Spiritual Things Matter

The absolute value of love makes life worth while, and so makes man’s strange and difficult situations acceptable. Love cannot save life from death; but it can fulfill life’s purpose. ~ Arnold J. Toynbee

All around the globe, Valentine’s Day was celebrated this month as an acknowledgement of that special someone in our lives. In this country, that celebration has extended beyond that romance partner to include all those people that play a special role in our lives. We give flowers, cards, chocolate, and perhaps for some, a more meaningful and lasting gift.

In the midst of all those fuzzy feelings floating around, I was ever so keenly aware that there is yet another dimension to love that is not so readily seen. You see, I believe that certain people are placed into our lives, perhaps just for a season, or, perhaps much longer. They are placed into our care, our soul-care, if you will. Those are the people whom we want to elevate and inspire. These are the people we want to be there for and to encourage.  These are the people that we always remember in our prayers.  At the same time, I believe that we are also placed into someone else’s care, someone else’s soul-care. It is that person, or those people, who will stand with us no matter what. They somehow understand us, accept us, pray for us, and see us through our own “dark night of the soul.”  Such a gift cannot be bought at any price.

My mind goes back to August, 1976, when I experienced such a relationship as a 14 year-old girl.

I was upstairs in my bedroom folding my clothes and getting ready to pack to move to America.  My father, an American, had found me in an orphanage in Augsburg, Germany.  As I was packing, I noted that I was filled with such varied emotions of excitement, fear, trepidation, and sadness of leaving my friends behind.  My thoughts were interrupted by the voices of the children calling me from downstairs, letting me know I had a visitor.  It was not a usual occurrence that we had visitors, and thus, it took me by great surprise.

I proceeded to go downstairs when I saw a teacher standing at the bottom of the staircase.  I could see her white teeth as she greeted me with such familiarity and warmth.  This was a school teacher whom I had in third through sixth grade.  Her name was Anneliese Reisberg.  You see, I loved this teacher with all my heart and yet I kept that love tucked away as a secret.  I had felt embarrassed and ashamed of it, because after all, she was just my teacher.  One of my favorite things she used to do is put her hand on the back of my neck each time I was being mischievous.  She did it with such tenderness, and in this way, I believe she revealed her heart to me.  Perhaps, being mischievous came just a little easier because of it.  Walking further down the stairs, I noticed she had a letter and a gift in her hand.  She explained that the children at the school told her that I was moving to America and she had wanted to come to the orphanage so she could say goodbye and to wish me well.  As she handed me the letter and the gift, she embraced me tight.  I was speechless, and my face had turned completely red.  Our last goodbye was quick.  She left and I proceeded to go back upstairs to read my letter and to open my gift.

I closed the door behind me and sat on my bed.  I began to read that letter, and tears quickly welled up in my eyes.  The lines I was reading revealed to me what I had felt in my heart for four years:  I was special to her as well.  She explained to me that she had wanted to adopt me but could not because of her own home life situation.  She felt it would have been unfair to me.  I then opened my gift and began to weep even more as I pulled out a tiny four-leaf clover pendant.  It was crafted with exquisite delicateness and given with such love.  I kept it for years before it was lost, and after the birth of my daughter, I had a new one made for her to keep someday.  During my early years in this country, I would read her letter over and over again, folding it and unfolding it, each time soaking it in my own tears.  One day, it simply crumbled in my hands as I tried to unfold it once more.

This love came with a bittersweet price.  Our relationship was never meant to be a mother-daughter relationship even though we both had wanted that.  As we both have grown in this mystical relationship, we both have realized that we have been given into each others care, into each others soul-care.

Love comes to us as a gift.  With it will come the most exquisite feelings of joy, of happiness, of fulfillment, and most of all, of belonging.  Yet, nothing in this life time can purge us in the way that pain, which love can bring into our lives, can.  It will take us to the very heights and to the very depths of our soul.  It will stun us into complete silence for a time.  Yet I say, oh how wonderful it is to be able to love!

And though it’s pangs are strong and fierce,
Let us never fear to love again and again,
Until we melt into its very essence.

~Viola Jaynes

The absolute value of love makes life worth while, and so makes man’s strange and difficult situations acceptable. Love cannot save life from death; but it can fulfill life’s purpose. ~Arnold J. Toynbee

Love is complex and comes with a wonderful array of emotions and expressions. In considering this, I wonder what life would be like without being touched by its mystery, its pain, its joys and its tears? The touch of love will change a human being in such profound ways that are often difficult to understand.

My mind goes back to Germany and the time I was packing to leave the orphanage to move to the United States. My father, an American, had found me after 14 years, and I was to make a new life here in this country. As I was packing my clothes, my thoughts raced: Would I learn English quickly enough? Could I make new friends? Was America as great as I had always heard it was? I had fears, yet the youth in me was filled with hope and an adventurous spirit, willing to step out into the unknown.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of children calling my name, telling me that I had a visitor. I thought it strange since I never had visitors. As I walked downstairs, I saw a teacher standing there that I had from third to sixth grade. One of my favorite things she used to do in class was put her hand around the back of my neck when I was being mischievous. She did it with such tenderness and so revealed her heart to me. Perhaps, being mischievous came easier because of that.

I was still surprised as she greeted me with a warm and familiar smile. This was a teacher whom I had dearly loved, but I kept this love as a secret in my heart. I felt embarrassed about it since she was obviously just my teacher. However, deep in my heart, I had somehow discerned her feelings towards me. Would I dare to think it was love? She had heard from the kids in school that I was leaving for America and so she came to say goodbye.

In her hand she held a small gift with a letter. As she handed it to me, she embraced me and wished me well. I was speechless and my face had turned red. Our last goodbye was quick and then I went back upstairs to read my letter. The letter revealed to me what I had known in my heart for four years. All I could do was weep. I opened my gift carefully and thoughtfully and was moved as I saw it. It was a tiny, gold, four-leaf clover pendant. I cherished it for years before it was lost by someone I entrusted it to. I would read that letter time and again during my early years in this country. I would weep over it with a broken heart, as I longed to be freed from so much pain. After time, I could no longer unfold it since my very tears had crumbled it under my hands.

This love came with a bittersweet price. Our love for each other has been tried on only a few occasions…but, to its very depth. As we both have grown in this mystical relationship, we cherish each other to this day. The first time I saw my friend again after so many years had past was in 1997 when I was pregnant with my first child. It was a wonderful reunion and we cherished each other’s presence. Since that time, I have been able to call her once a week unless she or we are on vacation. We are able to talk about many things and the practice of speaking my mother language has greatly improved my German.

I have been awakened by love a number of times in my life. Each time, it came with an enormous amount of intensity and expression of my own soul. When love comes, it will bring with it an imagination and creativity which causes us to be able to do that which we never have thought was possible. It allows our eyes to see beauty, I believe, in its purest form. It is that brushing of the shoulders with love that brings about such beauty in the arts. Its expressions are the windows to the soul’s yearning to become one with yet a greater power and a greater purpose. Its spiritual implications are astounding.

Love asks many things of us. Its demands are not easy, and love often brings with it much pain. Still, it broadens us in every area of our lives. Its well is deep. When we work through the pain and mysteries of our own loves, truth of the heart and soul are revealed. We somehow understand that life is not just a life on this earth, but truly a spiritual experience. We come to know, even if just in part, what the mysteries and the possibilities are that lay in love. It will take us to the heights and depths of our very soul, as nothing in this life time will. Oh, how wonderful it is to be able to love!

Though its pangs are strong and fierce, let us never fear to love again and again, until we melt into its very essence.  ~Viola Jaynes

And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit…For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. ~Kahlil Gibran

There are some people who come into our lives in such a quiet and gentle way that we do not even give it all that much thought. They are simply there doing what they do best, which is tending to the things of life in very ordinary ways. Yet, it is these same people that, when we are no longer with them , we realize just how rich their presence was and how much kindness and gentleness they added to our life.

After Fraule passed away, Geli and Herman had contacted the orphanage to inquire as to whether I could come visit them every other weekend, and a week or two during vacation time. Fraule was frequently not well. Many times, there was simply nothing to do at her house. So, I spent quite a bit of time with this friendly couple who lived upstairs. Geli and Herman (Fraule’s nephew) were much younger and livelier than Fraule, so I always enjoyed being with them. Also, Fraule was often very depressed, which made our interaction more difficult. I was too young to understand her better, but hindsight and maturity have given me a better insight of who she was.

Geli and Herman never had any children of their own. They were young and very much in love with each other. Fraule owned the house they lived in, and as is typical in Germany, many houses are divided into apartments. This house was divided into three apartments. There were two downstairs apartments, and Fraule lived in one of them. Also, there was one upstairs where Herman and Geli lived. None of the apartments were very large, but they seemed to fit the needs of each occupant. Behind the house, there was a large yard with a clothing line, a wash room, and a vegetable garden where I often helped myself to fresh carrots. Herman built a garden house with lanterns around it. Hanging on the wall inside the garden house, one could see memorabilia collected from various trips that they had made to different parts of Germany and Switzerland. During the summer months, many hours were spent in that garden house visiting with family and friends while eating meals, drinking coffee, and enjoying cakes which Geli often would bake herself. There also was a large divided shed – one space was for Herman, and the other for Fraule. During the winter months, Fraule kept wood and coals in her shed. While I was there, she often would ask me to bring some into the house . I always was spooked by that shed, and even as I got older, I never liked going in there. Herman’s section was closer to the house and did not seem so dark and frightening. Herman liked to work in his shed much of the time when he was at home, and I would often just stand at the door and watch him. I liked Herman very much, and sometimes would begin to wonder what it would be like to have a father.

Geli (her real name being Angelika) was a lovely and very feminine young woman. She was always very meticulous about her appearance, as she carefully rolled and teased her hair and painted her nails with light pink nail polish. Before she would leave the house, she would always be sure to apply her pretty pink lipstick. Even though she had very light skin, her skin would turn a pretty tan color during the summer months, which made her blond hair and her pink lipstick stand out even more. I always thought she had a very striking and beautiful look. Geli loved doing crossword puzzles, going shopping, and keeping her home nice and neat. Geli was a seamstress and was faithful to her job for over forty years. When I was with her, she always inquired about how things were going in the orphanage. I never failed to tell her every minute detail of events that would take place. I cherished her inquisitiveness, and it made me feel that she was genuinely interested in me. We would also laugh a lot together. Her simple and uncomplicated ways made our relationship open and so enjoyable.

Geli was a wonderful cook, and she made the house smell delicious as she often had something in the oven set on very low to simmer. I always looked forward to eating at her house, and at times would even have second helpings of the wonderful food she had prepared. I always made a point to help out as much as I could by doing the dishes after meals and vacuuming the carpet. I never wanted to be a burden, nor did I want them to regret having me in their home. When we went shopping together, I would lock my arms in hers, as is common in many European countries, and it always gave me a sense of warmth and security. She would often buy me a little something, and when it was time to go back to the orphanage, she would always hand me a few D-Marks for spending money. Herman and Geli would never ask me what I would spend the money on, although they had a pretty good idea (most of the time it was spent on sweets for my friends and me).

Almost every weekend, Geli’s parents would be at her house. I had the privilege to know them over the years when I came to visit. Geli learned her generosity and kind spirit from her mother as she too was such a lovely and very feminine lady. She was quiet in her demeanor (a nurse as her profession), and she always had something kind to say. She too would often hand me a few D-Marks as I would leave to go back to the orphanage on Sunday afternoons. I was always very touched by her kindness and thoughtfulness.

It was a shock to Geli and Herman when they found out that my father had found me and wanted to bring me to America. They had misgivings, and rightfully so, since I had been in the orphanage for so many years. I was fourteen years old already, and they wondered why my father would so suddenly make the effort to find me after all those years. Our goodbyes where not easy, and I thanked them over and over again for all that they had done for me.

Because of the very difficult situation I found myself in when I came to this country, all ties to Germany were lost. My primary responsibility was to get used to a new life and a new country, and to learn English as quickly as possible by going to school and working in the evenings. No effort was made to get letters mailed out for me, and it seemed as if I had forever left my old life behind. Over time, I even lost much of my German language. I remember once driving down the street and hearing someone speak German on the radio. I thought how strange and yet so familiar it sounded to me, and I knew then that I would somehow reconnect to my childhood ties.

I have been in America now for 31 years. When I moved out on my own at age 19, I could not afford to call Germany or to go for visits. As time has gone by, I have been able to fly to Germany a number of times. As my German has improved again, I now call Germany regularly. One of the people I call is Geli. Our first reunion was beyond description as we saw each other again after so many years had passed. So much can change, yet so much stays the same. They were deeply moved by my visit, and of course, I was so happy to see them again. Geli had tears in her eyes, and I realized that I did not fully understand that I meant that much to her. I was deeply touched.

Herman passed away a number of years ago, and I was so thankful that I had the chance to see him again before he passed away. Geli presently has heart problems. Lately, she has had to be in the hospital again. I spoke with her mother, whom I also cherish, and explained that I would like to be informed should it become serious so that I can fly to Germany to be with my friend. I am deeply thankful for my experiences with these very gentle and lovely people. They truly are a gift to me…more than they will ever know!

P.S. My friend Simone, translated this for me into German and I was able to print this story out on some nice paper and mail it to Geli for Christmas. She seemed to be deeply moved by my remembrances and my appreciation for her and Herman. Thank you Simone, for being so gracious.

So live that your memories will be part of your happiness. ~unknown

One of my fondest memories from my orphanage days was the start of our summer vacation, after the school year would end in August. The orphanage had been given a large cabin in Buching, Germany, that had been built during WW II and was located in the beautiful Bavarian Alps. Since the cabin was originally intended to serve as a temporary shelter to those who were fleeing for their lives, after the war it had no purpose, so it was given to be to be used as a home for our summer vacations. Each group (which usually consisted of 15-18 children) would be allotted a two week time period and usually two groups would go at the same time since summer vacation was six weeks and there were six different groups in our orphanage. This system allowed the children to be with others from a different group who normally did not share the same living quarters. Buching was approximately 100 km away from Hochzoll, Augsburg where our orphanage was located. Since Buching was only about a 1 1/2 – 2 hours drive, we were allowed on one fabulous trip, to even ride our bicycles to our cabin in the Alps. I can remember how excited we were as we looked forward to a more rugged and rustic life – if even for just a couple of weeks.

The Cabin itself always had a certain distinctive odor to it which I only appreciated in that particular setting. It was the smell of old wood and uninhabited space which matched its primitive appearance. Several social workers would go ahead of us to get the cabin ready for our arrival. As I recall, one of the cooks from the orphanage would come along with the group and prepare the meals for all the kids. By the time we would get there, the eating room was arranged in its usual setting. There was a long, old wood table with its fork and knife markings readily visible from prior years, along with plenty of chairs on both sides. Located towards the back of the cabin, were the many bedrooms and bathrooms. Each child was allowed to pick which bedroom they wanted and also choose with whom they were going to share. For the younger children, however, that choice was made by the social workers. Almost all the bedrooms had bunk-beds and, like most children, I always enjoyed sleeping on the top. We would often switch around so by the end of summer vacation, everyone would have a chance at the top bunk. The bathrooms were small but there were a number of them, since, as you can imagine, those fleeing from the war needed more than just one or two bathrooms.

The social workers did a great job planning for the two weeks and I can remember that we had many different and lively adventures. Often, we would fill our backpacks with sandwiches and apples, and spend an entire day, just hiking in the mountains. The smaller children would stay behind with a social worker, who would keep them occupied with age-appropriate activities. Those children, who were able to hike an entire day, could look forward to many exciting adventures and wonderful scenery ahead. Once, we even went on a hike at night and this was particularly exciting for us. Simone, who was my favorite social worker (see “The Laughter Of Simone“) invited her boyfriend, Heiner, to come along and join in the fun. We all so enjoyed harassing Heiner and picking on him – and Heiner seemed to have as much fun with it as we did. It was a sad day for us when Simone an Heiner eventually married and she left her work at the orphanage. Today, though, I am happy to say that we are all in close contact again after so many years apart. Both of them are a delight and as much a gift in my life now as they were back then.

It was always fun when our journey took us through the little towns and villages where the farmers and towns-people would wave as they saw a whole group of children going down the street. On occasion we would see a tractor coming from or going into the field, dogs barking as we would walk passed their farm house, and cats sitting leisurely in their yards. Often other little children, dressed in dirndl and lederhosen, would watch us with curiosity. I am sure they were wondering who we were and where we came from.

My favorite places to stop were always those where we could walk far enough up the mountains to where we could look down into the valley below. It was lovely to see the quaint little towns, each with their own small church encased in the various shades of green and earth-tone mountains. Often one could hear the church bell ring in the distance and a feeling of complete connectedness, peace, and joy would settle in my heart as nothing else could do. I still cherish those moments as they become alive in my memory. There is just nothing like a good hike and then sitting down at noontime to enjoy a sandwich, along with a good crisp apple.The girls would often make “flower crowns” as we sat in the meadow during our break. Also often we would pick a blade of grass, put it between our thumbs and make what we called “grass music.” My own children today find that fascinating. Each year we would visit some of the castles nearby and fortunately for us, in those days, the tourism did not take over the experience. We were able to really soak in the magic and imagine what it was like for a person, or the king himself, living in those days of yesteryear. Those times were beautiful and majestic in so many ways. I particularly loved the crystal clear lakes that surrounded the castles. When you find a spot where you can see the castles and the lakes from a far-away view, it is truly like stepping into a fairy-tale land. One could get lost in its beauty and forget that a different life even exists.

After a long hike, we would often go swimming in a lake nearby. I especially remember a particular little brook with a small body of water that we made certain to visit each year. It was a favorite spot with the children because the water was so clear and incredibly cold that it became a “dare you” game as to who would be willing to jump in first. My fingers and toes easily become snow white when I am cold and just putting my feet and hands into the water seemed to have been enough for me.

Each year we would go, at least once or twice, on a “scavenger hunt” in the forest. I remembered the stories of “Rotkäpchen” – “The Little Red Riding Hood” and “Hänsel und Gretel.” As much as I loved these games though, I always found myself looking over my shoulders…even after I was old enough not to believe in such fairy tales. Walking through the thick, dark forest and being able to hear each crack of a branch, made me aware that the silence was greater than the noise we children would make. I always made sure to stay close to the other children but I would never allow them to know that I was secretly afraid…but perhaps they were afraid as well.

After our evening meal, we often would sit outside after dark, in front of a big open fire, roasting marshmallows and singing our songs. One or two of the social workers would always have a guitar and I cherished those moments of togetherness. The warmth of the fire seemed comforting to me and being cuddled up with the other children during those moments created a special bond of togetherness. There was a calm and a peace on those nights, without any rivalry and competitions of of any sort. The social workers too seemed more relaxed since there was no need for so much strictness and order. They also enjoyed visiting with the other social workers who came along from the other group. They would all sit outside on the porch, talking and staying up long after the children went to bed. We, of course, would often sneak out of our bedrooms to see what all the laughing and carrying on was all about!

Those memories of Buching, the beautiful Alps, the quiet and dark forest, the many wonderful hikes and the beauty of that corner of the world, will stay with me forever. I am very thankful for those memories which bring such fondness and happiness to my heart.