We All Need One Another Now and to Come

Last week, I was asked to share a family story in a Relief Society Activity. I was super awkward, red-faced, and stuttering; I am much more comfortable writing than speaking, but everyone was nice, of course. This is the story I told:

I, Emily, was born of goodly parents who were also born of goodly parents, I know this because I am one of the lucky ones to have descended from people who wrote their stories down. I am so grateful because I have leaned on their testimonies and strength throughout my life. I have family stories of ocean crossings, then onto the American plains crossing on my dad’s side, but my mom’s side is a recent pioneer story. Theirs is story of faith and bravery. My Oma and Opa (Grandma and Grandpa in German) joined the church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints as young adults in 1923; they were very active and loved the gospel of Jesus Christ.

My Opa, Anton Larisch was branch president of the Gorlitz branch until 1939 when he was drafted to work in the Junkers aircraft company factory, he was forced to leave his young family behind in Gorlitz. The Lord wouldn’t let the war stop the work, though, and while there, he was called to be a missionary. He served faithfully and successfully to create a branch in Halberstadt, but unfortunately, his missionary efforts were noticed by Nazi sympathizers, and he was soon arrested. He spent 11 days in jail, 5 of them in solitary confinement. He was able to write an eight-page letter to the judge and was released; he wrote in his journal:

“Well, ... my ancient God still lives. He has helped me miraculously, and my accusers crumbled in their lies and deceit.”

Any free moment during his forced “employment” was spent serving and learning; he studied English, French, and Russian and learned about other religions and philosophies “because we have to take the gospel to the nations.” He also prepared hundreds of names for temple work.

 

Every six months, he was promised a short visit to his family in Gorlitz, but many times, when the six months came up, he was not allowed to leave. On the few occasions he was permitted to leave, he made good use of his time, taking care of and enjoying his family.

My Oma Charlotte and my Aunts and Uncle stayed faithful in their little branch in Gorlitz, but sadly, because of pressure from the government, they had to discontinue primary meetings, probably to make them go to the jungvolk program/Hitler Youth. In 1944, the Soviets invaded Eastern Germany, and my uncle, who was 10 years old at the time, recalled,

 “For months prior to our leaving, we saw horses and wagons and people walking in a continuous stream. Our street was like a highway. They were refugees, and we didn’t know where they were coming from. They seemed to be in distress, not knowing where to go, but they were following continuous lines of refugees coming through, being sent by train into different areas. . . . Then all of a sudden, we found ourselves being refugees.”

With the Soviets pushing in, the government told the woman and children to evacuate. Charlotte wrote in her journal, “On a Sunday morning in February, 1945, I gathered some clothes and pots and something to eat and put it in the baby buggy and set Gisela,(my mom) who was almost two years [old] at that time, on top of it and walked with the children to the next town.”

My mom’s brother and sister, who were just kids then, filled their leiterwagon with as much as they could.

I can not fathom the fear and worry my Oma must have felt during this time because my Opa had be arrested again and was in solitary confinement. My Oma wrote,

 “In that time of sorrow and worry, a wonderful thing happened. The six weeks for Anton’s arrest were over, and he was set free. . . . He arrived at Görlitz at noon of the same Sunday that we left in the morning. He got his bicycle out of the cellar and tried to reach us. We did meet in [Löbau]; it was really a miracle because I did not know he was free and on his way to find us. . . . It seemed almost impossible for him to find us because he did not know where we went and there were so many refugees. When we met that day, we knew it was possible only through the help of our Father in Heaven.”

The family was finally together and able to stay in Halberstadt. They survived the air raids, and when the American tanks rolled in, my Opa, who had learned English, went right up to them to find out if any were members of the church. They weren’t, but they were kind and gave them a lamb.

I live in a time of relative peace here in the United States; I am not raising my children alone because my husband has been arrested on false charges and thrown in prison; I am not fleeing my home with only what I can carry with small children not knowing where to go or if I'll ever see my husband again, no I live a simple life. I imagine my Oma and Opa thought they lived a simple life before the Nazis took power; I imagine they thought, 'If I just keep living the gospel, doing what's right, live my simple life, everything will be ok,' and they were not wrong. Even though their life got turned upside down, everything did, in fact, turn out ok. 

I love that they wrote this story down. I am strengthened and inspired by it. Although, wouldn't it have been interesting to know the thoughts, worries, and day-to-day stuff that led up to the drama? What about their love story, what about their excitement for the birth of each of their six children, what about the lessons they learned along the way. I am not trying to criticize; I am only saying this to say that our lives might seem simple, boring even but we are still learning things and growing, and maybe one of our descendants will be struggling with something in particular and feel inspired or in the very least will feel camaraderie and connection through our story. So get a journal or a blog (however out of style this might be) and write your stories, your worries, your lessons learning and learned. We all need one another now and to come.