  Being together with her and appreciating the many experiences we had together was a true gift for both of us.  I am so very grateful for her life and for the time we were allowed to spend together.

My heart is truly full from this very wonderful trip.  I remain deeply grateful for the experiences and people that have touched my life throughout the years.  I am equally grateful for those people who touch my life today.

As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.  ~John F. Kennedy

Love-which is God- will consider our sighs and tears as incense burned at His altar and he will reward us with fortitude. ~Kahlil Gibran

In 1995, my husband, Scott, was attending college and also working on weekends while earning his advanced degree in geology at the University of Houston. I was full time employed at a local medical clinic. We had no children at the time. We had decided to wait until the college years were behind us so I could raise our children and avoid putting them into daycare. Our lives were occupied with school, projects, field trips, homework, and our jobs.

It was on one such busy day that I received a phone call from my brother, Jean, who was living in Germany.  He had called to tell me that he was engaged to be married in May, and wanted to invite me to be a part of his wedding.

I have written here about the day he was adopted out of our orphanage and how I came to realize that I would not see him as a child again. Losing my little brother was a loss that would stay with me always. In time, I managed to bury the tears deep within me, and remove the memories from the forefront of my mind of that very painful day so long ago. It was a loss that I had to eventually find the courage to look at again, and again.  It was a loss that I could not make any sense of, and yet with time, I was able to accept it and find meaning in it, which brought some healing to my heart.

Words cannot describe how excited I was to hear from Jean again after all these years of wondering where he was and how he was doing. I quickly realized just how rusty my German had become, and I was much relieved when I realized that he was able to speak English.  That day, it became a mission of mine to regain my German language skills, to better communicate with my newfound family!   Because my husband was in college, flying to Germany was going to be more of an expense for us than what we could afford at that time.  However, the idea of our not flying to Germany to be a part of Jean’s wedding was out of the question. We were simply going to make that trip!

Some of my friends at work were so excited about the prospect of me seeing my brother again after so many years that they and my supervisor, knowing that my husband was in College, took up a collection to help out with our expenses as we prepared to fly to Germany.  Contributing toward this reunion was a very generous and kind gesture from those who did not really know me that well.  I was deeply humbled and thankful for their kindness and generosity.

As we flew to Germany, I was nervous and a bit apprehensive. I imagined every possible scenario under the sun.  Would Jean recognize me?   Would I recognize him?  Would we both feel comfortable with each other or would our time together be awkward?   When the moment arrived, and I saw Jean for the first time in 25 years, I felt something that words simply cannot explain.   I recognized him right away even though over 25 years had passed.  As we held one another in a tight embrace, the years melted away, and I cried. I cried for our loss.  I cried for our reunion.  I cried for this very profound moment in both of our lives.  The emotions that welled up in me were overwhelming as my heart raced and my body shook.  There was no awkwardness as we knew we belonged to each other.

The wedding was beautiful, and visiting with Jean and his new bride was a special time for us. They welcomed my husband with open arms, and the four of us had a wonderful time together.   During this busy time, Jean and I did managed to have some time alone. We spoke about our childhood and the day he was taken away from me.  Jean told me about his life with his new family, and we discussed how life had been for me staying behind in the orphanage and eventually moving to America.  Though there was much to talk about, there were also times we would not say a word.   Somehow, we understood each other as only siblings can. That understanding, we realized, was a part of the feeling of a deeper belonging and a deeper love.

In the years that followed, although we’ve spoken periodically on the telephone, I have not seen Jean since he was married in 1996.  Much has taken place in his life as well as in our lives.  As I spoke with my brother just a few days ago, we both knew it was time for another reunion.  We will be traveling to Germany again soon, and I can’t wait to see him and spend some time with him again.  I miss him.  My two children also look forward to meeting their Uncle Jean, and my husband will enjoy clanging his beer krug once again with his.

Life is good!  I am very thankful!

*Since we are getting ready to fly to Germany, I wanted to bring this post  back up from last January.  Finally, Jean and I are able to see each other again.  We are looking so forward to it.

…the flower withers, but the seed remains. ~Kahlil Gibran

Each year, at Easter, my mind wanders back to my orphanage years. Easter was celebrated by going to church, and then later hunting for eggs that we all painted together.

One year, when I was about eight years old, I received a package in the mail. It was a huge surprise since I had never received a package before. I was excited and very curious as to who would send me a gift and I wondered just what might be in it. I noticed that the package was from my brother, Jean.

Approximately six months prior to Easter that year, my brother had been adopted out of the orphanage by an older couple who had lost a baby during WW II. It had been their only child; the mother had been unable to nourish her baby with her breast milk because they had been fleeing the Nazis and had been malnourished. The baby died in her arms. Years later, this same couple wanted to adopt a son. My brother was one year younger than I and we were very close. I was always very protective of him. Even though he had his own set of friends in the orphanage, we were fortunate to be in the same group since many siblings were split up.

I remember the day when that couple came to pick up my brother. We were at “Fraule’s” house. There had been no forewarning to my brother or myself that a couple was interested in adopting him. The couple liked me as well and expressed an interest in me, but they could not take me because my mother had never signed any papers of release for me. She had only signed papers for my two brothers and my youngest brother had already been adopted a number of years before. I don’t know why my mother did not release me.

It was a strange day, one moment my brother and I were together and the next moment he was gone from my life. I felt empty and alone. I felt sad and forgotten.

Nevertheless, that Easter a package came in the mail from my brother. As I opened the package, I reached in with curiosity and excitement that only a child could feel. I pulled out a little pink rabbit. What happened after that was beyond my own understanding. I clutched that little pink rabbit and started to cry as I had never cried before. I fell down to my knees and wailed with sadness because for the very first time, I could physically feel my heart break. I then realized he was not coming back and I would not see him again. I felt lonely and abandoned and in that moment all of my emotions which I could not put into words, came to the surface.

That little pink rabbit was somehow lost in the orphanage. The loss of my brother, Jean, however, has always stayed with me. The pain of that moment was so profound and deep that all I have been able to do is to deal with it at the various stages of my life. Today, in my mid 40’s, I write about it. Over 30 years would pass before I would see my brother again; in 1996, Jean, called me because he was getting married and he wanted me, his sister, to be a part of this special moment in his life. I was ecstatic and could hardly wait to see him again after so many years.

I am happy for people who have siblings with whom to share their joys and sorrows. My own two children have each other and I try to teach them never to take one another for granted. I always tell them that none of us knows what tomorrow may hold because one moment something is ours and the next moment it can be gone forever. I also try to teach them the value of spiritual truth which will abide forever. Hans Christian Andersen says, “The human life is a story told by God.” No matter what the story may be, may it always bring honor to the One who has created us. God’s love can heal all broken hearts. I truly believe that!

At the heart of our loss is gain – unseen, and yet eternal.
At the heart of our gain is loss through too much knowing.
At the heart of our joys are mysteries that remain untold.
At the heart of our tears is wisdom – embracing the cycles of life,
thus, finding stillness and peace within.

~Viola M. Jaynes

Never, never, never give up. ~Sir Winston Churchhill

It was 1993 when I received a phone call from my father telling me that my youngest half- brother, Jim, was flying in from Germany to see him. Although not my father’s biological child, Jim was anxious to visit the United States and meet my father, whose last name he carried. After my conversation with my father, I tried to reach back into the memories of my childhood and there I found only a vague recollection of my baby brother, Jim.

I was placed in a Catholic Orphanage for infants and very small children called Marienheim at about one year of age. Later, my younger brothers, Jean and Jim, were placed in this same orphanage as well. Sadly, I only have one black and white photograph, which was taken in this orphanage where all three of us are together. After my conversation with my father, I looked at that photo trying to imagine what Jim might look like so many years later. He had been a beautiful child with very curly dark brown hair and big expressive brown eyes. He had a bright and gentle smile on his face as though the world belonged solely to him.

When I was about four years old, Jean and I were transferred to a Lutheran orphanage in Augsburg, Germany. Jean was only one year younger than I was. You may read, “An Easter Package” if you wish, which is the story of how Jean later also was adopted. Shortly after our transfer, Jim, who was three years younger than myself and therefore had to stay behind in the infant orphanage, was formerly adopted by an older couple. After Jim was gone, I had never heard another thing about him until my father called to tell me of his up-coming visit. My own desire to piece my history together lead me to buy a ticket to see my father and Jim in Colorado.

I had arrived in Colorado the day before Jim was to fly in from Germany, which gave my father, his wife, and I some time to visit together. As we went to the airport the following day, I was nervous and excited all at the same time to be able to reunite with my little brother after so many years had gone by. None of us knew what to expect.

I will never forget the first time I laid eyes on this young man. It was sad. He walked through the airport gates looking as if he had not had a bath in over a month. As I walked up to my little brother to embrace him, he smiled that same big and gentle smile, but his unkempt appearance, obvious lack of proper hygiene, and his discolored teeth only confirmed my worst suspicion. He was homeless. Jim was able to speak some English, but mostly, he and I spoke in German.

Jim had planned to stay in the States with my father for about 8 weeks. My plans were to stay for one week, which was all I could take off from my work schedule. It proved to be an intense week as I listened to Jim’s stories and how he had processed the events that had taken place in his life.

It was not my place, nor my purpose, to determine how much of his story was actual events that had taken place and how much was a product of a good imagination. What I did know was that this young man, my little brother, was a broken human being. He had given up on life and appeared to be lost, dying on the inside with its vicissitudes already showing on the outside. I made up my mind to be there for him and to really listen without judgment or fear.

Jim told me that the people who had adopted him were an older couple who owned a farm and just wanted to adopt a boy to help with the work they needed done. Abuse was a regular event and he often had to sleep out in the barn with the animals. It was evident by looking at his teeth that he had not received proper dental care. It was also obvious by looking at his skin that his diet was poor. Jim showed me official documents, which I verified, that he divorced his adoptive parents through court procedures and took back his former last name, which was the name of my father. Jim knew, however, that all of our mother’s children had different fathers.

Before his trip to this country, Jim had also gone to visit our mother, who was still alive and living in Nürnberg, Germany. His experience with her was a negative one as he learned that she was an alcoholic and had no maternal bond with him as her child. Although he knew that our mother had given him up for adoption as an infant, her rejection of him during the visit was another extremely painful experience for this lonely young man. As I listened to him, I could only weep inside as I also felt his aloneness and his feelings of betrayal and abandonment. Oddly enough, however, I did not see the anger that one would normally expect from one who had experienced a life like Jim was describing up to that point. Jim had a wonderfully funny sense of humor and he made me laugh more than once while spending time with him. He also had a gentleness of spirit about him and a kindness that I found intriguing. All I could ask myself was, “What could he have accomplished if only he had just been given love and a fair chance at life?”

Jim wanted me to tell him about my life. I hesitated, wondering if I should share with him my own difficult times I had to face. I did not want to overwhelm him, yet I found that it was important for him to hear and see for himself what “taking responsibility” for your own life, could bring. I told him everything – well, almost everything. I told him how I stayed in the orphanage until I was 14 years old and how I had so looked forward to a family after I found out that my father found me and wanted to bring me to America. I told him of the abuse that was waiting for me there in my father’s home and how the orphanage never checked up on me and simply left me there. I told him about the feelings of aloneness, abandonment and betrayal that I had felt. I told him how difficult it is, even as an adult at times, to simply relate to others who have grown up with loving mothers and fathers, and who had never had their siblings taken away from them. I shared with him about the crying periods I had for seven straight years, three to four times a week, because of my overwhelming feeling of aloneness. Jim listened carefully and intently.

I shared with Jim about my very personal experience of when I made a spiritual commitment and was baptized. This experience changed my life and infused me with an energy and love that I had never felt before. I shared with him that even in my aloneness, I always knew that God was there for me.

I also told my brother that not only was what happened to him not right, it was unfair and it was incredibly hurtful. I explained to him, however, if he continues to hang on to what others did to him, he will debilitate himself even further. I encouraged him to find someone that he could talk with, to find gainful employment, and to make some sort of a useful life for himself. Jim assured me that he would do just that as we both cried and embraced each other. I felt so helpless and so wished that I had the power to help and to heal his deepest wounds.

After Jim flew back to Germany, I received a call from him a few months later telling me that he was dying of cancer and that he wanted to be buried here close to me. I asked him to fax me medical records, and a letter from his physician, so that my husband and I could look over them. At that time, my husband was still in college, so we were not in a position to take care of an adult. It was important for us to understand what we were dealing with. I told him that after I received all his medical information, I would get back with him. This was the last conversation I ever had with Jim. To this day, I have no idea where he is or if he is even still alive. The last contact information I had on him is no longer valid.

As I continue to search for spiritual understanding and meaning in life, I think about how many are out in the world like my brother, Jim. People who have given up all hope and all sense of connectedness with themselves, with others, and with God. I think about people with whom we come in contact each and every day, who walk around with silent pain because they feel that no one could or would possibly understand them. Will there come a time in our lives when we could have enough love in our hearts to transform those kinds of thoughts in others, those kinds of hopeless thoughts? Those are questions that I ask myself often.