Merven

Of all the people I met there, I miss Merven the most.

She was this sparkly-eyed petite three-year-old who became my instant friend. I asked her how old she was when I first met her on the cold playground one day and she held out three fingers on each hand.

“Six?” I asked.                                                                                   

“No, silly. Three.”

“Well, then, only hold up three.” I retorted.

She told me also that her little sister was one, her name and her mom’s age and name. She was pretty smart for a three-year-old, I thought.

We played on the logs pretending they were balance beams. She said she loved Dora the Explorer and sang the Dora song. I pushed her around the playground in a wagon and then on a tricycle.

I was sad to say good bye to her that day. I was gone for a whole week playing with other kids at the Child Care Center; this time it was with the two year olds. The weather actually got warm and we enjoyed digging in the sandbox.

When I returned to the older kids the next week, I was delighted to see Merven again. We played together again and I pushed her again in the wagon.

“I love gymnastics!” She exclaimed barely able to pronounce the word.

Then, I saw another day care work put kids on a pole and they twirled down. It looked like fun. He held them as they descended to the ground. He told me it “gave them confidence” so I wanted to try it with Merven.

I held her as she twirled down. She did fine the first two times but with the third attempt my hands slipped off her and she accidentally plummeted to the ground. She cried as her face hit the pavement.

Fortunately, she did not get hurt because the pavement was this soft, plastic material that caved as she hit it. However, it did shake me up badly and I whispered a prayer for God’s help.

We went back to playing again and I felt as carefree as a child. But the sun had gone behind the clouds and the cool wind was blowing so I was glad when we finally went back inside.

Deanna, the main teacher in the room put on some soothing sea sounds. I went to comfort each child by softly rubbing their back and getting them to go to sleep for their naps.

I sat down on a small couch, closed my eyes for a few minutes and thought of the wonderful beaches of Florida.

Suddenly, a lady ran in and accused me of sleeping. Fifteen minutes later I was fired. That was the end of my day care career.

We may be going back to Florida if my husband or I don’t find a job within 3 months; that’s the rule around here though it doesn’t make sense. Then again, none of this makes sense.

 I prayed for the Lord’s will that morning.

I don’t understand why it happened the way it did but it was His will.

His ways are truly mysterious, yet I still praise Him.

And the sun came back out that afternoon.

Hirtenfpad 11

No, this title has nothing to do with a sequel to “Ocean’s 11”. It is the name of a street in Kindsbach, Germany.

Saturday we came back from food shopping and were sitting at the table finishing our lunch. We were still living in the attic of our church, which we have now officially joined, and after two weeks, it felt like an eternity. Bob had a small, local English newspaper in his hand and had circled one of the ads in the Rental section.

“Here is the perfect place for us!” He exclaimed as he took the last bite of his tuna sandwich. “It’s right over in the next village from here!”

“You mean next to Landstuhl?”

“Yeah, it’s in the little village of Kinesbach so it can’t be too far away. It’s got all the features we’ve been looking for and is 130 square meters.”

Now you may wonder what square meters are. It means the same as square yards which is about 1300 square feet.

“Wow!” I said. “That’s a big apartment! What else does it have?”

“It has three bedrooms, living room, one and one half baths and an eat-in kitchen. It also has two balconies.”

“Okay, and is the price right?”

“Yes, it’s reasonable.”

It was about the price of a two bedroom apartment back home.

“Okay, why don’t you call the number and see what happens?”

He called and got a German answering machine and hung up.

“Nobody there! It figures.”

“Try again and leave a message,” I suggested. “Maybe they will call back.”

He did that and, you guessed it, they called back!

He got all the info and we drove there. It was only 2.2 kilometers away or about a mile and a half. The people were prompt to show up and let us look at the place. We liked it a lot and shook hands. In Germany, a handshake still is as bidding as a contract.

The apartment is on the third floor and overlooks the village. Cobbled-roof houses greet you when you look out the bedroom window. There is also a balcony there. From the other balcony, off the kitchen, a mountain looms right in front of you framed in snow.

Of course it has all the modern conveniences except for no closets. You have to buy your own. They’re called shrunks.  Also, it has only a tiny little refrigerator equivalent to the small ones you see in classrooms. You have to buy your own “American-style” freezer because Germans don’t freeze food much.

And the name of the apartment is: Hirtenpfad 11! It is a real answer to prayer! God is so good!

What does Hirtenpad mean? In German, we learned later that it means: path of the shepherd.

And I know what Shepherd that is...