A friend, me, and Kaete (on the right)

WARTIME ROMANCE

Our neighbors had four boys. The oldest, Herbert, was Kurt’s age and had a bad case of acne. Herbert was a graphic artist, and every day after work, he came and sat with us as we ate. He’d talk and talk, all the while staring at Kaete to make sure he was making an impression.

Wherever Kaete went, Herbert always seemed to show up, and when she attended the Christian girls’ group, he escorted her home. She was sixteen and very pretty with her dark hair and green eyes. Kaete enjoyed being admired, and a dreamy look came into her eyes.

Once when Herbert brought her home, I hid by the entrance to eavesdrop and heard him give her a hearty kiss. I told her about it the next day. Oh, was she ever mad at me for being such a pesky little sister.

At eighteen Herbert was drafted and never came back. He died in action. What a sad day when we received the news.

Kurt and Herbert

Once, Habendorf housed a tank division of Bavarian soldiers for six weeks because heavy snowfall blocked all roads, which had to be shoveled clear. Two of the soldiers stayed with us. They were very happy to be snowed in and said, “Here one can certainly endure the war.” One soldier, Herr Hinsel, was married and already had a child. The other, Martin, had a great sense of humor and the cutest Bavarian accent.

Martin fell head over heels in love with Kaete, and she with him. In the evenings we four played the game “Aggravation,” and he and Kaete kept refusing to knock each other out. Herr Hinsel and I protested, “That’s not fair. You two are cheating!” But we protested in vain.

We spoiled our two Bavarians. In the evenings while they were out on night watch, we heated bricks, wrapped them in newspaper, and tucked them into their beds, ensuring they had some warmth to come home to.

They told funny Bavarian jokes that made us laugh. Often other soldiers from the division came over to play games. They all sighed, “If only we could stay here until the miserable war is over.” It was a beautiful, happy time.

But then the day arrived when they had to move on, and the whole village came to see them off, waving goodbye. Many cried.

Kaete and Martin wrote each other constantly. I helped her compose special salutations such as “My ardently beloved Martin” or “My darling sweetheart.”

Herr Hinsel corresponded with Mother and always included special greetings for me. Then came the end of the war, and we never heard from either of them again. We assumed they both died in combat; otherwise, they would have written.

One of my teachers, a young man who taught for a short time, also fell in love with Kaete. As a result, I enjoyed special privileges. For example, he sent me to the post office or put me in charge of class during reading time.

After one special event, when he wanted to bring Kaete home, Mother told her I had to accompany them. Poor teacher—thwarted by the little sister.

A short time later he was drafted, and we never heard from him again. We assumed that he also died in the war. Oh, this terrible hero’s death!

Another time, Habendorf quartered a regiment from Sachsen. We took in four soldiers and two horses. One evening, news came over the radio that Dresden was under severe bombardment and the city was on fire. I will never forget how one soldier paced the room like a wounded animal, crying and wringing his hands in agony because his family was there. We all worried along with him. What would happen to them? We never learned if he lost loved ones or not because his company moved on shortly afterwards. He was only twenty-one.

We housed the Italians (Germany’s allies) next. They stayed overnight in our horse barn. Our courtyard looked like military barracks.

We also housed a Russian regiment that had surrendered to the Germans. They had gotten so tired of the oppression from the Bolsheviks, they wanted to fight with the enemy to free their own country. Oh, how they hated the communists.

Our German soldiers often warned us, “Don’t go outside alone—those Russians are all dangerous.” We did not fully understand what these warnings meant until later.

Being around all these soldiers was very interesting for us girls, and we were, of course, also interesting to them.

Once I ran an errand to the neighboring farm, which had taken in four tank soldiers. As I stepped into the house, they chorused, “A girl!” and surrounded me on all sides. One tall, dark, handsome young man said, “Please, will you go out with me tonight?” and told me where to meet him.

I retorted, “That won’t work. My father would never allow it.”

“Your father doesn’t ever need to know. Besides, I’m serious about you,” he insisted. And he kept trying to persuade me to meet with him that night.

Of course I didn’t go, heeding Father’s saying, “A soldier’s love is water in a sieve.” Or, “You never know what’s hidden beneath a uniform.” Later, after the soldiers had moved on, I saw my neighbor, and he said, “Fraeulein Hannchen, that young man was sure disappointed you didn’t show up. He was serious about you, and he was the son of a wealthy estate owner.”

“Oh, really?” I was not one bit sorry. I was only fifteen years old—in my mind, too young for romance.

OUR FOREIGNERS

During the war we employed foreigners—usually two hired hands and one maid.

Josef came from western Poland and learned German; he even spoke our dialect. He was a sweet man, a bit slow in his work, but faithful and conscientious. Josef loved to eat in great quantities and with gusto. For breakfast he consumed five boiled potatoes with butter or whey cheese and bread. As he ate, the sweat would run down his face. We’d never seen anyone eat the quantities this man consumed.

Once Josef’s uncle visited, and Josef proudly gave a tour of the farm as if it belonged to him. Another time as we sat around the table, an S.A. Nazi policeman came by and asked, “Where was Josef last night? Thieves have been about.”

Father said, “You better look elsewhere. Josef would never steal. I’d place my hand in the fire for him.”

“For a foreigner you should never put your hand in the fire,” the policemen countered. “Besides, for what you just said, I could arrest you.”

Father shot back, “I wouldn’t put it past you. You Nazis are lowlifes!”

“Well, what are you doing, letting Josef eat at the same table with you? That is forbidden!”

“This is our table, and under my roof, everyone eats together,” Father answered. Luckily, he and the officer had been school comrades, which called for loyalty; otherwise, he may have been arrested.

Yes, and then Josef applied for German citizenship. He was accepted, but unfortunately, the authorities drafted him into the military. With tears he departed from us, and we never heard from him again.

Since my brother, Kurt, was away serving in the military, we needed another man on the farm, and Antek, a Ukrainian, was sent to us. With black, penetrating eyes and jet black hair, he looked like the stereotypical criminal. He was lazy, and instead of working the potatoes with Josef, he would lie down in a furrow and sleep.

Once Father caught him in the deed. Josef had waved him over, and there was Antek, peacefully dozing in a potato furrow. Furious, Father yelled, “You lazy bum! It’s about time you get to work!” Antek leaped into the air, shocked awake. Father didn’t touch him, as physical punishment was forbidden, and foreigners had the right to complain to the authorities, but shouting wasn’t punishable. Antek didn’t stay with us long before he was ordered elsewhere. I was glad; he was not trustworthy, and something about him scared me. His black eyes seemed to glitter with hate.

Father’s sister, Tante Ella, also employed a foreigner. Once she was so irritated with the girl—my aunt was very short on patience anyway—that she slapped her. The girl reported her, and if Tante Ella hadn’t come with gifts of bacon and sausage to appease the authorities, she would have been jailed. Foreigners also had rights.

Then we had Baraska, a short, wiry Ukrainian with small, blue eyes. She loved to work and would get up early in the mornings around five to get started. Father had to tell her, “Don’t get up so early. The cows need their rest. They have to stay on their schedule in order to give milk.”

She knew quite a bit of German and used it, sometimes even quite cheekily. She was very feisty, and not even Father intimidated her. Once he was dissatisfied with how she swept up the straw and yelled at her. With fiery eyes she shouted back,
”You crazy. I good worker. Do good. You always scolding.” Father was astonished, and she was right—she was a very hard worker. I was impressed; I would have never had the courage to talk to Father like that.

Baraska often said, “We willing to work. Volunteer. We so afraid of Russians.” When we asked, “Why? Aren’t they your people?” She spit on the floor and said, “You not know what Russians are.”

Her boyfriend was a Belgian POW, and they hoped to marry secretly. At the end of the war she wanted to flee with us, but we stayed home. She left, and we never learned what became of her. Did the Russians capture her? Rumors flew that those who worked for Germany would be killed if they fell into Russian hands. They had seen too much of a different way of life, which threatened the communists.

Then prisoners of war from Belgium and France came to live and work on our farms. That’s when another Josef, a Belgian POW, came to work for us. He and some other POWs were held in a hotel and given a considerable amount of freedom.

In the mornings they marched through the village on their way to the farms. They were happy to work, enjoyed good food, and were treated well—for them, the war was over.

Romance sometimes blossomed between farmers’ widows and these young men. I knew a couple of Belgians who, after the Allies invaded, went home but soon returned to marry and take their brides back to their country.

Josef was twenty-four years old, built rather delicately, and was always cheerful. I loved to hear him sing in French, his mother tongue. He liked being in Germany and also cultivated a secret love. A friend of his fashioned a ring for me out of a two-Reichsmark silver coin I gave him. I later smuggled this ring past the evacuation checkpoint.

We never learned what happened to Josef at the end of the war either. Everything was too chaotic. War brought continual comings and goings and constant farewells.

Readers, I think you’d enjoy the account of John Sprigg’s experiences related to Corrie ten Boom, so I’ve made it available via Notes which you can access here.

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“Under His Wings” are excerpts from Hannchen Gantenbein’s autobiography as told to Ruth Wood, her daughter. The account highlights God’s protection and guidance as she grew up in Nazi Germany, lived through World War II, and immigrated to the United States. Watch for monthly posts on the 20th!

Under His Wings/Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

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What is a prayer Jesus might say at a wedding ceremony?

Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.

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Have you ever studied Song of Songs? Until recently, I used to think you could not do much with this symbolic poetry even if it did allegorize Christ and the church. It was simply tucked away in the library of my mind as “a romantic poem illustrating how passionately Jesus loves us.”

But as I prepared to speak at a women’s retreat this spring, I allowed myself to step into the garden with Solomon and his Shulamite bride, and to my surprise, my heavenly bridegroom came to life like never before.

WHO WROTE THE BOOK?

Traditionally, scholars have attributed Song of Songs to Solomon. He writes the poems from the viewpoint of a Shulamite shepherdess (who tends flocks of goats and sheep and owns a vineyard). He is the king, the bridegroom, to whom she refers in Song of Songs 3:11 when she says, “Come out, and look, you daughters of Zion. Look on King Solomon wearing a crown, the crown with which his mother crowned him on the day of his wedding, the day his heart rejoiced.” Presumably his wedding is also her wedding.

Now perhaps you’re protesting, “Solomon had many wives and concubines. One thousand, in fact! What could he possibly know about true love?” That was my first reaction too! But when you read this book, it sure sounds like the author is writing from experience. I’d like to think (and some scholars and commentators agree) that the Shulamite was possibly Solomon’s first wife, his first love—when he was very young and crowned king.

WHAT IS THE BOOK ABOUT?

Song of Songs is about two newlyweds crazy in love. It is also an allegory of the relationship between Christ and his bride. This book elevates passionate love over mere duty, and we need this reminder. Jesus did not wholeheartedly, passionately woo us to gain a “dutiful wife”—one who believes all the right things, says all the right things, and does all the right things but whose heart is lukewarm. No, he desires a bride who is ardently in love with him as well. One who is so “head over heels” that she can’t spend enough time with him, can’t say enough good things about him, can’t do enough for him. One who makes her life all about him above all else.

THE GREATEST OF ALL SONGS

1 Kings 4:32 says that Solomon “spoke three thousand proverbs, and his songs numbered a thousand and five.” Many see Song of Songs as his best work.

I like what the BibleProject (by Tim Mackie and Jon Collins) has to say:

[In Song of Songs] there are powerful echoes of the Garden of Eden and the idyllic scene of the first married couple in Genesis. . . . The images of the man and woman naked and vulnerable yet unified and completely safe with each other (Gen. 2:23-25) resonate in the background. . . . It’s as if, through these poems, we’re witnessing the love of a couple whose relationship is untainted by selfishness and sin.

So the Song of Songs holds out hope. Even though our relationships are often distorted by selfishness, love is a transcendent gift that’s meant to point us to something greater, the gift of God’s love that will one day permeate and transform his beloved world.

This beautiful hope is what the “Greatest of All Songs” is about.

As we go through this series celebrating the love of our Heavenly Bridegroom, I invite you to listen to this “song” for new melodies that may speak to you as never before. Our First Love is walking the gardens of our lives closer to us than we know.

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In January 1943 I turned fourteen, and on March 7^th I was confirmed. For two years prior to the big day I attended confirmation class once a week after school. Our pastor stressed that Jesus was nailed to the cross as a sacrifice for our sins and that we must believe in Him in order to be saved. To be confirmed meant saying “yes” to Jesus’ sacrifice for my sins.

A few days before the ceremony, the pastor encouraged us to examine our lives and to make things right with others—to apologize to people we may have hurt, or if we had stolen something, to come forward. His reasoning was that we should not partake of communion in an unworthy manner. So we all went first to our teacher and asked for forgiveness if we’d irritated or troubled him—some cried during this confession—then we went to our parents, which also wasn’t easy. Some boys went to neighbors to admit they’d stolen apples from their garden and asked forgiveness.

We decorated the church with garlands of pine boughs and prepared our confirmation clothes. We girls looked forward to wearing silk stockings for the first time as a rite of passage. Up to that time we had always worn cotton ones in summer and wool ones in winter.

The day of my confirmation, I stole admiring glances at my terrific legs in those silk stockings! We girls wore black dresses with myrtle wreaths in our hair, and the boys wore dark suits and boutonnieres. I did not foresee that I would wear that dress for many years of mourning.

As the bells rang, we proceeded into the church and seated ourselves in the reserved pews in the church nave. Quite a few of my relatives came, also my godfather, Onkel Friederich, who was a Jewish man who had converted to Christianity. Oh, how we hoped he would survive the war.

The pastor’s message was, “Hold fast to Jesus Christ, the beginning and completer of all things.” In my heart I promised to follow Him forever. By threes we approached and knelt at the altar, and each of us was given a special Bible verse for life. Mine read, “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.” (Romans 12:12). Then we were allowed to take communion for the first time.

At home we celebrated with all the relatives who came for the great occasion. Neighbors brought flowers, and I received cards and gifts. The table stood beautifully decorated with greenery on the white tablecloth.

Mother had hired a cook for the day, and two maids also helped prepare the feast, which allowed her the freedom to entertain. The main dish was roast goose with all the trimmings. The grand finale of the meal was a unique lemon dessert, very light and fluffy, a heavenly concoction—I’ve never had anything quite like it since.

I was now officially an adult. Five weeks later Mother suffered a stroke.

MOTHER’S STROKE

For some time, Mother had not felt well. Her blood pressure was too high, and the doctor told my father to send her on a vacation to recover her health. Father said, “No, that will not work. I need Mother here. I can’t run the farm without her.” And then he had to run it without her after all.

I was already in bed on April 12, 1943. Suddenly I heard Father shout, “Come help! Hurry!” I knew immediately that something was terribly wrong and leaped out of bed, frightened.

Mother lay collapsed in the barn, where she had been assisting the birth of a foal. She was unconscious, half-dead. We carried her into the house and began cutting the dress off her because she was sweating and couldn’t seem to breathe.

I kept thinking, “No, no, no, it cannot be. It’s too soon for her to die.” We tried to make her comfortable, doing all we knew to save her. Kaete ran to the neighbors who had a phone and called the doctor.

After the doctor arrived and examined her, he said, “There’s little hope. She has suffered a massive stroke and is paralyzed on her right side.” This news was horrible for all of us. How could life change like this from one minute to the next?

I went outside into the garden. I couldn’t comprehend no longer having a mother. In my heart I screamed to the Lord, pleading, “Please leave Mama with me a little while longer. Please, I want to have more time to show her my love, to just be with her.” I was not ready to let her go.

In my desperation I prayed as I had never prayed before. Over and over I begged God to spare her.

And to our joy, she continued to breathe. We gave her strong coffee administered in drops.

On April 13^th, the evening after Mother had her stroke, we suddenly heard a knock at the door. To our utter surprise, there stood Kurt. After one and a half years he was sent on leave, and now he came home—only to find Mother in crisis.

It was so sad for all of us. How much Kurt had looked forward to a reunion with his beloved mother. Now she didn’t know him, and her life hung by a thread. He often brought her flowers and freshly cut birch branches and sat by her bed, though she was not coherent.

Kurt plowed the fields every day and was happy to be home despite the sorrow with Mother. He loved bowls of green salad and also “tortes,” relishing the good food. After three weeks’ leave, he had to return, and Mother had not recognized him the entire time he was there.

MOTHER’S CARE

Kaete was twenty and I was fourteen when Mother suffered her stroke. Little by little over a period of six weeks, she came to and recognized us again. Her right side was lame, and her speech was a bit slower and a little slurred, but she could speak again. Using a beaker, we infused her with soup and other fluids and spoon-fed her like a baby, making sure she swallowed.

Since Mother was no longer able to work, we took over her chores. Kaete shouldered Mother’s responsibilities in the barn and the outdoors. I began cooking for seven to eight people and tended the chickens, the geese, and the pigs.

Father did all he could to make life easier for Mother. No task seemed too much for him when it came to helping her, even though he was also sick with bleeding ulcers.

Caring for Mother added an extra layer of work to the ongoing demands of the farm, but no one complained. We felt she received the most loving care at home and would never have given her up to the hospital.

Unable to work, Mother often said, “If I could only peel potatoes and help you with something. I am such a burden.” And she would cry.

We were simply glad to still have her with us. I could talk things over with her. She reminisced about the old days and recited many songs for me because now she had time for this. But above all, we could talk about the Lord Jesus.

The last two years with Mother were some of the most beautiful and blessed times of my life, a precious gift from God. I didn’t go anywhere. Even in the evenings I stayed home. While other young people went out walking together, I preferred being with Mother, Father, and Kaete. We enjoyed such cozy times together.

Oh, how we missed Kurt. We worried and prayed. The news about the war was terribly upsetting. At home we dealt not only with Mother, but as Father’s ulcers worsened, he soon required our attention too. To care for him, I needed to cook according to special dietary restrictions.

These were difficult times, and yet I have to say that I had no time to feel sorry for myself or to complain. I was where God wanted me and liked feeling needed. I felt happy and contented even though I was often tired from the night watches with Mother.

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“Under His Wings” are excerpts from Hannchen Gantenbein’s autobiography as told to Ruth Wood, her daughter. The account highlights God’s protection and guidance as she grew up in Nazi Germany, lived through World War II, and immigrated to the United States. Watch for monthly posts on the 20th!

Under His Wings/Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

God is fond of you. If He had a wallet, your photo would be in it. If He had a refrigerator, your picture would be on it. He sends you flowers every spring and a sunrise every morning. Face it, friend, He's crazy about you! ~ Max Lucado

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Dear Readers,

Many years ago I shared my story about Susie Stream, whom I had lost to leukemia when we were in our forties. She had given me a great gift because she taught me how to “be a friend, make a friend, and keep a friend.” The post was very popular, and I think it’s because the subject of friendship touches us deeply. Recently I attended a women’s retreat where I was deeply moved by an interview with Judy Wenger and Nancy Harvy, two fun-loving, lifelong friends in their 70’s. I’m so thrilled they’ve agreed to let me share what they’ve learned about friendship over the years!

How did your friendship begin, and what drew you to each other initially?

Judy: I was 34, new to Emerald Bible Fellowship, my mother had recently died from cancer, and my husband was playing golf on Sunday mornings while I went to church. It was a low point in my life, and I really needed some friends. I had seen Nancy with lots of other women around her, and I wanted to be one of those women. At my first women’s retreat, a basket of bookmarks was passed around, and we were to take one from the basket and pray for whoever’s name was on it. Mine said, “Nancy Harvey.”

Nancy: Our friendship began in the late 70s at church, where my hubby was the youth pastor for almost twenty-five years. We saw each other at women’s events, and I was drawn to Judy’s fun personality. We chatted off and on, but our friendship really took off when I asked Judy to help me prepare a skit to announce an upcoming women’s event at a worship service. Since she was a middle school drama and English teacher, I knew she would have great ideas. As we worked on it, we laughed and laughed. It was the beginning of our silly but sweet bonding. When we performed the skit, I was nervous and had lots of adrenaline. I grabbed her cheeks and said, “Judy Judy Judy,” like Humphrey Bogart or whoever that actor was. But the way I yanked her face towards me almost gave her whiplash! Poor thing! She has never been the same since!

Day to day, what helps your friendship stay authentic and honest—and how do you make it safe for each other to share openly?

Nancy: Our friendship has gone through some ups and downs, along with our personal lives. Real life has kept us real—illnesses, cancer, family problems with children, job stress, church splits, and our faith in Jesus. What has kept us authentic is perseverance and loyalty. Listening to each other even when it’s hard to keep your mouth shut is important. At this stage we have seen and heard the good, the bad, and the ugly and have also seen the beauty of Christ in each other. No one makes me laugh as hard as Judy. She can also make me cry with her kindness and generosity. I am often touched and brought to tears by her love and care for me.

I feel safe with Judy because she has demonstrated deep friendship, commitment, wisdom, kindness, and extreme generosity. I know I can trust her with deep, personal things and that she will pray for me. Honesty, patience, and forgiveness are huge. Being able to really listen, without judgment, to what the other is saying helps us be authentic. Both of us can give our opinion readily, but we have learned through mistakes, hurt feelings, and our own pride to do as it says in James 1:19, "Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.”

Another thing that helps is that our friendship is not jealous or possessive. Judy has lived in Eugene all her life and has so many different friends. I do as well. We don’t get jealous if we’re not included in each other’s plans with others. Except, maybe I might have a wee bit of FOMO ‘cuz I love hanging out with her so much!

Judy: Communicate every day. Get back to each other if there’s a misunderstanding. Laugh LOTS! Do ALL the emotions together, even the hard ones.

Over the years, how have you figured out when to speak the hard truths, when to just be there for each other, and how to move forward in forgiveness when things get hard?

Judy: We are still figuring that out after 42 years! We express our frustration with one another and about one another. Be a good listener without trying to “fix” the problem. Speaking “hard truth” must go hand in hand with HEARING hard truth even when we don’t want to hear it.

I am often the one who makes a final decision when Nancy is indecisive. Maybe it’s from nearly forty years of teaching middle school, but I like to make plans, hear input, and then finalize things. I still tease Nancy about how she orders food in a restaurant. She often asks the server which is best, this item or that!

Nancy: In our early years we had a few hurtful moments, but thankfully our sense of humor and commitment to Jesus smoothed those rough edges. I, as a nurse, can share my thoughts too quickly in regard to health issues, and I always want to fix things. I have learned to wait to be invited before I give my opinion (most of the time). Although, if I feel Judy is in any medical danger, I will speak up. Judy—as a teacher, amazing drama instructor, and director—likes to lead and direct, which can cause a bit of strain on occasion, more so in the early years.

Through the beauty of a long friendship, we have grown to treasure our God-given strengths and skills despite our differences. I love and appreciate Judy’s leadership, organizational abilities, and her amazing creativity. Judy has also grown to understand my gifts of nurture and mercy and my desire to help (whether she wants assistance or not). Because we have both walked with each other through some very serious medical crises and some hard family situations, we have learned to listen well and try to not take our words the wrong way, knowing we love each other deeply.

Praying together is huge! God breaks down our defenses and pride when we pray together. There have been times we needed to step away briefly from talking to work through any hurt or misunderstanding. But because we love each other, and we miss each other, we are quick to talk it over and reconcile. I think Colossians 3:12-14 is good advice for any friendship. "Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues, put on love which binds them all together in perfect unity.”

How has God grown your faith through friendship, and how do you intentionally keep Him at the center of it?

Nancy: In addition to Judy, I feel so blessed to have some other treasured female friends. Those friends, like Judy, who know and trust the Lord, are my deepest relationships. Friendship is a commitment. Our walk with God is a commitment. Having a friend who is strong in the Lord really helps support my Christian walk. Judy’s example of trusting God through some pretty intense and scary medical situations is a huge testimony of God’s faithfulness and inspires me.

Judy and I have traveled together and have enjoyed so many fun adventures. We talk and laugh like silly teenagers. We often say that no one could keep up or understand when it’s just the two of us because we jump from one topic to the other and still know what the other is saying. Laughter is good medicine, and so that helps keep our friendship healthy. We keep Jesus in the center by reminding each other of his faithfulness and care. Knowing that Judy loves me and prays for me keeps me close to her and to God.

Judy: It’s easy with Nancy because she puts God first and prayer is a way of life, not just some activity one does on occasion. We pray together and FOR each other anywhere and anytime. I have learned more about prayer from Nancy than anyone else. You can’t hold another up by wanting to always be “in front.” To hold each other up, one must stand BESIDE the other. Let go of competition.

What advice would you give to women longing for a deeper, more authentic friendship?

Judy: Growing a friendship is a marathon, not a sprint. Be open to what God has in store for you. Be the person you are seeking in others.

Nancy: We are old now. We are the older ladies in the church. We have raised our kids together. Loved our children and now grandchildren. We have watched health events occur for each other and for our husbands. For the younger ladies and those not so young, it is never too late to invest in friendship. “Make new friends and keep the old; one is silver and the other is gold!” True, deep friendships do take time and can be a risk. You need to be willing to be hurt but also be loved richly. My advice is to be kind, listen, and find out special things about each other so you can honor one another.

Celebrate your friends! Find opportunities to honor them. Appreciate them. Write notes of encouragement. And thank them for the little and big ways they bless you. And of course, pray for your friends. Share with them your struggles so they can feel comfortable sharing theirs with you. The Bible has many stories of friendship; the best is that Jesus calls us His friends. Look to his example. The book of Proverbs has many words of wisdom regarding friendship. Here are a few:

"A friend loves at all times” (Proverbs 17:17). (Through the good and bad times!)

“A man of many companions may come to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother” (Proverbs 18:24). You may have many people around you, but be the friend that sticks to the other to help and support.

“Wounds from a friend can be trusted” (Proverbs 27:6). Honesty with each other can hurt sometimes, but a true friend can be trusted to give you the words and the help you really need.

“As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another” (Proverbs 27:17).

We are better together!

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Women need girlfriends! However, friendship can also be an area of frustration. It was for me.

As a young mother I admired several older ladies in my church; they were such a close-knit group. When someone got sick, they brought food; they had fun times on family camping trips; they even canned together. I longed for relationships like that but was uncertain how to go about cultivating them. So I started praying that the Lord would teach me how to be a friend.

And the Lord sent Suzie. Suzie loved people, and everyone seemed to love her. We discovered we both liked running and lived in the same neighborhood. She asked me if I would be her running partner, and we started getting up at 7:00am three mornings a week to pound the pavement.

As I got to know her, I noticed how she did friendship. For one thing, she was always the one initiating with me at first. Hmmm, I thought. She seems to have no fear of calling you, no thought that she might be rejected. She seems to assume that you like her and will want to spend time with her. This was in sharp contrast to how I operated—living in fear of rejection. I decided to adopt Suzie’s attitude instead.

I started calling her sometimes. She always responded with enthusiasm. Then I tried initiating with others. I realized that if people say no, they’re not necessarily rejecting me—most likely they have a very good reason that has nothing to do with me. This “profound lesson” was life-changing.

I could see that Suzie initiated more than her friends. This helped me learn to lower my expectations of others. I stopped getting hung up on how much someone reciprocated. People are busy or they may be preoccupied with problems—it doesn’t necessarily mean they wouldn’t enjoy spending time with you if you make the effort. In fact, when you call, you may be the bright spot in their day.

Maybe you’re wondering if my new approach turned me into an obnoxious “friend stalker” who forced herself on people. Sometimes the pendulum swings too far when we’re trying to change! But a certain sensitivity came naturally—if a potential friend made no effort with me over time, I placed them in the “nice acquaintance” category and moved on.

Suzie was gorgeous with forget-me-not blue eyes and dark hair, but that was not her secret. I knew attractive gals with few friends and average-looking ones who shared Suzie’s outgoing qualities. I concluded that having friends was not about being pretty; it was about sincerely reaching out and caring about others.

I also noticed that Suzie had a wide variety of friends. I had always looked for that soulmate-friend and, in so doing, eliminated a lot of people. This was my main problem. Now I came to see that people are like circles overlapping to different degrees. Why not enjoy what I had in common with someone and be willing to try new things? I decided to give up the quest for a “best friend.” Why, this way, almost anyone might turn out to be a potential friend!

Suzie introduced me to other gals who enjoyed jogging as well. Some Saturdays we ran five abreast, clogging our neighborhood streets. Soon we started celebrating birthdays together and escaped on retreats to indulge in serious girlfriend time. The Lord had gradually answered my prayers for friends.

My favorite memory of Suzie is a weekend trip to Black Butte, a mountain retreat in Oregon. We were both busy moms—what a luxury to get away without the kids! The sun shone and the sky sparkled a brilliant blue as we set out in my car, classical music playing. When we arrived, we wasted no time getting to the pool, as Suzie loved tanning. We soaked in the heat and the beauty of snow-capped mountains all around, basking in our freedom from responsibilities. That night we ate dinner at the lodge restaurant, laughing and carrying on. When the waiter learned that we were celebrating our April birthdays, he surprised us with a free dessert (Suzie is the one on the right in the photo).

I’m so thankful for this precious memory. One day Suzie called to say she couldn’t run; she was sick. She canceled our runs for three weeks. When she finally checked herself into the hospital, doctors discovered she had leukemia. She died before the year was out. I was heartbroken to lose this dear friend who’d been such a gift to me—she was only forty-three.

Suzie was a vibrant believer, a shining light to her family, her friends, and her community. How I look forward to seeing her again in heaven! But until that day comes, I will cherish my memories and the invaluable lessons Suzie unknowingly taught me about friendship.

Our East German village had its own “castle,” a small palace where the aristocratic Von Seidlitz family lived. They employed many people who worked and lived on the premises. Their servants maintained the park, managed private forest land, cultivated trees, and fed wild animals (such as deer) in winter. The forest was the family’s private hunting ground where they hunted pheasants or rabbits.

The thirty-five-room palace included a chapel with an organ, and I attended Bible study there. Lord and Lady Von Seidlitz were very devout Christians. They were kind to their servants and always cared for the villagers, providing the sick with medicine. The family occupied their own private pew in the Rosenbach Lutheran Church and, in 1933, donated its bells.

Today, the estate lies in ruins. In another post I will share what happened to the family after the war ended and the Russians occupied our region.

SCHOOL DURING THE WAR YEARS

War. What a terrible word. It started September 1, 1939. On August 31^st our school took a bus to the Schneekoppe, a nearby butte, and hiked for four hours. From the top, we were able to see Czechoslovakia and saw airplanes already flying overhead. Everyone hoped for a quick end to the conflict. Sadly, it was to be our last field trip.

I was ten years old when the war began. Because of a teacher shortage during the war, several schools in neighboring areas closed, and two merged with Habendorf. At first, religious studies continued, with separate classes for Protestants and Catholics.

Later, the government dropped religion from the curriculum altogether. Instead, we learned about Hitler and politics. When Hitler gave a speech on the radio, our teacher, Herr Hoffman, crammed the whole school into the largest classroom to listen. Of course we didn’t mind—we welcomed any distractions from schoolwork.

I am in the middle row, third from the left.

The government required schools to participate in the war effort. For example, in the spring, we students planted cabbage in the estate fields belonging to Lord and Lady Von Seidlitz because their hired help was away, fighting in the war. We received a small payment and could even earn extra money if we volunteered after school hours. I liked that.

In the fall we helped bring in the potato harvest. It was very important to keep sowing, planting, and harvesting because of the trade embargo against Germany. In the early 1940s, Germany fed and clothed 80 million people and still found the resources to make war.

Before the war, we sang Christmas carols in school, but this practice quickly disappeared. Because Hitler hated all things Jewish—and since Jesus was a Jew—he replaced Christmas with the Festival of Lights, celebrating the winter solstice. We sang songs to the sun, the moon, and the stars like the early Germanic pagans. (You can perhaps understand why America’s politically correct culture and efforts to banish God and Christmas from public life feels strangely familiar to me.)

At home, however, and in our churches, we cheerfully celebrated the holiday as before—with a Christmas tree and the manger.

Hitler upheld our ancestors as models of rugged strength and believed in raising German youths like Spartans—tough as leather, fleet as greyhounds, and hard as iron. Herr Hoffman drilled this phrase into us regularly. Here is what it meant:

Tough as leather: Endure cold, heat, and hunger without complaining—don’t whine at every little thing.

Fleet as greyhounds: Be the swiftest athletes, the quickest learners, and the fastest workers.

Hard as iron: Be tough—especially on yourself. This also included living by a strict moral code. Our elders taught us to always tell the truth and punished liars severely—usually with a beating. We were raised with the saying, Those who lie once will not be believed again, even if they tell the truth.

All children—ten years or older—attended mandatory Hitler Youth meetings. During this one-hour Wednesday afternoon program, we learned something about Hitler’s life, played games or did crafts, and exercised. Hitler wanted to raise a super race, so he emphasized exercise as well as good posture for health reasons.

The longer Hitler ruled, the more we saw propaganda against Jews increase. Teachers indoctrinated their students, saying Jews lied and cheated the German people out of their wealth. Slowly people started believing these kinds of myths.

No Jews lived in Habendorf. We did not know about the concentration camps but heard rumors that the Jews were being dispossessed and evacuated. Rumors floated around that they were being taken to Palestine.

Remember, we lived in a small rural village, and during the war, few people traveled. Only soldiers were allowed to use transportation. Civilians needed a special permit to use the train. Radio was our only connection with the outside world, and we listened to foreign stations at great risk—this was forbidden. We wondered who was telling us the truth.

I was thankful for my good home—my parents stood against Hitler and would not hang his portrait in their house. The authorities questioned them about their genealogy and examined them for Jewish features, looking for a prominent nose or darker complexion. My parents could not understand this demand but were forced to comply.

At home Mother and Father kept saying that Hitler was a little Antichrist. Today I understand this well. As a child, I didn’t. I could not have cared less whether we said “Heil Hitler” or “Good Morning,” for example. But from the perspective of an adult, I see why my parents railed against the arrogance of this required greeting. “Heil Hitler” essentially meant “Hail to King Hitler,” as if he were asking for allegiance close to worship. How easily we mimic expressions as children, unaware of what we’re saying.

During his first six years in power, Hitler created economic prosperity with jobs for everyone—a blue-collar worker could even afford to build a small house. And Hitler built the autobahn. With childish shortsightedness, I sometimes wondered why my parents railed against him—everything seemed to be going so well.

However, lively discussions with Father and Mother protected me from the propaganda at school. Every time my teacher made snide remarks about Jews or Jesus, I always thought, Herr Hoffman is wrong; my parents know better. This is why parents need to cultivate good relationships with their children. Discussing issues helps children think for themselves. I’m so grateful to the Lord for the wise parents and stable home he gave me.

My education ended in eighth grade. Only students with a certain grade point and teacher’s approval were allowed to attend the Gymnasium in Reichenbach. Herr Hoffman recommended me, but my parents refused to let me go. Though I was disappointed in their decision, they had good reasons. Attending Gymnasium would have meant living away from home while completely under the influence of the Nazi Party.

It didn’t matter anyway. Four weeks after I graduated from eighth grade, Mother had a stroke, and my childhood ended abruptly.

SAYINGS DURING WORLD WAR II

I once read a joke that went like this: A gentleman was given a gift of three portraits—of Hitler, Goering and Goebels. “What on earth shall I do with these?” the man asked. Another replied, “That’s easy. Best you just hang all three together.”

Many Germans weren’t Hitler-friendly, and when such jokes went around, you had to be careful to whom you repeated them so that they weren’t heard by the “wrong” ears; otherwise, you could get arrested.

Another popular saying went like this: “Enjoy the war. Peacetime will be gruesome.” We experienced this—literally. During the war, we in East Germany enjoyed relative calm, while in West Germany people suffered and died under constant air raids. After the war ended, our “peacetime” turned into a nightmare under the Russian/Polish occupation.

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“Under His Wings” are excerpts from Hannchen Gantenbein’s autobiography as told to Ruth Wood, her daughter. The account highlights God’s protection and guidance as she grew up in Nazi Germany, lived through World War II, and immigrated to the United States. Watch for monthly posts on the 20th!

Under His Wings/Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

When Herod heard John, he was greatly puzzled; yet he liked to listen to him (Mark 6:20). The king enjoyed hearing John the Baptist but did not obey his message. Truth becomes mere entertainment when we don’t take it to heart.

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He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he never said a word. He was led like a lamb to the slaughter. And as a sheep is silent before the shearers, he did not open his mouth. ~ Isaiah 53:7

Jesus was outspoken—unafraid to confront the elite crowd, unafraid to speak truth to power. Why then was He silent at his trial?

Our natural response as humans is to defend ourselves, to prove our innocence, to argue passionately for our cause. Jesus’ silence surprised, baffled, and frustrated His enemies because He did not react like most other defendants they’d prosecuted.

The Wisdom of Silence

The wisdom of Jesus’ comportment becomes clear as we consider the psychological ramifications of such a response. Silence shifts the burden of communication. Research shows that liars tend to "fill the silence," which can lead to over-explaining or mentioning inconsistent details.

This happened during the trial. The Jewish leaders produced witnesses that contradicted each other, which undermined their case. Frustrated, the high priest asked Jesus to defend himself, but “Jesus held his peace, and answered nothing” (Mark 14:60-61), placing the “burden of proof” on them, forcing them to face their own consciences and the evidence of his innocence. As a result, they were unable to convict him of a sham crime.

The Perception of Silence

Both silence and defensive outbursts can be misconstrued by observers as admissions of guilt. Research has found that trying too hard to persuade someone of your innocence can make you come off looking guiltier. Jesus’ silence was a dignified response that allowed him to remain in control.

Interestingly, silence can be a protective or reflective state, a boundary useful in dealing with toxic people. It protects against manipulation, particularly when interacting with personality-disordered individuals who try to provoke a reaction. Since the false charges against Jesus were politically motivated, a defense was pointless. “If you’re being persecuted for speaking nothing but truth, the Word of God, how could speaking more truth ever aid in your defense?” a Reddit user commented.

Jesus’ Sovereign Control

By remaining silent during his trial, Jesus fulfilled the Messianic prophecy of Isaiah 53:7, embracing his purpose to die for humanity’s sins as the Lamb of God. Completely surrendered to His Father’s will, he did not need to defend himself—he trusted his Father’s heart, mind, and purpose.

Ecclesiastes 3:7 says there is “a time to be silent and a time to speak.” I have trouble knowing when to talk and when to be quiet, but Jesus modeled perfect discernment during his trial. Even though He maintained a silent comportment overall, He spoke at key points, and His own words sent Him to the cross, not the manipulations of His enemies, because He uttered the only legitimate reason for which He was willing to die—His identity as the Son of God, “I Am.”

The Passover Lamb

As the Passover Lamb, Jesus was “like a sheep that before its shearers is silent . . .” (Isaiah 53:7). And yet, what did the crowd unknowingly behold as they gazed upon the silent form hanging on the cross? Here hung 'The Word'—the very voice that spoke creation into existence and upholds the universe (Hebrews 1:3). Here hung the Bridegroom dying for His Bride, the Lion of Judah stifling His roar, and the King of kings permitting His own subjects to put Him to death.

How beautiful that The Good Shepherd became the Lamb of God to atone for his sheep—you and me!—and lead us home. To paraphrase Charles Haddan Spurgeon, “He became like one of us in order that we might become like him.”

The Glorified Lamb

Though Jesus “humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death” (Philippians 2:8), someday He will roar as the glorified Lamb of God. Joel 3:16 states, “The LORD will roar from Zion and raise His voice from Jerusalem; heaven and earth will tremble . . .” In that day, Jesus, who is called Faithful and True and whose name is the Word of God, will speak “with a sharp sword coming from his mouth that will strike down the nations” as “He treads the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God Almighty” (Revelation 19:15-16). Praise God that someday the Lamb who was slain will judge evil and bring peace to the world.

And yet, our powerful, commanding Rescuer will also reign as the gentle Lamb. Revelation 7:17 states: “For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; ‘he will lead them to springs of living water.’ And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

Doesn’t such a bright future inspire you to worship?

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! 
All praise, honor, and glory 
be unto the Lamb of God, 
be unto the Word of God, 
be unto the King of Kings,
the Alpha and the Omega, 
the First and the Last, 
Beginning and End.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! 

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ERNST WILHELM ARTHUR HAASE (November 11, 1891 — May 29, 1945)

Father was a wild character. Once, in the military, just to show off, he lifted a full bucket of milk with his teeth. He had very strong teeth and died at age fifty-two with only one filling. Surprisingly, he never brushed them and didn’t even own a toothbrush. Even more surprisingly, he didn’t have bad breath.

Military order and discipline ruled our lives. At 5:00 a.m. sharp, Father leaped out of bed, flying with both legs into his long underwear. Then he was off, banging on all doors, shouting, “Time to get up!” His first business was to feed the horses—his pride and joy—before he brushed and curried them. On weekends the horses got their rest, and Father only used them for light work—to pull the carriage to church or to take us on a Sunday drive occasionally.

An important thing to know about Father—he loved cigars. He smoked cheap ones on workdays and an expensive brand on Sundays and holidays. With a good cigar, you could bribe him.

My brother, Kurt, was seventeen when the war started, and he and Father often discussed world events heatedly. The generation gap between the experienced soldier of World War I and the young man who eagerly followed the news was bound to create conflict.

Father often said, “Your generation will be lucky if you finish the war as well as we did in 1918, when no enemy set foot on German soil.”

Kurt was of another opinion. “But see how far our troops have advanced.”

Father would counter, “You will amass victories to the death! Hitler is crazy to advance so far into enemy territory. This means reinforcements and supplies always get farther behind. And what will they do when the Russian winter comes?”

Father ended up being right about everything, and after Kurt saw war up close, they got along much better again.

Father also would say, “Germany can never win because we are persecuting the Jews—woe to those who touch the apple of God’s eye.”

Because of his outspokenness against the regime, people warned Father that he needed to watch what he said or he could be reported. The Nazis in town left him alone, though, mainly because they needed him. Even though he was not a Nazi Party member, the mayor appointed Father to be the agricultural leader of Habendorf. During the war, only old men and boys under age 16 remained in the village.

OTTILIE AGNES HAASE (November 13, 1887 — April 11, 1945).

Mother often sang as she worked. I have memories of lying in bed upstairs, listening to her beautiful, clear soprano voice coming from the kitchen.

Wait, my soul, wait on the Lord;
For when your world is broken, He will not forsake you.
Surely your need is not greater than your Helper.
In all storms, in all distress, your great God is your protector.

How often I thought of this song throughout my life. The Lord has truly been my Helper in every situation.

But when Mother sang about dying and the afterlife, I would clap my hands over my ears. She said she looked forward to heaven, but I didn’t want to think about losing her. As a child I saw that my parents’ health was not good and that they would probably not live long. Once I said, "Oh, Mama, I will be so young someday and without parents. What then?”

She answered, “The One who guides the clouds and the wind will also make a way for you.”

I had the best mother, one who prayed with me and for me. She also didn’t hesitate to drive nonsense out of my head with a few firm whacks now and then. I would always be so ashamed that I had irritated her so much. I didn’t want to cause my dear Mama distress. I constantly lived in fear that one day she would die before I’d have a chance to say goodbye.

KURT GUENTER HAASE (May 8, 1922 — December 29, 1943)

Kurt was the oldest sibling, seven years older than me. He was an excellent marksman. When he was fourteen, Father gave him his old hunting gun, which responded with a hefty kick when fired. Father figured this would cure his son’s interest in firearms. But he was wrong.

Kurt picked up the rifle, aimed at a pigeon on the roof—and bang. Bull’s-eye, first shot. His face was white from the gun’s kick and flushed with the excitement of his success. Father was speechless. So he bought his son a special gun for target practice, which Kurt quickly mastered. He could hit anything, even with a pistol. He had a steady hand and excellent eyesight and was not easily ruffled. We sisters admired him greatly. Later, during military target practices, Kurt would shoot a perfect round and then get time off while the others continued to train.

The Hitler Youth met on Sunday mornings, but Kurt attended church instead. Once, as he walked through the village carrying his hymnbook, several ruffians surrounded him and threatened to beat him up. He looked at them disdainfully and said, “You are cowards—there’s only one of me and so many of you. But just go ahead and try it!” He was strong and knew it. They decided to let him go and warned that if he continued to attend church, they’d come after him again.

This incident upset Mother terribly, but Kurt said, “I couldn’t care less. I’m not going to let them bully me. Now I’m even more determined to not attend those Hitler Youth meetings.”

And he didn’t. The boys who threatened him had Communist parents who had turned Nazi, but they left him alone after this.

When Hitler invaded Poland in 1939, Kurt was seventeen. We weren’t too worried because this blitz was over quickly, and besides, Kurt was too young to be drafted. Unfortunately, the war dragged on, and one day, Kurt was also called up.

After boot camp and a short stint on the Russian front, Kurt was eventually transferred to the “Regiment Grossdeutschland” (comparable to U.S. Special Forces), which sought tall, handsome men without physical flaws and with high integrity. This was not the German SS (my mother was so relieved about this) but a highly modernized division sent in when the war front bogged down. Many royals served in this regiment. I was very proud of my big brother.

KAETE ANNELIESE (HAASE) STEPIEN (June 27, 1923 —December 27, 1999).

Kaete (on the left; I am on the right) was thirteen months younger than Kurt and six years older than me. She and I shared a bedroom. But because I was so much younger, my siblings tended to play with each other and leave me behind.

Kaete was very frugal. Not only with clothing but also with treats. For Christmas we usually received several bars of chocolate. Kurt and I would enjoy ours over the holidays. Kaete, however, would hide her stash and save it until Easter. Then she would pull it out, and we would beg her to give us a few pieces. Always, to our disappointment, the chocolate proved stale. Mother and Father held up our sister as the model of self-restraint, but Kurt and I never repented—we preferred our chocolate fresh!

Father expected his children to be more productive and work harder than the hired help. Kaete was a good worker and very industrious—nothing seemed too much for her—but Father’s demands could become ridiculously unreasonable. One day during haying season, Kaete raked behind the hay wagons, but because of the heat, she began having trouble keeping up. Father became irritable and started yelling. She could not work any faster, and the situation became impossible. Finally, Tante Ida, working beside her, quietly suggested, “Just fall down—pretend to faint.” Kaete took her advice and sank to the ground.

Father leaped from the wagon in alarm. “She’s overheated!” He ran for water and cooled her off until she “came to.” From that time on, he worked at a more reasonable pace.

Kaete wasn’t too interested in books. Intending to read later, she’d hide a new book to prevent me from reading it first. I would always search until I found it and then read it secretly because reading was my passion. Of course, when I foolishly told her what was in her book, she’d be furious with me.

FAMILY LIFE

I loved warm summer evenings when our family sat outside on the bench in the garden. The nightingale sang, and every so often the cuckoo called. The air was fragrant with the scent of roses, lilacs, and linden trees. In the distance, you could hear the evening church bells tolling and the neighbor’s accordion playing. These warm summer evenings were so beautiful; I wished I could stay up all night.

As we sat in the garden together, Mother liked to sing hymns or folk songs, and Father (when slightly inebriated) belted out old soldiers' tunes. Kurt, Kaete, and I—singing in three-part harmony—crooned: “The stars that shone at home, they shine for me in foreign lands, too.” I never dreamed how true these words would ring for Kaete and me someday.

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“Under His Wings” are excerpts from Hannchen Gantenbein’s autobiography as told to Ruth Wood, her daughter. The account highlights God’s protection and guidance as she grew up in Nazi Germany, lived through World War II, and immigrated to the United States. Watch for monthly posts on the 20th!

Under His Wings/Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Let us relinquish any claims on either our goodness or our badness, which so easily leads to pride or ungodly self-loathing. Such identities are not based on the blood that Jesus shed on our behalf. Instead, let us simply rejoice that we have gotten Him!

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For if you are trying to make yourselves right with God by keeping the law, you have been cut off from Christ! You have fallen away from God’s grace. ~ Galatians 5:4

Now listen, Enemy, when you tempt me to turn to works—to my own efforts to win the Lord’s approval—I shall proclaim:

Let that raggedy, cobbled-together, soiled, attempt-at-goodness garment fly away in the wind! I happily discard its unwieldy discomfort and secret smelliness—despite the amount of disguising perfume spritzed—a garment so threadbare and full of holes it leaves me pathetically exposed.

Instead, when tempted to go shopping for clothes in the “good works department,” I will look in the mirror of my Lord’s eyes, who sees me radiant in His pure white robe of righteousness. This garment will never tear, soil, or wear out.

All He is—is mine. Therefore, from the standpoint of daily living, I get to wear what He lays out for me. These clothes meet the needs of the moment—His shawl of love, His dress of peace, His vibrantly colored robe of joy . . .

Stripped of the weight of my own efforts—what a carefree, blessed way of living!

When He shall come with trumpet sound,
Oh, may I then in Him be found;
Dressed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne.

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I was born on a 300-year-old farm in the village of Habendorf in the province of Silesia, Germany (near the borders of Czechoslovakia and Poland). Earliest records mentioning our village date to the 1200s. Slavic and Germanic tribes settled here and over the centuries, they saw Polish, Bohemian, Austrian, and Prussian rule before Silesia, in 1871, became part of a unified Germany. This volatile history played a significant role in what happened to us after the war when Russia and Poland forced all Germans from the region.

In 1943 the population of my village was officially listed at 927; today it stands at 516. World War II brought great upheaval, changed the borders, and displaced millions of eastern Germans. To find my birthplace on a current map today, you must look for Owiesno, Poland.

THE FARMHOUSE

My great-great-grandfather, Wilhelm Becke, acquired the farm around 1875. This house and the surrounding buildings were very old. The three-foot-thick walls provided ample window shelves—wonderful for displaying plants and flowers.

From the front door we entered a foyer tiled with rough, reddish stone. To the right stood our indoor water pump (the courtyard also had one), and to the left, a staircase led to a large landing from which we accessed four bedrooms.

The small bedroom led to our provisions chamber, a very large room the width of the whole house, which kept cool because it faced north. We had no refrigeration, and so in this room we stored smoked sausages, bacon and ham, canned goods, and dried apples. Dried peppermint and chamomile hung from the ceiling. Antiques filled one corner—a spinning wheel, colorful petroleum lamps in various sizes, my grandfather’s war medals pillow, old photos, and old-fashioned greeting cards, some even written on birch bark.

From the second-story landing, a stairway led to a huge attic where we stored wheat kernels. An old cabinet kept Father’s guns, a saber, a saddle, and other miscellaneous items. From the attic you could lean a ladder against the wall to reach the pigeon loft, where I later hid from the Russians. In the photo, you can see the loft’s small dormer-like windows protruding from the roof. This was a good place to hide from Russian soldiers on the prowl.

We had no running water in the house but filled our containers at the water pump in the foyer. The kitchen was also where we bathed. Every Saturday, Mother first heated hot water in a large basin on the stove. Then she brought in the tin bathtub, filled it with warm water, and bathed us one at a time. The shampoo was an awful concoction that made your hair clump together and created such a mass of tangles, you could barely get a comb through. I remember how good it felt to put on a clean nightgown and go to bed afterwards.

In the summers we ran barefoot and took footbaths daily. Once when I was really little, I liked the footbath so much that I put the rest of myself in the water too—fully clothed!

Along the wall, next to the kitchen stove, stood a low bench where we kept large iron pots and pans. Cooking utensils hung above the bench. A table with a porcelain bowl stood in the corner where we washed our faces and hands. The house did not have a bathroom—we used an outhouse.

Nearby stood a work table where we washed dishes in a wooden bin. Using no dish detergent or soap, we rinsed the dishes first and then washed them in hot water. This method was customary in those days.

Our radio sat on top of a cabinet that stored our dishes, silverware, and staples such as flour and sugar. A lamp hung from the ceiling over the kitchen table, and this cozy corner is where I did my schoolwork. In fact, most of our family life took place here.

The kitchen contains so many memories. One memory involves the radio, the lamp, swaying, and a drunk Polish man trying to kill me with a bayonet. But that story is for another time.

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“Under His Wings” are excerpts from Hannchen Gantenbein’s autobiography as told to Ruth Wood, her daughter. The account highlights God’s protection and guidance as she grew up in Nazi Germany, lived through World War II, and immigrated to the United States. Watch for monthly posts on the 20th!

Under His Wings/Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Live much in the smiles of God. ~ Robert Murray M’Cheyne

(I am my lover’s and my lover is mine . . . Song of Songs 6:3)

When I said, “My foot is slipping,” your love, O Lord, supported me. When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy (Psalm 94:18-19).

Lord, when I feel myself slipping into old patterns, sins I wish were conquered, but well, they just aren’t, this is my encouragement:

Your love is my support. It braces me when I totter and lose my footing. It lifts me to a place where I can stand again.

I’m glad the Psalmist didn’t say, “When my foot slipped, you gave me a tongue lashing.” No. In just such moments, you offer compassion, not chastisement.

Your correction and tone is gentle as you come alongside, saying things like, “Grab hold of my hand, and let me help you over those sharp rocks. Look, over there is the path that will take you around this treacherous area in the future. Now, let me lift you over that sinkhole.”

Such gentle, supportive instruction, Lord, motivates me to change. And it’s so different from how our transgressions are generally met—with pointing fingers, disapproving glares, and scolding lectures. So, when I’m anxious about my failures, when I’m troubled by my sins, I will confidently turn to you.

For I revel in your consolation. It is as constant as the constellations above. It is as refreshing as a brisk ocean breeze. It is as warm and comforting as a soft throw around my shoulders. You draw me close, wipe away my tears, and then steady me as I struggle to my feet once again.

Over and over you surprise me. I know that you are good, but still, with every failure, your gracious response astounds. Your commitment to love me with such patient kindness touches me deeply, Lord. Please accept my inadequate attempt to express the constant wonder and gratitude you evoke in my heart.

And here’s one more thing I’ve noticed. Leaning on your arm, from that position of safety and strength, your consolation gives me confidence to forcefully remind my accuser: “In my weakness, my God supports me with his love!”

Prayer: Lord, renewed surrender is the only response worthy of you. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Quote from “GENTLE AND LOWLY,” by Dane C. Ortlund:

Look to Christ. He deals gently with you. It’s the only way he knows how to be. He is the high priest to end all high priests. As long as you fix your attention on your sin, you will fail to see how you can be safe. But as long as you look to this high priest, you will fail to see how you can be in danger. Looking inside ourselves, we can anticipate only harshness from heaven. Looking out to Christ, we can anticipate only gentleness.

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Dear Readers,

I won 2nd place in a writing contest at Today’s Christian Living with a story about how God brought my mother a husband and gave her the faith and courage to immigrate to the United States. The story was published in their January/February 2026 edition.

So, I think the time is right to publish stories from my mother’s memoirs about growing up in Nazi Germany. Here is the introduction to the series. Dive in, and be sure to subscribe if you haven’t already!

Under His Wings

By Hannchen Gantenbein as told to Ruth Wood

“I will abide in Your tabernacle; I will trust in the shelter of Your wings” (Psalm 61:4).

My life changed forever when the Russian hordes invaded eastern Germany at the end of World War II. I was only a sixteen-year-old then. Streams of refugees and soldiers passed through our village. We were constantly busy helping those in need.

Along the road lay dead cows, and sometimes refugees arrived with loved ones to bury. Mothers fled with their children in baby carriages. I kept thinking, “I hope I don’t have to flee.” For two years we lived under Russian/Polish occupation, and then the order came that all Germans must be “evacuated.” They did this in stages over a period of several weeks.

The day of the first evacuation, I climbed the hill behind my house and watched people leave with box carts and backpacks, women holding children by the hand, old men, my best friend . . . . Every now and then they stood still and sadly looked back. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Everyone I knew and loved was going away. Would I ever see them again?

When it was my turn, I boarded the cattle train wearing three dresses and a coat, carrying my bedding and a few mementos. I did not know I would not return for forty years.

I lost everything—my country, my community, my family, and my possessions—but I still had God. You see, everything can be taken from you, but if you have the Lord, you have peace and a secure refuge. Truly, I have lived in the shadow of his wings.

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Under His Wings/Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Life is unfair. And still it is beautiful, magnificent. You want to take its face in your hands. ~ Peggy Noonan

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Heavenly Father,

You are The Giver sending bouquet after bouquet of goodness to grace our moments, each increment of time. Thank you for every moment you have planned for us this year, Lord. Each one originates from your loving heart; each one, no matter how challenging, is meant for our highest good; each one is meant to make us a little more like you. And so I ask for—

• rest in anxious moments

• clarity in doubting moments

• perspective in despairing moments

• comfort in sorrowful moments

• insight in decision-making moments

• support in weak moments

• healing in pain-filled moments

• peace in stressful moments

• intimacy in lonely moments

And I also ask for many prayer-answering moments! Bring unprecedented breakthroughs this year, Lord! Spread your fragrance to the world through the story you’re writing in us. And let us share it joyously! (II Corinthians 2:14-16)

Finally, I ask for many breathtaking, the-world-is-so-beautiful moments. For in such times, we often encounter you.

Lord, may your fragrant presence permeates every part of our being, every moment of our lives.

In Jesus’ name. Amen.

In this new year, “the Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.” (Number 6:24-26)

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I wonder if, like the earth itself, we’re waiting, holding our breath in anticipation, longing to believe that something more is happening, that something more is coming. I wonder if we’re all just waiting for God to show up.” Hannah Anderson

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Dear Friends,

I so appreciate all of you hanging in there with me for another year. Have a most blessed Christmas and New Year!

Longing for peace on earth and good will to men . . . (click to listen to song)!

Ruth

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