In Memorium: My Austrian Spiritual Father

We had slept in the parked car since about 3 a.m. I got our almost 3 year old son out of his car seat and let him snuggle on my lap so that I would have enough room behind me to recline my seat. My husband held our daughter in his arms to give her a break from her car seat, although he was unable to sleep sitting up in our tightly packed rental car. We'd decided to undertake the 8 hour drive from my parents' place in southwestern Ontario, Canada, to Montreal overnight so our kids would sleep through it, but stopped in the parking lot of an OnRoute rest stop to (try to) sleep for a few hours. At 6 we went inside for some breakfast, to freshen up and to enjoy the free WiFi. After getting our kids settled with juice and yogurt, my husband checked his phone. I was laughing at my son's excited antics when my husband nudged me, "Look at this." His voice broke.

A friend back home in Germany had alerted us to the sudden announcement on Tauernhof's Facebook page. Hans Peter Royer, the director of Tauernhof, an mountain retreat centre and Torchbearer's Bible School in Austria, had died suddenly in a tragic paragliding accident.

a snapshot of Hans Peter from the summer of 2007
when my husband & I returned to work as guides

We were shocked. He was only 52. He was an experienced mountain guide, often rescuing others. For a few moments I wondered if it had been some kind of sick joke, how could he have passed away in the same manner as his predecessor? My heart broke for his family, knowing his daughter Lisa, with whom I had hiked when she was 8 years old, had celebrated her wedding only a few weeks before.

We held it together so our kids would not notice our sadness. Back on the road, when they were sleeping again, we shed tears and reminisced about our times at Tauernhof, where we met at Fall School in 2004, and how Hans Peter had impacted the narrative of our lives.


I first went to Tauernhof in 2002 for a mountaineering program called Upward Bound. Those six weeks truly changed my life. Never had I understood or experienced the sweetness and beauty of Christian community like that before. We were often pushed to our physical limits, hiking with heavy packs for up to a week without having a shower, sleeping in a cave 1200 m under the Dachstein mountain in utter darkness at 0 degrees. We were challenged emotionally, putting up with teammates from all over the world of various ages, abilities and personalities, with whom we had to live, cook, and sleep in tents or mountain huts (note the aforementioned lack of showering). We were forced to work together to cross glaciers, literally shouldering each others' burdens when injuries or weakness brought some teammates to their breaking point. I remember fondly the morning we woke up to find our leaders had abandoned us in the night, and we were left to make our own way down the mountain, and then run a 12 km jaunt back to a warm shower and a real bed. My time at Tauernhof taught me that, by God's grace, I am capable of loving other people, even those whom at first impression I thought would drive me crazy, whom I judged and wrote off as uncool or too cool. That I can learn something from everyone.

entering the cave

In those six weeks I learned things that have shaped me continually since then, though I have to admit forgetting how profoundly my character, my outlook and beliefs, were formed in the Austrian Alps. Once we got back home to Germany a week ago, I spent a jet lagged night reading through my journal from that summer in 2002, my first time in Europe. My 20 year old musings are at times cute, painfully embarrassing (I was just getting to know myself), at times profound and still true. And such a reminder of God's faithfulness. Reading through this old journal reminded me that the roots of all the spiritual growth I have known as an adult go down to the cold mountain stream that runs through Schladming and the teachings of HP.

I don't want to try to tell Hans Peter's story here. I can't. Not only is it not mine to tell, hundreds of people knew him better than I did. HP's ministry, not only at Tauernhof but traveling and speaking all over the world, has touched tens of thousands of lives. But he is part of my story, for whom I will be forever grateful. His strong leadership, blunt manner and challenging messages called out to the best within me. He stirred up my desire to grow and change, he made me want to "live a life worthy of the calling you have received" in Christ Jesus. Many students seemed a little bit afraid of him, intimidated by his expertise in the mountains and straightforward Austrian ways. But I saw the twinkle in his eye, the sarcasm and fun behind his rather stoic exterior. I wrote in my journal back then, "If he wasn't so demanding, I wouldn't be confident enough to do all these things [in the mountains]. The staff are totally not about babying us, especially Hans Peter. He just presses on, you don't have a choice or time to think or worry, just go. It's so good, no time to fear." One of the strategies of the program was not to reveal much about what activities we would actually be doing in the course, in order to simulate real life (we do not truly know what the next day will hold), teaching us trust, spontaneity and shaking us out of our desire to control our lives and circumstances.

spot the hut we were headed for...

I remember a particularly painful day in the climbing garden by Hofpürglhütte. I was new to rock climbing, and trying to find my footing wearing big hiking boots on the slick rocks was proving nearly impossible. I was complaining to my belayer why it wasn't working and Hans Peter hollered from a nearby peak, "Don't argue, just climb!" Even after HP scurried over to try to help me, I failed to make it to the top of the route. I fought back hot stinging tears while others took their turns. I was embarrassed and felt terrible, being someone who had always put her self-esteem and value in what she could achieve. Later I wrote in my journal "HP had tried to help me and I felt like I had failed him." But with the encouragement of others and knowing I would only feel better if I got up and conquered something, I completed the Klettersteig and went on with the day, proud to have overcome failure and fear. I'll never forget his words, it meant a lot to me that he noticed me and pushed me to go beyond my comfort zone to achieve what I guess he somehow knew that I could. Others told me later they would have been embarrassed if he had hollered at them like that, or perhaps found him too challenging. But for me, I needed that and it stirred me up to want to achieve the potential he saw in me.

Another day in that same climbing garden, with Heli sitting in the top spot

"Don't argue, just climb" became my motto in the following years, as I tried to stop arguing with God about all the reasons why I can't or don't want to do things and instead get on with obeying him, stepping out in trust. I hadn't thought about that now in a few years, but HP's wisdom has proven timely again.

We were all impressed with the stoic confidence of his children in the mountains. Lisa who told me, "God gave us legs to use them" as she cheerily hiked about 10 hours uphill with us. Lukas as an 11-year-old, helping us slow, somewhat scared, 20-somethings through a wind tunnel in the cave which blew out our lights, telling us in a semi-bored sounding Austrian accent, "I am coming, give me your bag."

I remember him teaching on death in the context of Ecclesiastes, quoting Psalm 90:12 and Amos 4:12, telling us to be prepared for and comfortable with it. Hans Peter told us, "We aren't afraid of dying as much as dying without having really lived." I think everyone would agree, Hans Peter was a man who really lived. And he read us a quote which I took down in my journal, "I depart from this life like a little boy running home from school."

Hans Peter truly was a spiritual father to me, his teaching and timely guidance forever changed me and the course of my life. Tauernhof taught me to love the local church and directed the passion I had for Jesus. We loved you HP and grieve with your beautiful wife and children. Thank you Hannelore, Lukas, Lisa and Eva for sharing him with all of us. His legacy lives on in the thousands of lives he touched, and the millions of lives they will in turn reach.

"But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have become convinced of, because you know those from whom you learned it."

2 Timothy 3:14

Baby jet lag

Baby jet lag has to be the worst kind of jet lag.

There is no reasoning with her. There is no keeping a baby up til an appropriate time to sleep...her head just nestles into my chest, no matter where, no matter when, no matter how bright or loud and she is asleep. This past week since we got home from visiting my family in Ontario and friends in Montreal has been rough: way too little sleep, mommy back to work, planning and enjoying our 3 year old man's birthday with a house full of friends, preparing for both kids to start Kindergarten and Krippe (day care in Germany for ages 1-3) in the coming weeks. My husband is now away for the weekend at an important family event 1000km away in Flensburg.

Baby up one night baking her brother's birthday cake
with Papa. Yup, you read that clock right.

I managed to get both kids to sleep before 9 p.m. tonight, the closest to normal this household has been for the past 8 nights. Jet lag, both the adult and baby versions, have kept me up much of the night this past week. It has sometimes felt unbearable, entertaining a child who is wide awake when the parents are just aching for sleep, but at times we have loved those sweet midnight hours, allowing for heart-to-heart talks in the quiet of moonlight and a nocturnal writing session to pour out the too busy thoughts.

We have big decisions ahead of us, ideas, passions, responsibilities, plans whirling in and out. Lying down next to my baby to keep her from crawling and practising her standing skills all night forces not only her but also me to breathe deeply. To still and calm our nervous muscles, our busy minds. Not to jump up and get on with to-dos and cleaning and emails. Waiting for her to calm, to breathe rhythmically. To pray for her in whispers, for all of us. Speak out truth and quiet the doubts and fears.

How studying literature helps you change the world

"A B.A./M.A./Ph.D. in English? What are you going to do with that?"* 

I've heard variations on this theme. Dave Ramsey, for all his very helpful and practical financial advice, rails against doing a degree in something as asinine as literature on his radio show. Literature isn't useful, you say?  

Knowing how to read, how to intelligently engage with a text (and texts are all around us), how to express your ideas coherently in written and oral form, think critically, engage with culture, explore the struggles and inner lives of characters who are just like the people in the world around you...these are just a few of the benefits of doing a degree in English lit. (Or Québécois, or German, or Hindi literature, of course.) I admit, a degree in literature is not a surefire road to riches, but the skills one learns when reading and studying literature can be used in any career (i.e. right-hand man to a king) and are immensely helpful to anyone who wants to understand, impact and, dare I say it, "change" the world around them. 

Here a brief video about the research of Prof. Dr. Linda Hutcheon (University of Toronto) who will be coming to a conference we are hosting in Konstanz in September, on why an English degree helps you in every career:

For local academic types, she'll be giving an open lecture on September 18, 16:30 in the Audimax entitled "From Reader Response to Reader Response-Ability."

*Note this is not a direct quote from Dave Ramsey, just a typical sentence I have heard several times from various people. And similar to some things I've heard on his podcast :-)

My first publication, unearthed!

This week at my parents' house on the farm in southwestern Ontario, I have been sorting (yet again) my old stuff. School days memorabilia, camp photo albums, journal upon journal full of pre-teen and teenage angst, old trophies, stuffed animals circa 1984. Every few years I have gone through my stash, reducing more and more each time as distance makes the bonds weaker and the necessities of an international life fills my parents' recycling bin. I snapped a few phone photos of my budding authorial self. 

My first publication, unearthed!

My first published work: poem? Short short story? Anecdote?

An ode to my big brother...

Young Author's Conferences were a highlight of my childhood

And finally, a public service announcement:

Sense of Space

"The sense of space might have triggered lighter emotions, less depressing thoughts, a sense of well-being."  Dionne Brand, What We All Long For (261)

Brand's novel refers to a downtown Toronto housing project lacking in any landscaping or foliage to ease weary urban eyes, what the sight of some flowers could have done to increase the sense of space the tightly-packed residents had. I find myself on the farm I grew up in in southwestern Ontario, Canada as I write these words. Surrounded by corn, soybeans, mown wheat fields, and no lack of native flora and fauna. Crickets and grasshoppers twirr in the humid night air. Earlier we were privy to a fantastic thunder and light show, the better part of an hour of torrential rain and skies repeatedly lit up like the day. It is 1:54 a.m. My late night imperative to write can not be blamed on jet lag. Our 6 hours ahead caused my little family to go to bed early and our bright-eyed baby to awaken us all at 4:30 a.m. for the first four days, eager to crawl and test her standing legs. But we've been in North America for over a week now, thus adjusted and truly I should be asleep. 

Yet I am awake and must write, writing has been pent up in my bones amidst days filled with children's games and squabbles, swimming pools and BBQs, steaks and corn on the cob. Traveling from one sibling's home to another, evenings after my generation's offspring are finally in bed spent catching up on two years of lives lived. We've been crossing borders; national, parental, traditional, faithful. How can four children of the same parents, living in one house on the same plot of land til their 18th birthdays, have developed so differently? We all share the Christian faith, a conviction of God as our Father, Jesus as our Saviour and the Holy Spirit as our Comforter and Empowerer. Yet we manifest quite a wide range of the expressions of that faith. This could lead to tensions and disputes, concerns and arguments, hurt feelings and misunderstandings. I want to choose to see this diversity as a beautiful, life-giving thing. There is space in this upside-down Kingdom for difference, for the beauty and complexity that we see embodied in each person, image-bearer of our beautifully complex, multi-faceted God.

Space, a sense of space in the family of Jesus-followers is what we all need. Space to be who we long to be, the deep calls out to deep inside us, to follow the nudges and Spirit whispers. Freedom from boxed in, pre-conceived ideas of who we ought to be, who others got used to perceiving us as, perhaps from what was inherited or passed down; free from labels, taunts, childhood insecurities.

A post card sent to my great-grandmother in 1906.

I love my family and am deeply grateful for them, for who they are, what they have given me and still give me. We have all settled geographically apart from one another, flung from west coast to middle America to Europe. The longer we live apart, the more we adapt to and are influenced by our cultures, be they national, church, political, or socio-demographic cultures. We find our place. The common bond of family runs deeper than this land on which we were raised, which our ancestors worked for inch by inch, struggling and straining to hold down the family farm, to keep the bank at bay. This hard-fought land may one day be sold to others, our generation having found our niches elsewhere. The family name may vanish and be forgotten from this farming community of which I, the youngest and last to go, have not been a part for almost 15 years now. But loss of land will not weaken the bond, will not change what makes us family, for better, for worse. Through email and Skype, rather than the leather post cards my great-grandmother received, we'll keep checking in, keep loving each other. 

A leather post card my great-grandmother received 1906

We do not have to think, act, decide, spend money, believe, play or work the same to be family. We do not have to be uniform to belong to this great, colourful, eclectic family of God, but if we give each other a sense of space to be who we are our lungs with fill, our chests will rise and we'll be able to fling our arms back in the warm summer rain, inhale the lush moist night, find our footsteps, and dance. 

Sand

We left the park's Visitor's Centre, where we had learned about the local flora and fauna, and crossed the road. Andreas has been in awe of all the new Canadian sites, the seemingly endless fields of corn, the forests, the boardwalks, the mini-golf, the massive windmills. He was baffled that there were no sidewalks beside the road. He still staunchly speaks German all the time, explaining that he simply likes German! I love explaining things to him and pointing out the differences. Questions like "Are we still in Canada?" remind me that he is just a little boy, not yet three. (On the 7 hour flight, he asked me several times, "Are we on a plane, or a train?") He has had a lot to take in over the past few days.

As we crossed a small stone parking lot I explained that we were going to the beach, just over there, pointing ahead of us as the trees gave way to beach grasses. I stopped and showed him how to pull apart a certain kind of beach grass and put it back together, telling him what I liked doing when I was a little girl.

His grandparents and Papa were walking ahead of us with his little sister on the path as we lagged behind. When the stones of the parking lot began to give way to white sand, Andreas stopped in his tracks and started piling sand up around his feet. A few steps in front of him were some garbage pails and a sign, beyond that the trail cut through a sand dune, getting softer and squishier with each step, and I knew, just over the rise, was a wide and mostly empty sandy beach and vast Lake Erie, spreading out as far as our eyes could see. 

"Andreas, you can keep going, there is a lot more sand on the beach!" 

He kept pushing the sand into a little pile. 

"Just follow Papa, we're going to the beach where there is a lot more sand!"

He kept working hard, intent on the thin layer of sand directly in front of his feet. Some strangers walked past us and smiled at his eagerness as he played in the parking lot.

The metaphor is easy to grasp. How many times do I stop and busy myself with that which is directly in front of my feet, easy to get to, instead of following our Papa God down the path, into the expanse of joy, goodness, plenty, that he has for me? The short-term, easily attainable happiness, rather than pushing on, trusting and following him over the rise into the unknown. What He has in store for us is always better, richer, deeper than what we can find for ourselves.

On making the first move

Thinking about friendships from my early 20s -- when you're still in college or university, perhaps part of some kind of team or club, or you meet people while traveling the world -- got me thinking about how it is often harder to make friends later in life. I know many people who are very lonely when they move to a new city to start a job, or they buy a house and move to a new neighbourhood. A single friend recently told me she was suprised that I could be lonely, since I have a husband and kids, but married or not, everyone needs friends. 

When I first moved to Germany, I was very lonely. Yes, I had my fiancé, but I had moved to a new city in a new country, nowhere near any friends or family. The culture shock was rough, learning a third language was rough. I remember sitting in a pub one night with my husband and some of his childhood friends. After some initial greetings, no one talked to me all night. I sat there at the table becoming ever more stone-like, while inside I was sinking into a mess of despair and self-pity. I could speak only a little German back then, I couldn't follow the conversation and no one was brave enough to try speaking English with me (Germans tend to be very humble about their English speaking skills and are often shy to use it, though most can speak well or at least enough to have a conversation). Perhaps they thought I didn't like them or was some kind of snob (I was actually told this by a few people in my early days in Germany). It wasn't that I didn't want to talk to anyone, but I just COULDN'T SPEAK GERMAN! Some judged me as being too quiet/reserved/boring. This was a very hard season of my life. As anyone who has moved to a place where they don't (yet) speak the language will tell you, it feels like you have lost your personality, your sense of who you are. Normally talkative and outgoing in social settings, for a year or so I was quiet, simply because I didn't have the words. 


I had to find my personality again in this new culture and outwork it in my new language. Over that first difficult year and a half, I often got stuck in self-pity and depression. I felt that a lot of things weren't fair, that I had given up everything while my husband had to give up, seemingly, nothing. I couldn't see how the dreams I had had for my life would ever be realised and felt like I had forsaken my calling. I was working a job I did not enjoy, and we were on a shoestring budget while old friends back in Canada were going on with their careers and buying their first homes in their mid-20s. (In Germany, families often rent their whole lives or only buy a home in their late 30s or older.)  I was sure of my husband, but not of anything else. I had to learn that it was up to me to choose to guard my thoughts, to choose not to compare myself with others, to choose to stop thoughts like "It's not fair!" Nope, it wasn't "fair," but I chose this life, I love my husband and for better or for worse, I knew that for a season at least I was in Germany. I could choose to plant myself in the present, put down roots where I was without knowing how long we would live in Konstanz, rather than wishing I was somehwere else. For my own mental health, for my marriage, I had to choose life and joy and freedom.


Living in Germany has taught me, an introvert at heart, to get over myself and some of my fears, to do things I naturally wouldn't. (Still working on my hatred of talking on the phone...I heart you email & Whatsapp!) During my first year here, I was often annoyed that locals did not initiate conversations with me at church or in other social settings (that storm cloud look in my eye probably didn't shout out a welcoming come on over!) I thought, hey, I am the foreigner here, they should be coming to me, they should be asking me how I am doing and offering to help me.

German culture is just not (generally) as open and outgoing as in North America. People do not often talk to strangers in the street or in shops or playgrounds, they tend to be more guarded and contained. (Except if you break a rule like jaywalking, or not having a light on your bike. Then people feel at ease to give you a piece of their mind, especially the +60 generation. I came home in tears several times that first year after being yelled at by a stranger, often for doing something I didn't know was wrong, and we honestly had no money to fix that bike light!) Germans are lovely, warm, generous people when you get to know them, but it usually takes some time for them to open up or to call you a friend. 

After some time, I realized I would have to make the first move if I wanted friends. With all of my mom friends, even some friends from our church, which is a very open and friendly environment, I can remember clearly making the first move. When I read Emily's post on meeting mom friends in your city, I was reminded of how I met one of my current closest friends at the kids' wading pool in a large local park. It was two years ago, when our son was 11 months old and wanting to practise walking around holding our fingers all the time. I noticed among the busy crowd of kids and parents another baby at the exact same developmental stage as my son, and his beautiful Asian mom. She just LOOKED like my kind of girl. (You know how you are just "attracted" to your friends and sense you will click with someone?) So I strategically led my toddling son over closer to them and struck up conversation (probably something like "Is he almost one too?" or "Oh he's cute" or "My son does that too..."). Turns out her baby he was a she, but I didn't let that embarassing slip daunt me and persevered. She and her German husband had just moved into our neighbourhood from China and were very open for new friendships. Our husbands and kids also hit it off and they are some of our best friends now. 

A quiet morning at the wading pool, June 2012

God's grace and learning to control my thought-life totally turned my life around in Germany. Now it is home. We love our city, we have a large social network and good friends. Interesting studies and career opportunities fell in my lap and my husband got a much sought after position teaching at a local school after he finished his studies. We have been so blessed. I still have to be very intentional about making new friends and maintaining my friendships. In the busyness of life, and with the natural hermit tendancies that I have, it is easy to not call, not hang out, not have meaningful friendships. Especially in winter, I find it easy to stay home, sit and wait for someone else to call me, to invite me over. This still does not happen as much as I would like and I can either wallow in self-pity, complain about always having to make the first move... or, for the sake of my sanity and friendships I can get over myself and choose to reach out to that other friend. We're both always glad I did.

Tell me, do you feel like you always have to make the first move? I hate it too (introverts unite!), but if you are feeling lonely or frustrated in your friendships, I encourage you to try it. Germans, want to weigh in on how I have represented your culture?