It has been a lazy Sunday. I dont think Ive rested like this for a long time. Its been a hot and humid day with clouds forming, winds blowing now and again, but no rain. The monsoon is at a lull here too. Delhi has it particularly bad, but the rain is due to hit before I go there, which hopefilly will make it a little bareable.

Regardless, I did quite a lot. Perhaps because of the mugginess, the day just seemed to go on and on. I went to church and then decided to go to the bazaar despite a few raindrops. All the stores were still closed, and the streets clear of traffic. Well except for the buffalo. 

The 24/7 ATM was open so I decided to get some cash. It worked fine, so i decided to check my other card if it worked by taking a little more cash. It froze in mid transaction! So i waited, and finally went to the security outside. The guy came in to fix it and said this happens when it rains. Really? those few drops that fell? He had to reboot the machine to cancel my order, and of course it took forever! So i took the opportunity to practice my Hindi. He told me everything that was different between Bihar, where he comes from, and Jharkhand. Finally the machine cleared and said it was out of order. No kidding.

By then the stores were starting to ooen so I went to my favorite general store and got some yoghurt and a few other things. It is just amazing how jam packed the store is with merchandise. You ask the ladies to get whatever it is you need. Which means you need to know what you have come for. No browsing. I thought they were uncharacteristically grouchy for having just opened. But it is amazing what a few words in Hindi will do to brighten a face.

The rest of the day was spent reading, writing emails and studying my Hindi. I periodically walked out in the garden to wait for the rain to come. Whenever i sat in the lobby I had some very interesting conversations about the 100 years of autonomy of the church and indigenous governance practices. I was invited to Bimal, the manager's house for tea, and got to see his upgraded house, with a higher roof and a new bathroom added on. 

As i post waiting for dinner, the cook is playing hus flute, the night air is cooling. It still hasnt rained, but I have felt the Lord's showers of blessings.

I was too tired to get a sim card at the airport when I arrived and I sluffed it off while I was in Mumbai. So the only suggestion I have is get a sim card before you get to Jharkhand, if you are a tourist. The sim card will give you a phone to use here in India, plus data. Its convenient, but i can live without it. I am getting weak internet access at the guest house and have been communicating through WhatsApp.

Since I was offered a car and driver today I decided to go out a find out if i could get the sim card and the big fancy vodophone store at one of the many malls here. The lady was very keen to sell me one today, but i think she was just figuring out for the first time what was required for a foreigner. I apparently needed a photo in addition to copies of my passport and visa and address and phone of where i was staying. Ahe driver, and I walked to find the store, since he had found a rare parking spot. It ended up being an 8-10 minute walk. I am avtually pretty good and weaving through scooters bicycles cars and busses. But its not for the weak of heart. Plus it was the hottest time of the day. We got the pictures. (Asok is wearing the Bob Marley shirt). Meanwhile, I stopped at an eye glass store to fix my broken glasses. When I have more time I will stop at one closer and get some new glasses, hopefully.

Got back to the phone store all hot and sweaty and she called to get final approval only to be told that I needed an Adhaar card (national id). I have subsequently been told elsewhere else in the country thw courts have said it is illwgal to require this for purchases. I mean in the states we may be asked for ID if we purchase alcohol to verify age, or if we want to use a check. Still thwy would accept other forms of ID. In any case, if you are in Jgarkhand the phone company is still getting away with that additional hoop for people to jump through. One, at last I could not. 

There is still one last hope if I return to the airport. But that is for another day. That adventure left me beat. The rest of the day was spent preparing a presentation Ive been asked to give to students at Navin Domin Seminary in Malar (near Ranchi). Maybe I will shate that in another post.

I finally got two nights of full and sound sleep and am getting back into motion. The monsoon lulled for a bit so it is hot, but i am acclimating. I went up to Lonavala with my frienf to be a little cooler. Ironically I have a cold from coolung off under fans. 

We walked a lot through the bazaar yesterday to find a good place to buy a kurta (shurt). Worked up a good appatite for Gujarati tali (food served in separate disshes eayen with fingers). Then we went and picked up some boganvilla to plant in my hosts garden. 

Here are some random thoughts. 
The ever present Indian cow. Firsy noticed a family making a living on a busy intersection. The woman is selling some sweets to feed the cow. Passers by will stop amidst the chaos to feed the cow in hopes to find favor woth the gods. Otherwise cows wander around randomly.
This reception sign shows a little emulate that is hung at an entrance, again to appease the gods or ward off evil spirits. 
Water is an important commodity. This cafe is giving water captured in the roof top tank for bottled drinking water. And we brought home our own stash of drinking water. 
I will let you make what you will out of this sign on rhe left.

Waking up to the noises of the city. Lots of horns beeping and crows cawing. The rain is coming down. But I am still just waking up and need to get out to find a little breakfast. Hope to recover from the flight. It was pleasant enough but you can't really sleep well on the plane.

Joel saw me off in Chicago for a 7 pm flight and I arrived in Mumbai at midnight, after two eight-nine hour flights and a stop in Paris that was just enough time to be shuffled through a maze of cooridors to switch flights. I was going to write about tips on surviving these long flights, but I was so exhausted i fell asleep again in mid post. So future posts hopefully will be a bit more descriprive.

Mumbai airport is very nice, but you still feel like a lot of cattle being herded through. Many planes arrive at midnight from all parts of the world, much fewer foreigners at this time of the year. Still the line through customs is long, but flows efficiently. So at the airport once you go through duty free area and baggage claim and customs, which flows freely there are a couple of things to do before heading outside. 

Its advisable to exchange some money there so you have Indian Rupees. I forgot, so will look for an ATM today. I was advised to make sure i go to an ATM with a guard, due to theft. This national push to get all India onto electronic banking, still requires humans after all. The US dollar was as low as 60 Rupees in March, and now it is 68. That will fluctuate.  It will be interesting to learn what are seasonal fluctuations of the local economy and which are due to global politics.

You can get a sim card for your phone at the airport, but I decided to wait till I was with someone who can tell me what is more feasible. I do know that many things are more expensive for foreigners here. When I convert prices into dollars it still seems very affordable, but eventually you need to learn what local rates are. Having a phone is very helpful. Connectivity became my favorite word the last time I was here.

 If noone is picking you up, get a prepaid taxi. They charged me Rupees 1500 (about $22) for A/C. I paid it but said i thought it was more like 500. I dont think i said it in Hindi. the woman behind the counter turned to the guy next to her and said something in Hindi along the lines of "this white one thinks she knows something". As they laughed I gave a typical Indian jester that means "so it is". 

Then outside while i was waiting for my prepaid taxi to show up, an Indian family came and began haggling with the guy in charge. He kept saying they could go inside and prepay, but the rates were set. I was so tired and have no idea how other travelers could find the energy to be so persistent so early in the morning. But it is how things are in India.

I did something I never did before, and it pretty much drove me mad. I tried to wait till the last minute to buy my flight to India. The itinerary and reservations in India were set a while ago, but I thought I could hold out for the fares to drop. Unfortunately in June this is not a good idea. Other times of the year, the fares do drop, but it must be too many people are traveling at this time of the year, so it is not a good time to buy in those last few weeks. However, NEWS FLASH, if you are planning to go to India in three to six months from now, buy your tickets NOW. They are very cheap!

I know many people go through a travel agent to take care of arrangements, but I'm pretty much a do-it-yourself kind of person and this has been made easier by various search engines. My favorites right now are Google Flights and Justfly. For travel in India my current favorite is Cleartrip Bookings. I have noticed that search engines change, it is advisable to switch around. When a new competetor comes on the market they tend to have better deals for a season. One thing I avoided was the search engines that led you to a phone reservation system. I don't like giving info over the phone, and the ratings are pretty low. People have shown up at the airport to find out they actually don't have a ticket. 

To say the least holding out to the end, which I just couldn't do, is not for the weak of heart. Yes, maybe I could have gotten a ticket for $200-$400 less, but the nail biting task of checking the rates every day was making me anxixous. By the way those pesty little logarithms lock rates in if you keep searching on the same device. It IS advisable to go to a library to mix up the devise from which you search. So in the end peace of mind was more important than a great deal and I bought the ticket. Still, if I ever on a whim decide to go to India, I am pretty sure I can do it at other times of the year, just apparently not beginning of summer.

So, you may ask, why the heck am I going at the hottest time of the year. The monsoon promises to start this week and I have very romantic memories of the monsoon. I prefer being a realist, though I am very sentimental, so a healthy dose of shattered memories may not be a bad thing. The main reason I hope to continue to travel as long as I can is to stay connected to the global world we live in. Sometimes you have to step out to see the forest from the trees. And in everything I always try to hear what God might be speaking not only in my little corner but throughout the world. The fact of the matter is that in finishing up my book I feel I need the change of venue as I work on some important details of the story. I also hope to scope out the publishing world. So the best time is now. [Plus, I think there are some big family events coming soon upon my return....stay posted].

I do hope to continue to share my journey with you. Many thanks for following and supporting me . I truly hope that the book will be finished and ready for publishing soon, but I'm finding rewriting takes a lot more care than I had anticipated. So I keep plugging along one day at a time.

This is the three week countdown to another trip to India. I went on a circuitous route to get to this point. All must be seen as part of the writer's journey.

The big idea originally for this trip was to take my children to visit India for the first time. They were gung ho and all aboard, but then life happened. They are both entering those generative moments of young adulthood where their carreers and relationships are being established. Frankly, I couldn't be prouder of both of them. They have promised me that there will be a time when they will go to India with me (even if it ends up being my swan song).

It was a huge dissappointment that they both were unable to join me on this trip. Still, as in everything, I could not help but see the hand of Providence in all of this. I would not have gone if it had not been fixed in me to go by the original plan. The fact is that the writer's life has a tendency, at least with me, to be very isolating and inward focused. As I enter the last stage of writing the biography that I have worked on for the past five years, the intensity of focus becomes more accute. So I need things that get me out of my little world, and yet also help me sustain it and get it done.

A lot of people are asking me "So when will this book be finished?" And I have to answer, like Michelangelo when he was painting the Sistine Chapel, I must reply "When it is done!" [At least according to Irving Stone in The Agony and the Ecstasy] 

In preparing the Book Proposal for the book to present to publishers I have to make a case for how I plan to market my book. As a person who loves to travel, I cannot think of anything better than to go on a book tour. Then again, I really hate public speaking. So social media is my friendly outlet. I can write more confidently than I can speak, though people tell me I do all right when I speak. I love sharing images that tell better stories than what I can write. I get encouraging feedback. And I can be connected to the wider global community that feels more like home than home itself. So as much as I hate the idea of marketing myself, I'm asking you, my friendly reader, to share my blog and help me expand my network. 

​*Book of Remembrance:
A German Missionary among the Adivasi of East India*
  
This biography of a German missionary in British India prior to the World Wars may well join the ranks of exotic tales of Christian missionaries or the British Raj. It is more than a missionary story. It is also a story of the Adivasi (India’s indigenous people) and their search for liberation and autonomy, well before India’s Independence. The narrative is inspired by an Old Testament prophetic call to write a Book of Remembrance (Malachi 3:16). to restore the collective memory of a people.

My great-great grandfather, FERDINAND HAHN, was forgotten among his German-American descendants. Launching on a journey to understand our family's immigrant story to the United States from Germany led to a unique discovery. In 1868,unlike millions of other Germans who migrated to America, Ferdinand migrated to India. All his children were born in India, as British subjects. Of the ten living adults, half of them eventually settled in the United States. After a century of migration, wars, and other hardship, this book brings to rememberance the first generation that connected our family to India.

By the end of his life in India, Ferdinand was given the Kaiser-I-Hind gold metal, the highest civilian honor issued by the British Viceroy of India. But what is more significant is that he is still remembered today for the legacy he left to the Adivasi people of Chota Nagpur in eastern India. Here he is remembered for his efforts to preserve a tribal language and his endearing work among the marginalized and oppressed. He played a significant role in establishing one of the strongest and oldest Adivasi Christian communities that now has 800,000 members. As they continue to piece together their own history, I was encouraged to write his story. In remembering him, their story will also be told.

Missionary stories are usually told from a purely Christian perspective. I believe modern Christians can learn much from this 19th century missionary. However, in writing this I was also influenced by academia to explore the social impact of missionaries and what shapes identity. Rather than a Christian apologetic or academic analysis, my style of writing takes more of a literary story-telling tone. I offer a personal interpretation of Ferdinand’s inner life, family dynamics and cross-cultural relationships. To add to the authenticity, I fold in translated excerpts from the wealth of primary documents written by Ferdinand or his contemporaries.

Because I am interested in how German, Indian, British and American cultures shaped me, I explore what elements shaped Ferdinand. The story covers the scope of Ferdinand’s life, starting with his early desire to escape the confines of his parochial village. He would never escape the impact Germany would have on his life: from his early fascination with seventeenth and eighteenth centuries German missionaries and scholars of Orientalism, to the unified Germany of 1871 and its ongoing changes in religion, government, and culture. The unique mission agency in Berlin that employed him, granted him opportunities that would normally not have been available to a shoemaker. His family and fellow missionaries kept him anchored to his German culture. However, unlike those who lauded their nationalism over others, he had a remarkable deep and sincere appreciation for the Adivasi. Because he understood that language, region, experience and history shaped his identity, he was able to appreciate those elements in the “other”.    

Early in my writing, a friend asked me to write about what Ferdinand learned from the Adivasi, not only what he did for them. In learning their languages, Ferdinand adapted new ways of communicating, which can be seen in how he adapted his preaching to be more interactive, telling stories and incorporating congregational question and answer. The primary literature for my research praised the remarkable contributions of the missionaries. However, I could read in Ferdinand’s writings a recognition of the symbiotic relationship between missionary and Adivasi. Missionaries may have brought the message of Christ to the Adivasi, but the Adivasi were the primary actors in establishing Christianity in Chota Nagpur. In nany ways their culture was more compatible to Christianity and their faithful zeal mire sincere than that of many Europeans.

Western Christians had often been divisive, while the strength and unity of community among the Adivasi was something to be admired. If we were to summarise Ferdinand’s life work it was to build community. He worked closely with Adivasi leaders in running churches, schools, hospitals, and other social services, all to strengthen the community, believing fourishing communities could withstand all winds of change. And the world was ever-changing. He was also instrumental in establishing three self-sustaining communities for India's most marginalized, those suffering from Hansen’s Disease (leprosy).

The prevailing concern for every Adivasi was the systematic oppression that they endured. It is a struggle that persists even today. Since the 17th century outsiders flowed into the jungle region, turning the communal ancestral land of the original dwellers into private property and introducing a money economy. The Adivasi who had been left unmolested for centuries were now suppressed by the landlords, labor contractors and tax collectors. Whenever the Adivasi rebelled, they were repressed by the forces of the British East India company that had stretched its dominance even into this remote jungle region. When the British Crown took over after 1857 they imposed law, order and administrative structure. In general, they only reinforced the standing social order and had little understanding of the Adivasi plight. But the German missionaries since 1845 had given them education that began to equip them to learn how to navigate in this new colonial world that extended far beyond the jungles. 

It is also relevant to understand the role Ferdinand played in creating an autonomous Adivasi Christian community. By the time of his death in 1910, a new generation of German missionaries were coming to India to work and with them new colonialist and nationalist sentiments. They assumied Germans would be in India for a long time and the emphasis on making the Adivasi self-reliant began to be watered down. There were Germans, who like the British colonizers, doubted that these poor people could ever stand on their own, they were convinced that they would always need European support. It almost seems providential that the senior missionaries were systematically removed, through illness or death, until the final blow came with the outbreak of World War I. Suddenly all German residents of British India were declared “enemies of the state,” interned in concentration camps, and returned to Germany. With the expulsion of their missionaries the Adivasi did stand on their own. In 1919 they were the first native church in pre-independent India to be granted autonomy from Western administration. My hope is that this Book of Remembrance will add to the commemoration of the Gossner Evangelical Lutheran Church of Chotanagpur and Assam as it celebrates their centennial next year.

Throughout the narrative I have braided in family stories that may begin to explain why this ancestor, who left such a rich legacy, was forgotten by his own descendants. As he devoted his life to the Adivasi, within the context of his family his internal struggles and flaws were more apparent. His wife, Doris, was an unsung partner in ministry. Their thirteen children, all born in India, were sent to Germany for education at the age of seven. Such separation produces untold consequences. Among them, the oral stories that are passed down from generation to generation were suppressed. 

The Adivasi rely on oral traditions to keep their culture alive. Ferdinand wrote down many stories that he learned, primarily for outsiders to understand. Now the Adivasi are starting to write down their own stories to preserve and celebrate their culture. Likewise, I have found an unmeasurable treasure in remembering this lost story, of my great-great grandfather, Ferdinand Hahn. 

------
* since this post I have decided to change the title to: Among the Original Dwellers: Remembering Ferdinand Hahn

The story of Ferdinand Hahn the German missionary in British India, who worked among the Adivasi, is a unique biography. There have not been any recent comprehensive biographies on these German missionaries or the histories of this era and region. The Gossner Mission Magazine published in Berlin has published several articles of interest. Very little has been written to connect an English-speaker to this important history. In the early twentieth century a few histories of the Adivasi and the German missionaries were published in German. For the purposes of research for this book I have had those books translated into English (also ready for publication).

I initially desired to write this biography to discover a forgotten ancestor, but I have come to write for a vastly varied audience. I was thinking that the Americans interest in genealogy and immigration would find this story an interesting twist: the German who goes not to America, but to British India. Immigrant stories are inspiring and teach us a great deal about history. They also tell us something about what shapes identity. The cross-cultural dynamics are constantly at play between German, British, and Indians who among themselves speak varied languages and hold varied views. The degree to which there ii a cross pollination of ideas in an ever-globalized world will capture the modern readers fascination.

Ultimately, however, the biography is about a Christian missionary. While I hope that the story would challenge Christians to examine the depths of their commitment, I have written the book for a more universal audience, in an ever-globalized world, exploring the challenges of cross-cultural communication. Regardless of what kind of mission, abroad or at home, secular or religious, the relevant questions raised in this biography explore how to help without harming. Missionaries did both harm and good. Despite their efforts, Christianity is very much a part of India’s complex and diverse society. The impact of Christianity on India is one that any history buff of India cannot overlook.

Finally, I wrote to add to the ever-increasing literature on indigenous movements in India and around the world. This biography offers clarity on the history and social position of India’s original dwellers (the Adivasi). Readers interested in ecology and human rights will recognize the struggle of indigenous people from over a century ago that continues today. Many readers, however, do not fully appreciate the leading role indigenous people have played globally in the human rights and ecology movements. This story will bring the story of these original dwellers in the heart of India, closer into the heart of the reader, in hopes of building awareness. 

About fifteen years ago I decided to change my professional direction. Rather than just work the nine-to-five for a Corporation or a Non-Profit Organization, I decided to work more intentionally to engage the community, particularly the faith community, in social action and community development. While I was not supported by any agency, it was in many ways a choice to become a missionary, a faith venture in every sense.

I had been raised in a medical missionary family and had the privilege to grow up in India. Part of what inspired me to take this leap of faith was after reading the English translation of my great-great grandmother’s diary. This first generation left Germany to live in India as missionaries. Three generations followed in their example, including my father. The diary is a fascinating account of their lives as missionaries and included a firsthand description of the internment and deportation of German residents in British India at the start of World War I. I knew that I came from a long-line of missionaries, but reading their story gave me the inspiration I needed to personally take the leap in my own life.

The strong voice of my great-great grandmother inspired me to begin a novel based on the unsung heroism of the missionary wife. I was finding very little information on her, and plenty of on her husband, Ferdinand Hahn. After sorting through the literature and documentation available to me on-line and in books, I went to India to connect with the place where they had worked. In so doing I discovered how important Ferdinand Hahn was to the Adivasi who were beneficiaries of his legacy. It was remarkable to me, for this was a legacy of which I had no prior knowledge. I was encouraged to tell Ferdinand Hahn’s story, so that the story of the original dwellers would also be heard.

I attended the University of Wisconsin-Madison and received a degree in Political Science with a minor in Education. I have stayed connected to the UW by attending lectures and conferences sponsored by the Center for South Asian Studies. But much like Ferdinand Hahn, I have no academic recognition. Though Ferdinand Hahn was an artisan with an informal education, he ended up achieving scholarly works writing for the Asiatic Society and other such journals. Following in his legacy I am also an independent scholar. 

TI doubt I would have ventured very far in this endeavor, without the Gossner Mission in Berlin. The same mission that supported Ferdinand, continued its unique approach to missions until the World Wars. The Mission survived the wars, participating in the Confessing Church movement during WWII. Today it is a ministry partnering with churches around the world. Because of their efforts to preserve their history, I was able to access old records and learn from their efforts. My second cousin, Klaus Roeber, has been their historian and is currently writing a biography on Ferdinand Hahn in German. He has the advantage of easy access to an enormous number of original documents, and books and articles written in old German available in Germany. I have accessed only a fraction of these materials.

When my father, Theodore Feierabend, who is a retired missionary from India, saw how tediously I struggled to translate the abundance of documents that I collected from Klaus and others in Germany and India, he (at 93 years old) offered to take on the project. He has translated three or four important histories that are now being made available for publication to the Gossner Theological College (GTC) in Ranchi, India. The Christian Adivasi are eager to make available to their students these rare histories. Most of the students would do better in reading them in Hindi, but that would be another stage in translation. Meanwhile those who can read English can begin to access stories that have been blocked to them due to geography and language.

Writing this biography about my great-great grandfather taught me a great deal about myself, as I explored the elements of identity. It continues to be a book of remembrance not only for my family but also for the Adivasi Christians of Chota Nagpur. Together we remember our shared legacy from Ferdinand Hahn. I hope to continue to work in collaboration with the Gossner Mission in Berlin and the GTC to write a study guide to supplement research on a myriad of issues raised in this book. In remembering the past, we revive the hope for a bright future that Ferdinand hoped for the Adivasi. 

I have completed my biography. The first draft will certainly require more editing and rewrites, but I will pick that up again in a few months. Meanwhile I've begun work on my novel. This was meant to be my first project, but I'm glad to have familiarized myself with the story of my great great grand parents (Ferdinand and Doris Hahn) before launching in this more creative work. I have chosen to stick with where this writing journey began, with Doris' diary. I will be picking up many of the same themes from the bibliography on Ferdinand about identity, belonging, and persistent devotion to a cause, and will dig deeper into family relations. There is still much work to be done, but I would like to share one sample based on the last entry of her diary.

A British officer of some prominence boarded the SS Golconda, our moarnful bucket of humanity. For 40 days and nights we, like a lost tribe, had been carried  across the watery wilderness. Now we are back in Europe. Back to civilization, at war with itself. 

Our prison ship was left vulnerable on the open sea at the mouth of the Thames. Sitting ducks. Once again we were used as pawns in this dastardly game. Strategically placed to draw out the enemy, our Fatherland.

Our men were rounded up in the ballroom, and we had no way of learning what was to become of our dear missionaries. My sons-in-law, Paul and Martin, were suspected spies for the Kaiser. Paul, who only a year ago was given the highest civilian honor of the British Raj. How possibly could anyone imagine that leprosy work could be an act of sabatoge. But the British officer barked his orders and hustled our men off without a farewell.

We women and children were left in the dining room and given a rushed dinner. We were told that after breakfast we would all be transferred onto another ship. Then we were herded to our rooms.

After packing our meager belongings my three daughters and granddaughter lay down, huddled together in the cold dark. We each prayed for our men, and this final leg of our long journey home.

But at 9 o'clock a bang on our door and shouts from British soldiers drove us from our beds out into the icey storm. Missionary Ziech was the only man among us. He could not be detained. He was a Russian citizen, who had chosen to return with his German wife. He helped each one of us older ladies onto the ferry that took us to Tilpury docks. 

As uncomfortable as one could imagine, out among un-imaginable dangers, through mines and U-boats. The ice cold air cut through my overcoat. It was impossible for me to manage another step. My feet froze in place. In the midst of a canyon of tall ships the smoke from the stacks plumed above our heads. And then it all began to spin and the ground came up to meet me.

The strong arms of a seaman caught my fall and I opened my eyes to the flag of Holland sewed on the sailor's coatsleeve. I turned to look at his face and asked the only question i knew in Dutch, "What is your name?"

"Johannes, ma'am," he replied as he and another sailor placed me in a carrying chair. 

Yes, if I remember, it seemed those are the same eyes as my dear son. "Oh Johannes, my son!" I moaned.

The sailors carried me onto the steamer in a comfortable carrying chair. I continued to hold on to sailor Johannes' sleeve as I drifted off. I suppose I was carried across the port and up on board the Holland steamer, the Mecklenburg. 

I had fallen into a familiar old dream. It was a different time, a different war in 1865. A Prussian infantrty regiment marched into our town. My oldest brother, Johannes, and I were walking along the dyke road that leads into Uetersen. Prussian soldiers were marching and fighting all over Holstien, but we were still a peaceful town. The sudden unnatural pounding of horses hoofs broke the serenity. As I turned to escape the stampede I tripped and tumbled off the dyke into the icey water. My brother jumped in and rescued me; wrapped me in his overcoat, he ran carrying me shivering back to our warm home. I stirred myself from this dream, a vivid memory that had not returned to me for many years. Had I been the cause of his untimely death just a few months later?

By now I was being placed down near my new cabin. I was awake again. As the sailor Johannes gently released himself from my grasp, I prayed repeatedly outloud "may God protect you." 

Eventually we were reunited with our men, except for four new missionaries who were detained. It seemed that only part of our luggage came on board the Mecklenburg, but we were assured that everything regarding our belongings and our return to Germany would be figured out in Vessingen. Holland remained neutral in this war, and were mediators between the British and Germans for our safe return to our homeland. Our status was no longer "enemies of the state" that we bore patiently for the past year. Our rights as citizens had been returned to us, whatever good that will do us in a nation at war with the rest of the world.

Thankfully we lay ourselves to rest in the clean beds that night. The last stretch of our journey, that relatively short trip of six hours across the Channel, would become extremely hard, who would have thought of that! 

I was already surprised when the Dutch stewardess came early in the morning to our cabin to straighten up. She suggested that I should get up soon and lie down on the sofa in the parlor, where I would be better able to ride out the expected tempest during the day. 

Up to that point, one could see nothing of the ‘tempest’. Though the night had been stormy and the waves may have come up high, but not at the departure of the ship at 9 am. The sun was shining brightly and friendly and nothing seemed to point to a mighty storm. But we followed the suggestion of the kind stewardess who spoke English well, and a sofa in the parlor was kindly readied for me, on which I could lie until we would arrive in Veissingen. 

The storm began to swell and toss about the ship in the midst of the Channel. By and by the entire parlor was filled with pale looking passengers, children and adults. One could see the fear of death on each one of them. For our little ship was in great distress caused by the awful surf which pushed alternately from one side to the other. It seemed we would fall over and go into the depths of the sea! The ship's screw often was turning way up in the air, only to go deep down on the other side. Suitcases and crates rolled from one side of the deck to the other, an unearthly rumble! 

Then the children cried in fear and fearful voices called: “Great God, we are lost, the ship will break apart!” 

“Lord, my God, should this now be our end? Did you bring us through so many dangers and preserved our lives, only to let us sink into the sea so close to our destination? Can that be your will? Has your arm been shortened to save us from this danger?” 

Oh, I think I was not the only one who called and entreated. And though the waves splashed against the high window of the parlor, once on one side, then on the other. I had to hold on tightly to the sofa arm in order not to roll down. Inside my self I felt secure: “Strong is my Savior’s hand and it will grasp me eternally”. 

Yes, and it will even now lead us safely across the sea waves and billows into the harbor. I had been reminded that there was still one more thing for me to do in this forsaken world. I had to, once again, see my son Johannes and let him know I loved him--to assure him he was not forsaken.

Soon after 4 pm when we actually should have arrived, a voice called across the hall: “Lighthouse in sight,” and shortly thereafter, everyone joined in singing from the bottom of their hearts: “Now thank we all our God,” and: “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, King of Glory”. 

Unspeakable feelings of gratitude filled us: 

             "When the Lord rescued the prisoners of Zion, 
              We shall be as those who dream. 
              Then our mouth will be full of laughter and our tongue of praise. 
              Then shall we declare: 
               The Lord has done great things for us, therefore we are glad." 
                                                                                                                      (Psalm 126)