Along the road that I travel when I go to my mom's are farms that were settled years ago by the people who came from the Old World to the New World for a better life. My grandfather was one of them; he was the oldest of the children in his family, and he would have inherited the family farm if he had stayed in Germany. We do not really know why he chose to come to the United States with his uncle--some think that, perhaps, his strong-willed nature clashed with that of his father's. We may never know.
On the ship they took across the Atlantic, he turned 16.
In America, they made their way west to Wisconsin. I'm certain Wisconsin was the place many Germans settled because it reminded them of home--tree-covered, rolling farm hills.
My grandfather settled down, found a wife, and had seven children. Their life was hard. Due to the Great Depression, there was no money. The children traced their shoes on cardboard and cut them out for inserts to cover the holes in their shoes. Everyone wore the hand-me-downs, even if they did not fit well. Nothing was thrown away; every penny was pinched twice. And still, grandpa could not make his payments on his farm. He lost what he had come to gain by leaving home.
It was at this time that a man who owned much land in the area asked my grandfather if he would rent one of his farms. I do not know if he was simply a kind man, giving a man with 7 children a place to live, or if he considered my grandfather a good renter--grandpa was known as a hard worker who carefully cared for everything, repairing and keeping every latch and gate working properly, keeping everything neat and in order.
Even though my grandparents worked very hard to conserve their cash, there came a time when my grandfather could not make the rent payment. The kind land owner told him that he was certain that if grandpa could not make the payment, no one else would have been able to do so either. He wavered the payment.
And then my grandpa got a letter from Germany. It told him that his parents were going to have a 50th wedding anniversary, and they wanted him to come home for a visit.
How difficult and humiliating must it have been for him to write them and say that he did not have the money to pay for the travel expenses for such a trip!
They wrote back--with tickets. They wanted him to come, and he was to consider the tickets his part of the inheritance.
So grandma stayed home with the 7 children, and grandpa left to go back to Germany.
My mom remembers how agitated grandpa was when he got back. She recalls him pacing the floors, back and forth, complaining about how things had changed--uncertain and concerned about what was happening in Germany. Something wasn't "right."
He was not home long before he heard that Hitler had begun his march. They were quite certain that if grandpa had not gotten out when he did, he would have been drafted into the German army and would not have returned as planned.
I think it was two of grandma and grandpa's boys who fought in the war. One was wounded twice and received purple hearts. (He is still alive today and received honorary award for his service a short while ago.) It was during this time that my grandmother's hair went from dark brown to pure white. There was no mail from home during the war. When the war ended, grandpa got word that his parents were no longer living.
Grandma lived into her late 80's; Grandpa, 93. I remember that he use to tell us that it was possible to live too long--that at his age there was no one who still called him Karl. All of his family and friends had already passed on; now he was dad, grandpa, and "Mr." to everyone.
Sometimes I think we need to visit our history in order to see more clearly where we want to go in the future. Would we make the same decisions in economics, government, and lifestyles if we truly walked in the footsteps of the past? How would this affect our relationship with God?
Let us ponder...
