Missions Textbook 7
Time for a Break

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

Six Weeks Without Father

My letters of 1984 are filled with speculations and plans and changing plans for our first trip back to the States as a family. By this time, we were known not just by our churches in Portland but by many other churches as well. Floyd left the end of April to speak at churches on the East Coast and in the Midwest. He knew that his presentations of our ministry would be the same every time he spoke, and he didn’t want to bore Erich and Michael.

It would be hard to be gone for a whole summer. There were so many Austrians – brand new babies in Christ, those who had not yet made a decision, those who could lead but were afraid to fail. The little church was now meeting in a rented apartment not too far from Cecilia’s apartment. Sunday School was continuing without me, and there were now several men capable of keeping things running. And we needed the break. We knew that God was the one watching out for their souls, so we planned and packed and got ready for a new adventure.

The school director agreed to let Erich and Michael out of school 6 weeks early! But that time until we would fly out was really long. It was hard having Floyd gone. The family dynamic was changed. The boys challenged me more, and I was grumpier.

My main problem came through in a paragraph I wrote to Sue:

Floyd is gone, and my days are a little bit aimless. I have trouble–more than usual–motivating myself. The boys and I seem to be getting on all right, and we have lots of invitations for lunch and afternoon visits with many dear Austrians. The people in Mureck are particularly special, and very grateful to all of you for allowing us to come to Austria. They are so afraid that you will want to keep us. Bernd and Karin are filling in for us during the summer. I am afraid the Austrians won’t want us back. Sue, sometimes I still feel so inferior, like the ugly brownstone house. Karin is so much the ideal missionary wife that I always thought I had to be. And yet, at the same time, I am happy with who I am, and I am gradually letting go of my preconceived notions. Learning to be content being “just” the wife and mother and writer and letting people like Karin run themselves ragged (which she thoroughly enjoys–and Floyd does too).

So just remember: Those strong missionaries you know might not be quite as strong on the inside as they look on the outside.

The New Jersey Castle

Erich, Michael and I flew to the East Coast, and Floyd picked us up from JFK Airport. We stayed a week at Christian Missions in Many Lands (CMML) headquarters. We had been there on our way to Austria, and Erich had some vague, happy memories. Now the boys were thrilled; it was a real castle. Years before, this missionary support organization had bought the building and turned it into a hotel for their missionaries. There were beautiful apartments in the older part of the building with the original woodwork from the 1920’s. Anyone staying there had use of the huge kitchen, the well-stocked pantry, and the stately dining room. In the newer section were smaller rooms with kitchenettes and an apartment for a family with three bedrooms, kitchen and living room. There was a huge playroom in the basement, with the delicious suggestion that there must be a dungeon somewhere. The boys searched.

In another part of the basement was a huge clothing center where we could “shop” for free. Area churches donated gently used items and also gave money for the purchase of new underwear and socks. Local churches provided the volunteers to manage the clothing center.

At one point while “shopping,” I made the comment that my sister would love that sweater.

“Well, take it. You may shop for birthday presents if you like.”

This clothing closet was a special help for those coming from different climates. For example, missionaries from the South American jungles who were spending the winter in Minnesota would need winter clothing.

The workers at CMML also do so many wonderful things for the missionaries affiliated with them. They managed our funds and forwarded them to our bank, without taking a cent for their own support. They sent us a monthly statement with the names and addresses of every donor so we could thank them personally.

They also:

  • Travel around North America, telling people about the missionaries and CMML’s ministry.
  • Make funds available for emergency evacuation from countries.
  • Write official employment documents for countries where that is necessary.
  • Raise support for scholarships for education of school-age missionary children.
  • Keep a fleet of cars for the missionaries’ use.
  • Make sure breakfast is in the kitchen for that first morning back in the States.
  • Publish a monthly magazine with articles and updates on all the missionaries.
  • Publish a yearly address book of all the missionaries they serve, divided into 30 days so that churches in the English-speaking world can pray regularly for missionaries. We got to know many new friends who wrote and told us they had prayed for us that day.
  • Sponsor missionary conferences, missionary training, and youth conferences.

The wonderful people at CMML were also retired or Christian workers, trusting God for their own support so they could serve the missionaries. We are so grateful to them for their love and care and support and advice and service.

Reverse Culture Shock

Big Cars, driving very slowly on wide streets. Houses with so much space between them. Stores filled with too much stuff. American flags flying everywhere. Five years can change a lot.

We went to a thrift store and when we got to the checkout counter, the girl asked, “Paper or plastic?”

We had never heard the question before, but we both answered simultaneously, “Cash.”

(I kid you not!)

She paused, held out her hand for the money and then said with extreme patience, “Okay, but I still don’t know what kind of bag you want.”

How can things change so much in five years?

We took the boys to the grocery store and told them they could each choose one box of cereal. It was, perhaps, cruel. You remember me saying that there were only five types of cereal in Austria? Well, when I finally went looking for Michael, he was sitting in the cereal aisle, with his chin on his hands. Too many choices.

Perhaps we are the ones who changed so much in five years?

What Happened to Stan?

The following is a fictional account of what may happen when a missionary comes home on his or her first return home. It is reprinted from “Missions Magazine,” November 1992.

Stan has changed. He used to be an ordinary kind of guy. He dressed like normal people, played football fanatically, and just loved the Beatles. He once told me that he hated feeling like a misfit.

But I started noticing a change even before he left for the mission field. Some said he was crazy to be leaving such a loving family. And all he could talk about was his “vision” for some strange people he was going to overseas.

He’s been gone for five years. Four weeks ago, he returned, and I’m definitely worried about him. A few of us invited him over for an evening of sports on the tube and some 60’s music. He seemed to enjoy himself, but he just wasn’t into it. He told us some incredibly interesting things about where he had been and what he had done overseas. He had no idea about the latest trends though, and he didn’t even seem to care. He still has his great sense of humor, but some of his questions about what we had been doing during last five years made us feel uncomfortable. We knew that he didn’t intend to put us down. We just felt like he was not the same person we had known before, although he even told us it was dumb to put missionaries on the pedestal.

Last week I finally had to ask what went wrong.

He talked about intense fighting in open warfare. I didn’t recall any war going on in the country he had been to. He said that really important things were at stake – eternal things – not clothes or the latest football score. He didn’t even know who won the last four Super Bowls! I wanted to shake him and make him see what he had been missing!

I can understand that he is excited about the small church he started over there. Anyone would be encouraged with success in his work. His little church, however, has almost no material possessions. I can’t understand why Stan wouldn’t be happy starting a church here where there was so much more to work with. He could start a church in our area; the next good one is almost five miles away. His values seem to have gone haywire. He keeps talking about how many Bibles he could buy for the price of a television.

It’s almost embarrassing to hear him stumble over the simplest English words. It’s as if he hasn’t spoken with another English-speaking person since he left. It would probably help if he would quit reading his New Testament in that new language. I’m afraid to mention it again, however. When I did, he asked me how my quiet time was going. I can’t remember the last time I had one.

He mentioned being very sick once, and he was overjoyed that a whole group of people came to see him and to listen to his message. He made it almost sounds like it was a privilege to get sick!

He then told me he has seen three people die in a boating accident. He was sad about one person who he said was a “close brother,” but said he would see him again. The other two he called an eternal tragedy. He obviously took the incident too seriously.

I know that it was a real blow for him to discover that one of his favorite cousins had died here in the States before Stan even received the news that his cousin had been sick. I’m convinced that all of these experiences with death have been bad for him. He seems obsessed with their “lostness.” Besides he makes me feel guilty, and I haven’t done anything!

I think I’ll talk to one of the elders. I’m not sure Stan should give up so much for his “mission.” And when I gently pointed out that he no longer fits in, he just laughs. Stan has changed.

Portland!

Finally, we flew to Portland and stayed . . . in a lovely place. We had so many visits to Portland over the years. One time we stayed with Uncle Dick and his wife. Another time someone found a missionary guesthouse for us to use. Everywhere we stayed was really nice, and everyone tried to make our visit as “normal” as possible. I don’t always remember where we stayed, but I remember this one because I made a terrible mistake.

Sometime during this hot summer, we planned a weeklong trip, perhaps to the beach. As we were getting ready to go, I told Floyd I needed to iron one more blouse before we left. I ran down into the basement, unplugged something and plugged in the iron, ironed the blouse, turned off the iron, ran back upstairs and jumped into the car. Off we went for a wonderful vacation.

When we returned, I walked into the house and knew at once that there was something dead in the house. (I had grown up in an old farmhouse, where mice died regularly within the walls. I knew the smell of dead.) We searched and searched, and finally I went downstairs where I discovered a trail of old, sticky blood, running into the basement drain. I followed the trail of blood . . . to the freezer. Yup. I had unplugged their freezer, and while we were walking the beaches of Oregon for a week, all their meat had thawed and spoiled. It was a very expensive mistake. We cleaned everything up and dumped the spoiled meat into the garbage, making notes of what kinds of meat we had to replace. When the couple returned, we told them what had happened, and they said we didn’t have to replace the meat, but we already had. Moral: pay attention to what you are unplugging!

Floyd had many speaking engagements – all of which paid us a bit of money. These were opportunities to share about our work in Austria and to challenge people to think about being a “missionary” to their friends, neighbors and families. I was also asked to speak to women’s groups and at conferences. During some meetings in Vancouver, British Columbia, Floyd got a phone call from a relative in Texas, telling him that his grandmother had died. I was a bit disturbed that it did not seem to bother him, but he had meetings to do and many people to talk with, and I think he put his grieving on hold.

Floyd and I gained weight, as we received so many invitations to dinner, and we were not walking nearly as much as we did in Graz. Missionaries often gain weight, and managing my allergies was also something I tried to handle with tact and delicacy.

One time I overheard Erich in the hostess’s kitchen, telling her that I couldn’t eat the cherry pie because I was allergic to cherries. It was true, but I hated to have her feel as if she had to find something I could eat. Often, I would say, “Don’t worry about it; there is plenty of delicious things I can eat. I won’t starve!” Depending on the severity of the allergy or sensitivity to the food, I would decide whether to explain, have a small helping, or come up with my own alternative. (“Apple Juice? I’d really prefer water. Thank you.”) It was also so sweet that Erich was protecting me.

We got over jetlag, went horseback riding with my mother in Colorado, visited the oceans on both coasts, ate at all our favorite American restaurants, learned how to sail, and went to shopping malls, which were very popular back then. Erich went to camp and struggled with thinking he was going to (finally) be surrounded by Christian kids, and he wasn’t. He pulled himself together and witnessed to the guys in his cabin. It wasn’t his favorite part of the summer. Michael wished he were old enough for camp. On the way back to Austria, we took a day to drive from New Jersey to visit my grandmother on Long Island, New York. It was the first time the boys had met her, and I was later sorry that I had not taken any pictures.

And just like that: the summer was over and we were on a plane back to Vienna.

Sailing?

While still in Austria, Floyd and I had seen a movie that made us want to learn how to sail. The movie wasn’t even about sailing, and it took a while for each of us to admit to the other that we really wanted to learn. That summer in Portland, we took a few lessons on the Columbia River, while Hank and Sharon, our friends from Eastgate, watched our boys. Then we took the boys and our friends out for a day on the river. We loved it, and had finally found an outdoor activity that we both enjoyed.

It wasn’t all fun. After we returned to Europe, Floyd took a couple courses in the English Channel in winter, so he could learn how to sail in bad weather and keep us out (and get us out) of dangerous situations. Eventually, we took a week-long course as a family in the English Channel, and Floyd also crewed with two different Austrian teams on regattas (races) in the Adriatic Sea, off the coast of then-Yugoslavia. Later, he was the captain during another regatta. Over the years, we were privileged to sail off the southern coast of France (after a hurricane!) and in Lake Superior.

Floyd used every opportunity to talk about the Gospel, and he had some very in-depth spiritual conversations with some very unsaved crew members. (You can read all about the conversations in chapter 8 of Floyd’s book, Evangelism for the Fainthearted.)[1]

Hank and Sharon loved sailing too. They learned to sail, and bought a large sailboat. When we returned in other years, they would loan us the boat or take us out on it. Based in Bellingham, Washington, the boat gave us the opportunity to sail in the San Juan Islands, one of the most beautiful areas of the world.

[1] Floyd Schneider, Evangelism for the Fainthearted (Spokane, WA: Keybobby Books, 2017), p. 111-127.

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

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