A Story From the Life of Deanna W. Ghostwritten by Kevin W.

Photo courtesy of Google Maps

    

A Story From the Life of Deanna W.

Ghostwritten by Kevin W.

My Walk To School

I was born and raised in the big city of Cleveland, Ohio. It was a middle class area with a few bulky houses. I lived in one of those larger houses until I was ten years old. I grew up with just my two siblings, George, and Carol Ann, until Jimmy was born just a couple months before I moved to a farm just south of my old house. The times I had before Jimmy was around were some of the most significant parts of my childhood during my life.

One of the greatest significances while in Cleveland was when I would walk to school. Sunny, rainy, snowy, no matter what the condition I still would walk to school. One day a 50 year old black woman had decided to walk with me. She was walking to the bus stop, and she looked after me and treated me well. I was six years old at the time. Having these walks was probably the best two weeks of my life until one day she told me,“I am not allowed to walk with you anymore,”

“Why” I questioned.

“I’m sorry I just can't”   

I was crushed and heartbroken and just wanting an explanation, but there was none. I kept thinking to myself that maybe she just didn't need to go to the bus stop anymore until I decided to ask my mother about this.

“You’re just not allowed to walk with her because the people would get mad.”

Then, by connecting the dots of what society was like around this time, I came upon the conclusion that she couldn't walk with me because of the color of her skin and the fact that she was one of the only black families in the neighborhood. I also had came to conclusion that she had been threatened by people around the neighborhood. I couldn’t believe that someone who was white like me could command someone who was black what to do. But it was reality.

After this had happened she would sometimes glance at me from out her window as I would walk by. If she had seen me, we would wave but we both would also make sure no one was watching. We continued to acknowledge each other but never socialized again.

As I said before, I moved from Cleveland when I was ten years old. We moved to a farmhouse. I never heard about or saw this lady again, but I had missed her every day. Although it was only two weeks, she ended my lonely walks and got me to look forward to these walks before school.

Once I graduated from James A. Garfield High School, in Garrettsville, Ohio, I left the house and moved back to a town near Cleveland named Hinckley. I began having jobs other than working on my old farm. I worked at a grocery store and also helped out with Jimmy’s boy scouts pack. They were Troop 520. I had to take a great amount of leadership throughout my youth and one day Jimmy blamed me for the fact that he didn't have the best relationship with his actual mother. My father then told him, “If it wasn't for your sister, you wouldn't have had a mother at all.”

This made me feel excellent knowing that my father appreciated what I did for Jimmy. What I am today all leads back to my walks to school back when I was six. I realized what the world was like and how crazy it can be. I may have been displeased about the whole idea of not being able to walk with that lady but it taught me one of the most important lessons in life, that sometimes you need to move on and not worry about things you can’t control. There are many bumps in the road in everyone's life so you just have to face reality and just live your life to the fullest. I learned to deal with problems I can’t control when I was as young as six years old.

Photo courtesy of Google Maps

Story From the Life of Pamela C. Ghostwritten by Ryan Z.

Photo courtesy of https://chuckmanchicagonostalgia.wordpress.com

A Story From the Life of Pamela C.

Ghostwritten by Ryan Z.

Life in the 50’s

Life is all about the great times you have with people, and the memories you make with them. You need to cherish the great moments you have and remember how good we all have it.

“Thanks Mom”, I yelled as I sprint out the door with my peanut butter sandwich and thermos full of water. As Peter, my nextdoor neighbor, and I hopped up on his horses and headed up into the mountains. It was always a good feeling when I would see Peter and his long brown hair and big brown eyes. Peter had the same color hair I did, but mine was much longer and curlier. As always, I hopped onto Scout, a Pinto horse with white with brown spots, and Peter rode the beije Palomino. The Santa Ynez mountain range was about five miles up to road, and it took about one hour to get to the top. The ride was always the best part of the weekend, seeing all of the beautiful blooming trees, and flowers. Especially the captivating purple Lupin.

“Hey Peter, check out this polywog that I just caught”. I shouted.

“Awe awesome let’s take them back and they if they grow into frogs!” Peter yelled across the creek.

But best of all having no worries at all, not having to worry about getting mugged, or no worries on coming home at a certain time. Peter and I would spend the whole day at the top of the mountain swimming in the 10 foot deep creeks and just having a break from everyone and everything. At this time, Peter and I were 12 years young and we were allowed to roam freely with no worries, we knew we would be safe. It was a very stress free life, sitting at the top of the mountain, the smell of the bright green trees, and colorful flowers, and the rushing of the creek flowing down to the bottom. Living In Santa Barbara was really the best time of my life, being able to go to the beach and the bright sunshine year round, the economy was booming, families had 30% more purchasing power than they did at the beginning of the decade, everyone was happy and life was great. The ride with Peter back down to our houses was always a lot more tiring since we have been runnin’ and gunnin’ all day long. When I got home I would put Peter’s horses back in the stable and stay there for a while brushing and taking care of the horses. When I got home Mom would have dinner prepared for me, and if I was lucky enough, I would still have time to go outside and play with my neighborhood friends.

Another fun and amazing time that I always looked forward to was spending the summer with my cousin Fred and Uncle Bob. Fred would be driven up by his parents Uncle Bob and Aunt Audrey, then he would stay at my house for two weeks. After that we both would head to the train station and ride to his house and stay there for a few weeks, then eventually my mom would come and pick me up.  We also got served great meals in booths with white linen covering the table. The porter would come around and take our order for breakfast and we would eat with our silverware and plates. For breakfast I would often order my favorite which was pancakes, with sausage and bacon and to top it off with a nice hot chocolate with whip cream.

The train ride from my home town in Santa Barbara to his house in Los Angeles took about two hours. I always looked up to Fred as a brother seeing that I was an only child and that he was two years older than I was, and Uncle Bob being the father that I never got to meet. Uncle Bob built us a big swimming pool in the backyard out of canvas and a wood frame with big seats on the side of it. Uncle Bob and Fred were built the same way very tall and lengthy although Uncle Bob had Brown wavy hair and Fred had Blonde wavy hair. We would fill the pool with the hose, and play games in the pool. After swimming and playing in the pool we would go on walks and hikes down in the wash, a big place located in LA where the water would rush down from the mountains. We would find little black water snakes and Fred would always try to pick them up, while I was trying not to scream my head off. Then when night time rolled around Uncle Bob and Aunt Audrey would barbeque us a great dinner and watch the sunset, as we had no worries, and no stress. It really was the time of my life.

A Story From the Life of Steve B. Ghostwritten by Fernando D.

Photo courtesy of National Park Service

A Story From the Life of Steve B.

Ghostwritten by Fernando D.

Up Close and Personal With Lyndon B. Johnson

Everything was fine until that moment. I looked up and found several guns practically in my face; time slowed down. My hands went cold and my heart began beating at the speed of light.

I couldn’t move.

I was paralyzed.

A man started yelling at us, “Move, move!” Yet I wasn’t scared. Maybe it was because I didn’t understand.

People are told quite often to always stand strong and not allow anything to bring them down. It’s the “American way;” bend but don’t break. I was young when the John F. Kennedy shooting happened, but looking back, I’m quite surprised with the way America reacted.

My version of the aftermath began when school let out for winter break. I was ecstatic to finally have school off and finally be able to spend time with my grandparents, like I always had.

I ran home to find my mom standing in the kitchen. Jumping up and down, I told her how happy I was to be able to get out of the “hell” that I perceived kindergarten to be.

“Steve, we’re going to Texas.”

“What?!!” was my only response as I laid my school bag down.

“We won’t be going to your grandparents’ house like we usually do.”

“But mom!” I whined.

It was no use. I stood helplessly looking at her, like a dog begging for treats, only to be denied. How could I be betrayed this way?

My mother leaned up against the counter, towel in hand. “Your father and I already made the decision,” she responded. “We want to visit the birthplace of your brother. Also, we can go see the Lyndon B. Johnson family ranch while we’re there. It’s important.”

I was angry. It would be the first time in my six year life that we weren’t going to spend Christmas at our grandparents house in Kansas. I loved spending time with them; they treated me like royalty. Nevertheless, a few days later I found myself in Dallas, Texas.

You could tell the place was distraught as soon as you got there. People in Dallas were untrustworthy of any and every stranger they met. After all, John F. Kennedy had been shot only a month ago, but I didn’t know that at the time.

The first few days moved by quickly, and the day to visit the LBJ family ranch came. After a few hours driving from Dallas to San Antonio, we were there and on our way through the complex.

All was well and good inside our Buick LeSabre wagon as we wound through the ranch complex. Some time passed by and we crossed the Pedernales River. Then, out of nowhere, the “Texas White House” seemingly came into my vision. At first, I was surprised with how small it was. I expected to see a mansion larger than every house combined on my street, not a two-story house. The small size certainly didn’t live up to my expectations, but it looked cozy and lovely. The sun gleamed off the white bricks and white roof that made up the building; simple but elegant. As I stared at the building, we drove around to the backside of the complex, and I was stunned. I couldn’t imagine the rear being nicer than the front. It looked amazing. A large flagpole stood in the middle of a perfectly mowed field. Directly behind was a covered pool next to a tennis court. How lucky was the Johnson family to have the privilege of living there? Apparently my mother thought the same.

“Bob, brake a bit, I want to take a picture,” she said.

My mom rolled the window down to get a clear picture with the Canon. But then, as dad was decelerating, secret service men began appearing out of nowhere. They came from everywhere, behind the bush, underneath the bridge, one even jumped down from a tree. The entire group of them ran at us, guns pointed and yelling. I was frozen in the backseat of the wagon, paralyzed, unable to move a single limb. My heart started pumping faster, adrenaline rushed through my veins. I heard my mom scream in fear. Then, a secret service man pointed a gun directly at my head. The situation would inflict terror in most people, but not me. I wasn’t scared because I couldn’t make sense of the moment at the time. Why did they care that we took a picture? What was so important about it? My mom wasn’t going to harm anyone? I just didn’t understand what was happening. In my stupor, I found myself cowering in the backseat as a secret service man rushed to the car and ripped the camera out of my mother’ hand. Violently, he yelled, “Move, keep moving.” And so my father sped up again.

An hour passed and I found my family sitting atop a hill looking over the LBJ ranch and its surrounding land. My parents were quite anxious about what happened, and so the yelling began. At first it started as a debate as my parents argued about some silly topic, but then grew into a full fledged yelling contest. They were arguing about the state of the country, yelling at each other about how destroyed and panicked the country was with the recent shooting of JFK. But then, my father paused when it was his time to respond. He looked like he was choking back something he wanted to say. But then he spoke.

“Clara, this country is in a state of despair, and Johnson ain’t helpin’ but a bit.”

“I know, Bob.”

Out of nowhere, dad became angry again.

“Goddamnit! This country is awful, you get out of ya car and the Secret Service kill ya.”

Oddly enough, the country had been demolished with that single bullet, the trust of almost everyone along with their beliefs in American prosperity thrown out the window. An object shorter than the length of one’s finger threw the nation into a frantic panic. Not to mention it happened during the Cold War, with the mounting violence in Vietnam, and at the height of the Civil Rights Movement. It was at that time that America was brought to its knees, demolished and torn, all because of such a little thing. I didn’t understand it at the time, but that moment made the “American way” not the American way anymore.

A Story of the Life of Debbie H. Ghostwritten by: Hannah H.

    

Photo courtesy of Debby H.

A Story of the Life of Debbie H.

Ghostwritten by: Hannah H.

Studying Abroad

When I received a scholarship to study at the American College in London a thousand questions ran through my mind; what is it going to be like, how will I fit in, what is life like there? Even Though I was nervous I was so grateful to have this immense opportunity.

I was afraid that I would hate it in London but I had a momentary self assurance that everything would be okay and didn’t freak out.

One of the first things I noticed was an unexpected high rate of unemployment shortly after arrival. I noticed this because as I walked down the streets of London one of the first things I saw was what seemed to be workers on strike, chanting outside the management building of the docks.

There were tons of men, I noticed two in the front holding a sign that said “Pull together for the unity of the national union of sea men” followed by a long train of other angry dock workers. I was on the rusty, old dock surrounded by the shops and apartments of the locals. The men were on strike against the abolition of the Dock Labour Scheme. Unemployment in London was continuing to rise and many people were on the streets.

The dock workers were on strike for a pay raise. I was walking parallel to the dock on the sidewalk watching as the workers chanted and marched. I didn’t know exactly where I was because I was still new to the city. While I was walking I heard the man on my right who was holding the sign scream,

“I won’t work until we get a raise. We have a family to support too!”

I got caught up in the crowd on the sidewalk. The people to my right were inching closer and closer until I was pushed into the people on my left. I was squashed between the crowd unable to find any way out. I was starting to become claustrophobic and I needed to get out. I couldn’t feel the crowd moving. I felt myself about to pass out, when finally the people to my right moved out to listen to what seemed to be the manager.

The manager was standing on the broken platform near the main building. He was dressed nicer than the rest of the dock workers, he wore nice slacks and a white button down shirt. He didn’t acknowledge or seem to care about the screaming workers he walked back into the office passive aggressively.

As the people to my right inched out leaving me space so I could see the manager I noticed a mournful looking women standing next to the dock. I hadn’t seen her in the crowd of strikers, but she stood out because the crowd was mostly men. She appeared homeless, her skirt was torn and dirty and she had a basket that seemed to consist of a few belongings.

I walked over to her introduced myself and asked her,

“What is your name?” She didn’t respond so I continued and asked why she was standing on the docks

“My son was just in an accident,” she said, “He broke his arm on the dock when he tripped over some of the ship's cargo and he can no longer work.”

She told me how her husband had died years before and how her son had always helped provide for her other child and herself.

She continued to tell me about her son’s time working on the docks,

“The water is disgusting and almost everyone who accidentally swallows it get’s very ill.”

I looked over the rusty wooden edge of the dock to see the murky brownish green water filled with algae below. I couldn’t see how anyone could work there in good health, it was disgusting. It smelled like dead fish and rotting food I couldn’t stand it any longer. The strikers were still chanting and marching. Still being new to the life in London I didn’t know how it would end. It was late and I felt like I should be starting to find my way home so I made my way out of the crowd and walked back to the sidewalk across the street .

As I approached the sidewalk I saw the manager, who walked back out with a megaphone and took a firm and demanding stance on the platform. He said, “If you do not get back to work I will have replacements here in an hour.” I turned and watched as some men moved back towards their designated jobs others like the men in the front carrying the sign stayed put and didn’t move continuing to chant and march.

The manager said,

“Find somewhere else to chant your nonsense! Everyone who doesn’t get back to work right now is fired.” he walked back inside. The men looked around seeing who would be the first to either speak or go back to work. Most of the men who stayed kept the chant going

“I won’t work until we get a raise. We have a family to support too!”.

I turned my back to them starting my walk back to the apartment knowing that I should get out of there before I got caught up in the crowd again. I heard them chant for as long as I walked until I reached my apartment. I could only think about how grateful I was to get out of the crowd. I was so thankful that the manager came out so that the people moved and let me break free from the madness. The trip had just begun and I was already getting the first taste of what the experience would be like in London. I felt terrible for the people affected by the Dock Labourer Scheme but I was glad I wasn’t a part of it and made it out to continue my journey throughout London.

A Story from the Life of Dan B. Ghostwritten by Will T.

Photo courtesy of ridingthecatskills.com

A Story from the Life of Dan B.

Ghostwritten by Will T.

The Vacation Crash

Life is the most precious thing on this earth.  Unfortunately, you never know when you might be faced with a life or death situation.  My family was confronted with one such event in the summer of 1977, and it permanently changed our perspectives on the length and quality of life.  

“Help, Help” a screechy, unknown voice uttered. The voice was very faint, and it was not clear whether it was male or female.  It was the most agonizing call for help I had ever heard.

The day was July 31st of 1977 and it was the hottest day of the entire year in the state of New Mexico.  There I stood with my family in the middle of woods outside of Williams, New Mexico.  The small town was unknown to the Bunner family - we were simply travelers passing through and looking for adventure in the vast Grand Canyon.  

We drove through the woods attempting to find the cabin we had rented when we stopped observe a peregrine falcon which is native to the area.  We pulled over by a sharp curve in the road.  Down below the road was a terrifying 15 foot drop.  My family and I opened the doors of our rented gray minivan.  Slowly, I pulled binoculars out of my backpack.  I was mesmerized by the majestic creature perched on a gnarly limb near the top of a large Gambel Oak tree.  The bird was brown and when it spread it’s wings, it appeared to be just as big as my youngest child, Erin.  No one in my family could seem to take their eyes off of the bird.  However, this changed for me when I heard the horrifyingly scratchy voice saying “Help, Help”.”  

At this point, I became very skeptical of the voice. The voice continuously repeated its cry for help, and so Instinctively, I began to fear that maybe whomever hurt that creature would try to hurt my family.  I cautiously looked over the steep 15 foot drop, wondering where and from whom the sound could be coming from.  However, I could see nothing but the tops of smaller trees.  With wide eyes, I turned around and found an alternative route down the steep embankment.  I slipped several times down the hillside and soon found myself on a dry creek bed.  Out of the corner of my left eye, I saw a light reflecting off of something in the distance.  

Quickly walking in the direction of the light, I heard the voice which was much louder now.  “Toby, Toby, where are you?”  When I arrived at the site of the reflecting light, I was horrified.  

Sitting in the middle of turned-up dirt and a mangled tree, I saw a green Ford pickup truck.  Everything about the car was disfigured, from the broken front windshield to the passenger side door that was completely torn off.  The overpowering smell of alcohol filled my nostrils.  I walked around to the side of the car and saw the broken bodies of both a man and a woman.  The victims looked like they were in their early 60’s and were intoxicated.  Only the woman was able to speak,  I ran over to her to try to get any information about what had happened. Before she even said her second word, I could tell it was her voice that I had heard from the cliff top.  

“We……. uh we uh……” the woman muttered, she could not seem to get the words off her tongue.

“You guys what?” I said  partially irritated at her lack of ability to speak.

“We…… we drove off the edge,” she finally said.

“I’m going to get help!” I told her

I scrambled as fast as I could down the creek bed and climbed on all fours up the sharp hill.  Once I reached the top I was breathless, but full of purpose.  Expecting to see my wife and children, I instead saw a young man around the age of 30.  The man spoke softly, constantly blinking his light blue eyes.  He said he had seen them from a distance drive straight off the cliff, and had already called for help.  After being reassured by him multiple times, I decided that it was in my family’s best interest to leave.  I had no desire for my children to experience any more of this situation.  We left the scene as soon as help arrived, and we knew the couple was in good hands.

Though it was not the start to the vacation that we had expected, I was forever touched by the lesson my family had learned.  Following the tragic event, we all seemed to appreciate each other more and not take the little things for granted.  Everyone realized that life is precious and you never know when it could all be taken away.  

A Story From the Life of Robert R. Ghostwritten by Josh R.

Photo courtesy of The Library of Congress

A Story From the Life of Robert R.

Ghostwritten by Josh R.

There is Nothing Better Than a Snowless Weekend

The old saying “good things come to those who wait” could not have been any more true. In fact, sometimes things that seem to start out as an apparent setback can actually turn out to be a life-changing gain. In my case, an unexpected disappointment served as the springboard for the rest of my life.

It was a few days into my winter break, and I was sitting on my twin sized mattress in my old, drafty dorm room at Princeton University, when I heard the sound of the phone echo throughout my room. I picked up the receiver, and heard a soft voice on the end of the line. It was the girl with whom I had planned to go skiing over the weekend. It was supposed to be the most terrific weekend ever, up north in the great State of Massachusetts, where there was going to be six new inches of white fluffy snow, but sadly, as the result of the call that I just received, I learned that the trip was off.

Overall, the cancelled trip wasn’t the end of the world, but I will admit that at first I was bitter, heartbroken, and pessimistic. Nothing was going my way. First of all, I couldn’t go home to California to see my family over the Christmas break. Next, after finally finding something to do, my new plan--my ski trip-- was ruined as well. In the end, instead of going home to California, or going skiing in Western Massachusetts, I decided to stay on campus and find something else to do. Maybe this wasn’t a bad thing, right? Maybe I would have broken my leg on the slopes or gotten frostbite. This is what I kept telling myself. As they say, however, when God closes a door, he opens a window. I was doing everything to make myself feel like everything was going to be alright.

After getting the news of my cancelled trip, I was laying on bed thinking everything through. It was at that time that I was informed that on campus, one my professors hosted a party over winter break for those students who couldn’t go home. Previously, this party wasn’t even a blip on the radar screen when I had everything else planned.  I eventually came to the conclusion, however, that I would give the party a chance. The party was not a fancy, formal one, but instead it was a casual get-together. I put on my regular weekend clothes: khaki pants, a button down shirt, and, of course, a bow tie, and I left my dorm to walk to Professor Jenkins’ house. Somewhat unexpectedly, the walk to the party was a very positive one for me.Walking through the historically narrow streets of Princeton was fantastic, and it was amazing to see all of the streets and trees covered in snow. The trip to my professor’s historic, two storied house in the middle of campus was a quick one, and when I arrived at the party I saw only a few familiar faces.

As I first entered the house, there was a sizeable number of people standing, talking, and playing board games in a decent sized square room. I talked to many people and I had a good time trying to cheer myself up. I thought it was working pretty well.  As I sauntered around to see if I could find something more enjoyable to do, it was then, all of the sudden, someone--an incredible someone, someone so perfect that words cannot describe-- caught my eye instantly. She was lovely, good-spirited, and she interacted with the other guests as if she were the star of the show. There was everything to like about her. She was perfect.

I later learned that the beautiful girl that caught my eye was the daughter of Princeton’s President. Her name was Ruth. Surprisingly, I only talked with her a little at the party, mostly because she didn’t seem to be too interested in me. Not discouraged, I decided to follow up to see if she would go on a date. Things between us went pretty well. After a while, and before we knew it, we were dating. This is when I had learned that everything happens for a reason. Who would have expected that something so bad --the skiing trip being canceled-- could be the reason for the greatest thing in my life--meeting Ruth? We were married for over 60 years before Ruth passed away. Looking back, having a ski trip canceled turned out to be the best thing that ever happened for me.

A Story from the Life of Doris Lee A. Ghostwritten by Emma R.

Photo courtesy of Doris Lee A.

A Story from the Life of Doris Lee A.

Ghostwritten by Emma R.

Meeting Fear with Friendship

“No. I don’t want to go. I’m sure those Germans have something up their sleeves.”

When Charlie had called me from the private jet he was traveling on with some of the other people he worked with, I did not expect him to tell me that he had been asked to leave his post as president of Sherex Chemical Company and to move to West Berlin to run the International Chemical Business there. I had just flown back from a tennis camp with a group of my girlfriends when Charlie had dropped the bomb, and so I was feeling pretty good, but I did not feel good about going to Berlin, Germany.

At the time, Germany was divided into two separate cities by a wall that was 66 miles long and 3.6 meters tall. On the west side of the wall, it was the Democratic side and the east side, it was the Communist side.

I let the idea set and a few days later, I called Charlie at the office and told him that I would think about this idea of going to Berlin. No more than two minutes after I hung up, the phone rang again. It was Charlie.

“They have tickets for you and I to fly over to Germany in three days Doris Lee so we can look things over and find an apartment.”

Everything was happening too fast. One moment, I was relaxing after returning home from a grand time with my girlfriends, and the next  I was about to embark on a journey to a war-torn, divided country where the people have never been the friendliest. How am I supposed to make friends in a place like that? Unknown to me at the time, this moment in my life was just the start of the plan God had laid down for me to follow.

When Charlie and I flew over, we were able to find a modern, two floor apartment that was across from the German Subway. When we had gone to look at it, it was still being built so we would be the first people to live in it. On the first floor, there was a bedroom, a half-bath, a living room, a dining room and a winding staircase that took up one-third of the whole first floor. I thought that the apartment was poorly designed. I mean, who would make a staircase that big? Upstairs, there was another bedroom, a tiny study for myself, a study for Charlie, and a room to keep the ironing and laundry in.

The Germans didn’t let Charlie and I bring over our furniture to Germany, so we bought all new furniture for the apartment.he only downside was that the Germans got to keep the furniture. We asked for a decorator to help make the apartment more color coordinated. Although I left all of the furniture at home, I was able to bring along with me pictures, accessories and most importantly, my christian books and my Bible.

When I arrived in Berlin, a few of the wives of Charlie’s coworkers showed me around, but in the German culture, wives don’t really get to know the wives of their husband’s coworkers, and so after they had showed me around, I did not see them again. But, while they were showing me around, they took me over the military base that was set up in West Berlin, and it was there that I met Mary Saveley.

Mary was the wife of Colonel Saveley, who was the head Chaplain of the Americans forces in Berlin. When we met, one of the first things Mary said to me was; “You don’t have a support group.”

“I know it.” I responded. After that, Mary became on of my closest friends in Berlin. Anytime that there was a chance that she could include me in a social activity she held at her house, Mary would.

It was Mary who introduced me to Protestant Women of the Chapel, a group of young military wives who met to discuss the Bible. These women were in their mid to late twenties, many were expecting their first child and their mothers were back in the States. These women needed a mother figure to confide in and encourage them through life until the day they would be able to go back to their own in the States.

I became that person for them.

Just as Mary became my rock to lean on while I was in a strange country, I became the rock for those women. Mary was something that I didn’t expect to find in a walled in, divided place, but in her, I found a good friend.

When I had first been told that I was moving to Berlin, I thought that I was to going to be as isolated as Berlin was after World War II. But, I ended up discovering that sometimes situations that seem like the end of the world, end up being on the greatest influence in your life.