Heilige Nacht
By Marianne Muthreich Southworth
1944 was a difficult time for the German people. We had been at war with many nations for the previous five years, and now Germany was about to face one of the most humbling experiences that can come to a proud nation—defeat.
In the spring of 1945 the end finally came. Many thousands had been evacuated from their homes and had gone to the inland cities out of fear of facing the Russians. My family were among these refugees.
I was 15 years old at that time and was living in another city. My parents were unable to reach me in order to tell me how I could get in touch with them. My elder brother was at war, and the four younger boys were all under the age of ten and living with my parents. The time came when I was driven out by the soldiers too, so I began desperately to search for my family. It took me one and one-half years to discover their whereabouts, and when I finally found them, I was shocked at the sad condition. My father had been taken to Russia for hard labor and was never again seen by us. My eldest brother had not returned from the war and never did. My grandmother had not yet been found. My aunt, my mother and the four little boys had been placed in a room above a roadside bar, with only the bathroom to use as a kitchen. The slept on straw on the floor, with flies and lice as their companions. They were all gravely ill, yet bravely facing this terrible time in the best way they could. Christmas was approaching and I immediately applied myself to aid their desperate situation.
We had no food at all until my brother saw a farmer kill a pig and bury the entrails in the ground to dispose of them. After dark my brothers dug them and brought them to my mother who cleaned and prepared them to put in a delicious soup for our Christmas dinner.
On Christmas Eve, the townspeople invited the refugees to a Christmas celebration. I had to work, but my aunt went with the children who were very excited.
We had no tree or presents yet and did not know where they would come from. But I remember searching until I found what seemed to be the most beautiful little crippled tree. Then I took the little money I had and bought a few small gifts at the store such as a metal comb, a bar of soap, and whatever was available to purchase over the counter. Anything could be bought if you had enough money but only on the black market, and my mother did not allow us to buy on the black market. She prayed often to ask the Lord to spare our lives and promised in return that we would have no part in stealing or buying on the black market. We would in no way trade our honor for survival. She would rather have us all die. Many times we almost did.
When I arrived home with my few precious purchases, I set up the tree and prepared the room. My mother prepared the soup, and the fat on top and the chunks of skin I could see floating in it looked so good! When my aunt and brothers returned home from the celebration in town, the room was warm from the fire burning in the wood stove. With our Christmas tree and a few presents to share, we laughed and were so happy. Then just as my mother was about to serve the Christmas soup, the soldiers turned out all the lights in the town. My mother took the pot off the fire, and flames from the stove were dancing as we bowed our heads and blessed the food and the Christmas Season. A spirit of warmth came over us, and we felt so fortunate and approved of by the Lord. The Spirit of Christ rested upon us and gave us a sweet feeling of security; we knew that nothing could harm or destroy us.
Christ the Savior was born.
3 comments:
To my mother, food is so important. Whe remembers the war and how little value currency has. She stores food under her bed and rarely lets food be thrown out. We eat leftovers until everything is consumed. She respects our cultural eating etiquette but she still loves to eat the fat off of meat and savors the flavor in her soups. In her book, "One Fold, One Shepherd", by Peggy St. Cyr, she writes that during the war she may have bathed once in 6 months. She rarely took off her back pack which held all of her belongings. Five or six years after the war she immigrated to the USA and took a job as a house keeper. Her teeth were so bad from starvation and diet that she had them all pulled and replaced with false teeth. I am grateful for her and her experiences. It has contributed to my perspectives, my character, and personal testimony that there is a God in Heaven and that he loves all of his children everywhere.
Wow! This is such a powerful, humbling story. Thanks for sharing
You shared your mother's book with me and it stirred my heart to read of her faith and strength through such horrible, difficult times. Her integrity and passion for her faith must be so rewarding to her children and extended family. Thank you for the reminder of how simple, yet significant Christmas can be for each and everyone of us. Christmas is about relationships and sharing - and your mother lived that principle very well.
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