Christmas Miracles

Christmas is coming and I want to talk about small miracles. They happen to me occasionally. In fact, one just occurred the other day.
My Christmas miracle is very small compared to the huge world-changing event of the birth of Jesus. But it is also big because it gave me peace of mind. It is about a pre-lit Christmas tree. We bought one three years ago because it was easy to set up and I didn't have to wait for Hardy to put on the lights. I like to put up the tree for the first Sunday of Advent.

When I plugged in the lights, this is what I saw!

One of the light strings was not working (about two thirds of the way up the tree). Now what? All lights had worked fine the first two years. Hardy set about trying to fix things by attempting to find out which bulbs were defective. He had to test each bulb (of a 48-bulb string!) and replace the ones which didn't allow the current to pass. In the process, another string of lights went out! By now we were well past First Advent and this was not good. Maybe we would just do without a tree this year. Struggling with this problem, I decided to let it go:
"Just give me your peace, God, and help me to see things in perspective. Christmas is not about having a perfect Christmas tree. It is about your perfect love and showing that love to others. I will be happy even if all the lights aren't on."

The next morning, following Hardy's efforts of replacing bulbs, the second string of lights came back on. But the section nearer to the top of the tree was still dark. Hardy was at the end of his wits and I suggested we would just add more decorations. We left the lights on and went to have our breakfast. When we got up from the table, I went into the living room and, lo and behold, the entire tree was lit up! All 240 lights were burning brightly! How did that happen? I couldn't believe it! There must be an explanation for this, but I have my own conclusion!

Now I could happily decorate the tree.

"The key is handing over the burden to God, where it belongs, and accepting the peace that this world cannot give." (Kathy Kalina, quoted by April Yamasaki in her December blog post)

People might laugh at me and call me naive. I’m okay with that, because Christmas itself is a small miracle — a tiny baby born to a young couple in a cave — and yet so completely life- and world-altering that it becomes huge.

Suspending disbelief, shepherds and magi went to see for themselves what they heard. I wonder what they thought as they knelt beside that manger. Everything was just as the angel had said and they were amazed.
Mary kept thinking about all these things, wondering what they meant. She would encounter many miracles in her life with Jesus.
Joseph had experienced his own miracle. As he was processing all that Mary had told him and wondering about quietly calling off the wedding, an angel came to him in a dream and told him to go ahead with it. (Matthew 1.19-21)

Perhaps it was easier to believe in miracles 2,000 years ago than it is today. What would have astonished the world at that time is no big deal to us: electricity, automobiles, airplanes, flush toilets (to name a few of the 'wonders' we take for granted). These are all part of our normal life today and we accept them as such. All have plausible explanations and can be scientifically proven. "No big deal." Miracles of another kind will be happening in the next century and they will seem ordinary to our great-grandchildren. Every century has its miracles.

I will share another small miracle with you, but it, too, is actually big and wonderful. My father always said a prayer before meals. He prayed in German because that was his heart language:

Komm, Herr Jesu, sei du unser Gast

und segne was du uns bescheret hast.

Translation:  Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest

                and bless what you have given us.

Some of Opa's grandchildren did not understand German, but they obviously understood what was happening. One of them was Shara. One day Shara claimed that Opa prayed especially for her because at the end of his prayer he mentioned her name every time. We were all puzzled by this until someone solved the riddle: The second syllable of the word bescheret is pronounced like the name Shara!

Shara's limited understanding of German is like our limited understanding of God. We can never grasp the breadth and height and depth of it. The important thing is that we know God calls us by name. Opa had all his grandchildren in mind when he prayed, but to recite 20 names each time would have been a rather long prayer when there are hungry children at the table!

Advent Prayer

"Every year we celebrate the holy season of Advent, O God.

Every year we pray those beautiful prayers of longing and waiting

and sing those lovely songs of hope and promise.

Every year we roll up all our needs and yearnings and faithful expectations into one word: 'COME!'

And yet, what a strange prayer this is! 

After all, you have already come and pitched your tent among us. 

You have already shared our life with its little joys, its long days of tedious routine, its bitter end. 

Could we invite you to anything more than this with our 'Come'?

Could you approach any nearer to us than you did when you became the 'Son of Man'?

In spite of all this we still pray: 'Come.' "

                                                                                                      -Karl Rahner

[from Sojourners and Bruderhof Communities online (cited in Wayne Holst's Colleagues List blog)]

May God's peace abide in your heart and home this Christmas!

In November We Remember -- A Story of Love and Loss

Until this year no one in our family knew what happened to our maternal grandfather, Abram Kroeger, after he was taken from his home in Chortitza, Ukraine one dark November night on March 13, 1938. He was 46 years old, a young man with a wife and five children. He was accused of a crime he never committed, and arrested by the NKVD (the successor to the Cheka or state security police, a Soviet agency founded in 1917 to combat counterrevolution and sabotage).

This summer my three brothers took a trip to Ukraine to see what they could discover. They went to the state archives in Zaporozhye. These archives were made accessible to scholars and the public by legislation submitted to the Ukrainian Duma (parliament) by president Petro Poroshenko in 2015.

My brothers at the Ukrainian state archives with their interpreters

What my brothers discovered was quite amazing and the news stunned us all. I wrote about it in a blog post in July, entitled Forget-Me-Not.

There was no supporting evidence to the accusation and my grandfather's arrest was based solely on charges made by a fellow Mennonite who had provided the NKVD with a long list of names of men who he claimed belonged to a German revolutionary organization. It appears that my grandfather's accuser made the accusations in exchange for his freedom, and no such organization existed. My grandfather, no doubt under duress and torture, signed his name, admitting to these charges. Abram Kroeger was executed by shooting at 8:30 p.m. on November 14, 1938, in Dnipropetrovsk where he was buried. He was exonerated by the Ukrainian government on August 7, 1989, cleared of all charges.

On November 12 my sisters and I met together to honor our grandfather's life and to light a candle. We remembered a grandfather we never knew, except through photos and what others had told us about him. From my mother we have the impression that he was a quiet and gentle man. He loved music and he enjoyed creating things with his hands. Mom recalled that Opa had carved doll furniture for her and her cousins. A descendant of the Kroeger clockmakers, he was a craftsman and his work was precise.

We are five sisters and we each lit a candle for a grandfather we never met. The small booklet behind the women is entitled Vergissmeinnicht which is the German word for forget-me-not. In this booklet my grandmother wrote important important dates and events; she had entered the date of my grandfather's arrest. I was now able to add the date of his death in that same booklet (see my July blog posting).

My mother recalled that their family had a small hand organ in their home and she often heard her father playing a song which she thought was probably his favorite. The song is Ännchen von Tharau. Originally it was a 17-stanza poem, composed in 1637 by the Prussian poet Simon Dach to celebrate the marriage of a friend. It was set to music by organist Heinrich Albert (1604-1651). Later (in the 18th century) Johann Gottfried von Herder translated the poem into modern German.

My sister and I found the song on YouTube and played it as we thought of our grandfather.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UAS0gEgk-iU

Below, you will see my translation of the final stanza of Ännchen von Tharau. It is especially poignant when I think about my grandparents' love for each other and how they were torn apart, pawns of those who had no respect for human life and dignity. My Oma never spoke much about her husband or about the hardships she endured, but I believe his spirit did follow her on her long trek through Poland, Germany, Paraguay, and finally to Canada.

If you were ever from me to be torn

To live were the sun never shines in the morn,

I would follow you over land and sea,

Iron and prison and worst enemy!
Ännchen von Tharau, my light and my sun,
For me you are always the only one!

Würdest du gleich einmal von mir getrennt

Lebtest du, da wo man die Sonne kaum kennt

Ich will dir folgen durch Länder, durch Meer

Eisen und Kerker und feindliche Heer!

Ännchen von Tharau, mein Licht, meine Sonn'

Mein Leben schließ ich um deines herum!

Home

We have just returned from an autumn visit to our children in Ontario. It was a beautiful drive along the shore of Lake Superior where a stunning display of golds and reds and dark greens contrasted with white trunks of birch.

Whenever we take this trip to Ontario, going the Canadian way instead of the American, a song I learned in Grade 3 as a new Canadian hums through my head and I have to sing it:

Land of the silver birch

Home of the beaver

Where still the mighty moose
Wanders at will
Refrain: Blue lake and rocky shore

I will return once more
Boom-diddy-ah-da, boom-diddy-ah-da, boom-boom

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7zDTdKRqZ9g

This Canadian folk song dates from the 1920s and is a romanticized version of nature and the land from the perspective of an Aboriginal person (Wikipedia).

Our daughter and her family in Heidelberg, Ontario (with four children aged 9-15) have moved from a turn-of-the-century farmhouse to a bungalow just down the road. They were in the throes of moving when we arrived. It reminded me of the moves our family made as I was growing up.

When we were still homeless refugees in Germany, fleeing the Russians by constantly moving from the northeast to the southwest, one of my earliest childhood memories is not that of a home; rather, it is that of my mother singing a German children’s song to us, comparing an apple to a house (In meinem kleinen Apfel ). The five rooms in the house are the little pockets that hold the seeds and the seeds are the inhabitants of the house. They dream of the sunshine and of some day hanging on a lovely Christmas tree:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8g0TPzqqaZM

My mother was yearning for a home of our own when she sang that song to her children and imagining what it would be like to celebrate Christmas with her family in peace and harmony. We, her little ones, felt her love and care and that was home enough for us.

I was four years old when we settled into the first home I can remember, in the Paraguayan Chaco. This house did not have five rooms as the apple does for its seeds. It was made of mud and brick and had a thatched roof. My mother longed for something better for her family. She wanted a house with several rooms and a Christmas tree in December, with real apples hanging from it. We had one straggly tree in our yard and there were no apples.

Our small adobe hut in Paraguay. I am seated on the right.

When we first settled in Alberta in October of 1952, we were six siblings with a seventh due in January. Our first home was a two-story farmhouse in the country that we rented for most of that year, near a school within walking distance. We were there for about nine months and then we moved to the nearby town of Didsbury where my father found employment in a creamery. We rented another large house for the rest of that year, then moved across the street for a few months to a bungalow, much too small for our growing family. Finally, Dad bought a house just down the street; our family lived there for the next ten years or so before moving to Winnipeg. They bought a bungalow in North Kildonan and stayed there for the rest of their lives. I lived in that house four years.

Following our marriage, we too made our home in several different countries: Elkhart, Indiana; Brussels, Belgium; Kikwit and Kinshasa, Zaïre/Congo; Kitchener, Ontario; and back to Winnipeg for our retirement years. The difference from the experience of our parents is that we moved by choice. I'm so thankful for that, and for the freedom we have had to make these choices.

As I was thinking about home and homelessness, it occurred to me that the people about whom the song Land of the Silver Birch was written, the original inhabitants of our country, were forced from their homes by fellow Canadians to live in places not of their choice and made to attend schools where their identity was taken from them. We need to remember this and work at making sure that Canada gives freedom of choice to all Canadians.

Compassion and Courage

I am so proud of my 12-year-old granddaughter Kathryn. This past year she has shown me, her 75-year-old grandmother, what it means to be compassionate, kind, joyful, and courageous. She has shown maturity far beyond her 12 years.

About a year ago, Kathryn’s mother, Christine, learned that a dearly loved member of their congregation (my age) had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. She felt very sad about it and wondered what she could do for her. She talked to Kathryn, and together they decided that Kathryn would visit this couple in their home on a regular basis and bring some cheer into their lives.

Kathryn has an outgoing, lively personality. She enjoys chatting. The couple she visited are like that as well. They always looked forward to Kathryn's visits and Kathryn enjoyed their time together. 

The days passed quickly as winter changed to spring and spring changed to summer. It was time for Kathryn to visit her grandparents in Edmonton for a few weeks. During this time Agnes’ cancer progressed and before Kathryn returned, Agnes was hospitalized. When Christine told her what had happened to Agnes and that she would not live much longer, tears filled Kathryn’s eyes and she grieved for the loss of someone dear to her. She went to the hospital to visit her there, and that was difficult. Before there had been hope, but now they both faced the reality that Agnes’ time on this earth was short and they would have to say goodbye forever.

A few days later, Agnes passed away and Kathryn was heartbroken. Agnes had a request as she planned her memorial service. She asked that at the viewing some of the special people in her life who were not family would say something about what her friendship had meant to them. Kathryn was one of these friends.

To speak in public is intimidating enough, but even more so at an emotional time when you are not sure you are going to be able to do so without breaking down. Kathryn's last gift to Agnes was sharing with others about their friendship. She spoke joyfully of her visits with Agnes and Agnes' husband Helmuth, who always made her laugh. She showed some of the special gifts she had made for Agnes. She began to speak of her last visit with them, and then her tears flowed and she had to stop for a while. Someone brought her tissues and put their arm around her. She continued bravely. Following is what she shared:

Agnes and I started off our friendship saying hi and greeting each other at church on Sundays. But when she got sick, my mom and I thought it would be nice that I spend some more time with her when she had energy. So I spent time with Agnes and Helmuth as much as I could after school. I shared a great relationship with both of them, and I still do. 

I am going to share some of the stories I have from getting together with them this past year. One of my favorite trips we did together was going to the Half Moon in Lockport for supper. That trip was especially fun, because Helmuth was in his jokey sort of way, which made the three of us laugh lots while we ate our burgers  . . .  meanwhile, Agnes had onion rings! On our way there and back, we shared many stories about many different things.

Another memory is of the first time I went to their house. When I got there, I was in awe of how high the ceilings were! We had burgers (grilled by Helmuth) for supper, and then Agnes decided to take me outside. When we got outside I was amazed at how big their backyard was. While she showed me around their garden, I had an idea. I thought that because I'm in gymnastics, I could do a bunch of cartwheels across their lawn, and so I did! Agnes was amazed that I could do that and was grinning from ear to ear.

Over the time we spent together, I gave Agnes some gifts to make her feel special . . . I gave her an owl pillow that I made in sewing class at school . . . I painted her a cross that was made of pottery. When I was at the pottery shop, I didn't know what to paint . . . and then I thought of doing something for Agnes. I painted the cross brown and chose to paint vines with pink flowers on it. I wanted to show life coming from the cross.

Another gift I gave Agnes was a stone that said "Happy" on it. I told her to hold it and think of me whenever she was feeling down. 
When I was in Alberta this summer, I baked some apple pennies for Agnes, together with my grandma. I was able to give them to her when I visited her in Concordia Hospital.

I think the best gift of all that I gave Agnes was lots of hugs. Agnes also gave me gifts to make me feel special . . . smiles, hugs, laughter, meals, hearing her voice, and the energy she put into being with me.

And one more thing . . . Helmuth, you have the best jokes!!!

Agnes would have loved that!

Anticipation

It’s the beginning of September and here in Winnipeg we are having some of those gorgeous days that signal the beginning of another season. It looks like everything in our yard is doing its best to enjoy the days before the chill of winter and the long dormant sleep. Roses have won the prize in my tiny garden. They have never bloomed this prolifically before. There were no aphids or other insects bothering them. I wonder if other gardeners have experienced this as well? I did nothing different than I have before!

Students are savoring the long weekend, knowing that school days will be here when they open their eyes tomorrow morning. Our oldest grandchild Ben turned 18 at the end of August, almost at the same time as his Opa turned 81. We could use the same numbered candles for their birthday cake! 

High school is over for Ben (much to his relief) and he is looking forward to university. He has done well in his high school studies and will be taking courses in Communications at the University of Winnipeg. His whole life lies ahead of him -- how will it unfold?

Below you see another student, just a few years older than Ben. Her name is Banka and she is from Beijing, China. I met her for the first time last week, through a mutual friend who called from Ontario and asked us to look her up.
This friend told me that Banka had decided to come to Winnipeg to continue her studies at Red River College, but she did not know anyone. Would we be willing to contact her? She sent us an email address and we made contact. Hardy and I arranged to pick her up at her downtown apartment. We were wondering how this would all work out, since we had never met each other.

Last Thursday we had a delightful day together with Banka. It took me back to my private tutoring days and the wonderful relationships I formed with my students (mainly from South Korea).

Banka's English is excellent and we communicated without a problem. She shared many things as we chatted about her life as an only child, with parents who have high expectations and a school system that puts a lot of pressure on its students as they prepare for their final university entrance exam. She told us that she has made some big changes in her life since coming to Canada just over two years ago. She wants to apply for a permanent resident visa once she knows she has been accepted at Red River College. She has to pass a written English exam. She already passed the oral exam in Ontario, so now she is taking some additional English classes to prepare for the written one.

One of Banka's teachers introduced her to some other students on campus who were Christians. Banka began attending church and that is where she met my friend who invited her for lunch that day. She has found a church close to where she is living now.

Banka was surprised that we invited her to our home without ever having met her. She said that would never happen in China. I'm not so sure. We have experienced amazing hospitality in many places, but also rudeness.

It would be interesting to hear what your experience has been with hospitality or the lack thereof, both abroad and in your home country. Please share! And enjoy the beautiful autumn weather!

If you have a library and a garden, you have everything you need.  -- Cicero

Forget-Me-Not

Living in our democratic country where I enjoy a culture of plenty and relative security, it is easy to forget that this is not the case for many millions of people and was not the case for our family living in the Soviet Union before 1943 the year we became refugees.

However, I have a small booklet which helps me to remember. It was given to my grandmother by her favorite sister Agneta, when they said their farewells and emigrated to Canada in 1923, leaving behind my grandmother Katarina Kroeger and her young family as well as my grandmother's single brother, Dietrich Epp. The booklet is called Christliches Vergissmeinnicht (transl. Christian Forget-Me-Not) and serves as a place to record important events such as births and deaths of family members and friends.

     

On March 15, 1938, my grandmother wrote: My dear husband Abram Kroeger was imprisoned. No one knew what happened to him in prison but he was never heard from again..

On July 28th of this year we received our answer to what we had long suspected, and I recorded it in my grandmother's date book -- November 14, 1938: My grandfather, Abram Kroeger was executed by shooting at 8:30 p.m. in Dniepropetrovsk. He was exonerated (of all charges against him) in 1989.

I asked myself why he was exonerated, and it occurred to me that it must be because he made no confession to the false accusations against him.

A similar thing happened to my grandmother's brother, Dietrich Epp, who was falsely accused and imprisoned on September 5, 1937.

In June 1944, my grandmother experienced another searing loss when her young son Dietrich (named after his uncle and conscripted into the German army), was accidentally shot while the soldiers were cleaning their guns. I wrote about this in a blog post (see Nov. 19, 2016).

My three brothers are currently on a trip to Ukraine and were able to access archival files. That is how they discovered what happened to our grandfather and our great-uncle.

My sister Irma assembled a collage (above) of these three innocent victims of a senseless war and is using it as a screen saver to honour them and also to serve as a reminder that they "lost their lives to senseless war and the misuse of guns. It's up to this generation to work towards 'Never Again'!"

"Oh, the Places I've Been!"

Almost-ten-year-old granddaughter Sasha stayed for an overnight recently. After breakfast she needed something to do and I was her only source of entertainment. The day before she had spent the whole afternoon drawing, coloring and writing stories in a book I began with the grandchildren at our rental cottage last summer.

The Artist at Work

Sasha needed a change from yesterday's intense drawing and writing activity. The teacher in me kicked in. I love nothing more than seeing the light in someone’s eyes when they discover something new. Better yet is when I too learn something in the process. 

We played a game using the big world map on the wall downstairs. We took turns selecting places we chose on the map and asking the other person to locate them by the count of ten. It was fun and we learned a lot about the world. 

I happened to see the word Taklimaken on the map and liked the sound of it, so I asked Sasha to find it. I gave her some hints and some extra time and she located it. I could not believe that in all my years as a student and a teacher I had not heard of the Taklimakan Desert, the largest desert in China and the second largest shifting-sand desert in the world! Sasha asked Opa and he had not heard of it either! We googled it and learned a lot about this fascinating area.

Taklimakan Desert in Western China

It occurred to me that although Sasha knew more about geography than I did at her age, she had always lived in one place and had never been further east than Ontario or further west than Alberta. As I traced my own journey around the world for her, I was amazed myself at what an experienced world traveller I had already become at age nine.

My journey began at the age of three months, when, in my mother’s arms, I left my birthplace, Ukraine, and travelled by train to Poland and further into Germany to escape being sent back to Ukraine where we would likely face slave labor and almost certain death. When my father returned to the family after having been conscripted into the German army during the last few months of WW2, he found us living on a farm in southern Germany (Bavaria). He was very concerned for our safety and decided we would be better off leaving Germany.

So by the time I was four, our family joined others at Bremerhaven (northern Germany) where the Mennonite Central Committee had rented a Dutch cruise ship, the Volendam, to take refugees to South America. With over 2,300 passengers our ship sailed for Argentina. We couldn't land for some time because we didn’t have permission from the Argentinian authorities to do so. 

["Yes, Sasha, I was also one of the 'boat people'!" Fortunately our sponsors were trustworthy people. Three cheers for MCC which is still helping displaced people around the world!]

In Argentina we lived in a tent city until we were able to go to the Paraguayan Chaco; there we spent five years (1947-1952) in a village we helped build (yes, even little children could stomp the bitter-grass into the clay to make bricks, chase grasshoppers and other predators from the crops, haul water, etc.).

I left my beloved village for a much larger world when I turned nine (just a few months younger than Sasha is now). We travelled by train and small boat to Asunción, the capital of Paraguay, where we spent several months waiting for our visas. From there we flew to Montreal and took the train all the way west to Alberta. After ten years, when I had just graduated from high school, our family moved to Winnipeg, where I met the love of my life and we embarked on further adventures in Africa. After 18 years we returned to live in Ontario and then, after 24 years in the Kitchener-Waterloo area, we moved back again to Manitoba. I believe we will not move again!

If you want to read some books to your grandchildren or nieces and nephews about children who have travelled the world, below are two delightful ones that are some of our family's favorites. The authors, both accomplished artists, wrote and illustrated their books.

 The story of Barbara Cooney's book takes place in the Canada's Maritimes.

 Miriam Rudolph's book about Paraguay is bilingual -- English/German.

Now That I'm Seventy-Five . . .

Before I had lived the first quarter of my life I used to wonder what it would feel like to be old. Now that I have lived three quarters of a century (I turned 75 at the end of May) I should know.

Strangely enough, I don’t think I feel much different than I did in my younger years! For example, I loved the smell of lilacs in the spring and I still do. I loved to read and write, to communicate thoughts and ideas, to sing and to listen to music, to eat delicious food, to spend time with friends. None of that has changed.

Bodily changes happened throughout my life ... as I evolved from babyhood to infant to teen to childbearing to menopause to old age. I should be used to them by now. I’m taking them in stride. What has probably made the biggest difference is life experience and the lessons I have learned as a result.

Being a #3 on the Enneagram, I’ve convinced myself that 75 is not really old yet. We just returned from a road trip to Ontario. Our son-in-law’s grandmothers, both of whom we have learned to love and appreciate over the years, are now 96 and 100. Comparing myself to them, I am still at the “young” stage of old age. I do realize that we all age very differently. The 96-year-old is still very much engaged in the life around her and her doctor recently gave her a clean bill of health! She served us warm biscuits and tea, and gave us some homemade raspberry jam (made by another senior in her complex). The 100-year-old has no quality of life and requires constant caregivers. Although her family celebrated her birthday, she was not aware of it.

I recently read an article in the Winnipeg Free Press ("Living longer not the same as living healthy longer," by Blair Roblin, June 1, 2018) in which the author writes about "health-adjusted life expectancy (HALE) which measures the average length of time people can expect to live in a healthy state, essentially without illnesses such as diabetes, heart disease and cancer. For Manitoba, Statistics Canada reports a HALE of 67 for males and 70 for females, more than 10 years short of life expectancy."

I am thankful that I have passed that statistic and have no health problems yet. However, I do want to prepare myself for the inevitable, without being morbid about it!

Right now I'm enjoying memories of our trip to Ontario and back (Hardy is 80 now and we were a little apprehensive about doing the yearly road trip, but we managed quite well by pacing ourselves and taking two night lodgings).

Our four grandchildren in Ontario were so excited to see us and to celebrate my birthday with me.

Their homemade card was very special and designed with so much love.

Our four grandchildren in Ontario were so excited to see us and to celebrate my birthday with me. They had prepared a puppet show that was pretty amazing. There were endless Aggravation games with Opa, and they kept a running score to see who won the most games! Oma told and retold and read many stories and spent time at the nearby playground with them. We ate lots of ice cream and pizza and went to Swiss Chalet together with the other set of grandparents who also had birthdays in May.

The day after we returned, Lena Kate (10) called us and said that she felt sad because we were not there. She said that she was lying on our bed missing the story times we had together. It made me sad too, but also happy because of the love we shared.

"Time is a valuable commodity which moves in only one direction. So the best present a parent [or grandparent] can give to a child is the Present. It will eventually become the Past on which the Future is built." (Libby Simon, Winnipeg Free Press, March 22, 2011)

Survivors

Nana Mouskouri

This woman gives me hope! She is 83 years old and is kicking off a 14-day cross-Canada tour on May 3, with stops in Calgary, Toronto and Winnipeg, to name a few! I just listened to her singing Bob Dylan's "Forever Young" and was amazed.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=po1ALayrqOE

Recently, in an interview with Hello! Canada magazine, she was asked: "Is retirement in the cards?" Her reply: "No way!" After a 60-year career, Mouskouri is still “elegance in action.” 
Hello! quotes her:
I’m getting older, but when I tried to retire, I realized I had no contact with creativity anymore. Even listening to music was sad for me. My message is this: when you love something, you really can’t separate yourself from it. It’s important to do what you love. If I stop singing, I don’t learn anymore. Life is about creating.

Nana Mouskouri grew up in Greece; besides her mother tongue she is also fluent in German, Italian, English, Spanish, and French. Having lived in several different countries myself, I agree with her when she says, “You need to understand the culture before you try pronouncing words ... .  And it takes patience.”

Nana’s older sister Jenny initially appeared to be the more gifted sibling and since the parents couldn’t afford both girls’ studies, the tutor recommended Jenny over Nana. However, it was Nana who had the true need to sing and became famous. A medical examination revealed that she had only one functioning vocal chord, but apparently this enhanced her singing voice. She sang a husky dark alto in her younger years and later changed to “a ringing coloratura mezzo.” (Wikipedia)

Although I am not musically gifted, Mouskouri’s experience of having to give up voice lessons reminded me of a time during my early teens when I longed to be able to play piano. We were an immigrant family and my parents worked hard to keep their eight children fed and clothed. There was no money for musical instruments or lessons. However, I begged, and somewhere my parents got an old piano. My little sister (eight years younger than me) was deemed to be the musical one. The piano teacher agreed that I could attend the lessons, but my sister would be the one to get the lessons and I would observe and also practise at home.

I really enjoyed playing the piano, but my first and only recital was a disaster so I knew I did not want to perform. However, my great-uncle John (who was to us like the grandpa we never had) would come over on Saturday nights and would sit by the piano and listen to me play. He was musically gifted and could play by ear but he never said a word, just listened. That was his gift to me. 
Later I paid for my own lessons with babysitting money. I still enjoy playing the piano, but we gave it to our daughter when we moved to Manitoba. So now I resort to playing the recorder when the spirit moves me!

Mouskouri’s stamina in her later years reminds me of my mother’s younger brother, my Onkel Hans. He is a survivor! He turned 95 this April and is the last surviving sibling in his family.

As a young man he was conscripted into the German army toward the end of World War II, and for several years our family did not know where he was. However, he found us in Paraguay and later joined us in Canada.

The above photo shows some of our family as refugees from Ukraine in Germany. Onkel Hans is on the right. I am the baby on the left. My grandmother (on the right) is holding my brother.

Onkel Hans loved to have fun with his little nieces and nephews by showing up at night with a glowing flashlight in his mouth and his eyelids turned inside out so they looked red, and then pouncing on us! We shrieked and ran, with him chasing us. After he got married, he would bring his little girl and throw her onto the bed where the four of us were settling down for the night and we all had a good romp. In Paraguay he taught in a village school and later became a pastor.

Onkel Hans sent me this picture of my classmates a year after our family left Paraguay

There was sadness in Onkel Hans's life. He lost his first wife (our Aunt Susan) to ovarian cancer. After several years he married again and it was a happy marriage until Aunt Frieda, too, passed away. He also lost a daughter to ovarian cancer. Some years ago Onkel Hans had a serious heart attack but he survived.

Onkel Hans especially enjoys wood carving as a hobby and in his retirement has made many beautiful pieces over the years.

My grandmother wrote a page in her Bible for each of her children after they were born. It was a big family Bible she and my grandfather received as a wedding gift. On Hans's page she begins very positively about the beautiful spring morning in 1923 (he was born in April) but her joy soon turns to sadness as she writes that he will not have the privilege of having his grandmother close by since she and the rest of the family will be emigrating to America in June.

Her last sentence seems almost prophetic:

Auch wenn alle dich verlassen, du mein Hans! 

Wird dein Heiland dich umfassen, will dich haben ganz.

[Trsl.: Even when all leave you, my Hans! Our Savior will embrace you, he wants to have you completely.]

Forever young! 

"I’m a young man trapped in an old man’s body."

(Onkel Hans's words as he celebrated his 95th birthday)

What If ??

Our oldest grandchild is graduating from high school in June. Ben's life in the outside world is just beginning as mine is diminishing. I have so much life experience and he has so little. I wonder what I can tell him. He hasn't asked me very much about my life. Later, when he is older, and I am no longer here, he will wonder about it and wish he had asked me more questions. Maybe he will read my blog posts and find some answers there.
Or he might read my memoir (I have so far only written an introduction and am having a hard time going beyond that).

My Mom, Ben's great-grandmother, sharing some of her joy with Ben when he was two

My Dad, imparting some of his life wisdom to one of his grandchildren

Jason Mahn, Associate Professor of Religion and Director of the Presidential Center for Faith and Learning at Augustana College in Illinois, gave me some insight:

Educators are called to tell their own stories in ways that include regret, remorse, mourning, and roads not taken. Only then can we help our students navigate a world where multiple, conflicting callings will always shape them into the complex, vulnerable creatures they are.

Maybe that is why I'm not making progress on my memoir. Who wants to write about regrets, mourning, and roads not taken?! 
There is always the nagging question in the back of the mind: "What if?" . . . 

What if . . . someone had encouraged me to stick to the university entrance math course instead of choosing bookkeeping in grade 11 because I hated geometry . . . ? 

What if . . . that boy I had a crush on all through high school had actually had the same feeling for me, and not dated my best friend on grad night . . . ?

What if . . . I had done this, or chosen that, or listened to my heart instead of 
to my elders . . . ?

When I graduated from high school, I had two goals and both of them seemed impossible to reach at the time:

1)  I wanted to complete my education by going to university

2)  I wanted to get married

My Dad and I had a talk after graduation and he gave me some other ideas. I listened because I didn't know what else to do. The rest is history! I did achieve both goals I had set for myself, but in a different way than I anticipated, and that makes for an interesting life story (some of which I have shared in previous blog posts). 

What Thomas Merton (1915-1968) says in a prayer resonates with me. I have prayed this same prayer many times throughout my life:

My Lord God,

I have no idea where I am going.

I do not see the road ahead of me.

I cannot know for certain where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself,

and the fact that I think I am following your will 
does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that my desire to please you 
does in fact please you.

And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.

I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.

And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,

though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost

and in the shadow of death.

I will not fear, for you are ever with me,

and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

My advice to my grandson at this significant time in his life is this:

A seed only flourishes by staying in the ground in which it is sown. When you keep digging the seed up to check whether it is growing, it will never bear fruit. Think of yourself as a little seed planted in rich soil. All you have to do is stay there and trust that the soil contains everything you need to grow. 
This growth takes place even when you do not feel it.
                                                                                                     (Henri J.M. Nouwen)