Chapter 17 - Israel, Rome, Paris...

Our family is journeying back to the States on furlough, and I am filled with delight. I love European history--and now I’ll actually visit places I’ve read about in books. Mom and Dad decided we will reach America by travelling west from the Orient instead of east, and one of our first stops is Israel. We land in Tel Aviv a few hours after the Beatles have left the airport, continuing on their world tour. It is 1964.

“How amazing,” I exclaim to Ro. “I wish we could have landed sooner and seen them!”

“Yes,” she agrees. “That would have been so cool!”

We settle into the YMCA Hotel in Jerusalem whose tall tower is a landmark, the massive stone building elegant with stretching lawns. The mosaic tiled lobby is staffed by Jordanians. We walk the ancient scriptural sites—the massive walls of the city, the Garden Tomb close to Golgotha Hill with the face of the skull in it, the winding bazaar streets. I am awed to stand where Jesus once trudged. We meander through the Garden of Gethsemane reflecting, drive up the Mount of Olives, later buy souvenirs in Bethlehem, small black urns in Jericho, for relatives.

Afterwards we visit CMA missionaries George and Lola Breaden in Lebanon. Middle-eastern food, the ruins of Balbec, a church in Damascus, Syria. And then on to Rome, where Mom wants to rest more.

“I’m getting tired from all the walking, Gordon,” Mom declares. Danny and David, 7 and 5 years old are good travelers, but also need naps. So Dad, Ro and I tour the Vatican and Coliseum, and later we all watch history replayed with sound and lights in the old Roman ruins.

“We’re so blessed, Dad. I actually get to see places I’ve studied about! I love Rome and this old hotel with the garden. And the strong coffee and big croissant for breakfast—this is what we should always have in the mornings!”

Dad laughs. “I’m glad you like it! Many only sightsee when they’re older, and now you and Ro get to see Israel and Europe as teenagers.”

In Paris we ride up the Eiffel Tower, tour the Louvre, drift down the Seine in an open cruise boat. A couple across from us are kissing passionately. Ro and I watch, and they pause and smile, and continue. “They’ll have sore lips,” Ro whispers, laughing.

That night we stroll around the artistic Montmartre quarter, where a young hippie strums a guitar on the steps of the Sacre-Coeur Cathedral. “How amazing,” I think to myself. “I want to come back someday.”

Arriving in London, we stay just one night. As a family we decide to trade in air tickets for a cruise across the Atlantic. The ship with its lavish dining rooms, large pools, and movie theater is so opulent. A totally different world! My new red and white batik dress sewn at a tailor shop in Dalat, Viet-Nam seems out of date already among the fashion conscious passengers. When we dock in New York City I’ll need to observe and absorb a whole fresh culture.

I’m looking forward to visiting Grandma and Grandpa Larson in their square green house in Jamestown, New York. Only now Grandma is upstairs in bed, slowly dying of throat cancer. It has also travelled to her eyes…she is blind, and so precious.

“How are you, Marlene?” she asks. “I’m well, Grandma. It’s so good to see you again! We’ve been praying for you.” There are long silences. At 16 I don’t know what to say. I now wish I had been eloquent with love, details of my life, appreciation for her sacrifice of us to missions. But almost speechless I gaze at the swollen, weeping mass that was once an eye, and just hold her hand.

We have several days with the grandparents and weeks later return for her funeral. Later I sense a change, something wanting. What is it? It must be something spiritual—the climate over us has changed. I finally decide it must be her prayers for us that are missing. Grandma was an intercessor, and the extra covering grace she had prayed daily over us was gone.

Before we visit the Kentucky relatives or settle in Livonia, Michigan Dad is assigned by the CMA as a speaker at a kids’ camp north of Toronto, Canada. Since he will be working on his PhD in Ann Arbor all year, he can in this way fulfill his mission preaching requirements.

Our family settles into a cabin at the larger Glen Rocks Family Camp, while Dad ministers at Camp Witmoc nearby. We eat Glen Rocks family meals, swim in the lake, and attend evening services, meeting teenaged staff workers. Ro and I make friends with them, and one decides to nickname me Marti. “It’s shorter, smart,” she explains. I like it. Then one of the most popular boys takes an interest in me—Mike Chambers! He’s dark haired with clear brown eyes, outgoing, and wants to be a missionary doctor. And he likes ME!

My emotional life is jolted. Low self-esteem begins to lift, to soar-- I can hardly eat. The last three weeks of Dad’s assignment Ro and I wash dishes at the nearby Camp Witmoc. Stacks of dirty dishes! And we attend the evening services at Glen Rocks…and Mike and I talk. He gives me devotional books, wants us to memorize scripture together. He kisses me…my life brims with happiness.

We say goodbye, promising to write.