Chapter 25- Widening Horizons

During our stay in eastern New York, Zach and I listen in when Dad teaches the graduate students in anthropology at Nyack Seminary. My father is a stimulating teacher with plenty of illustrations of tribal life, and I can tell the students love him. But he is leaving to attend the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor for the spring semester to work on his PhD. So—after his farewell party our family loads up the U-Haul trailer and caravans to Ann Arbor, to student housing near the campus.

Mission workers are adjustable—they must be. I am accepting the short visits with my family this year as a matter of course. Having been in transition since sixth grade when I began boarding school, I don’t yet realize how nomadic I’ve become. We won’t be with Mom and Dad much this year, but eventually I trust Zach and I will live in Irian Jaya near them, evangelizing another tribe.

So we hug the family goodbye and drive to St. Paul, Minnesota to continue Zachary’s mission degree the spring semester and to find work for me. (My sister Romaine will be near, continuing nurses’ training.) Then, the next fall semester Zach and I will both attend St. Paul Bible College full time and graduate the following spring.

I have passed state boards in nursing, with my highest scores—surprisingly--in psych nursing! But I want to work in surgery, where a team cooperates with unity and precision. The scrubbing, gowning, draping, incising, dissecting, suturing…the flick of instruments into the surgeon’s gloved palm, the pull of long strands of suture…I love it all! So, I search newspaper ads and apply for jobs and am finally offered a job at Samaritan Hospital in St. Paul that serves retired railroad workers.

We find an upstairs furnished apartment in an older home a few blocks from the hospital. I unpack and make it cozy. For one semester I labor days 7 to 3:30, try to be efficient and fit into the small surgical team, and be a witness to any unbelievers. Zach studies, writes papers, works part time in construction. Friday nights we watch Sonny and Cher and Laugh-In. On Saturday nights we eat at Mama Rosa’s in the university hippy area of Minneapolis. Life is interesting, rather fun!

Over my long blond hair I tie a bandana, wear gold wire rimmed glasses, bell bottom jeans. As Zachary grows his hair longer, he gets reprimanded by a professor at the Bible college. I feel badly about it…Zach is rather indifferent.

During these months of young married life I have an inspiration. “Why don’t we try to save money toward a summer trip to Europe? We can buy a motorcycle in London, use the Europe on Five Dollars a Day book to travel cheaply, and visit a lot of countries. When we have kids and settle down in missions we won’t be as free—but now we are!”

“That’s a great idea,” Zach exclaimed. “What countries would you want to travel through?”

“Well, France for sure, after England, then Italy, Switzerland, maybe to Israel?”

“Israel’s a long way. We might not have time. I’d like to see Germany, where Grandma and Grandpa Hofer are from.”

We pray, think about it, finally apply for passports, check on flights. We sell our motorcycle in Phoenix, with Dad Smith’s help and buy a 650cc Bonneville motorcycle in London. By June we have saved enough money to take the trip. I am amazed…God has provided!

We fly to London, with stopover at via Reykjavik, Iceland on the way. By the time we arrive I am jetlagged and dazed. Our taxi drives through the quaint streets lined with tall bed and breakfast hotels. In the next few days we see the changing of the guard at Windsor Castle, tour the wax museum with Henry VIII’s wives lined up behind him, Trafalgar Square with pigeons flying around the tall monuments.

Eventually we find the cycle shop in a suburb, managed by a chubby red cheeked man who chain smokes cigarettes. The paperwork takes hours, but finally the 650cc Bonneville is ours, and we roar down the street back to the hotel. In a day or two we decide to head west to Bath where a large music festival is being held. Traffic is slow for miles…when we arrive we find the festival tickets are too expensive! So--leaving Bath we head southwest to Lorna Doone country, between Devon and Somerset. Pushing onward we enter rain and mist, finally reaching Tiverton and Blundell’s School in late afternoon - the place, the very place where the Lorna Doone book begins!

We peer through a tall iron gate at the yellowed stone buildings across wide lawns. R.D. Blackmore published Lorna Doone in 1869, but he described location and characters so well that the historical fiction seemed real to me. But the weather was so cold. As we cycle on through the rain Zach turns his head. “I think we should head back to London now that it’s raining so much. We don’t want to miss the ferry reservation to France.”

“You’re right,” I say into his ear, huddled behind him. Regretfully we wheel around. “Someday, somehow, we’ll return and visit Doone Valley.”

“Sure, another time.”

We board the hydroplane ferry in sight of the chalky white cliffs of Dover, excited to experience France. From Calais we chug through miles of tree lined roads through mist and rain to Paris. Quaint villages, beautiful Paris. We see the the Eiffel Tower, tour the treasures of the Louvre, the rich jewel of Notre Dame, the gleaming Sacre Coeur Basilica I had seen by moonlight years ago. How God has gifted people to create such masterpieces!

After a few days we head south to Spain, determined to find hot beaches where we can relax and warm up. We end up staying north of Barcelona at small hotel in Arenys de Mar, up the street from the beach. I like how the Spanish families stroll up and down the boulevard at sunset, greeting their neighbors. On Sunday families are dressed up to attend church, and we follow some of them into a small service, trying to catch the gist of the message in Spanish.

There are many hippies hitchhiking around Europe that summer of 1970. One night we stroll the beach and sit near a group of them chatting, one strumming a guitar. Some have been drinking, maybe taking drugs? One girl pleads for help, “someone lead me to a bathroom!” A friend helps her…we walk on in the dark soberly.

“Why do people try to enlarge pleasure with drugs?” I wonder to Zachary. “God has so much joy for us. He is Joy!”

“That’s right…they just don’t know Him yet.” he says.

“I want to know better how to tell them.”

Leaving Spain we follow the Riviera coastline past Marseille to Monaco and on to Italy. I've read about the rich artistry of Florence…now I want to see it. And we are not disappointed. Walking through the city thronged with tourists, we stand in line to view Michelangelo’s marble statue of David. When we arrive I am entranced. David looks like he is about to step off his pedestal! He seems alive!

The Ponte Vecchio Bridge over the Arno River is a focal point of the city. We rest on the bridge at the foot of Benvenuto Cellini’s statue one hot afternoon, and I breathe a deep sigh of contentment. “Thank you, Lord. It’s so fulfilling to be here.”

“This place was an epicenter of Europe in the Renaissance,” I tell Zach. “But Savonarola their famous preacher was burned at the stake in the square nearby. Incredible not to give God the glory.”

“Yes, it’s amazing, he agreed. “Such history, architecture, bronze statues….”

Cycling southward to Rome we drive by the hilltop town of Narni, decide to stay there for the night. Narni, like Narnia, I decide, is an enchanted place. (Later I read that C.S. Lewis named the Narnia books after Narni, though he never visited the town.) The old post office at the top of the hill also houses a small hotel. We check in, find a restaurant to eat in, and later climb between thick sheets of linen in our little room, grateful and exhausted. The next morning I gaze out of the window down, down into a deep ravine.

“Look,” I exclaim. “We’re perched on a cliff, and there’s a train winding down the valley!” I watch the train turn through the blue shadows. Later over a sunny breakfast I tell Zach, “Someday we have to come back here.”

After driving down through the vast city of Rome we choose to head south to Lido di Ostia and camp on the beach. For several days we take the train to the city and visit the Vatican and its treasures, the Sistine Chapel, Spanish Steps, the Pantheon, the Roman Forum of ruins, and the Coliseum. I am satiated with beauty and history, staggered by the mark of man in his hard pilgrimage upon earth. And we are running out of time…we only have about two of our six weeks in Europe before we board the flight home.

Packing up from the beach, we ride north to Venice, chug through Austria to Munich, Germany, then southwest through Switzerland, the Alps blazing with glory. I am wearying with the ride and the changing of currencies, but soak in the changing culture, the people. Then westward across France again, the Channel, and up into London.

We arrive saddle sore one night, determined not to spend much money on a hotel. It is late…. we finally climb an iron fence into Hyde Park and spread our sleeping bags under a large tree. We pray for protection, and early the next morning a 'bobby' genially unlocks an iron gate to help us exit the park. Later we find a bed and breakfast hotel and in late morning collapse into bed to catch up on sleep!

Throughout the trip we camped, stayed in youth hostels, but mostly tried to find cheap bed and breakfasts. After munching on rolls and coffee at a hotel we bought bread, cheese, fruit, and a coke for lunch on the road, then found a reasonable restaurant at night. We actually managed to spend just $5 a day, following our faithful guidebook!

With inquiry we find a way to crate and ship the cycle home to New York City. With several days before our flight we wander London’s streets. I observe centuries of living compressed into space with blocks of ordered, blackened buildings. There seems to be entropy, culture slowly decaying. In fact all across Europe cathedrals and churches are resplendent, magnificent, but lacking worshippers.

“Why has Europe kept its quaintness and beauty, but lost its awe of God?” I wonder to Zach. “This imprint of God’s glory is everywhere, but the heart of God’s purpose, the breath of the Holy Spirit has almost left.”

“Maybe they stopped praying, reading their Bibles much, and just got cold,” he suggested.

“God, infuse them with fresh Life!”