“What was it like living in Germany for 4 years?”
“Are you glad to be back?”
I have no simple answer for these questions. Traveling with my husband was glorious. Having my girls learn to speak a second language was fascinating. I loved the slower pace of the European culture, the Sunday family time, the gorgeous churches, the festivals for the varied seasons. Life was enjoyable, lived.
“Are you glad to be back?”
I have no simple answer for these questions. Traveling with my husband was glorious. Having my girls learn to speak a second language was fascinating. I loved the slower pace of the European culture, the Sunday family time, the gorgeous churches, the festivals for the varied seasons. Life was enjoyable, lived.
But there is a piece of Germany that has left me a motley of emotions, and I am still brewing and sorting through them. Because grief and growth are complicated. They are treasures, but tender ones. Ones that are difficult to even whisper. But I will try.
In Germany, I felt small. I was criticized regularly for not knowing the language. I often did not understand the cultural context for basic things (grocery shopping, parking, schools, eating out, how one dresses, body language, conversation) and so I felt uncomfortable and unsure. Others were irritated at me. I was a bother, a terrible inconvenience. I was seen as unintelligent because I couldn’t speak well and my grammar was painful. I embarrassed myself and looked the fool in front of the mechanic, at the mall, at the park, at church, at school meetings. I felt the part of the alien over and over.
Now do not get me wrong, I had some people be truly lovely to me. Several parents took pains to help me, I had a German language teacher go above and beyond in attempting to teach me (I did do some study), and many, especially the younger generations, did not make me feel their efforts in speaking English. They did it simply to show kindness.
But the reason why I bring up my discomfort is because I had never before been the outsider. I grew up middle class, Christian. I am a white woman who has known privilege and been relatively protected. In Germany though, I suddenly knew the experience of being ‘other.’ And it was harder than I would have ever imagined. It was sobering.
And it has filled me with regret over my previous attitude toward aliens.
And it has filled me with regret over my previous attitude toward aliens.
The Hispanic kids who banded together, rattling Spanish to each other as we all attended public schools. They were different from me, right? Why would I seek them out to be friends? Or the countless times I judged the immigrants who moved to the States, not knowing English. Because if you move here you should learn it, right? It’s our national language. Other languages are unimportant anyway.
Yes, I blush at my insensitivity.
Yes, I blush at my insensitivity.
I had 4 years to learn a language. I didn’t have to work outside of the home, and for much of the time both of my kids were in school. But the judging eyes didn’t see my battle with depression, didn’t know my husband was gone more than he was home, didn’t see the pain of a miscarriage, didn’t see how little I had to give emotionally.
Why then, should I assume anyone else could manage an easy shift into a new culture? Why then should I expect others to not have the same soft weaknesses in their lives? To not need tenderness?
Why was I blind to the need for mercy? To the reality that I, most assuredly, am part of this wreck of broken humanity?
Why then, should I assume anyone else could manage an easy shift into a new culture? Why then should I expect others to not have the same soft weaknesses in their lives? To not need tenderness?
Why was I blind to the need for mercy? To the reality that I, most assuredly, am part of this wreck of broken humanity?
The funny thing is, the times when someone would actually show me kindness would be when I would weep the most. I needed gentleness so desperately, to not have every encounter met with criticism.
Mercy had a beautiful way of healing those hard parts of my heart, and it showed me the way I want to be, and the love I want to give.
Mercy had a beautiful way of healing those hard parts of my heart, and it showed me the way I want to be, and the love I want to give.
I’m not talking about huge things. I’m talking about quiet, small acts of kindness. Saying hello, a touch of reassurance, a smile, an understanding glance, being the voice that speaks for the small. I’m just one, little person—but an attitude of respect for the ‘other’ does affect.
I felt both its lack and presence acutely.
I’m certain I have hundreds of other ways in which I fail to love. But I am thankful for the reminder of how blind I am, and how crucial it is to walk through life seeing others—for their sake, and for mine.
I felt both its lack and presence acutely.
I’m certain I have hundreds of other ways in which I fail to love. But I am thankful for the reminder of how blind I am, and how crucial it is to walk through life seeing others—for their sake, and for mine.