Wuffty Von Arfty Bark (This one is for the kids!)

     When Ted and I first married and moved away with the Air Force, we both left beloved pets at home.  We missed them and wanted a dog.  One day Ted came home with a Boxer puppy that some G.I. had sold him for $50.00.  For that price I might have sent him back, but I was in love after the first lick.
     Ted named him Wuffty Von Arfty Bark.  He said the name had to be German because Boxers are German dogs, hence the Von, and it had to be classy because he had papers!  I agreed if we could call him Wuffty.
     We naively thought the fifty bucks was the last of our doggy expenses but then came puppy shots, ear clipping (in those days you never saw a boxer with droopy ears), special food because of his allergies, leashes, collars and various doggie toys to keep him from eating the house.  He was one expensive pooch!
     One would think that with his classy, German bloodline, his lofty registered name, his AKC papers and all that he cost us, that Wuffty would have been more... well, genteel, but such was not the case.  Wuffty was a world class slob!
     Not only did he have skin allergies that caused an itchy, stinky rash but he also had the sneezing, slobbering, eye watering kind of allergy.  We never found the source of this so he just suffered from it and so did we.
     Wuffty slept on his back in an old chair with his legs spread apart, without the benefit of underwear!  He snored like an old man.  He dug up rotten things, ate them, then threw up his snack on the living room rug.  Every summer he had fleas and scratched all night.  His favorite chew toy was our shoes and his favorite game was dragging our dirty laundry outside for the neighbors to see. 
     Our 1955 Plymouth had a fancy air conditioner in the front floorboard between the seats.  Wuffty would plant his hundred pound body in-between us with his head on the air vents of this air conditioner.  There he'd sleep for miles, blocking the flow of air but still managing to disperse slobber and doggie smells throughout the car.  Since Ted did most of the driving and I couldn't move him, we just endured it.
     One time when we were visiting my parents, my mother cleaned her parakeet cage.  She always let her bird, Pitter Pat, fly around the house free, while she cleaned his cage.  But this time when she went to find her bird, he was nowhere to be found.  On one of her trips through the kitchen she happened to notice Wuffty sitting in a corner with his face to the wall, like a naughty kid.  She stopped and studied him for moment then asked, "Wuffty, what's wrong with you?"  (Mother always talked to animals like she expected them to answer her.)  When he glanced back at her she saw two green feathers protruding from his mouth.  Mother gasped, then yelled, "Wuffty, drop that bird!  Drop it!"  Wuffty ducked his head then obediently opened his mouth and the bird fell out, whole and unhurt, but traumatized and wet.  Mother grabbed the bird and headed for the sink to bathe off the dog slobber.  While she bathed him, she changed his name to Jonah!
     When we lived in Arizona, Wuffty ate citrus fruit that fell from the trees in our yard.  We had a lemon tree, an orange tree and a grapefruit tree.  He sampled them all then broke out in his disgusting skin rash.  He used to sit in our front yard looking longing across the street because he wanted to run across and explore the neighborhood.  I would then have to go find him and drag him home, scolding him all the way.  So one morning he sat at the edge of the yard gazing at "freedom" with a look that said it all. I was watching him from the window.  He looked over his shoulder to see if I was watching, then made a run for it.  I hurried from the window to the front door and flung it open just in time to see him crash into the side of a pickup truck in the middle of the street.  The concerned driver had stopped and was getting out of the truck.  "I'm sorry, ma'am, I couldn't stop in time and he just ran right into my truck!"  After examining his truck to make sure it wasn't dented, I assured him the dog was all right and began dragging his addled behind back to the house.
     Now before you judge him too harshly, I need to tell you the wonderful side of Wuffty.  To begin with, he was a great guard dog.  He could be trusted to stay by the side our our new baby, Joel for hours, refusing to move until one of us called him.  He walked by our sides without a leash when we went someplace, never chasing off after something.  He warned anyone who approached us, with a low growl and bared teeth, that we belonged to him and he was our protector.  He understood English as well as I did and was one of the most obedient animals we'd ever owned.  He was our loyal, lovable, affable, slobby friend.
     On our first tour of duty to Spain, we had to leave Wuffty behind with my parents.  By then they lived on the farm in central Texas, so he had lots of running space.  A dog could live the good life there and we knew he'd be happy on the farm.  He went with Daddy to herd the cows and chase rabbits.  At times he came home smelling like a skunk, then would be banished to the back yard for the next week until the smell wore off.  Mother dutifully reported all his doggie antics in her letters to us and we could tell that they had a mutual admiration going on between them.
     He was usually a very friendly dog and would greet any visitor that came to the farm with a happy whine and gyrations of his backside and vibrations of his stubby little tail.  But he had a sixth sense about people.  He knew with a look and a scent when one wasn't to be trusted.  One evening as Daddy finished up at the barn, a pickup came into the front yard.  Mother didn't recognize the vehicle or the driver from her vantage point at the front window, but Wuffty was asleep on the porch so she just stayed inside waiting for the man to get out and approach the house.  Suddenly she saw Wuffty run to the pickup barking.  He jumped up onto the door of the truck, snarling, and barking like he wanted to eat the man up.
     Mother walked into the yard and up to the truck.  She grabbed Wuffty by the collar but he wouldn't stop.  He strained against his collar, snarling and barking and the man lowered his window a little.  He was afraid to get out and as she looked at him she didn't trust him either.  His eyes were glassy and his head bobbed as if he were about to pass out.  He looked drunk or high and Mother asked?  "Are you okay?"  The guy mumbled something and Wuffty went crazy again.  Mother could barely hear his slurred words over the barking and growling, so she said, "Mister, I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to hold this dog off, so you'd better go on down the road."  He said something else, that she didn't understand, rolled up the window and backed out of the driveway, leaving her and her crazy dog.
     Wuffty slept in an old rocking chair in their living room.  It was the same old rocker that had rocked and squeaked and lulled me to sleep as a baby.  Like I said before, he didn't curl up to sleep like other dogs, instead he stretched his ample body across the chair from one arm to the other, lying on his back, legs spread apart, snoring like a buzz saw.  It wasn't a pretty sight.
     One morning he was taking his morning nap in the chair when the Pastor's wife and two Sunday school teachers stopped by for a visit.  Mother invited them in and they had to pass through the living room to get to the kitchen where they would be served coffee and cake.  As they walked through the room they glanced at Wuffty and began giggling.  One of the ladies pinched her nose and said, "I declare, Miz Stanely, I've never heard such noise or smelled such smells coming from an animal in my life!  How do you put up with that?"
     Mother was immediately offended.  She said, "I'm sorry.  He had leftover beans for supper last night.  We'll just go into the kitchen and let him finish his nap without us."  They left the room and Wuffty snored on, undisturbed.
     As he grew older, Wuffty began to lose some of his guard dog alertness.  Daddy decided to take him one night on his night watchman job.  He had a part time job guarding an oil well a couple nights a week to insure that the expensive equipment was safe.  There was a guard shack on the property with a couple cots inside for the nightwatchmen.  When they got to the site, Daddy laid down on one cot to read until he went to sleep and Wuffty stretched out on the other.  Daddy was depending on Wuffty to alert him if someone came onto the site.
     About 2:00 a.m. Daddy was awakened by a racket outside.  He knew someone was prowling around the well.  He whispered, as loudly as he dared and grabbed his rifle.  "Get up, Wuff!  We have company!"  He started toward the door then turned and looked at Wuffty.  The snoring hadn't stopped and the dog hadn't moved.  Daddy walked over to the cot and shook him and whispered again,  "Come on boy!  There's someone out there!"  Wuffty never opened his eyes.  Daddy kicked the leg of the cot then grabbed the dog's collar and pulled him off it. His body hit the floor with a thud and Wuffty stood up slowly, shook himself and without even looking at Daddy, hopped back up on the cot.  By the time Daddy got outside a truck was driving away.  Fortunately, the would-be thieves hadn't seen anything they wanted, so nothing was missing.  Daddy brought Wuffty home the next morning and talked for two days about what a worthless, lazy, good-for-nothing watchdog he was.  The story amused Mother and didn't seem to affect Wuffty at all.  By that time he was ten or eleven years old, about seventy something in dog years.  He was ready to retire.
     One morning just before we returned from Spain, Mother went out the back door, heading for the barn to milk.  She almost stumbled over Wuffty on the bottom step of the porch.  As she stepped over him she exclaimed, "Wuffty, you'd better move!  I almost stepped on you!"  He didn't look up, which wasn't too unusual because they had long suspected that he was losing his hearing.  But as she looked closely at him she realized that he looked stiff.  She bent to shake him and felt his cold body under her hand.  He had died in his sleep during the hot summer night... possibly of a heart attack.  He had gotten quite fat in his old age, eating my parents leftovers and not running as much as he did in his youth.  They buried him on the farm and grieved for him for weeks.  When we got home a month later they still cried when they talked about him.  Wuffty was a good friend who had blessed us for all the years of his life and I still miss him.

copyright(c)lauragehrke      

All Things DO Work Together for Good!

"And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, 
to those who are the called according to His purpose." 

Romans 8:28

     When Ted was three years old and his brother, George five years old, they were put into St. Anthony's Orphanage in Toledo, Ohio. The year would have been about 1939. There are a couple of versions of this story that have floated around the family, about how they got there. One story came from Ted's mom, and the other version from the family of Andy Billis, his biological father. I'll start with his mom's version.
     She and Andy, a Toledo cab driver, had been divorced for some time and he had visitation rights. Every weekend he would come get Georgie and Teddy and take them to his aunt's home where he was living. There his aunt would care for them while he drove his cab and he could visit with them when he came home.  According to Mom, one weekend Andy came and picked them up for the weekend and when the weekend ended and he didn't bring them home, she began to look for them.  After some time she found out that they had been taken to St. Anthony's Orphanage. When she confronted Andy about it he said, "If I can't have them then neither can you!"
     She was dating Ernest Gehrke at the time and the two of them went to the orphanage to get the boys back. There they were told that they couldn't take them back until they could prove that they could afford to raise them. They were required to have a certain amount of money in a bank account before the boys would be released back into her custody. She and Ernest began to work and save their money. After three years they were able to ransom their boys from the orphanage.
     Andy's version of the story was very different. We heard it from his "other" family years later after he died.  His second wife told us that he had picked them up for their usual weekend visit and when he tried to return them Mom wasn't there to receive them, so he took them back to his aunt's home.  It was during the depression and times were hard.  Andy's aunt had several children of her own and he had to work every day. After several days, when their mother didn't come for them and he couldn't find her, the aunt took them to St. Anthony's and dropped them off. She knew they would be cared for there and that seemed to her and Andy like the best option.
    Now, no one knows for sure the truth of this story and we probably won't until we get to heaven. Ted did remember his dad bringing candy to them and visiting them on a regular basis and he also remembered his mom and his grandmother coming to see them there. When they went to court three years later, custody was awarded to his mother and stepfather because they had established a stable home and were working steadily and had a bank account.  No doubt they wanted the boys and the judge recognized this. My purposes here are not to try to cast blame or discern the truth of either story but to look at how it affected the life of Ted Gehrke.
     They were two frightened little boys left alone in a strange place with strange women who were sometimes sympathetic, sometimes sever, probably overworked and unthanked, none of them "mothers", doing the best they could for homeless, difficult, rag tagged, abandoned children. Ted was a toddler and George barely five.  They must have wondered where their mommy and daddy were and if they would ever see them again. They must have wondered what they had done and what would come next. It must have been a terrible experience because as young as he was, Ted had vivid memories of it until the day he died.
     One of his memories that he retold over and over was of the breakfasts they were given. They had oatmeal and hot chocolate every morning for three years. I'm sure the oatmeal was nourishing and filled their tummys. It had probably been donated by some generous person, but it was boring and bad!  Ted said it was lumpy and by the time they got his portion to him, it was cold.  He would gag on the lumps and was never able to finish his breakfast. The "hot" chocolate was also cold by the time it reached him and had a thick scum that had formed on the top. When they drank it, the scum would stick to their top lips and without napkins they had to wipe it off with their hands.  They did this, of course with great glee, then would fling it onto a neighbor.  He remembered, with delight, that one time George scooped the scum off with his spoon, took aim at a Nun and got her smack in the face. George later accepted his beating gladly because he was the hero of the day with the other kids. The two guys laughed together at this memory when they were old men.
     Occasionally someone came to adopt a child. To keep from being separated, the boys  made a pact that if one of them were "interviewed" by perspective parents, they would act out and be as bratty as possible, so they could remain together. It must have worked because they stayed there for three years.
     Ted remembered also how protective George was of him. He fought many battles over his little brother, both with other children and the nuns. "Little Teddy" never got spanked but "Georgie" got it almost daily. Ted was grateful to his big brother for that for the rest of his life.
     Then there was the memory of the "great escape"!   Their grandmother lived close by and George at least, thought he could find his way back to her house, if they could get over the iron fence that surrounded the orphanage.  His plan was that they would wait until night time and scale the fence, then run to Grandma's house. He would boost Teddy over the top then go over it himself. 
     It was summer time and all the children were dressed in overalls. They were the short legged kind made of duct cloth like the rail road men wore. They were very durable and could stand up to active children and frequent washings.  The boys snuck out of bed and into the playground at the back of the orphanage after they were sure that everyone else was asleep...including the sister who had tucked them in. When they reached the fence, George boosted Ted up and over the top of the fence. When Ted reached the top, one of the iron posts went through the leg of his shorts. There he was suspended between heaven and earth and couldn't get himself free. George encouraged him to pull until he ripped the leg of the shorts and thus free himself. Ted struggled for several minutes then began to panic when he couldn't pull free. He started to cry and make noise and George implored him to be quiet. Ted knew that George was angry with him so he started yelling louder. George was angry, as a matter of fact he got so angry and desperate to shut up his little brother that he began throwing rocks at him. Finally though, he had to go back to the orphanage and wake a sleeping nun to come rescue his dumb little brother. Ted said George wouldn't talk to him for a week after that.
     Sometimes events leave marks on a life that time doesn't erase. That was true for Ted and George and the orphanage. For most of their lives they were only told their mother's side of the story and they grew up hating their dad because they were sure that he abandoned them just to punish their mother. They thought that they were never loved by him so they resented him for years. They felt like they had been worthless to him.
      One night as Ted and I sat in our yard talking about his experiences for  at least the thousandth time. I suddenly realized that he still felt victimized by it. He had a tendency to revert back to the experience every time something bad happened to him in life. After listening to him for a while, I asked, "Ted, when are you going to stop blaming every thing bad in your life on your experience in the orphanage and your dad?"
     He stopped and looked at me with anger in his eyes. I waited for the explosion, but it never came. His look changed from anger to confusion to resignation and to my surprise he said, "I do that, don't I?"
     I held my breath as he continued. "Well, I'm going to fix that right now!" Then he bowed his head and began to pray. He asked God to forgive him. He expressed his faith in God's goodness and His Sovereignty in his life, then he did the most amazing thing I ever heard him do... he thanked God for the orphanage, it's care of them, the nuns and their hard work and his dad who had done what Ted now knew God allowed him to do.  I was simply amazed. The result of that prayer... he never brought it up again. Ted lived for at least another twenty three years after that and he never again mentioned the orphanage except to use it as an illustration in a sermon.
     Several years later we met up with the Billis children, Andy's second family. They all loved and respected their dad. He had died by the time we met them but they were eager to tell us how they grew up hearing about their two big brothers, George and Ted. They told us that their dad had fought to keep them but was not in a position to take them when they went to court. They told him how proud Andy was of Ted's football playing in high school and how he'd drive over on Friday nights to watch him. They told him of how Andy bragged about his boys military service in the Air Force. When Ted heard these things he began to see the utter chaos that the divorce had caused in all their lives. He saw a flawed but loving father who simply didn't know how to handle life and he truly forgave his dad.
     The experience at the orphanage built traits into Ted's life that would serve him well. First it made him a very protective person, one who was extremely alert to danger. This alertness enabled him to save the life of a pilot when he was a control tower operator in the Air Force. It made him a protective father who saved the lives of at least two of his children. He also saved the life of a truck driver who turned his truck over in Key West, Florida.  The Air Force recognized this in him and made him the safety NCO of almost every base he was sent to. The experience focused his attention on the marriages of his congregation as a pastor and caused him to hate divorce and the havoc it reaps in the lives of people, with a passion seen only in those who have suffered it. In short, it helped shape his life, both in the Air Force and in the ministry.
     So we concluded that "All things do work together for the good of those who love the Lord..." even things like cold, lumpy oatmeal and cold, scummy, hot chocolate. 

      

Another Big Fish Story

"When you make a vow to God, do not delay to pay it; For He has no pleasure in fools. Pay what you have vowed--  Better not to vow than to vow and not pay." 

Ecclesiastes 5:4-5

     When we left Spain in 1964 we were sent to Key West, Florida.  It was a beautiful, interesting place to live and although we were broke most of the time, there is so much to do and see in Key West that you don't have to have a lot of money to really enjoy the place.  There was deep sea fishing, swimming at the beach, water skiing, picnics, fish fries in the park (almost every week) for a nominal fee.  For that reason our friends and family loved to come visit us.  This was wonderful for us since we had been overseas for almost three years.  Also we had qualified for Navy housing.  Although we were in the Air Force we were stationed at Boca Chica Naval Air Station.  Our house was brand new and beautiful, probably the best place we ever lived in the Air Force.  It was a duplex separated by a large car port.  It had gorgeous terrazzo floors, tiled walls in the kitchen and bathroom, three bedrooms and a large patio that looked out on the Gulf of Mexico.  It was great for guests and we were very proud of it. Shortly after we arrived there we began begging our friends and family to "come on down". 
     The first ones to visit us was the Ezzy family.  Gregg and Suzanne Ezzy had been stationed with us in Constantina, Spain and were now in Aiken, South Carolina.  We were so excited when they said they would come and began planning a full week of fun things for us to do.  We borrowed a fourteen foot motor boat from the base so we could take them deep sea fishing.  We planned to take them on a tour of the Island, a picnic on the beach with the kids and shopping at the quaint little shops in town.
     They arrived, for some reason in the middle of the week and Gregg was eager to take the boat out.  Suzanne and I wanted to go shopping right away and the kids were clamoring for a picnic at the beach, so we were able to hold Gregg off until  the weekend.
     We started out early Friday morning, fishing gear in tow and lunch in a sack.  We had hired a baby sitter for their two little boys, and our two youngest kids, Kelly and baby Timmy.  The four of them were all under three years old and couldn't possible be kept safe on a fishing trip.  Joel, on the other hand was five and already a seasoned fisherman, so he went with us.
     Our house was built on a man-made canal that had been dredged up out of the Gulf so we launched our boat from the back of the house around 8:00 a.m. and set out into the Gulf of Mexico.  Suzanne was armed with her camera and Gregg brought along a World War II German rifle that he had purchased from an army surplus store on his way to Key West.  We assured him that he wouldn't need a gun on a fishing trip but he hadn't shot it yet and insisted on taking it along.  We were looking forward to our day's adventure and hopefully hooking a big one.  Deep sea fishing is one of the most exciting things we'd ever done.
     We had been out for about an hour just sightseeing, when some unplanned for excitement started.  It was getting on toward nine-thirty and we had already seen giant Manta Reys, several Portuguese Man-o-Wars, and a small hammerhead shark.  We had motored over beautiful coral reefs and had an argument over lunch.  Suzanne and Gregg were Catholic and Suzanne was very devout... apparently more devout than her husband because she wouldn't eat the bologna sandwiches I'd packed because it was Friday. At that time Catholics were not allowed to eat meat on Friday.  If I had been more thoughtful I would have packed some cheese or peanut butter sandwiches, or even tuna, because they were allowed to eat fish,  but it never occurred to me.  Gregg was hungry and had asked for a bologna sandwich.  "God will punish us if you eat that bologna, Gregg!" declared Suzanne.  He laughed at her but she was very serious.
     "Here, Gregg," I said, trying to be the peacemaker,  "have come potato chips."  I handed him the bag and he handed it back.  "No thanks, I really want a sandwich." he said.
     For some reason the salt air, sunshine and ocean breezes makes a person hungry.  I had experienced that myself so I'd made at least ten bologna sandwiches.  When I told them that, Gregg said, "Don't worry. I'll eat Suzanne's."  Of course that was like pouring fuel on her fire and she sat there with her arms crossed, smoldering.  About 9:45 Ted parked the boat over a coral reef so we could eat some of our lunch.  This was always a fascinating place to stop because there we could look down on the reef and watch sea creatures swimming around searching for their lunch... not to mention the beautiful colors of the reef itself.  One could look at it for hours.
     Ted had thrown a trolling line off the front of the boat when we first launched.  It was a rather large rope with a Jew fish hook on the end, baited with a large fish of some kind.  Gregg had asked him if he was fishing for a whale and he had replied, "You never know."  Jew fish are huge, spotted creatures that can weight up to a thousand pounds or more.  I don't think it occurred to any of us that if we hooked one, it could be a threat to our little vessel.  To a large Jew fish we would be shrimps!  (We don't know the guy in the picture above but this is an example of a Jew fish)
     As we sat eating our lunch and exploring the reef to see what we could see, Suzanne was in the background reminding Gregg of how they had "taken a vow" to abstain from meat on Friday and how he was breaking it and how she could exist on cookies and potato chips and she didn't understand why he couldn't.  Suddenly I had the distinct feeling that we were moving, ever so slowly, over the reef.  No one else was paying attention.
     "You're going to hell, Gregg!" said Suzanne and I interrupted her, "You guys... I think we're moving!"
     "Why do you think that?" asked Ted.
     "Because we're almost off the reef and there's a small wake being kicked up on both sides of the boat." I answered.
     Ted put his hand in the water and we could see it moving past his fingers.  "Maybe you forgot to anchor us." said Gregg.
     "No, I didn't." said Ted and showed him the anchor rope at the back of the boat.
     "Pull it up," suggested Gregg "and throw it out again."
      So he pulled it up and threw it over the side.  Now we were moving faster.  We were fairly skimming through the water.  Ted checked the trolling line and found that it was taut.  He began pulling it as hard as he could but couldn't budge it.  He called for Gregg to help and the two of them began to tug on it but to no avail.  "We need a knife!" said Gregg.  "Did anyone bring a knife?"  We all looked at each other and shrugged.
     "We've hooked something and it's not letting go." said Ted.  "We have to get this line freed.  Help me Gregg, maybe we can untie it."
     It was beginning to dawn on all of us that we were in trouble.  Our boat was a fourteen foot, aluminum motor boat and collectively we didn't weight over 600 pounds. That fish could take us all the way to Cuba or turn us over or dive and take us with it to the bottom.  We had been told not to go out very far and in fact we were still in sight of the Submarine Base at Key West.  We had been assured that we should be safe if we didn't go too far out.
     I heard Ted and Gregg discussing our situation and it really didn't comfort me much.  "What could it be?" asked Gregg.  "I don't know." said Ted.  "Maybe it's a Jew fish.  I don't think it's a shark because it's not surfacing."
     The whole time they talked and worked I kept my eyes on the wake being made in the water as our boat knifed through it.  "Ted," I said, "I think we're going faster!"
     He put his hand in the water again to feel the force and said, "We're definitely going faster."
     Suzanne began to cry and talk about how God was punishing us for Gregg's sin.  He said, "Shut up, Suzanne!  If your so concerned, pray!"
    But she wouldn't shut up. As a matter of fact, the farther we got the louder she got...
sermonizing to the top of her lungs and crying the whole time, but finally she did begin to pray.  That's when I knew that Suzanne was a real  believer.
     I quietly tried to comfort her.  "Suzanne, I don't think God would punish the rest of us for Gregg's sin, especially an  innocent child."  Joel was sitting as close to me as he could get and still maintain his five year old "big boy" status.  He was wide-eyed and silent but his bottom lip had begun to tremble a little.  He looked at her and said, "Don't cry, Suzanne."
     "Oh you poor baby!" she exclaimed and grabbed him.  She sat hugging him for the next half hour.  I think it comforted her but scared him half to death.
     I don't know how long we were pulled out into the gulf by the monster on our line, but the shore seemed to be getting farther away.  I was feeling a bit panicky too so I sidled up to Ted and whispered a question, "Do you think we could have snagged a Sub?  We're pretty close to the Sub Base."
     "Shh!" he demanded and looked at Suzanne.  Then he added, "That line was not long enough to hook a sub... and we were sitting on a reef, remember?"  That comforted me a little and I settled back to watch the two men try to cut the rope by rubbing it along the edge of the boat, however it was not even fraying.  Finally Gregg suggested that they try to slid it around to the back of the boat and hope that the motor would cut it.  I didn't know if it was my imagination, but the front of the boat seemed to be dipping lower into the water.  I think Ted thought so too because he instructed me to get in the back with Suzanne and Joel.
     I had just sat down at the back when suddenly the front went up abruptly.  Ted yelled,  "It let go!"  Gregg grabbed the line and began pulling. It was relaxed now and he pulled as fast as he could.  When he got it into the boat we all looked at the empty hook as the blood rose into our faces and we started to breath easier.  We never knew what took the bait.  We didn't see anything swim away, but whatever it was got our bait and gave us quite a scare... but not enough of a scare to send us home... yet.
     The guys were determined to catch fish so they turned to boat around and headed back closer to shore, this time without the trolling line.  As we neared the base again we began to relax and Ted cut the motor and threw out the anchor so we could fish.  Our little boat drifted around the anchor while we all fiddled with our lines and poles laughing about our "near death experience".  Even Suzanne was laughing, when suddenly we felt a bump and grabbed the sides of the boat.  Ted looked down and said, "Oh great! We're stuck on a sand bar!  Come on Gregg, we have to get out and push off this thing."
    Gregg was complaining as he threw a leg over the side, not wanting to get wet.  "Some sailor you are, Gehrke!"
     "Hey, I'm an Airman!...never pretended to be a Sailor!" said Ted with a smile.
     Suddenly Suzanne began to scream... "Sharks!  Gregg... sharks!.  We all looked at her in disgust, thinking that it was more of her histrionics, then we looked in the direction she was pointing.
     Ted grabbed Gregg's arm and yelled, "Get back in the boat.  There are sharks coming toward us!"
      Gregg threw himself back into the boat and it was a good thing he did because just as he landed in the bottom a big one swam close enough that we could have touched him.
     Now Ted and I had seen a lot of sharks in the short time we'd been in Key West, but never anything like those.  They were at least ten feet long and there were six of them.  They began circling our little vessel, staring at us with their big, black, glassy eyes.  
     "Will they attack the boat?" asked Gregg when he could finally speak.
     "I don't think so." said Ted.  "I hope they're just curious and they'll give up and swim away soon."
     Then Gregg delivered the funniest line of the day... "Well, I just hope they're better Catholics than I am and will only eat fish on Friday!"  Ted and I laughed.  I think we were all a little hysterical, but Suzanne started crying again.
      We watched in silence for a few minutes then Gregg said,  "I don't think they're losing interest but I think I know how to get rid of them."
     "How?" asked Ted sounding a little nervous.
     "I'm just going to have to shoot one of them." said Gregg as he reached for his German rifle.
     "Gregg, I don't think you should do that!" I protested.  Ted looked a little dubious but didn't say anything.  Suzanne just cried and clung to Joel.
      Gregg stood up in the middle of the boat, took careful aim at the closest shark and pulled the trigger.  We heard the bullet plop through the water and saw the fish immediately head for the deep, leaving a stream of blood in its wake.  Then the most gruesome thing happened.  I'll never forget it.  It was like something out a Steven King movie.  All the rest of the sharks in the school ran after him.  They caught up with him about an eighth of a mile from us and we watched as the water churned red, while they feasted on the body of their brother shark!
     Ted yelled at Gregg as he went over the side of the boat.  "Get our quick, and help me push the boat off this sand bar!"
     Gregg jumped out and the two of them freed us.  They climbed back in and Ted started the motor and headed for home as quickly as he could.  We'd had enough adventure for one day.  We went back to the house, cleaned up and dressed the kids then went out for a fish fry at the park, given by the local Catholic Church charity!
     We had a lot of fun reliving the day's adventure together that night but I dreamed all night long about sharks and Jew fish and my little boy alone in a boat.  The next morning I said, "Ted, I don't ever again want us to go out there with our kids in a small boat.  It's a lot more dangerous than I thought."
    He agreed.  We both knew that we had been in way over our heads and as I consider it now, it occurs to me that not withstanding the Catholic teaching of "only fish on Friday," we really did end up back home, eating fish that Friday.  Now, I'm not Catholic, but I have since come to view with a lot more respect, the act of taking a vow before the Lord.  That day, in the Gulf of Mexico, that seed of respect was planted.
             

Fellowship- Two Fellows in the Same Ship!

"...thus saith the Lord, the God of David, thy father, I have heard thy prayer, 

I have seen thy tears, behold, I will add unto thy days...

" Isaiah 38: 5b

     I have mentioned the "Fellowship" that our family was a part of in Spain, in previous blogs. For that reason, and because we don't have anything equivalent to it in the states, I decided that you, my readers need to have a further description of it. The following story will provide that for you.
      When we returned to Spain the second time, Ted was a licensed Baptist preacher. That means he was not yet ordained but had been licensed by the Southern Baptist Convention to preach.
     We arrived in February of 1965 and rented a room in a small boarding house until we could get into base housing. There were several G.I.s and their families in that same boarding house and one of them, upon hearing that we were Baptist, told us about a small group of Christians who called themselves the Baptist Fellowship. They met in the base chapel on Sunday evenings and Wednesday for prayer meeting.
     Of course we went to check it out the very first Sunday. We were thrilled to find that there were about thirty-five people (mostly Baptist) who had called a pastor and who met faithfully for worship in the chapel. "You must be my replacement." said the pastor to Ted when we were introduced after the service. We were surprised by the statement, so he explained that he only had three weeks left before he was due to rotate to the states and that the Fellowship had been praying for a couple of months for God to send them a replacement. Thus began one of the greatest adventures of our lives.
     We immediately became close to the congregation. They were young families...some of them new believers, and all very enthusiastic about serving the Lord in this place. They were hungry for the Word of God and eager to apply it to their lives, the kind of congregation that most pastors dream of.
     Judy and Jerry Harrison were GARBC Baptist from New York. They were examples of great faith in waiting upon the Lord. There were several families of Southern Baptists, the Comforts from Arkansas, the Lees from South Carolina and the Lamberts, (can't remember where they were from). There were a couple from Texas, the Reeds who were Independent Baptists and another, I can see their faces but their names have long since vacated my mind. There were several single G.I.s who were Nazarene, Mary Campbell and her children who were Assembly of God, one couple, the Boles, who were Church of God and a single nurse from Houston, Texas. Then there was Major Miller and his family from Washington state, also Southern Baptist the Busbys from Louisiana, Bob Massingale from somewhere down south, and the Frobichino's from New York City. Like I said, there were others who's faces remain in my memory but who's names escape me. I'll know them in heaven!
     Now I know that reading that last paragraph to many of you is like reading the "begats" in the Old Testament but to us who were there, they are precious names, connected to precious memories.  Just apply them to the "fellowships" in your own lives and memories and you'll understand.
     At the time Ted accepted the pastorate of this fellowship, the congregation was searching for property to buy, off base. They wanted to move off base so they could establish a church. We were unable to organize into a legitimate church while on a U.S. Air Force base. That's why we called ourselves a "Fellowship".
     They had searched for months for a place but to no avail. The search went on for a few weeks after we joined them. It seemed that every door was closed to us.
     After a while Ted began to feel that God would have us stay on base and work in the chapel, rather than leave. We were all involved in the chapel ministry in some way or another. I had taught myself to play the organ because the chapel needed an organist. Judy Harrison was the pianist. Major Miller was the Sunday School Superintendent and several others, including Ted, taught Sunday School classes and were Bible School leaders in the summer for the kids.
     Ted looked at this and his "mixed multitude" in the Fellowship and thought, "It would be insane for us to dissociate ourselves with this ministry on base, move off and go into long term debt for a property whose members came and went through a "revolving door"."  He approached the Fellowship (in one of his first tasks as a leader) and told them what he was thinking. It was hard for many of them to give up their dream of a church but most of them agreed with him. A few left the Fellowship but most stayed with us.
     After this the Fellowship flourished. We were busy and happy and in a very short time we were up to a hundred in attendance every Sunday evening. The base Chaplin, a Presbyterian, attended once or twice a month. He said he enjoyed Ted's preaching and the close fellowship of our people. Chaplin Mixon was a kind man, single, and drove a red convertible. I think he also had his eye on our single nurse from Houston.
     Within the Fellowship there were three gospel pianists, Judy Boles, Jeanie Busby and Bob Massingale. (Bob got out of the Air Force when he went back to the states and became a professional Gospel Pianist.) They were all three very talented and a delight to us all. They played for the men's quartet and and for our after service sing-alongs. We couldn't believe we had been so blessed by three such talented musicians.
     Along with these services we also had a lady's Bible Study group that met in individual homes and a board of men who made all the important administrative decisions. We were an active group.
     Ted and I learned so much from them. He learned to study and preach the Word and most valuable of all he learned to "Pastor" a flock. He was challenged by counseling to really listen to people. He learned that even though he had always been quick to form an opinion, he didn't have the answer to everything and had to dig into the Word and consult wise people for most of them. I learned to teach women and children and how to be hospitable in my home, to welcome lonely, homesick, people. It was the beginning training in the Pastorate and the most important "schooling" we ever had.
     As I said, we were all very close. We picnicked together in the mountains north of Seville. We had "singings" in the chapel, pot-luck dinners and we ate in each other's homes and encouraged each other daily. As we grew as a body, God showed Himself powerful in our lives in many ways. We experienced many answers to prayer. The following account is one of the most exciting of those answers.
     Jeanie Busby was expecting her first baby when she and her husband, Sherman, arrived in Spain. They hadn't been married long and her husband was a nominal Christian who attended the Fellowship sporadically. He was unfriendly and standoffish to most of us when he came. We tried to draw him into the group but he continued to hold us at arms length.
     Jeanie, on the other hand had jumped into the ministry with both feet. She was a sweet person and like I said a talented gospel pianist. Shortly after they arrived she began teaching piano lessons. Kelly was one of her first students.
     When she was about a month from her delivery date, we received a knock on our door late one night. None of us had phones, (except for Major Miller, because he was a squadron commander), so messages had to be delivered the old fashioned way, in person. The messenger was one of the men from the Fellowship.
     Ted opened the door and the man said, "Pastor, you need to come with me. Sherman Busby just hit a Spanish child with his car and killed her!"
      Ted dressed, grabbed his bible and accompanied him to the Busby home. There they found a distraught man, who would not be comforted. He kept repeating in his misery, "God is punishing me and He's going to take my child because of this!" Of course the whole thing had been an unavoidable accident. Even the Spanish people on the street said that the child had run out in front of Sherman's car and he couldn't avoid hitting her. He would shortly be exonerated by the Spanish and American authorities, but in his grief and confusion all he could think about was how God was going to "get him"!
     Ted began meeting regularly with him. He tried to comfort him. He assured him that God didn't work that way...that although He may use that terrible accident in Sherman's life to get his attention, He wouldn't take his child because of it. But as I said before, Sherman was inconsolable. He came very close to having a nervous breakdown but with the frequent meetings with Ted and others in the Fellowship and regular church attendance, he slowly but surely began to heal. His faith was renewed and he became a student of the Word.
     About a month later, Jeanie gave birth to a tiny little girl who they named Tammy. She was born with a hole in her heart. We received word on a Sunday morning while we were in chapel that the baby wasn't expected to live. It certainly looked like God was going to take their child. Mother, father and daughter were airlifted to the hospital at Torrejon Air Force Base in Madrid. It had the largest and best equipped U.S.Hospital in Spain. Before Sherman left he called the Chapel and talked to Ted. he asked him if the Fellowship would fast and pray for his baby until we heard from him again.
     That night our meeting was dedicated to praying for little Tammy Busby. Ted suggested that we fast along with our prayers and confess our sins as it instructs us in the book of James, so we did. On Tuesday morning, messengers were sent around to our houses to let us know that successful surgery had been performed and that Tammy was going to be alright. That was one of the scariest, faith-stretching experiences any of us had ever gone through.
    The Busbys were sent back to the states shortly after that, but not before they became two of our most dedicated members. I learned years later that Sherman went to seminary and became a Baptist preacher and is pastoring a church in Louisiana today.
     Little Tammy lived only five  years, but her parents know without a doubt that she was their "mercy child". She brought her daddy close to the Lord and taught a fellowship of believers how to pray for a miracle.
    

     

"If Just A Cup of Water, I Place Within Your Hand..."

"And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail!" Isaiah 58:11

     An incident occurred when I was a young woman that best illustrates my mother's faith. It was at one of those times when Ted was away on some Air Force excursion and the children and I were staying with Grandma and Grandpa while he was gone. 
     It sticks in my mind because it so perfectly taught me what it means to trust God for daily provision. Mother's example has been important to me as I've faced my own fears and made decisions about how to deal with what life hands me. I have used this story over and over as a teacher, when I needed an illustration of plain, simple faith.

Pete and Billie Stanley

     At the time it happened I didn't realize that I was learning anything valuable about the concept of faith or any other life changing lesson.  I doubt that Mother knew she was teaching it. She was just living her life, being Billie Stanley.
     Mother was a strong, shy women, not overly articulate or chatty and outgoing. I don't think I ever heard her pray or even talk about praying but I always knew that she did.  It was something that just showed in her life. 
     My folks had a cistern on the farm. It sat right behind the garage where it caught rain water. When the rain fell from the sky, it ran into an enormous drain pipe, then flowed through a simple filter down into the cistern. It was the softest, sweetest water for miles around and it cooked a great pot of beans, which to a central Texan is fine cuisine! Added to that the water was always cold, being kept in that metal cistern that was double walled and insulated from the hot Texas sun, so it was a wonderful summer refreshment. It was also a good beauty product. It made your hair shiny and silky and your skin feel moist. In short it was a valuable commodity.
     They also had a well in the back yard that had been drilled when they first moved to the farm, but the well water had sand in it. The sand didn't make the water dirty but it did make it unpleasant to drink. A special filter would have solved the problem but then they would have had to buy a water softener too, because the water was so hard. So they opted for the cistern.
     In Central Texas water can be a precious article. Seems that there it's either "feast or famine". One neighbor was heard to remark, "When Noah's flood came, Central Texas got an inch and a half!" This area can go for months without rain then overnight it will come a frog strangling, gully washer. My parents counted on these rainy times to fill their cistern. When it was full it would supply them with water for months.
     But here we were in the middle of a hot, dry August and there hadn't been rain since fall. Daddy could tell by the gage on the front of the cistern that it was getting very low.  He came in one day and said to Mother, "We're running out of water. If it doesn't rain soon, and I mean lots of rain, we'll have to drink well water." At that time buying water was unthinkable.
     I don't recall Mother giving him an argument. She just accepted it quietly, as she did most any other inconvenience. I do remember that she said, "It'll rain sometime."
     They had always been generous with their cistern water. If a neighbor lady needed some for a pot of beans or to wash her hair, they would say to her, "Sure! Come on over and bring your bucket!" That's probably how the news, of an abundance of rain water at the Stanley's farm, spread. They now had people arriving almost daily, some with buckets and some with tall milk cans, to get water. Most folks would ask permission and Mother never turned them away, but some began to come when they were gone, then they would return home to find a tell-tale wet spot beneath the spigot. My mother responded to this with a shrug or a sigh but Daddy began to resent it as the water level went lower and lower, with no rain in sight.
    Soon his daily warnings became urgent. "We're running out of water, Billie. You'd better stop giving it away!" Then Mother would say something like, "Oh, Pete."
     One morning I walked into the kitchen and encountered a full fledged domestic war. "I'm not going to refuse people a drink of water!" she was declaring.
     "I wouldn't refuse them either if it was just a drink they wanted." replied Daddy, "but they are hauling it off by the bucketfuls! They have wells. They don't need our cistern water!"
     "Well the bible says that if we offer someone a cup of water in Jesus' name, we will be blessed, so I'm not going to tell people they can't have water as long as I have it to give to them!"
     Daddy didn't answer her this time he just walked outside muttering to himself. That day brought more neighbors and their containers for their "drink" of water. One of them even had the audacity to say to Daddy, "You know Pete, your water's gettin' low." Daddy showed a lot of restraint when he just nodded silently.
     That  night I remember waking up momentarily and hearing rain hit the roof. Mother told me later that she had pointed it out to Daddy and he said, "It's going to take a lot  to fill up that cistern!"
     Well, God must have heard him too because it rained all night and the next morning it was still coming down in torrents. Just before breakfast Daddy came running through the kitchen door, shaking like a wet dog, to get the water off his coat. Mother and I were enjoying our morning coffee as we watched him reach for a towel. Finally she asked lightly, "Did you notice the cistern?"
     "Yep." he replied and poured himself some coffee.
     I hadn't thought to look at the cistern myself, so I got up, walked to the window and looked out behind the garage. What I saw was an amazing sight. Water was gushing over the top of it and washing down its sides.
     Over the years that memory has returned to me many times. I knew without explanation that it was an important one. Mother never said to me, "God provides for those who trust Him.".  She didn't lecture me about how to exercise faith. She didn't quote the bible where it says,"Give and it shall be given to you, pressed down, shaken together and running over..." she could have said all of those things, but she didn't. Her example had spoken loud and clear.
     She had shown me that we could be kind to others even when they were thoughtless of us because her God was bigger than a Texas drought. I saw Daddy's mistake in looking at circumstances and fearing, rather than looking to God and trusting. I saw a good wife being a challenge to her husband's faith and an encouragement for him to trust the Lord ... and I saw God once again being faithful to His Word.
     

Gottersburgh (1973)

     "In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you." 1 Thess. 5:18

     Our big white American car rolled along the rain swept autobahn, looking to the world, like a loaded white elephant. Typical American tourists!  Every German motorist on the highway must have been thinking that. With four little kids in the back seat and a baby between us in the front, the old car was filled to capacity.  Strapped to the top of it were tents, a camp stove, suitcases and other assorted gear for a two week vacation.
     I peered out the rain soaked window at the long road ahead. I'm sure my despondence was apparent, but I was trying hard not to show it.  As a raindrop ran down the window I thought, tears... the world is crying!   Then I deliberately made myself "lighten up" before I spoke and said aloud, "It will stop soon."
     I heard Ted say something like "Humph!"
     I knew he was getting tired and more discouraged with each mile.  The kids were irritable and crowded, the rain incessant, and the water pump was going out on the car.
     Some vacation! I thought, and almost said it aloud, but checked myself again when I glanced at Ted's slumped shoulders. It wouldn't take much to make him turn around and head back to Spain where we were stationed with the U.S. Air Force, and I wasn't quite ready to give up. So I stopped short of complaining and tried to look cheerful.  However my thoughts kept returning to Why?  that pesky question that had been pushing it's way into my mind for two days now.  I had been determined not to acknowledge it, but suddenly it was screaming at me...demanding an answer and a reason.
     Ted had worked for five years, pastoring a small flock of Christians, in a fellowship, on our Air Force base. He also directed a large youth group in the chapel, plus he was an air traffic controller in the Air Force. We hadn't had a vacation in those five years and we were tired. We had saved our money and planned, bought camping gear and fixed up our old car. We had looked forward to this vacation for over a year.  It just didn't seem fair!
      The rain slowed a little and I could now see a part of the German countryside. It was so beautiful! This is the most beautiful place in the world!  I thought. As I gazed out across the landscape a lump rose in my throat. Beautiful things had always affected me that way and my mind went back to my first trip to Germany.
     I had been given the opportunity as the president of the Protestant Women Of the Chapel organization to go along with my vice-president to a ladies retreat in *Berchtesgaden, Germany. All expenses were paid and travel arrangements made, by the Air Force and with much excitement we had spent one glorious week in the Bavarian Alps. We'd flown to Munich then taken a train to Berchtesgaden.  I was remembering that train ride and how smoothly and noiselessly it glided through the mountains. We passed small villages straight out of Hans Christian Anderson's fairy tales, each village containing a big church with an onion shaped dome. The streets were dotted with quaint shops adorned with flowers and brightly painted symbols on the fronts. Across the green, hilly countryside outside the villages were larger houses, lovely farms, decorated as brightly as the store fronts in the villages. Occasionally, I'd spot a woman in a dirndl or a man in lederhosen walking across the hills. "They really do wear those things here." I'd said to Joan, my companion. "I thought they could only be seen in The Sound of Music and other movies. She agreed and we laughed together. "It's like a fairy land." she said.

Quaint German Village

     In spite of our laughter, the lump in my throat wouldn't go away and finally it turned to tears that I tried to hide. "Laura, what's wrong?" she asked. I was embarrassed by my emotions and not really able to answer her. After a moment I tried to explain, "It's just so pretty..." One glance at her face told me I'd just confused her, so I continued trying to explain my feelings.
     "Pretty things make me cry... and I guess I'm a little disappointed too, because I can't share this with my family. We haven't been able to afford to travel since we've been in Europe. We only have a little over a year left and may not ever get back again and we wanted so badly to see something of the continent before we go home. I'm grateful for this trip, but would so love to bring my family back here. See that chalet over there on the hill?" I asked, as I pointed to a lovely German farmhouse, nestled back into the hillside. "I'd love to bring them back here and stay in a place just like that. I know we'd never be able to afford a vacation like that and it makes me sad. I guess I'm just ungrateful.  Ignore me, I'll get over it." My voice trailed away as I tried to end the conversation.
     But Joan wouldn't let it end. she said, "Well there may be a way." She and her husband had traveled extensively while in Europe and she knew things I didn't know.  She continued, "There is an Army camping facility near Munich and it's very cheap for military families. All you would need is camping gear, food and gasoline. Maybe you could save up for it and come back before you leave Spain."
     Thus was born the dream!  I returned home with pictures and plans. Soon the whole family caught the vision and we enthusiastically started saving and squirreling away camping gear.
     At some point during the year, I felt obligated, as any good Pastor's wife would, to "pray about it". To give the whole thing to God so He'd have my permission to bless my plans or stop them if He wished, which I was sure He didn't  wish!
     At least I thought I'd given my plans to Him, yet here we were, three days into our dream vacation, having car trouble and traveling in blinding rain and I was struggling with anger.  It's turning out more like a nightmare than a dream! I complained in silent prayer. Why? There it was again...that question that was haunting and accusing me. It just doesn't seem fair! I whined on at God. We haven't had a vacation since we've been in Europe and we'll probably never get back here again. We saved our money, fixed up the car, bought and borrowed all this camping gear and now it seems all for nothing. We can't even see the country with all this rain, much less camp in it!
     The rain had started the first night while we camped in the little country of Andora between France and Spain, the car trouble the next day as we crossed the border into France. Ted, unwilling to give up so soon, made a decision to head straight for Germany instead of sightseeing in France as we had planned.  In Germany there were several military bases where we could get American car parts. "We can see the sights in France and Switzerland on our way back." he said.

Bitburgh, Germany

     We reached Germany the next day and after a couple of stops at bases along the way, with no success of finding a water pump, we headed straight for Bitburg, Germany, in the north. There we'd have a friend stationed at Bitburgh Air Force base,  who could help us. When we arrived at their home, his gracious wife invited us to spend the night and dry out our clothes, towels and camping equipment, which had been drenched in Andora. The guys scoured the base for a water pump, in the meantime.  It was a wonderful "shelter in the storm" and I'm still grateful to that family. While there we had a relaxing meal, a tour of Bitburgh and a good night's sleep.
     The following morning however, the situation looked even more hopeless, when there were no water pumps to be found at Bitburgh. I knew we had to make a decision soon. We couldn't continue to nurse the limping old car much farther without it stopping completely. Ted finally said over a cup of coffee in our friend's kitchen, "I think we'd better head back to Spain, if we don't find a water pump by the time we get to Munich. I just pray our car will make it all the way home."
     I was so disappointed and I knew Ted was too, so I tried not to show it.  I wanted to cry, but I swallowed hard and said, "You're right, but maybe the rain will stop and we can at least see the country."
     All day we traveled south, nursing the car along , and all day the rain poured down.  I prayed with almost every breath and alternated between repenting of every sin I could think of and being angry about the injustice being visited upon me. Somewhere along the way a scripture verse began to push it's way into my mind. "In everything give thanks..."  I sighed, and accepted the rebuke. OK, I may as well give thanks. At least maybe that will keep me from crying.
     Ever so often I'd see something through the rain and point it out to the kids, who were trying as hard as I was to enjoy the miserable trip. Finally Joel, with characteristic straight-forwardness said, "I wanta go home! This is no fun!"
     Then I, seeing an opportunity to exercise my new found spirituality said, "Now son, the bible says, "In everything give thanks", so I think we should start thanking God in all of this trouble and quit complaining." For the next few miles I expounded on the biblical principal of gratitude in all circumstances and how it demonstrates faith in the goodness of God and blah, blah, blah until everyone (including me) had it down pat.
     Night came on and the car seemed to be running pretty well, so we pushed on toward Munich. Besides, the rain was still coming down hard and there was no way we could put up a tent in this weather.
     Finally we followed the military map we'd been given and went straight to the camp grounds near the army base at Lake Chimse. Ted shinned the car lights on a locked gate with a guard house nearby. Finally he took a deep breath and got out and ran to the guard house, to talk to the G.I. keeping vigil there. He informed Ted that the gate was locked at 11:00 p.m. and it was now 11:15. They wouldn't open it again until morning. He said that there was an Army hotel up the road and perhaps we could get a room for the night there. When Ted got back into the car there was another decision to be made. We had food for a week and money to pay five dollars a night for a campsite. There was enough left over to buy gasoline back to Spain, but certainly not enough for a hotel room for two adults and five kids.
     "Now what?" asked Ted. The children were all asleep except for Joel. He had awakened in Munich. "Go on over to the hotel and see if you can rent one room for us. The two boys can sleep in the car." I said.
     "Thanks!" grumbled Joel.
     We watched as Ted disappeared into the hotel lobby. As we waited, Timmy awakened. "Where are we? What are we going to do? I don't wanna go home. That's no vacation. We were supposed to have a vacation!" came his torrent of complaints.
     Suddenly I lost it!  "Be quiet and quit complaining! I can't take anymore of it. I hate this rain and everything about this miserable trip!  I want a dry bed for one night, then I want to go home and be done with it!"
     "Mom." the irritating, calm voice came from Joel.
     "What!" I snapped.
     "In everything give thinks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you." he quoted.
     I felt my face flush with anger, as I realized he had quoted the entire verse. That irritated me even more, because I had only remembered the first part of it, when I had expounded on it earlier that day. Once again I felt tears sting my eyes, so I turned my head toward the window and said. "Let's quit talking about it!"
     After a short while, Ted jumped into the car wiping rain from his face. "They're full up." he said, "but the man at the desk suggested that we go back to the little village about five miles away and try to rent a room in a guest house. They are quite cheap and comfortable. At least they will be dry."
     "Oh well, if we're just going to stay one night we might as well live it up. Get rooms for all of us if you can." I replied.
     We reached the village quickly and stopped at four different guests houses only to be told that there were no vacancies. We were about to stop at the fifth when Ted practically stopped in the middle of the street as two couples, sharing one umbrella, ran in front of our car to cross the street. He pulled over to the curb and parked in front of the guest house and got out of the car.
     I watched him in the rain and thought, Poor guy, he's soaked to the bone!  I heaved a sigh and said to Joel, Kelly and Tim, "Let's pray, kids. There's just got to be a room somewhere for us."
     We all bowed our heads and I prayed, "Lord, you know we need a room for the night. We're tired and Ted needs a good night's sleep so he can drive all the way back to Spain tomorrow, so if you'd just provide us a room, we'd be grateful...Amen... oh yes, and thank you Lord for everything." When we opened our eyes we were surprised to see Ted across the street, under the crowded umbrella with the two couples.
     "What's he doing, Mom?" asked Timmy.
     "I don't know", I said. "He doesn't speak a word of German."
     "Boy, wouldn't it be great if one of those people was a rich man with a big house and he'd take pity on us and rent us a room for the night!" said Timmy.
     I rolled my eyes and thought...kids!
     Ted returned to the car after a few minutes. He squeezed into his seat laughing and whooping like a crazy man.
     "What happened?" I asked.
     "You're not going to believe this! That man is a farmer who rents out rooms in his farmhouse for the summer. He's going to rent us one for $4.00. One of the women with him spoke English and translated for me. We're supposed to follow him to his house!"

Bavaria

     Our cheers woke the other two children and I was glad because I wouldn't have wanted them to miss the trip through what we dubbed the "Black Forest" for anything in the world. We followed the tail lights of the farmer's Mercedes for almost half and hour, through the darkest, thickest, woods we'd ever seen. The incessant rain made the trek muddy and bumpy. There were no other cars on that dark one lane road and no moon or stars visible in the sky. The whole scene was creepy. Joel had been reading Bram Stoker's Dracula on the trip and had been telling us stories from the book. Everyone was spooked...even Ted.
     After following for twenty minutes or so he said, "All right, I'm going to give this guy ten more minutes and if we don't come to a farm house by then, we're going to turn around and go back!"
     I laughed nervously, "Where would we turn around? We're sandwiched  on both side by trees and brush and there are no side roads.  We'd have to back up twenty miles!"
     Finally we did reach a farm house. It was well lit by a couple of flood lights hanging from the roof. After running in and making the arrangements, checking out the room and paying his $4.00, Ted returned for me and the kids. "It's great!" he reported... huge room with two double beds a couch and a dresser."
     "Is it clean:" I asked.
     "Come see." he said as he scooped up the sleeping baby and ran through the rain.
     The room was clean...scrubbed described it better, and dry, with two big beds that held comfortable mattresses with extra feather comforters on top of them. The feather comforters went onto the floor for the two boys while the girls got the other bed and the baby Jennifer slept between Ted and me. We were so glad to get into dry pajamas and crawl between clean, sweet smelling sheets. The rain on the roof lulled us to sleep in a matter of minutes.
     My eyes popped open early the next morning and I looked at my watch in the semi-darkness of the room. Seven-thirty! Is that all? I feel like I've been asleep for days! I can't ever remember being so tired. Then another thought occurred to me. It's so quiet... no sound of rain!  I flung the covers back and that woke up Jennifer, who woke up Ted. Then I bounded over to the window, unlatched the wooden shutters and threw them open.
     Warm sunlight burst in upon the sleeping boys but I barley perceived their chatter in the background, because it was happening to me again. Tears were streaming down my face as I gazed out across the most beautiful panorama I'd ever seen anywhere, except in a movie.
     The farm house was a chalet (just like I'd seen in my dream vacation) built on a mountain, surrounded by meadows. In the field beyond the barn, three deer were playing. In the yard next to the house was a tall flagpole and flying from it was a little blue and white triangular flag with one word on it...Gottersburgh.
     There was a knock on the door and an old German lady on the other side was chattering excitedly about something. Ted grabbed his German to English dictionary and eventually understood that our $4.00 a night bought us breakfast in the dinning room downstairs and it was ready for us. We dressed and hurried down to file into a neat little dinning room. It had a round table draped with a pretty cloth, six chairs and next to it was a large blue and white ceramic furnace, that almost filled the room. The furnace made it the warmest room in the house which was welcome on this crisp mountain morning. We were served big, fresh Kaiser rolls with honey and butter, coffee and hot chocolate. As we ate our breakfast we looked around the walls at family pictures. Our host family had lost a son in the Second World War and his picture was displayed in the center of all the others, his young, handsome face smiling proudly in his Nazi uniform.
     Thus began the first of ten, adventurous, rainless days during which time we found a water pump for our car and were able to swim in a private lake. From our chalet we ventured forth to Berchtesgaden, Germany, Salsburgh, Austria and other picturesque sites which will forever remain in our memories. It was indeed the vacation of our dreams!
     At the end of ten days Ted said what we all knew he must eventually say, "It's time to go home." The next morning about 11:00 a.m , with the children and gear packed in the car, we waved goodbye to Ludwig and his family and started winding our way through the yard and down the hill. As we pasted the little flag pole, which bore the name of this beautiful place, I looked up at it flapping in the breeze and said, "Gottersburgh". Did any of you ever find out what that word means?"
     "Yes, I did," spoke up Michelle, from the back seat. I asked a German lady at the lake yesterday and she said it means, God's Place."  Everyone fell silent as rain drops began gently hitting the windshield.
     "This is the first rain we've seen since we arrived here." said Ted, as he turned on the windshield wipers. As the wiper blades began their rhythmic trip back and forth across the windshield, they seemed to chant with every beat... "In-every-thing-give-thanks, In-every-thing-give-thanks, In-every-thing-give-thanks..."

*Berchtesgaden, for you history buffs, was one of the hide-out headquarters for Adolf Hitler during the Second World War. It was a palatial home that has now been turned into a resort hotel and Christian retreat headquarters. It has a labyrinth of tunnels underneath it where Hitler and his men could go if they were bombed. It's tucked away high in the mountains and the view from there is breathtaking. During the war it was called "The Eagle's Nest".