Glorifying Christ One Blog at a Time
Family
Many moons ago I lived in Germany. I lived in a little German village, had a German landlord, and shopped on the German economy. For the most part, I loved it. Even though I was an American, I loved Germany & really connected with the culture. I especially enjoyed thumbing around & exploring differnet parts of my little slice of West Germany.
On Labor Day weekend, 1983, I took off from my job at the local Ammo Dump & hitchhiked NorthWest toward the Belgium Border. My goal was to eventually reach the Netherlands. Living in the foothills in Central Germany (The Hunsreuck region), I had many kilometers to travel. The weather was fine as I made my way out of my small village of Gonzerath, and caught several rides through the villages of western West Germany. I stopped that night in the little town of Prum, and found it as hospitable as every other place I had visited in the countryside. A local Ghasthaus had the usual accomodations; I think I paid $15 American for a room for the night. After a couple of good beers I explored the town until it was time to get some sleep.
The next day was a little rainy, but I managed to catch a ride into Belgium after being hung up at the border for a short while (that's another story). By Mid-day the sun was warm & a slight breeze made it bearable. On my way to Brussels to catch the train north into Holland, I found myself on a lonely old country road in the Belgium countryside. The traffic was light, in fact, only a couple of cars passed by in the half hour or so I had been sitting there on the side of road, eating the cheese & crackers I had brought along for company. And while I was there, a strange thought occured to me: There is no one in the whole world except me that knows where I am right now.
This thought captivated me, and I'll tell you why.
Oh, first of all, did I tell you that I was in West Germany courtesy of the U.S. Air Force? Yes, I was a young, dumb, 21 year old G.I. whose pseudo life involved trying to pass myself off as a German national. I spoke enough of the language that sometimes it was possible, but most of the time I was an easy mark as an American, with my standard issue government haircut. I HATED my job, so after work & on the weekends I would blend in with the Germans and get as far away from anything American as I could, and I was pretty much on my own. No itinerary, no schedule, no pressure. My only limitations were my imagination & the cash in my pocket. Hitchiking pretty much guarenteed me free rides from the very kind Gernams, to whichever town they happened to be going to. The only thing I needed money for was food, beer & a room in the local Ghashause.
So it was, on that early September morning that I was just loving the fact I was free for a few days; with no one following me around barking out orders, and no one to be responsible for but myself. I was virtually anonomous.
I'm not going to go into why I liked going on these adventures by myself. Those of you that understand will understand, those of you that don't may never understand. But suffice to say I was alone in the world in a happy existance of my own choosing, & I loved it that way.
Now that I'm older, my perspective has changed quite a bit. This morning at 2 a.m. my wife & I were fast asleep, when I heard that noise that we all hate to hear in the wee hours of the morning. "RRRRIIININNNGGGG" went the phone. My first thought was about killing my children for calling us that time of the morning. Then I heard my wife's voice from the other room. Something about her sister, a car accident and some broken bones.
Later that morning we were on our way to St. Joseph's Hospital to see Leila's sister. And her Mom. And her Dad. And their three sons. And her brother & his wife. And her Aunt, and Uncle, and cousins, and friends. I think her mailman was there also.
Leila's sister was in bad shape, but she would live. She suffered some broken ribs, a broken jaw, broken finger & some internal injuries, but nothing life threatening. And for that we all thanked God.
The scene was sort of interesting. Only a few people at a time were allowed in the room, since it was the Critical Care Unit. The rest of us hung out in the waiting room, made phone calls, ran back and forth to the Cafeteria for coffee, lunch, snacks etc. People came & went. Vacations were planned. Mortgage payments were arranged over the phone. My sister in-law's kids discovered 10 different ways to blend coffee. But the main focus always came back to my wife's sister, and everyone was at their best for her sake.
And even more memorable was everyone there had an overwhelming sense of love for their family. You would never know it most days (from an insider's perspective), but there is a bond of love that is very strong in her family. When something devestating happened to one of the members of the family, everyone, and I mean EVERYONE would be there. They would either call, e-mail, text, twitter or blog to express their sympathy, reach out to help or generally just be there for whoever was suffering. And it contrasted in my mind quite vividly with my days pre-marraige. And it was after I left late this afternoon that I realized how much I was missing out during those days that I lived for myself only. Sure, I was on my own, but now that I think about it, I'd rather be surrounded by family.
On Labor Day weekend, 1983, I took off from my job at the local Ammo Dump & hitchhiked NorthWest toward the Belgium Border. My goal was to eventually reach the Netherlands. Living in the foothills in Central Germany (The Hunsreuck region), I had many kilometers to travel. The weather was fine as I made my way out of my small village of Gonzerath, and caught several rides through the villages of western West Germany. I stopped that night in the little town of Prum, and found it as hospitable as every other place I had visited in the countryside. A local Ghasthaus had the usual accomodations; I think I paid $15 American for a room for the night. After a couple of good beers I explored the town until it was time to get some sleep.
The next day was a little rainy, but I managed to catch a ride into Belgium after being hung up at the border for a short while (that's another story). By Mid-day the sun was warm & a slight breeze made it bearable. On my way to Brussels to catch the train north into Holland, I found myself on a lonely old country road in the Belgium countryside. The traffic was light, in fact, only a couple of cars passed by in the half hour or so I had been sitting there on the side of road, eating the cheese & crackers I had brought along for company. And while I was there, a strange thought occured to me: There is no one in the whole world except me that knows where I am right now.
This thought captivated me, and I'll tell you why.
Oh, first of all, did I tell you that I was in West Germany courtesy of the U.S. Air Force? Yes, I was a young, dumb, 21 year old G.I. whose pseudo life involved trying to pass myself off as a German national. I spoke enough of the language that sometimes it was possible, but most of the time I was an easy mark as an American, with my standard issue government haircut. I HATED my job, so after work & on the weekends I would blend in with the Germans and get as far away from anything American as I could, and I was pretty much on my own. No itinerary, no schedule, no pressure. My only limitations were my imagination & the cash in my pocket. Hitchiking pretty much guarenteed me free rides from the very kind Gernams, to whichever town they happened to be going to. The only thing I needed money for was food, beer & a room in the local Ghashause.
So it was, on that early September morning that I was just loving the fact I was free for a few days; with no one following me around barking out orders, and no one to be responsible for but myself. I was virtually anonomous.
I'm not going to go into why I liked going on these adventures by myself. Those of you that understand will understand, those of you that don't may never understand. But suffice to say I was alone in the world in a happy existance of my own choosing, & I loved it that way.
Now that I'm older, my perspective has changed quite a bit. This morning at 2 a.m. my wife & I were fast asleep, when I heard that noise that we all hate to hear in the wee hours of the morning. "RRRRIIININNNGGGG" went the phone. My first thought was about killing my children for calling us that time of the morning. Then I heard my wife's voice from the other room. Something about her sister, a car accident and some broken bones.
Later that morning we were on our way to St. Joseph's Hospital to see Leila's sister. And her Mom. And her Dad. And their three sons. And her brother & his wife. And her Aunt, and Uncle, and cousins, and friends. I think her mailman was there also.
Leila's sister was in bad shape, but she would live. She suffered some broken ribs, a broken jaw, broken finger & some internal injuries, but nothing life threatening. And for that we all thanked God.
The scene was sort of interesting. Only a few people at a time were allowed in the room, since it was the Critical Care Unit. The rest of us hung out in the waiting room, made phone calls, ran back and forth to the Cafeteria for coffee, lunch, snacks etc. People came & went. Vacations were planned. Mortgage payments were arranged over the phone. My sister in-law's kids discovered 10 different ways to blend coffee. But the main focus always came back to my wife's sister, and everyone was at their best for her sake.
And even more memorable was everyone there had an overwhelming sense of love for their family. You would never know it most days (from an insider's perspective), but there is a bond of love that is very strong in her family. When something devestating happened to one of the members of the family, everyone, and I mean EVERYONE would be there. They would either call, e-mail, text, twitter or blog to express their sympathy, reach out to help or generally just be there for whoever was suffering. And it contrasted in my mind quite vividly with my days pre-marraige. And it was after I left late this afternoon that I realized how much I was missing out during those days that I lived for myself only. Sure, I was on my own, but now that I think about it, I'd rather be surrounded by family.
Comment
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Comment by Carmen Gamble on August 26, 2009 at 11:20am - A really enjoyable post to read! Especially to me since I hail from Europe (Holland actually, I've never been to Germany). My Dad served in Germany for a while when he was a young man after the war. I believe he was on a ship. Anyway, back to your story. I like the contrast between being alone and being with family. They both have their pros and cons, and I think they're both needful at times through our lives. But, you're right...family is definitely better!
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Comment by Jean Davis on August 19, 2009 at 7:38am -
Steven, good stuff. Yes me too, I'd rather be around family. It is actually how I (my husband too) ended up back in Puyallup. Had a good paying job up north and involved in ministry - but no access to family. It is good to have that connection. God is a God of relationship and we know that so much when surrounded by family.
Your adventures in Germany were great times though I would guess. I have always wanted to just go and see where the road would take me.
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