God Calling

 You know God how you don’t always answer my prayers?

Sometimes I don’t answer your calls either.

No, the line isn’t busy, I just heavily depend on Caller ID.

So, if the ID doesn’t pop up “God”, 

I probably won’t answer.

Otherwise, how do I know whether it is you

or a scam:

Someone pretending to be God.

We have a lot of that going on down here: 

people thinking they are God.

Please, do not do that parting of the waters thing,

The Missouri River parted may flood 

my apartment on the edge of the wetlands.

Again, I’m all in favor of a burning bush

Just not too big of a fire

Oh, and safely burn one away from the building,

Having a fire extinguisher handy just in case. . . .

While you’re at it, do you think it could be a honeysuckle bush

It’s an invasive species anyway

Not part of your "plan".

And when you speak,

speak loudly in case I don’t have my hearing aids in.

Try not to use the tornado warning system to broadcast your message,though.

I don’t want others thinking the message is for them.

But that “still small voice “

clearly enunciated with closed captions would work.

So, a burning honeysuckle bush away from the building, 

followed by maybe a voice with a sexy Scottish brogue.

I know I should trust you more

to know how to burn a bush safely, 

how to get my attention without flooding.

But, I’m old and a former middle school teacher

who thinks about the worst possible scenario, 

deaf from false gods shouting at me,

nervous about flooding rivers

and partial to kilts.

Arriving in Berlin, Part 2

West Berliners at Tempelhof Airport

On December 27, Carol, Monica, Helga and I left Lindau. I took a train to Munich, then got on a plane to visit Reinhard and to meet his mother in Berlin. I flew into Tempelhof Airport the scene of so many iconic spy movies and also where the Berlin Airlift happened.  Shortly after World War II in 1948, the Soviets and East Germans tried to strangle Berlin by cutting off all access with food and supplies. The Berliners who were trying to recover from the war and bombings of World War II now faced starvation and death from the lack of food and medical supplies being allowed to be transported: The Berlin Blockade.

Templehof Airport was the largest pipeline for supplies in 1948. The Allies devised a plan called The Berlin Airlift which saved the Berliners.  Planes would fly in and out on a precise schedule  dropping off supplies at Templehof.  If the plane was delayed, the pilot had to fly back to West Germany and get in line again. It was such an efficient operation that  eventually the blockade was ended with  some supplies allowd to come in using the highway and trains also.  It was an amazing page in history: whenthe winners of a war worked so hard to aid their previous enemy.

My favorite chapter in Berlin Airlift history is one I used to teach my students: “the Candy Bomber”. (YouTube has several videos on this)  Gail Halvorsen attached candy to handkerchiefs to drop to the the children of Berlin 1948-1949 as a sign of peace and to give them hope in their war-torn city now blockaded.

By the time I arrived in 1966, West Berlin was recovering and even flourishing.  I was a little surprised that the airport didn’t seem any bigger than Lambert Field, but Berlin wasn’t exactly a hub for travellers and West Berlin wasn’t that big at that time having been divided.  Reinhard picked me up at the airport and gave me a quick tour of Berlin showing me all of the beautiful new buildings with experimental, innovative designs. Reinhard, who was an architect, said there had been architectural competitions after the war that re-built West Berlin, so the designs of some were very “futuristic”.    

Reinhard seemed a little subdued—-maybe he was weighed down by his city’s history and maybe he was concerned about me meeting his mother and staying with them for two weeks. I know I was a little nervous about meeting his mother, a widow who had been through a lot in her life:  the Depression, World War II, the bombings and blockades of Berlin and the need to relocate from East Berlin. Would she be uncomfortable with an American? or with any woman her only child brought home?  I recently found out, she was adamantly opposed to our relationship even at Christmas. To quote Reinhard “The liaison was viewed somewhat critically by my mother!!”  So, I innnocently was walking into a “mine field” of emotions.

fortgesetzt werden.. . . .

Photos:  By Henry Ries / USAF - Library of Congress, "Berlin "Airlift" of 1948-1949 broke through Soviet blockade of the city by non-stop supply shipments to beleaguered garrisons and 2 1/4 million civilian population of West Berlin", CPH: 3c36389 [1], Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4559179

By U.S. Air Force - U.S. Navy National Museum of Naval Aviation photo No. 2000.043.012; National Museum of the U.S. Air Force photo 050426-F-1234P-008, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3552352

By http://www.af.mil/media/photodb/photos/020903-o-9999b-094.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=280622

Jesus Beckons

 

Jesus beckons, my 22 year old self  resists.

No, the church doesn’t recognize women.

I can strongly deliver the message

in the school room.

I don’t need to serve an institution 

that doesn’t want me.

Jesus beckons, my 40 year old self hesitates.

No, my family needs me.

Being a pastor will take me away 

from my family

I want to be present for them

Jesus beckons,

My 60 year old self resists.

Retired, but

Dave needs me.

God, he is my responsibility.

I know You’ll understand.

Jesus beckons, I waver . . 

Women can serve,

Family is present for me,

Dave is gone but 

I’m almost 80

How about I lead a Bible Study?

That will do, won't it?

Please don’t send a giant fish my way.

I know how to swim:

I’ve been treading water for years.

Is it time for me to go

with the flow

Taking me places

I didn’t know I needed to visit.

But, spiritually called?

Instead of a fish, how about a burning bush

or an angel with a trumpet (not a harp)

to get my attention.

You’re sending a phone call?

I guess that counts as a call. .. . .

Photo by Thomas Schütze on Unsplash

My Legacy

 My Passions for many years:

Family history and geneology.

Always asking 

“Why . . ..

“Where . . .

“when. . . .

“how. . .

Seeking the answer to 

“how did I become me?”

Seeking the answer to

“how I can honor them?”

Seeking the answer to

“Do I make them proud?”

Now, I will soon be the ancestor.

Have I answered mh descendants questions?

Will my legacy be

my offices and honors 

in the community:

already forgotten?

Will my legacy be 

photos and memories

of Disney cruises

passed down, 

But turning dusty?

Will my legacy be

our life savings

handed down,

doled out

and, then spent

Or, will my legacy be

my writing—-

not found in the records of where, when and how.

But, of my soul

whispering why.

Christmas in Lindau and New Year’s in Berlin Part 1

Before I left for a year teaching in Germany (1966-1967), my mother pleaded with me, “Please don’t go to Berlin.”  Berlin. . . . the city that had captured my attention for the past 5-6 years.  I had been so focused on the events of Berlin in the late 1950s early 1960s that my parents had taken me on trips to “get me off the grid” which at that time was television and newspapers: a road trip to the East Coast in 1961.

Ironically, in the summer of 1961,  we were in New York City in Times’ Square when I looked up at the moving billboard reporting the news: the East Germans were building a wall to keep people from going to the West. West Berlin would be a large island in the middle of Communist East Germany (the DDR—Deutsche Demokratische Republik) .  I stood there watching the news crawl around the building  reading it outloud with tears. After “The Wall” was built, we heard about people trying to escape East Germany: ramming their cars through the gates, swimming and being shot at, digging underground tunnels, being smuggled out in automobiles. The whole situation was horrifying.

I wasn’t just interested in Berlin politically but also had heard about the museums and the artifacts that were there.  One of my majors in college was history, especially ancient history.  West Berlin had the famous bust of Nefertiti but East Berlin had the re-constructed Ishtar Gate of Babylon in the Pergamon Museum.

I didn’t promise my mother I wouldn’t go to Berlin in 1966, but I thought it was unlikely a poorly paid teacher’s assistant could afford a trip to Berlin which required an airplane trip from Munich. Neither of us knew I would fall in love with a Berliner.

I arrived in Germany September 1966 with my high school friend Carol arriving a few weeks later.  We were fortunate that her nanny position was a few hours awy by train so we could see each other once a month on holidays.

I celebrated Christmas 1966 in Lindau with three friends:  Carol (American), Monica (Irish) and Helga (German).  We had a wonderful time.  Everything was hilarious for the three of us away from home for the holidays.  We decided to cook a turkey which none of us had cooked before.  Although the “giblets” are in a nice neat bag in America, the organs were still attached which grossed all of us out.  Helga’s mother had left a tree for us with candles for us to light Christmas Eve after dinner.  Then we went to midnight mass which was beautiful.

Although Lindau has a very mild winter being on a large lake and shielded by the Alps on two sides, ski lifts in Austria took us up a mountain so we could have snow at Christmas.  Monica and Carol had no boots but they really weren’t much help with 4 foot drifts. Carol and I were bi-lingual,but Monica could speak no German; Helga could speak no English.  And, yet if I try to remember that Christmas I just remember laughter.  Monica and Helga even tried to communicate with hand signals and very limited vocabulary of the other’s language, which also made us all laugh.  I don’t think I had time to get homesick for the holidays.

After several days in Lindau, I spent the rest of the holidays with my boyfriend, Reinhard——in Berlin.

fortgesetzt werden.. . . .