Missions Textbook 2
Drive to Germany for Language School

We Never Saw It Coming: An Introduction to Christian Missions (textbook)

Winter 1980 – Germany, We are Here!

Prien am Chiemsee (pronounced “Preen ahm Keem’-say”) literally means Prien beside Chiem Lake. If you have ever seen calendar pictures of quaint Bavarian villages, Prien was one of them. The months of November to February are usually Europe’s dreariest time of the year. (Remember that if you ever plan a vacation there!) We were, however, in love with the place. The carved balconies, the narrow, winding streets, the steepled churches, and so many of the people actually dressed for everyday in the local, colorful costumes.

Our living accommodations were ready, but less enchanting – way less enchanting – than we had planned. We were given two rooms on the second floor of a mid-century, student dormitory. We had to share the area with other international students – girls – who were very noisy with their boyfriends. If you know what I mean.  L

We made one room a children’s room – in which we also ate our meals. For Michael’s bed, we found a great big box and added a three-foot long cushion we found in the basement. The other room was for studying and “living.” We bought a small television and watched children’s programs every evening. (More about TV later!)

Usually, I cooked in the large kitchen, in which all the students cooked. I learned quickly that the Germans and Austrians ate their large meal at noon and a smaller, snack-like meal for supper. By adapting to that schedule, I usually had the kitchen to myself. (More about cooking later.)

The housekeeper, Frau Holeb, was a matronly lady with white hair and dressed in a blue housedress. She was delighted to have children in her dormitory and did her best to give us some privacy. Eventually, she found us a hot plate and a small refrigerator so we could cook our meals upstairs. Washing up was difficult in the bathroom sink, but I never had a pile of dirty dishes because there was no place to put them. Life was awkward, yet simple.

Floyd was already aggressively working on his German. The day Frau Holeb asked me why we wanted to learn German changed my outlook on the mission field. I knew I could not tell her that she needed a missionary: Church buildings occupied the center of every village and town. I mumbled that we just wanted to live there for a while and then I dashed back to Floyd to ask him what we should tell people.

Where He Leads Me I Will Follow;

What He Feeds Me I Will Swallow!

I first heard this line from Al Cole, a missionary to New Guinea, when I was in eighth grade. His diet included lizards, bugs, and odd roots. Stories of his life in New Guinea inspired me that the only life worth living was the missionary life.

Anyway, Floyd and I knew that German food was highly edible, so we were not worried about having to eat strange things. What surprised us were the markets.

Prien’s grocery store was quite small, and although I walked down every aisle, I saw so little that looked familiar. When I got to the checkout counter, I did not have enough in my cart for supper. I had to go back to the front door and start again.

The second time through, I discovered that shopping was going to be easier than in the States. There were few choices. Spaghetti sauce? There was one kind. Cereal? There were five choices. Canned peas? There they are: take ‘em or leave ‘em. Milk? One kind in a one-liter (quart) box. The only choices were at the deli counter: many kinds of cheese, cold cuts, and fresh meat. But I didn’t know any words for any of them. And how do you say “slice” or “a quarter of a kilo”? 

And then the breads! I smiled and pointed and said “Danke.”

Eventually we discovered a larger store in a larger town. Even then, the choices were limited. I would stand at the deli counter and listen to what others said. Then I would try it: “Ten decagrams of sliced ham, please.” That’s about four slices.

I forgot to mention that the refrigerators were small – what American students would put in a dorm room. Only, everyone’s is small. Milk, however, did not have a long shelf life, and most wives and mothers shopped every day. Except for the hours between noon and two pm. And Wednesday afternoons. And every evening of the week. And Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday. And religious and political holidays. We had to plan very carefully, or we would run out of food sometime on the weekend. No convenience stores anywhere.

Austria At Last!

Language School was very expensive. It was also hard work. I studied the first two months, while Floyd stayed home and took care of the boys. Erich was going – reluctantly – to kindergarten. There was only one in town – at the Catholic Church. I’ll write more about the boys’ schooling later. I realize now that I was “in over my head” with the culture and several hours of homework and classes all day, five days a week. I am grateful that Floyd was such an attentive father. He learned how to change diapers (deciding that disposables were more time-saving than cloth), prepare meals in our less-than-ideal cooking situation, and do the shopping. He also threw himself into learning as much German as he could. Anyone who met Floyd found him eager to practice any new phrase he had discovered that day.

Another American missionary couple with two children was also attending language school with me. Although it was tempting to spend time with them, we did not believe – as they did – that God had put us together in language school to be a missionary team forever. We really made it a priority to spend time with any willing German-speakers.

Our first trip into Austria is still vivid in our memory. We decided one Sunday to drive an hour to Salzburg to attend a small Baptist church. We drove east on the Autobahn, and it was a lovely day. The Austrian Alps rose, gleaming white to the south. It was our first outing, and we were enchanted by the small villages in the distance, each one surrounding a church. The fields were covered in deep snow.

Floyd and I had been convinced that we would be missionaries in Austria even before we got married. The first thing we did on our honeymoon (I’m not making this up!) was to drive to a movie theater and watch “The Sound of Music,” a musical filmed in Salzburg. Now – finally – six years later – we would see Salzburg with our own eyes. We were even more excited that we would finally meet some Austrians. We stopped at a gas station, and Floyd got out and whooped with joy – a very American thing to do.

The believers at the little church welcomed us warmly, but we struggled to understand their accent – so different from the proper High German in our language class. One little old lady asked me several times if Michael was a “Madl or Puub.” What she wanted to know was if Michael was a girl or boy (although it seemed pretty obvious to me!) But the words she used were not words I knew. “Madl” sounded similar to the word I knew for girl (Mädchen), but the other word was not even close to the word for boy (Junge). In fact, it sounded like “poop.” I wrote down the word phonetically and when I was alone, looked it up in the dictionary. Sure enough, “poop” meant “poop.” It was not until much later that I learned that the word was “Bub” (pronounced “Boop,” if you can believe it!) And that’s the Austrian word for boy.

Which brings me to another topic altogether: German words that sound like American swear words. “Ausfahrt” means “exit,” and there were lots of them on the Autobahn. “Dammit” means “with it.” I had to get over it. It was just my own personal embarrassment.

Slow Down and Smell the Flowers

When we moved to Europe, we discovered that life was slower than in the States. The weekly schedule seemed to be tailored to encourage family relationships. The shops were closed between noon and two so that workers and school children could go home and have a hot lunch, which the mothers shopped for and prepared all morning long. Saturday afternoons were set aside, it seemed, for family outings – especially since the children had school on Saturday morning. Sunday was the day of worship, and I suspect there was a religious reason why no stores were opened on those days. When we got to Austria, they did not have Wednesday afternoons free, so I never did learn why they did that in Germany.

All of this made shopping difficult, as we often ran out of milk when the shops were closed. Religious holidays also closed the shops and so when Christmas fell on Monday, the stores could be closed for 4 days. Thankfully, the weather was cold, and we could put some things on the balcony. Why would we do that? Because the refrigerators were so small.

Governmental red tape was also long, which was why it took so long to get our car. When we were waiting for our first crate to come to Prien with some of our belongings, the paperwork was unintelligible to Floyd. In a letter to my mother, I described what was happening.

First, “Your crate has been in for two weeks and you owe dock fees.”

Then, “I’m sorry, your crate wasn’t on that ship after all.”

Then, “The ship will be in Monday; you’ll have your stuff next week.”

And then, “The ship is in and your crate is on it.”

Then, “The ship won’t be in until Saturday.”

Doesn’t anyone out there know???? We’re still smiling.

Floyd made several trips to the shipping company and to the customs office, but the shipping company was clueless, and the customs office wanted money. Finally, in desperation, Floyd walked into the tiny police station in Prien and asked if anyone spoke English. A very nice German policeman, who was delighted to practice his English, made one phone call, and the crate arrived the next day.

That was not the end of the crate problems, however. The dormitory did not want the crate taking up a parking space and demanded that we move it immediately. Floyd and I cannot, to this day, remember how we did it, but we must have packed everything into our two rooms. Every time we received crates or packages, especially ones we had shipped ourselves, I would chastise myself for how materialistic we were because we had been doing just fine without all the stuff that was now cluttering up our lives.

Building Toys

Although we had sold the house and had money saved, we didn’t know if we had enough. We were sent out from our home church, and had not done the traditional money-raising circuit, so we really did not know where more money would come from. Except we knew it came from God.

Christmas was going to be simple. We bought a small tree, and scoured the area for lights. They were nowhere to be found. (The following year we learned that everyone uses real candles, and they think electric lights are garish and cheap.) We decorated the tree with popcorn chains, bells made from egg cartons and aluminum foil, and a few tiny wooden ornaments we bought at the Christmas market.

Erich and Michael had discovered a brand-new toy set called Playmobile® in the window of the toy store. The dear little people with all their accessories – and a pirate ship! – and a castle! They were very expensive. On Christmas morning, we thrilled the boys with two substantial boxes of figures. The first contained knights, king, queen, horses, and all the weapons, saddles, plates, cups, and crowns for a kingdom. The second: cowboys and Indians, with all their paraphernalia.

It was Christmas break, and I was finished with my class. I sat on the living room floor with boxes, a knife, glue and crayons and created a castle to the specifications of two small boys. It was very therapeutic for my poor, German-language-stuffed brain. Eventually, we also built a sailing ship, a log cabin, a tepee, and an apartment building, complete with working elevator and revolving door. These were not temporary toys. They moved every time we moved, and were played with for many hours by many children.

Erich confessed to me not long ago, that when we moved to Vienna eight years later, he and Michael took the (by then) dog-eared cardboard buildings into the woods and set them on fire.

Television Was Easy, Too

In Germany, there were three channels; in Austria, two. They were government-run, and the news was the same on all the channels. Programming began around 11am and ran to around 11pm. (This was in the days before cable television, which did eventually come to disrupt family evenings.) Children’s programming was one hour long. “Am, Dam, Des” (similar to Sesame Street) was educational, followed by a cartoon – different every day, followed by a five-minute “Jump-Into-Bed Story.” At first, we watched the children’s programming avidly, adding the news later. Because everything was in German, everything else was too far above our heads.

Although we were immersed in our own little village, the world marched on. We had left the United States right at a time when the nation of Iran was in crisis and was openly in opposition to the U.S. The Shah had been deposed, and the revolutionaries had attacked the U.S. embassy and taken 52 hostages in November 1979, right as we were leaving for Europe. A rescue attempt went very badly, and they remained in captivity until January of 1981 (we were in Austria by then), when President Ronald Reagan took office.

All news was not bad. After the New Year, we were delighted to be able to follow the 1980 Winter Olympics from Lake Placid, New York. Unlike sports coverage in the States, which focused mostly on U.S. accomplishments, European television showed every athlete in every sport, preempting all other television programming for two weeks. By this time, Floyd was in language school, and I was at home with the kids. The TV was on all the time, and we all learned a lot of German, simply because we knew the context of the sports.

January 1980 – Swallowed by a Train

Dear Mom,

I’m so glad you gave me a smattering of German and French while I was growing up. At times I feel a bit phony, pronouncing things correctly because people expect an American accent from me. I find that I have no problem in the formation of the sounds. Thanks. Please pray for my vocabulary and especially grammar. Without proper grammar, I will always be a foreigner or a simpleton. It’s so hard and in many ways quite different from English. And class is so intense that I have more in my notebook than in my brain.

In my class, there are perhaps a dozen people from the West – U.S., Poland, South America. All the rest are from Asia – Iran, Turkey, Japan, Indonesia. I have troubles with the morals of some of the students. One of the Turkish men asked me out! Floyd was ready to punch him! I’ll be glad to be Mommy again and let Floyd go fight with German!

One of the students we got to know was Mary. She was a theology student from Gettysburg University in Pennsylvania, learning German so she could read German theology books. We invited her to spend Christmas Eve with us, as she seemed to have no one else. We all gave presents and ate chicken and things I could fix without a kitchen. She was sweet and seemed lonely.

About a month later, at the end of the language course, Mary was returning to Pennsylvania. We offered to take her to the train. On the evening she was to leave, it began to snow. It was one of those postcard-perfect evenings. The fat snowflakes were falling, and the night was soft and peaceful. Some of the Christmas lights still decorated the Bavarian town, and lit everything with a golden glow. The boys, bundled up against the cold, were excited about seeing the train up-close. We waited on the platform and heard the rumble of the train before we could see it. It was right on time. (Trains in Europe – at least in northern Europe – are always on time.)

Mary had two large suitcases, and so Floyd carried them onto the train for her.

Erich said, “The train’s not going to leave with Daddy, is it?”

“Of course not,” I reassured him.

The conductor looked down the line of cars, and waved his arm.

I thought of saying, “My husband needs to get off,” but I didn’t know how to say it.

And the train doors slammed shut, and the train took off – with Floyd inside.

We could see Floyd trying to manhandle the doors open, but they are securely locked when the train is in motion.

Erich began to cry.

I stood on the platform with two small boys and the snow swirling down and realized I had no car key to drive us home, no key to get into our apartment, and no money for a taxi. I asked at the ticket window when the train returned from Munich, and the person said the next train came at 2 a.m. It was a 20-minute walk back to the dormitory – too far for the boys to walk and too far for me to carry Michael. I knew, however, that Mary’s room was empty and unlocked, so we could sleep there until Floyd figured out how to get home and could unlock our apartment. And remember, there were no cell phones.

I hugged the boys, told them everything would be all right, and that Daddy would be home soon. I decided to walk to the police station and see if someone could take us home.

After about a half a block, I slipped my hand into my pocket and discovered the key to our apartment. We trudged back to the train station and took a taxi to the dorm. I ran upstairs to our apartment, got money to pay the taxi, and then snuggled the boys into bed.  They fell asleep.

At around 1 a.m., Floyd clumped into the apartment with his own story to tell.

While the boys and I were still standing open-mouthed on the train platform, Floyd was trying to wrench the door open and jump out. An alert conductor saw him at once and stopped him.

“You would kill yourself if you jumped out. The train is going too fast.”

Floyd asked him where the train stopped next.

“Rosenheim.” Rosenheim was about a 30-minute drive from Prien am Chiemsee. “The next train back is at 2 a.m.”

“I don’t want to go to Rosenheim; do I have to pay?”

The conductor asked Floyd what had happened.

When Floyd told him what had happened, the conductor thought the whole thing was very funny. [Actually, Floyd should write this part of the story; he’s much funnier than I am.] Anyway, the conductor left Floyd standing beside the door and went chuckling down the center aisle, checking tickets of the other passengers.

Eventually, the train arrived in Rosenheim, and Floyd got off. A taxi was waiting right there, and Floyd asked the man how much to drive to Prien. I’m sure that it was expensive, but the alternatives were more expensive, so Floyd got in. He regaled the driver with his story as they careened around curves on dark, narrow, snowy roads. Snow. Don’t forget that it was still snowing.

The area was beautiful; white meadows stretched away from the roads and met the dark woods behind. In places, the woods marched right up to the road, and the evergreens were decorated with fluffy globs of snowflakes.

Suddenly, a deer bounded out of the woods and crashed into the taxi. Fortunately, taxis in Germany and Austria are Mercedes – strong, powerful, safe. The deer probably did not survive; the Mercedes sped on. Floyd’s heart sped on as well. In twenty minutes – record time - the taxi delivered him at the train station in Prien. Floyd drove our car back to the dormitory and found us safe and sound in our beds.

I don’t remember praying during this whole evening. I’m sure I must have, and I think I probably prayed with Erich and Michael when I put them to bed. We had many things to pray about, but at the same time, we just had the assurance that God was with us, watching over us. We were also grateful for our dear friends in America, who were praying for us faithfully every week. It was a comforting thought, and I say thank you even now to them for their commitment to us and to the work we thought God wanted us to do.

Fasching

Southern Germany and Austria share many holidays. Three hundred sixty-five Roman Catholic saints have been assigned their own day of the year. Many are important enough that they enjoy holidays, and some even close all the government offices. Christmas and Easter are important, but arguably the most popular holiday is Fasching, or as it is known in the Americas, Mardi Gras.

It falls on the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday. Its purpose is to allow the people to have one more fling before they begin Lent – six weeks of fasting in preparation for Easter. The heart of Fasching was the masked ball. The idea was that one could go to the ball, masked, and do anything that would have been normally forbidden. The mask would hide their identity. We were told that priests offered special forgiveness for the things done that night. One neighbor told us that it was the one night where she could get revenge for all the affairs her husband had the rest of the year.

The shop windows were full of costumes, many as grisly as anything seen at Halloween. Children invited their classmates to costume parties, which were “harmless”, but believers did not usually participate because of the connections to immorality and sin. Fasching is not a Christian holiday. Evangelical believers rejected the whole premise, and had to come up with alternatives for their children during this time.

Our first Fasching in Europe occurred in February, and changed the direction of our lives, but that is for the next article.

We Never Saw It Coming: An Introduction to Christian Missions (textbook)

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