Community happens in different places and spaces. It happens in a small group at church whether that’s your community group, your worship team, your children’s serve team or another group where you have shared experiences. It happens in your expat group when you live overseas. It happens with your neighbors here or abroad. It happens with the moms of your friends. Because after all, who knows better than they do how challenging parenting can be? It happens in all kinds of groups. The thing about community, whether it is with a group of Jesus followers at your church, or your neighbors next door, or your team at your office, clearly, just the group itself does not“community” make. Community happens when we invest in that group on a deeper level than that which is rendered by humdrum greetings and superficial engagements. Spiritual growth quite naturally is born out of real community. When you have authentic community resulting from personal investment which includes personal disclosure and quality time spent together, spiritual growth is inherent. It is inevitable. You can’t really stop it from happening. In fact, I would go so far as to say, that in the same way a lack of engagement in the Word, or an on and off prayer life, can stymie spiritual growth, so can a lack of true community.
So how does community grow us spiritually? How does it make us better friends, spouses, parents, employees, or ministry leaders? How does community compel us to be more loving agents of the Gospel? Well, when you engage with people in your home, or over a meal, or at their child’s T-ball game, or in most any place that is away from the church pews, it transforms you from a spectator to a player-from a consumer to a producer. Community is one way we express our faith in action. It means doing life with people outside of your immediate family. We are a military family, now retired. In that business, we moved a handful of times. That did not stop us from forming the kind of community in our lives that propped us up emotionally and spiritually. Indeed, that career demanded it. In those years of frequent transition and change, we formed communities literally home and abroad that helped sustain our marriage and our family life. Those communities were composed of diverse and fascinating people. Undoubtedly some of them were very similar to us in every way, but many of them were very different-different in ethnicity, politics, and religion. In fact, the four years we lived in Germany, we were never able to come home for Thanksgiving, so we exploited that opportunity to share our holiday celebrations with our neighbors who included German, Dutch, French, Canadian, and American. As we gazed around that table of God given bounty, and not just food, but the bounty of fellowship, with our own children serving our invited guests, I was reminded of the parable of the wedding banquet in Luke 14. The prep for that banquet began with an expectation of guests who looked a lot like Jesus but ended up being just the opposite. As we shared food and fellowship around our own banquet table in our small village in Germany, it was overwhelming to think about how God blessed us with such camaraderie and hope as we had found in the most unlikely of friends. Language barriers be damned. And that is just the thing about true community. It strives to erase those barriers. And not just language barriers, but cultural and social barriers. Community is often a real-life picture of Ephesians 2 which says “For he himself is our peace, who has made the two groups one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility, by setting aside in his flesh the law with its commands and regulations. His purpose was to create in himself one new humanity out of the two, thus making peace, and in one body to reconcile both of them to God through the cross, by which he put to death their hostility.”
Community also helped us survive those tough years of being newly married. I often tell people that Paul and I “grew up together” as young single adults and forward, in church small groups. Community gave us hope and encouragement when raising babies from infancy to young adult. Recently we went to a wedding for a daughter of one of those “old” friends. As well as a wedding, it was also a small reunion of our old life group, the one that started us on our way with babies, the one that propped us up emotionally and gave us the confidence necessary to handle that ginormous task of parenting. And at every season of parenting, I have relied on my community of sweet and loving mom friends who have the courage to hold me accountable while at the same time loving me unconditionally.
Truly, the world inflicts much deeper wounds than what our skill set alone is able to reconcile. We were simply never hardwired to power through life on an island, single handedly fighting our way through the trials and hardships that life abundantly supplies. Likewise, we were not hardwired to revel in our joys alone. What parent ever said, “I hope no one asks me about my daughter’s latest accomplishments?” Said no parent ever! What person ever said” “I am keeping the news about my big promotion all to myself?” Not one person ever! Community invites us into a place of utter refuge, a place of hope, a place of unspeakable joy, a place where DNA isn’t required and where-thank you Jesus-the every-day, unrelenting evil of this world cannot breech the threshold of those who surround us with such deep and abiding love and acceptance. In Zephaniah 3:9 the Lord said, “Then I will purify the lips of the peoples, that all of them may call on the name of the Lordand serve him shoulder to shoulder.”Is that not one of the most beautiful pictures of community you have ever seen in the written Word? Just imagine a group of people who do life together shoulder to shoulderso much so that when the going gets tough, the tough can still get going.
Paul the apostle understood the value and necessity of community as well as anyone. His tearful separation from the Ephesian elders at the close of Acts 20 is underscored by Luke’s words in Verse 1 of the following chapter, “After we had torn ourselves away from them, we put out to sea.” This preempted their arrival and layover in Tyre where the bible says, “We sought out the disciples there and stayed with them seven days. Through the Spirit they urged Paul not to go on to Jerusalem. When it was time to leave, we left and continued on our way. All of them, including wives and children, accompanied us out of the city, and there on the beach we knelt to pray. After saying goodbye to each other, we went aboard the ship, and they returned home.” Wow. That’s some serious community.
If you are someone who is “community-less,” ask yourself a couple of introspective questions: 1) Am I a person who walks in and out of the spaces and places of my life, including my church, without interacting with anyone or without investing any of myself, my gifts, or my time in that place? OR 2) Am I so hungry for community that I am over-involved in so many “small groups” that I have not the time or energy necessary to invest in one or two of those groups on a personal, deep level?” Both of these situations can render you community-less. Because remember what we said earlier: “Community happens when we invest in that group on a deeper level than what is rendered by humdrum greetings and superficial engagements;” and it requires“personal disclosure and quality time spent together.” Neither of these two aforementioned situations (under involvement or over involvement) allow for this.
In his poem penned in the 16thcentury John Donne said, “No man is an island, entire of itself.” I think Donne was so so right. You might say, I cannot afford either the time or the emotional investment of community.” I say, “you cannot afford the loss that is sure to happen without it.” I don’t think human life can sustain itself without community.
And as a final important thought, if you are a parent, the last thing you want to do is to send your kids out into this chaotic, cruel world community-less. Kids who have never had community modeled for them, or who have never lived their lives this way, often become church casualties. If they have spent their whole lives leading up to college surrounded only by their immediate family, even if that included “regular” church attendance, will they know how to form the kinds of relationships away from home that love them so much they are willing to hold them accountable, and to laugh with them when they laugh, and cry with them when they cry? Relationships that steer them toward God, not away? I fear not. We must have a sense of urgency when it comes to equipping our kids to embrace true community.
Whether you are an introvert or an extrovert, it does not matter. I’m more introvert than extrovert. I tend to recharge alone-not together. I often seek out solitude when my life is in overdrive. But undoubtedly, I enthusiastically seek out God given, and God ordained community when I need hope, help and truth; conviction, love and joy!
So here is Part 2 of Ireland. So much of this country to see, and I have only just tipped the iceberg. My daughter and I had just 13 days. I operate under a certain rule when I travel. I never try to bite off more than I can chew so to speak. If I do, I fear that I lose the allure and the discoveries that are waiting for me every place I go. There were plenty of travel itineraries available on the internet suggesting tours that circle the entire country in 13 days time. The entire country in 13 days! How would you possibly see one solitary place in its entire measure when traveling 32000 square miles in only 13 days? I believe you have to be wise about your time, not allocating so many of your precious few hours to the transportation alone that is surely required to get from one city to another. This alone robs you of the joy of just being in one place long enough to really get a feel for its history, the stories, and the people who call it home. So we did not venture North at all. We chose to explore the southern route of Ireland on our first visit for the better part of 8 days, culminating in only 4 1/2 days in Dublin, the capital city of the Republic of Ireland.
In Dublin, we stayed at The Inn on the Liffey, (The Liffey is the river that flows through the centre of Dublin). I would highly recommend this wonderful place in the winter. The summer made it quite a difficult location because it was very noisy on the sidewalks below and the busy street. Our room was situated directly above that street. Moreover, since there is no air conditioning, and no fans were provided, (I asked), one has to keep the windows open in the summer or one will overheat very quickly. This means the noise can seriously hamper one’s sleep. I suspect this could be entirely different in the winter, since you will ostensibly have the window closed without the concern of overheating. Otherwise, the breakfast is terrific, and the desk is 24/7. Security was great and everyone super friendly. And the location was truly fabulous.
We took an inexpensive uber taxi from the airport to our inn after turning in that vexing rental car. Normal Uber service is not available in Dublin. They have traditional taxis or the “Uber Taxi.” We did the latter on two occasions, using the Uber app, one arriving at our hotel, and the other leaving our hotel, and was quite satisfied with the service. The inn staff also offered to telephone a taxi on our behalf, and I thought that was quite nice.
Our first evening we walked over to Temple Street for a quick look around and a bite to eat. It is the home of the famed Temple Bar and the area itself is teaming with tourists and locals alike. There is plenty of cobblestone streets in the area to satisfy your inner romantic wayfarer. It is a colorful and eclectic area packed with good food, live music, and interestingly (at least in the summer) beautiful flowers which adorn the roof edges of the buildings.
Day 2: We fell asleep (finally) anxious for our first full day in Dublin. After a lovely breakfast in a fully sun lit breakfast room, Katie and I set out for our first spot on our self-made itinerary. The Book of Kells is located inside the insanely beautiful library at Trinity College. We purchased our tour for the Book of Kells online when planning our trip months ahead, which I highly recommend doing. But the campus tour must be purchased just across the courtyard from the Book of Kells Library on the day you would like to tour. This was easy even in July. We did so as soon as we finished our tour of the library. And the campus tour is a nice accompaniment to the library tour. The Book of Kells is a famed exhibit, a copy of the four gospels in Latin which was written around 800 AD. It is also accompanied by two pocket gospels. The library itself is very “Harry Potterish,” (sorry for the trite description but so true), and is simply gorgeous inside.
After refueling ourselves with nourishment and coffee (always), we decided to take on Dublin Christ Church Cathedral and the adjoining Dublinia Museum in the afternoon. Christ Church Cathedral is Dublin’s oldest building and also a place of pilgrimage for nearly 1000 years. It is home to a 12th century crypt one of the oldest and largest in Britain and Ireland. The cathedral was founded in 1030 by a Norse King of Dublin by name of Sitriuc. It became part of the Irish Church in 1152 and was later led by the patron saint of Dublin, Laurence O’Toole. We took the tour, including the bell tower and were so pleased to have done so! It’s a very informative tour that takes you through the cathedral which is very beautiful, and then you go up 84 very tiny curved steps in a narrow passage to the bell tower, inside a room where all the bell ropes are located. We were allowed to ring one of three bells.
The museum focuses on the Viking and Medieval history of the city. It is located in a part of the Christ Church Cathedral known as the Synod hall. The two are connected by a really cool Medieval corridor. We thoroughly enjoyed the Dublinia because it covered the Viking origins of the city, their culture and character; then the Medieval era of the city which included the era of the Black Plague, a disease that ravished all of Europe killing 30% of the entire population in less than two years. In Dublin alone, from July 1348 to Christmas of that same year, 14000 people died from this plague. Before leaving Dublinia, don’t forget to climb St. Michael’s Tower, an original medieval tower. It is a 96 step climb to the top, where you can see spectacular views of the city.
Day 3: Kilmainham Gaol (prison) opened in 1796 as the new County Gaol for Dublin. It closed its doors for good in 1924. Our tour of this place was off the chart. The youngest prisoner held here was a boy of 5 years old, held for 48 hours for begging. Another of my favorite, but very sad stories: (There are hundreds) James Connolly and Patrick Pearse were the leaders of the Easter Uprising of April 24, 1916, the Monday after Easter, The Irish patriots held out for about a week. This as WWI raged on about them as well. Seven leaders of the rising proclaimed an Irish Republic. All seven of the signers were executed along with eight others, including Connolly and Pearse. Another one was Joseph Plunkett who married his wife, Grace Gifford Plunkett, in the prison and had 10 minutes with her under guard prior to his execution. They simply sat silently together the entire 10 minutes. Though the rebels surrendered and 14 (according to our tour guide) of their leaders were executed, the 1916 Rising had a huge effect. It became the first stage in a war of independence from Great Britain that resulted in the creation of the Irish Free State in 1922 and, ultimately, the formal declaration of an Irish Republic in 1949. Tip: We definitely needed a lot more time here. We arranged our time adequately for touring the prison itself, but allowed no extra time for the extensive museum floors attached to the prison or the nearby Royal Hospital Kilmainham. I would most assuredly devote a whole day to this area of Dublin which is just a short bus ride from Dublin Center.
Nonetheless, upon returning to Dublin Centre, we made our way a lovely little restaurant called “Bite of Life,” a delicious and quaint cafe a mere 2 minute walk from our next destination: St. Patrick’s Cathedral. I had the Brie, Ham, and Cranberry Sauce Sandwich with a cucumber and carrot salad, both which left my taste buds fully satisfied. We were ready for St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
This cathedral dates from 1220 to the present. It has taken many hits over the years by various kings, but sustained its elegance nevertheless. On the day we were there a choir from Minneapolis was performing and their voices and the acoustics in the cathedral were splendid. Also Jonathon Swift, author of Gulliver’s Travels) was the Dean of the church from 1713 until his death in 1745. His is a grand exhibit in this cathedral. There is also an excellent park adjacent to the cathedral for catching some Z’s or just some downtime on a clear, warm day.
Dublin Castle. This is really Dublin Palace. But its origins are a castle fortification from the Viking Ages, with a castle being built here by King John of England in 1204. Most of the medieval castle is gone except for the one remaining tower and foundation ruins. In the 18th century, a palace was built in its place. “From 1204 until 1922 it was the seat of English, and later British rule in Ireland. During that time, it served principally as a residence for the British monarch’s Irish representative, the Viceroy of Ireland, and as a ceremonial and administrative centre. The Castle was originally developed as a medieval fortress under the orders of King John of England. It had four corner towers linked by high curtain walls and was built around a large central enclosure. Constructed on elevated ground once occupied by an earlier Viking settlement, the old Castle stood approximately on the site of the present Upper Castle Yard. It remained largely intact until April 1684, when a major fire caused severe damage to much of the building. Despite the extent of the fire, parts of the medieval and Viking structures survived and can still be explored by visitors today.” Source: Dublin Castle.ie You know, some people wonder “Judy don’t you ever tire of cathedrals and castles and cobblestone?” Nope! Do the guided tour because otherwise you will not see the Viking settlement ruins under the castle. And furthermore, literally we stood over the Poddle River (that indeed flows into the River Liffey) which used to run all above ground, but diverted years ago for fortification purposes.
Day 4: St Michans Church. St Michans Church was largely rebuilt in 1686 on the site of an 11th century Hiberno-Viking church, the façade of this church hides a more gloomy interior. Down in its vaults lie a slew bodies that have barely decomposed because of the dry atmosphere created by the church’s magnesian limestone walls. Their wooden caskets, however, have cracked open. Inside are the preserved bodies, complete with skin and strands of hair and fingernails. I’m not posting pics of the actual corpses because our guide asked us not to. This place was fascinating!! Source: @ Dublin, Ireland Our guide was wonderful. Just show up when they open. You do not need to buy your tickets ahead of time. This is one of those hidden gems.
After a perfectly creepy, but fascinating time in the St. Michan’s crypts, we moved onto The Dublin Writer’s museum. So being that Katie and I are both writers, when we started planning our trip to Dublin, it was with pleasant surprise we discovered what a historical literary giant this place is. What an added bonus. This museum occupies an original 18th-century house, with original ceilings and woodwork, the whole shebang. Swift and Sheridan, Shaw, Yeats, Joyce and Beckett, and Bram Stoker are among those presented through their books, letters, portraits and personal items. Original publications of classics like James Joyce’s Ulysses, Jonathon Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, Yeats poetry, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Oscar Wilde’s plays, and the list goes on. What a big check mark on our bucket list. Afterwards, we took a trip to the National Library of Ireland and walked through a fascinating and insightful exhibit all about the life of William Butler Yeats.
Day 5: On our final full day we headed straight for the Chester Beatty Library. This place is a fantastic collection of ancient text and scripture and books; maps; chronicles; devotionals; and the list goes on. Make sure you have at least 2 or 3 hours to spend here. It is packed with some of the oldest known copies of parts of the bible, including letters of Paul the Apostle from the New Testament, not to mention ancient copies of the Torah, from the Old Testament. It is free to the public. They just ask for a 5 euro donation, but you’ll want to give more probably. Beatty was actually an American. He received his mining engineering degree from Columbia University and worked his way up to being a mining magnate, consultant and expert in CO. His wife died after only 11 years of marriage, and he moved to London where he started his own consulting business. He remarried and was an avid collector. He began to amass a huge amount of ancient literature, including some of the oldest known copies in existence of the Pauline epistles of the bible. So take your time going though this. Also he collected ancient texts, scrolls and literature from other religions besides Christianity and as well books from all genres spanning literally 1000s of years. Around 1950 he moved to Dublin. Upon Beatty’s death in 1968, the collection was bequeathed to a trust for the benefit of the public. His priceless collection lives on as a celebration of the spirit and generosity of Chester Beatty. I was very excited we were allowed to take pics, minus the flash. So rest assured, I didn’t break any rules.
You might be wondering with all of these touristy sites and historical venues we visit, do we ever shop or meander? The answer is, “Yes, a little bit and a lot.” We certainly did find ourselves over at St. Stephen’s Green for shopping and all of that. But I guess it is true that shopping is never high on our itinerary. We also had a delicious “fancy” dinner one night at FX Buckley’s. But as for the meandering, one of my favorite things to do when I travel is write letters and post cards to friends and family at breakfast. I love the whole sharing aspect of travel. I have no intention of keeping it all to myself. And all in all, we try to take time to drink coffee slowly, window shop and cafe sit while people watching, along with all the crazy incredible sites we want to see. And of course it is never enough time, but then again, that always keeps you coming back for more.
So when my youngest daughter, Katie Ann, requested Ireland for her high school mom/daughter senior trip, I was pretty quick to say “Yes.” Ireland had long been on my travel bucket list, and in the four years that our family had lived in Germany, somehow, we had not made it to Ireland, even though we were prolific travelers during that time. So off Katie and I went to this new place we had only seen in pictures up to this point. And the new place did not disappoint.
We landed in Dublin and immediately rented a car. Why? Because I have always wanted to drive a stick shift from the right seat while shifting with my left hand and driving on the left side of the road. (Just kidding!) No, really, we did it because for the first 8 days of our trip, we were heading south through the Wicklow mountains, into Kilkenny, onto Kinsale, and then along the southern coast to the Ring of Kerry and the Dingle Peninsula before heading North to the Cliffs of Mohr, and finally ending up back in Dublin where we happily (ecstatically) turned in our rental car and spent the last 4 days in this beautiful city as pedestrians. That is a different Travel Blog entry. Part 2 you might say.
Renting a car is a must if you are planning an extended trip and drive around the country side. Sure there are great bus tours you can do, and if you are staying in Dublin or Shanon or Belfast and just taking day trips, then I think this is an excellent option. But if you are leaving the city for a significant amount of time, then driving allows you an excellent vantage point for taking in this breathtaking scenery, for making impromptu stops, and to just be leisurely along the way. Yeah, we were often driving around with the old “deer in the headlights look,” but we did it. You can too. I would highly recommend, if it is your very first time to drive on the wrong side of the road, (oops I meant the left side of the road), that you do it with someone in the passenger seat. Katie Ann was indisputably the best navigator ever. And she was extremely helpful with her constant motto: “Left side mama, left side mama!” Yeap, this was a crucial reminder. I rented online with Hertz from my kitchen table in Houston and paid about 257 US dollars for nearly 8 days of rental. But all the usual suspects in car rental agencies operate in Dublin.
Driving in Ireland:
Glendalough, or the Glen of two Lakes, is one of the most important sites of monastic ruins in Ireland. St. Kevin, an Irish Saint, built a monastery here in this glen in the 6th century. It’s in the middle of the Wicklow Mountains. Once you leave Dublin Airport in your nifty little compact rental car, the mountains and Gleandalough are just a short drive away. Be on guard. Glendalough is very touristy. It was definitely one of the most crowded places we visited. But even though, don’t miss it.
Wicklow Mountains and Glendalough
After Glendalough, we continued South to Kilkenney where we spent our first night at JB’s Bar and Guest House. And guess what? JB had a oscillating fan ALREADY in our room. You have to love that. Don’t expect AC in many places you stay. It is few and far between, and we visited in one of the hottest weeks of a summer on record in Ireland. JB’s is located on the main drag in Kilkenny and we parked for free just across the street. We visited Kilkenny castle while here. After breakfast at a nearby cafe, we set out for Kinsale with stops at Jerpoint Abbey and Cahir Castle, just because we could. The benefits of traveling in a rental car. Kilkenny Castle is a castle first built in 1195 to control a fording-point of the River Nore and the junction of several routeways. Jerpoint Abbey is a ruined Cistercian abbey, founded in the second half of the 12th century. The abbey is pleasantly quiet and free of crowds, but yet so mystic and enchanting.
Kilkenny Castle and Jerpoint Abbey:
Cahir Castle is situated on an island in the River Suir. It was built from 1142 by Conor O’Brien, Prince of Thomond. The castle is well preserved and has a guided tour and audiovisual shows in multiple languages. We were satisfied with the self guided tour.
After our short stopover at Cahir, we set out for our evening destination of Kinsale, Co Cork, Ireland, but actually stayed at a lovely BNB called The Blue Horizon in nearby Garrettstown. The two best things about the Blue Horizon were the views and the breakfast. And alas, one old but working oscillating fan.
Things we loved about Kinsale and Garrettstown:
History: On May 7, 1915 about 11 miles off the Old Head of Kinsale ( which is just down the road from our B&B in Garretstown) the Lusitania crossed paths with the German submarine U-20. The commanding officer Walther Schwieger gave the orders and a single torpedo was on its way. It struck on the starboard bow, alongside one of the cargo holds and moments later a second explosion erupted from within the hull. The ship began to list steeply and within 18 minutes the Lusitania was gone. Of the 1960 on board only 767 survived, and four of whom died over the following months. The survivors were mostly taken from the water by merchant mariners (fisherman) from the harbor of Queenstown (Now it is Cobh-pronounced Cove) The link between this harbor with the Titanic is also an irony. The Titanic also made its last port of call here at Queenstown (Cobh) in April 1912 just days before it hit an iceberg and sank in the Atlantic en route to NYC. But back to the Lusitania, here is a shout out and plug to Erik Larsen’s book “Dead Wake: The Last Crossing of the Lusitania:” There are lots of books out there on the Lusitania but this was a great one. It was such an honor for me and Katie Ann to be able to visit the very places that mark this tragedy in history. And it is good for us to honor the lost. We live in such times of peace, comparatively. In some ways, they died for our freedom in that war, in the same way that the soldiers did on the actual battlefield.
Also the town of Kinsale is adorable and colorful and the marina is lovely. Parking was super easy and cheap on the outskirt of the center of town.
Fort Charles is a must see if you are a history buff like us, and if you aren’t, that’s okay because the views alone are fantastic. This was just minutes away from our Blue Horizon BnB in Garrettstown. Had we more time, we would’ve laid a blanket down and taken a nap on the grounds. Seriously, beautiful views and so peaceful. And the history is incredible. “This star-shaped military fortress was constructed between 1677 and 1682, during the reign of King Charles II, to protect the town and harbour of Kinsale in County Cork. William Robinson, architect of the Royal Hospital in Kilmainham Dublin, and Superintendent of Fortifications, is credited with designing the fort. As one of the largest military forts in the country, Charles Fort has been associated with some of the most momentous events in Irish history. These include the Williamite War in 1690 and the Irish Civil War of 1922-23. Charles Fort remained garrisoned by the British army until 1922.” Source: Discoverireland.ie
So off we went after two beautiful days visiting Garrettstown and Kinsale and Cobh, we headed along the coast and a little North to the very touristy Blarney Castle in Cork. We. just. had. to. We bought our tickets ahead of time online, but you don’t have to. And we were smack dab at the end of June, a busy travel season. Blarney was built nearly 600 years ago by a famous Irish Chiefton, Cormac MacCarthy. Blarney is an odd castle in that, touring the castle and kissing the famous Blarney stone is all the same queue. You do not have to kiss the stone, you can walk on by, but it is not two separate attractions. The line goes pretty fast. We were there in June. I can imagine it is even faster in the off season. But you know what the true show stopper is at Blarney castle that makes the visit worth it, are the gardens. They are some of the most spectacular castle gardens I have ever seen. Truly engaging and beautiful. Also the Blarney House, a Scottish baronial-style mansion, was built on the grounds in 1874, is also open to the public. We just missed its opening time. So check the hours of operation for that ahead of time. Plan on a full morning or afternoon at Blarney. But if you bring a picnic basket, maybe longer.
Next, destination Killarney, County Kerry, Ireland. Think Ring of Kerry. Here we opted for a good old fashioned Holiday Inn, but guess what? No AC as we had hoped for. But they did produce at my request, the tiniest oscillating fan I had ever seen in my life. Truly amazing that it had not been put in the Guinness Book of World Records. Truly. Our first stop: Muckross House and Gardens. We did the guided tour, this being the only way to see the mansion. Built in 1843. First lived in by Henry Herbert and his wife Mary Balfour Herbert. They entertained Queen Victoria here but ended up bankrupt and and sold the estate. The new owner was Arthur Guinness (of the Guinness brewery family) and he rented it out to wealthy groups as a hunting lodge. In August 1911, not long before WWI, the house was bought by a wealthy Californian mining magnate William Bourn. He and his wife gave it to their only child Maud as a wedding present since she married an Irishman. They had two children. Maud died an early death in 1929 and her parents subsequently presented the house and its 11000 acres estate to the Irish nation. The grounds are beautiful and the Lake you see is one of the three Lakes of Killarney, Muckross Lake. Beautiful. Something I would plan for here if I had to do it all over again, is to swim in the lakes. We did not plan for this and were neither parked or dressed accordingly. We did however, splurge on a horse and carriage ride to the lakes and the waterfall just before we had to hustle back through the main gates by closing time.
So after checking in to our very American Holiday Inn in Killarney, we ate a slow dinner and caught our breaths. The next morning we set out for the “Ring.” I would say that the beauty of rural Ireland never ceased to amaze us. We drove the whole approsimately 110 miles around the Ring of Kerry, making many stops and taking in incredibly wonderful, simply divine views. Along the Ring of Kerry we meandered Skellig Island, driving around the Skellig Ring, and walked Kenmare City. We had to cross over on the 10 minute car ferry from Cahersiveen to Skelllig Island where we took a somewhat treacherous drive to the Lighthouse in Valentia Island.
The Cliffs of Kerry
Our last and final sleepover along the southern coast of Ireland, the Dingle Peninsula. We opted for two nights at the Broigin Bed & Breakfast just a stone’s throw from Dingle Town proper, but far enough if you don’t have a rental car, you might want to consider staying right in town. On the other hand, I wouldn’t opt to travel all the way to the Dingle Peninsula without a rental car. Broigin BnB was lovely and our host, Anne, did a custom breakfast with piping hot coffee every morning at exactly the time we requested. Anne was wonderful. Very hospitable. She was also great with advice for your itinerary and helpful with directions.
As soon as we checked in and digested all of Anne’s advice we shot out for the Slea Head Drive which makes a loop, starting and ending in Dingle. There are many places to stop along the way. One of them was an abandoned farm from the potato famine that occurred in Ireland in 1845–49 when the potato crop failed in successive years. There were also monastic beehive huts speckled around Dingle which have their origins dating from thousands of years ago; beaches beaches beaches and for us, everywhere sunshine! Bring on the Slea Head Drive.
In the afternoon, we decided to do the other loop in Dingle, which we now look back on as so memorable both in a wonderful and frightening way. Wonderful, because the views and the drive were fantastic. Frightening, becasue one time driving through the Conor Pass is enough to last me a lifetime.
“The Conor Pass, which runs from Dingle on the southern end of the peninsula towards Brandon Bay and Castlegregory in the North, in County Kerry, is one of the highest mountain pass in Ireland, at an elevation of 410 m above the sea level. Conor Pass is situated in the Dingle Peninsula and offers to drivers the breathtaking, cliff hanging experience of navigating through Ireland’s highest mountain pass, in a road tight and precarious, weaving its way around the sharp cliff faces. The views from the road are breathtaking, as the glaciated landscape of mountains and corrie lakes comes into view. From Dingle Town the road runs some 4½ miles rising to 1500 ft as it winds its way to the pass.” Source: Roads.org
Along the way back to Dingle, we found the perfect beach for swimming, relaxing and enjoying the Atlantic on a warm day. Fermoyle Strand Beach:
The next morning after our breakfast at Broigin, we arrived at he Dingle harbor for our Blasket Island tour. We were taken to these iconic islands by our boat captain, Billy from the Dingle Bay Speed Boat Tours & Great Blasket Island Experience. In the 1920s and 1930s the Blasket Island resident writers produced books which are deemed classics in the world of literature. They wrote of island people living on the very edge of Europe, and brought to life the topography, and life and times of their Island. They wrote all of their stories in the Irish language. Sadly, the Blasket Island community declined as a result of the persistent emigration of its young people, until eventually the Island was abandoned in 1953 when only 22 inhabitants remained Those who immigrated largely settled in Springfield MA and a few in Butte MO. We also saw seals, lots of different birds including Puffins. And one lone dolphin who is the resident dolphin in the Dingle Harbor.
After checking out of the lovely Broigin BnB, we left the beautiful Kerry Region of Ireland by way of the Shannon Ferry in Kilrush, which took us to the Shannon Region of Ireland and the Cliffs of Moher. We lingered there only a little while before heading to Dublin and turning in that rental car. As sad as I might have been to depart the Irish countryside, I was never so happy in my life to turn in a rental car! This wrapped up a glorious 8 days of travel, not soon to be forgotten by two little Texans.
Cliffs of Moher
All in all what a jaw dropping place to visit. Entry costs at tourist sites were so inexpensive, and if you are traveling with a student, you can buy the OPW Heritage Card for 10$ for entry into all sites labeled “Heritage Sites.” Now feel free to ask me questions if you have them. That’s part of the package. And stay tuned for part 2, “Dublin: A Travel Blog.”
On the subject of fear, we all have it, but is it phobos, or is it a yare’? It makes a difference.
Phobos is the original greek word for the fear found in 1 John 4:18. which says “There is no fear (phobos) in love. But perfect love drives out fear (phobos), because fear (phobos) has to do with punishment. The one who fears, (who has phobos,) is not make perfect in love.” This fear we all know and recognize. This greek word is defined as terror or alarm, and the part I find the most eye-opening: withdrawing or fleeing for feeling inadequate, or to avoid because of dead fright. Phobos.
In 2 Timothy 1:7 We are told clearly that “God did not give us a spirit of fear (deilia) but one of power, love, and self-discipline.” The original word used here for fear is deilia which means timidity or cowardice. Ouch. Both deilia and phobos are the types of fear that control us, keep us sidetracked; off-center, out of balance; preoccupied; and therefore….unhappy and disgruntled with the world and the people around us. Do you see any connections?
On the other hand yare’, a wholly different kind of fear found in Deuteronomy 10:12 seems to be one that drives us forward; motivates us; spurs us on to do the right thing; to embrace healthy risk, Hope, and goodness: “And now, O Israel, what does the LORD your God ask of you but to fear (yare’)the LORD your God, to walk in all his ways, to love him, to serve the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul, and decrees that I am giving you today for your own good?”
The first, phobos, is the one that most all of us fall victim to-I don’t care what religion you profess, even no religion at all. We all fall victim to phobos. I mean these are the original Greek and Hebrew definitions for two distinctly different types of fears, particularly as they are used in this context, and the ancient writers of scripture apparently found them useful in making sure their readers understood the types of behavior characteristic of both phobos and yare’.
Phobos vs. Yare‘
I just finished a 15 day overseas trip with my youngest daughter Katie. The tradition started when my oldest daughter Shelby graduated from high school and requested a “mom and daughter” trip. She chose England. My middle daughter chose France and Katie chose Ireland. What does this all have to do with phobos you ask?
Well, a lot really.
I think I am guilty as charged of posting a plethora of pictures when traveling, perhaps presenting the idea that “this is all so carefree and easy.” Tripping across the ocean alone with my child, renting a car and driving on the left (the wrong) side of the road; negotiating foreign lands, cultures, ferries, boats, planes, uncharted territories and situations. I often feel overwhelmed with the responsibility of being the sole caretake for my girl-protecting her from harm’s way were it indeed to come our way. I pour over the details in pre-planning stages, then when we are in the eye of the storm, I reexamine, every. single. night. our itinerary for the next day. Truth. I sometimes lose sleep (not just from jet lag) and have a lot of anxiety.
That is when I realize that the phobos of 1 John 4:18 is taking hold of me, and I need to tell it to stand down. Because the almighty God is the house. I know this specifically because 1 Corinthians 3:16 is explicit about where the Almighty dwells….in me. I am the house.
When I trade phobos in for yare’, He moves into first place, and my phobos is suppressed by the only thing it can be, yare’.Yare’ is phobos’ greatest enemy. Yeah we need to name our fear.
Life is full of bumps in the road, to put it mildly right? Death, murder, loss, bad diagnosis, betrayal, disappointment, depression, and that is just the tip of the iceberg. There are plenty of opportunities for us to be 100% consumed by a phobos kind of fear. Yes! But we have 100% reason to not be either. We have all the more reason to be covered with a yare’ kind of fear.
If you were to take a poll of 100 people and asked them which emotion consumes them the most. Which one takes up residence in their hearts and minds, I think phobos would be the clear winner. Yes, it wins over all of them: jealousy, anger, hurt, sadness, joy, disgust…because I believe phobos is at the root of all of these emotions. I belive that phobos is the common denominator among all of our negative emotions. Just as yare‘ is perhaps the common denominator among all of our positive emotions.
Fear (phobos) of inferiority or insignificance can cause jealousy.
Fear (phobos) of commitment can cause loneliness.
Fear (phobos) of loss can cause depression .
Fear (phobos) of failure can cause timidity.
Fear (phobos) of the darkness can cause hopelessness.
On the other hand,
Fear (yare’) of God, can lead to understanding.
Fear (yare’) of God can lead to wisdom.
Fear (yare’) of God can lead to Hope.
Fear (yare’) of God can lead to Joy.
So what can we do about phobos? Capture every single thought that is riddled with phobos and trample it into a million fragments under your feet into nothingness. Every thought or pretention that sets itself up as truth-but yet it is not-let it disintegrate into the same darkness from which it came. (2 corinthians 10:5) If you need to, write your phobos on a piece of paper, and rip the paper to shreds. It is a thought, a contention, a fear- a phobos- whose only purpose is to separate you from your God, from yare’.
Yare’ advances us. Phobos puts us into retreat. Yare’ puts phobos in its place. Yare’ tells phobos in no uncertain terms to stand down. My God is in the house.
Today I found myself sitting in an airport with time on my hands. This time it’s Little Rock, AR. When I have time on my hands, I tend to find things to do. Rest is way overrated when you are a Type A such as I am. Good or bad, I have long since quit apologizing for that, and instead just rest in the way that I believe God has wired me. And so it is, that on this one day before the anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing of April 19, 1995 I remain irrepressibly thankful. Irrepressibly hopeful, and irrepressibly overwhelmed by the goodness that relentlessly remains in our world in spite of all that we see and know is NOT good. Tomorrow is indeed the 23rd anniversary of this tragedy. The 23rd anniversary of the loss of 5 of my best friends and multiple of my close friends and colleagues whose offices were adjacent to mine, whose lives intersected with mine with indescribable magnitude.
I don’t ever forget.
But the way that I remember, now that is always different.
For you perhaps, you would see no connection between these two things. The seemingly mundane things of daily life that bring to my mind those I loved and lost tragically in 1995. But for me, it is as plain as the words on a page. And the reminders are both joyful and sad. This makes sense since recollections of my friends are both joyful and sad. Joyful at the remembrance of us being so close and doing our jobs and our lives together. Family not tied do DNA. Sad at the remembrance of the huge hole left in my heart at their sudden departure.
As I sat in the airport I thought of the last couple days spent with my aged mother-in-law, who is struggling with her health. I am infinitely thankful for my husband’s siblings, who in spite of their differences, stand together as a family on what is important. As I began rifling through my email and texts, I exchanged the following communications. Both my niece and my sister are celebrating the new life of a first child and grandchild respectively, two sweet and beautifully innocent, baby boys. Oh the joy! My niece, an educator in a very low income, suburbia area of Houston, asked if my husband, a commercial airline pilot, would be interested in speaking into the lives of her sweet (and very marginalized) students on their career day. My daughter texted me with the glum news that a health issue she has been struggling with has reappeared much to our chagrin. I had a potential publisher call me with lots of optimism about the two of us being able to work together on a long time passionate project of mine. Meanwhile, my mind also remained occupied with the recent news of raging destructive wild fires in NW Oklahoma and my friends there who are yet in harm’s way. Still in the national news, the sudden death of a young woman, a mom, while traveling by air in a plane that has perhaps successfully completed that route hundreds of times before. My daughter texts me with great news about her decision to double major, and how that is going to best contribute to her desire to perhaps one day work closely with trafficking victims. My women’s pastor at my church, and close friend, sends an email asking for us to brainstorm ways to reach women who are in need and who are hurting. One of my very best friends, lets me know that another surgery is in the cards for her in battling breast cancer. My husband sends me a text about our future choices in retirement. It’s an inside joke. It seems that virtually every single article related to this topic has a signature photo on the front page of a woman who is voluptuous. As if this were pertinent to the top 10 best places in American to retire. This leaves me laughing so hard I am crying.
And. that. is. just. it. Sometimes we are crying so hard we laugh. Still other times, we are laughing so hard we cry. But always we remember.
We remember the good and the bad. Our lives are full of hearty doses of both. The question is what will we do about it? For me, I am answering my (teacher) niece and going to make every effort to be present for those sweet little kids on their career day. I am texting my sister to tell her how blessed I feel to be a part of her celebration with her new grandson. I am sending Deuteronomy 31:6 to my best friend as she prepares for surgery. I am telling my daughter with regard to her health issue: “Don’t worry Katie, we got this. We can do it.” I am letting my husband’s siblings know that whatever is in our future for their mom, we can do this thing together. I am letting my women’s pastor know that I am on board. I am encouraging my girls, all three of them to be the world changers that I know God has created them to be. I am overwhelmed with their desire to make a difference in the world of the lost and hurting. Finally, I’m praying to my Creator, the One who knows what we are going through, who knows our pain and our joy, and for whatever reason, chose to cover my own multitude of sins with ginormous amounts of love.
And that’s just it. I am overwhelmed. Still by the loss of my five sweet friends 23 years ago, Carrol, Kenny, Carrie Ann, Rona and Shelly. And still by the way that life just keeps marching on, both tragically and joyfully, both demanding a response from me. Judy what are you going to do now?
June 14, 1940 in the early hours of the morning: One lone German soldier entered Parisfrom the east and crossed Place Voltaire. Not a single shot was fired. Paris fell into enemy hands during WWII without a single bit of resistance. The “new” French government had already hightailed it south to Vichy, France. Philippe Pétain, a WWI hero himself from the battle of Verdun in 1916, and now eighty-four years old, became vice-premier to Paul Reynaud, France’s current Prime Minister, to bolster national morale. And early on in June, 1940, with German troops overrunning the country, he (Philippe Pétain) was put in charge. He (Pétain) supported collaboration with the Germans, the latter of whom occupied Paris and most of Northern France. Reynaud was vehemently opposed to the German occupation. Soon Reynaud was placed under arrest by Philippe Pétain’s crew of criminal cohorts and imprisoned in a German POW camp for the remainder of the war. Pierre Laval, in a matter of days, became France’s 120th prime minister.
The German 18th Army soon followed that lone soldier into Paris by way of Place Voltaire. And the occupation of Paris in the second World War began.
June 14, 1940 Sometime later that morning, in his study at his home at 18 Rue Weber, Doctor Thierry de Martel took his own life. He had written to William Bullitt, the American Ambassador: “I made you the promise that I wouldn’t leave Paris. I didn’t say whether I would stay in Paris alive or dead.” He had already lost his only son in WWI , a costly war itself in a long line of costly wars between the Germans and the French. Dr. Martel killed himself with a syringe of strychnine. He was best friend and colleague to the American, Sumner Jackson, Chief of Surgery at the American Hospital in Paris. He was also France’s leading neurosurgeon.
Machine Guns were placed at all 12 avenues converging at Place de E’toile surrounding theArc de Triomphe. Additionally, four cannons were placed at each of the main 4 arteries: Avenues Foch, Victor Hugo, Champs-Élysées, and Marceau.
June 14, 1940 0800 hours, The German Army set up its first Paris HQ at the Hotel Crillonoverlooking Place de la Concorde.Simultaneously, a German flag was soon placed over the Arc de Triomphe. General Otto von Stülpnagel, German Wehrmacht (Army) was the Wehrmacht’s new military commandant of Paris.
This was the first chosen lunch spot for the German Ambassador to Paris, Otto Abetz. The Ritz was a popular spot for the Nazi command and SS to eat, board, and party. It was also frequented by the French elite collaborators. One such controversial character, Coco Chanel, who certainly did not go hungry during the war, lived in room 227-228 of the Ritz and was a client of Attorney René de Chambrun, (Pierre Laval’s son-in-law). Madame Ritz herself lived in 266-268. French Actress Arletty, born Leonie Bathiat, resided at the Ritz with her Luftwaffe officer lover Hans-Jürgen Soehring. Arletty was also a very close friend of Josée Laval, daughter of the Prime Minister and notorious collaborator, Pierre Laval. Arletty died at the robust age of 94 years old in 1992. Arletty’s famous line in the war was: “My heart is French but my ass is International.” Unbelievably, the controversy still continues today whether or not she collaborated. But I would say the fact that she was sleeping with the enemy (literally), spoke loudly three things. One-it did not help her cause of innocence. And two-if indeed she was sleeping with the enemy, who better to work for the resistance? Yet, she chose to do nothing in the defense of her fellow French men and women who themselves were starving literally, and as well-being shipped off to concentration camps to die for either being Jewish and/or for fighting for their country. And three-she consorted with Josée Laval Chambrun, a known collaborator living the high life in occupied Paris with her father and her husband, everything at her beck and call, while other Parisiennes were queuing for literally hours on end for a few pieces of bread and cheese.
June 22, 1940, 1836 hours, the German/French armistice was signed in a clearing in the forest near Compiègne France. Representing both the discombobulated French Government and Philippe Pétain, was French General Charles Huntziger and for the Germans, Col. Gen. Wilhelm Keitel. Additionally the other “plenipotentiaries” of the French Government present were: Ambassador Noel, Rear Admiral Maurice R. LeLuc, Army Corps General Georges Parisot, and Air Force General Jean-Marie Joseph Bergeret. Hitler and his main entourage of dirty rotten scoundrels were also present, to include Goring, Brauchitsch, Raeder, Hess, and Ribbentrop.
“Hitler dictates that the French capitulation take place at Compiègne, a forest north of Paris. This is the same spot where twenty-two years earlier the Germans had signed the Armistice ending World War I in front of French General Marshal Foch. Hitler intended to disgrace the French and avenge the German defeat. (Indeed he chose to sit in the very same seat used by his nemesis Marshal Foch in 1918.) To further deepen the humiliation, he ordered that the signing ceremony take place in the same railroad car that hosted the earlier surrender. Under the terms of this Armistice, two-thirds of France is to be occupied by the Germans. The French army is to be disbanded. In addition, France must bear the cost of the German invasion.” (Eyewitness to History: Account of American journalist William Shirer)
Subsequently, and in quick order, the French 3rd Republic Government was officially and illegally dissolved. Philippe Pétain became Marshal Pétain of France and established the French Capital in Vichy, France, at this point still a part of the “Unoccupied Zone.” This government of appeasers and collaborators became known as the Vichy State.
June 23, 1940, 6:35 am The morning following the signing of the armistice, Hitler made his one and only visit to occupied Paris during the war. His motorcade came from Le Bourget Airfield into Paris and made its way around the Arc de Triomphe twice, down Avenue Foch, south along the Seine and back out of Paris.
July 11, 1940 Pierre Laval became the 120th Prime Minister of France and “rapidly fostered excellent relations with the Nazi faction in his country.” (“Avenue of Spies,” Alex Kershaw, Page 43) Pierre’s only child, Josée Laval, joined her father in the conspiracy against her own country, and in support of his part in transporting literally thousands of Jews, men, women, and children, as well as resistors to their deaths in German concentration camps.
July, 1940German Embassy is established at Hôtel de Beauharnais at 78 Rue de Lille
-Otto Abetz is the German Ambassador (oxymoron perhaps) to Paris and he is married to Suzanne, a French woman. Otto Abetz, at the bequest of General Albert de Chambrun, a member of the board of directors for the American Hospital of Paris, helped supply the American Hospital with necessary food and other items needed to keep the hospital in operation. In this way, both Abetz and the de Chambruns unwittingly helped Sumner Jackson in his cause to smuggle downed allied pilots/soldiers to freedom via the hospital. (See my notes on General de Chambrun at the end of this timeline.) Abetz himself was a die in the wool Nazi whose seemingly kind deeds in aiding the American Hospital with food and supplies was only done as a result of his collaborator relationships with the de Chambruns and Lavals, a relationship deemed very necessary by the Nazi regime for the success of the ongoing occupation of Paris and the round-up of Jews. This was indeed one of the rare times that collaboration benefitted the French Resistance, albeit unwitting on the part of the collaborators and the Nazis.
July-August, 1940Kammandantur, German HQ Neuilly-sur-Seine – established itself directly across from the American Hospital.
June – July, 1940-1944
The Bad Guys onAvenue Foch (See the Book: “Avenue of Spies” by Alex Kershaw)
Avenue Foch was (and still is) lined with wealthy houses or mansions belonging to some of France’s elite upper class. It was and is one of the four main arteries stemming from the Arc de Triomphe. During the occupation, many of those residents had fled the city for safety in the United States or across the channel in the United Kingdom. This left their homes at the mercy of the merciless. The Nazis quickly and notably confiscated these homes for either their own living quarters and/or offices, but also for the much darker purpose of interrogating and torturing those in the resistance. Avenue Foch was known by many names among the Parisiennes. Even before the war, it was known as Avenue Bois (woods) since it is anchored on its Southwest end by Bois de Boulogne. During the occupation, it quickly became knows as either Avenue Boch (Boch was a derogatory nickname for the German occupiers) and as the Avenue of the Gestapo. Avenue Foch literally, was named for Marshal Foch, the French General who had taken the German surrender in the clearing outside of Compiègne in 1918.
19 Avenue De Foch once belonging to Baron Edmond De Rothschild, now occupied by Helmut Knochen (aka Mr. Bones), SS-Schutzstaffel, Geheime Statspolizei, (Secret State Police: Gestapo) and his men. Knochen had a reputation of viciousness and brutality. He was previously known for the “Venlo Incident.”
31 Avenue Foch, (former home of Madame Alexandrine de Rothschild, a family of bankers) now occupied by Theodore Dannecker, Head of the Gestapo’s Jewish Affairs, colleague to Knochen. Dannecker had a vicious hate for the Jews. From this address, Dannecker would heartlessly send 1000’s of French men and women to the death camp at Auschwitz Concentration Camp.
**A note about the Rothschild family: The Rothschilds are a wealthy European family of bankers dating back to the 16th century. As far as the war is concerned, Philippe de Rothschild (unknown relationship to the Rothschilds who resided at Avenue de Foch, but likely related) was fighting the Germans with the Free French. The Gestapo had arrested his estranged wife (who ironically was not Jewish at all and was now separated from her Jewish husband.) In 1941 she was deported to Ravensbrück concentration campwhere she reportedly was thrown into the “oven alive,” after being beaten repeatedly —the cause of her death remains unresolved-Elizabeth Pelletier de Chamber-was the only known member of the Rothschild family, albeit married into that family, to die in the Holocaust. She wasn’t Jewish. But she bore the name Rothschild.
31 Avenue Foch, Also in June, 1942, Adolf Eichmann, SS-Obersturmbannführer, author of “The Final Solution,” the Nazi plan for the extermination of the Jewish nation, arrived in Paris and set up office at this same location.
41 Avenue Foch, Comtesse Hildegard de Seckendorff, code named Mercedes, Knochen’s informer.
70 Avenue Foch, by the summer of 1943 Knochen’s offices had expanded to this address.
72 Avenue Foch, Gestapo HQ, a 5 story Villa, taken by Helmut Knochen.
74 Avenue Foch, occupied by the KRIPO German Police.
76 Avenue Foch, occupied by Hermann Bickler, “Brutal Alsatian,” in charge of the French unit (police) responsible for tracking down resistance fighters.
84 Avenue Foch, occupied byHans Kieffer , SS Sturmbannführer, SS Counter Intelligence for The Sieherheitsdienst, “Spy Catcher,” (“Avenue of Spies” Quote by Alex Kershaw)
88 Avenue Foch, previously owned by Louis Renault (the car manufacturer) now used by Knochen’s men.
The Good Guys on Avenue Foch
11 Avenue Foch, Ground floor; One of the more modest homes on Avenue Foch was inhabited by American Sumner Jackson, his Swiss French wife Charlotte (“Toquette”) and their son Phillip Jackson.
Sumner Jackson was the chief of surgery at the American Hospital of Paris at Neuilly-sur-Seine, a suburb just west of Paris.Sumner was already a decorated WWI hero from the 1st world war. He had worked in primitive tents set up as hospitals at the front lines in the worst of conditions. Now, once again, faced with major involvement in yet another world war, both times-amazingly enough, even before his own country had joined the effort, he was smuggling downed allied pilots and other resistors through the hospital to freedom and back into the fight. His wife Toquette was an active French Resistor, recruited by Frances Deloche de Noyelle, into the network “Goélette. Their home at number 11 was a “drop box” for the resistance. Toquette was code name Colombiers. This is how she fought the war. And her husband Sumner, did so through the hospital. And their only child Phillip was also involved.
Another note on Dr. Jackson: According to all who knew him, he was one of the most humble men among his profession. Quiet and reserved, he never liked being in the spotlight. But in view of his gigantic contribution to the freedoms of his countrymen in two World Wars, it would seem fitting to behold a grand statue matching such grand stature as his. On the other hand it comes as little surprise that the man who embodied so much humility is memorialized in no grand way, but rather with an obscure small plaque at the American Hospital in Paris, which itself in only a few lines, doesn’t begin to tell the story of his life and generosity. Furthermore, even his name and that of his son’s are spelled wrong on the memorial wall at the Camp de Royalieu internment museum in Compiègne. I think he would be amused by this fact and not one bit offended. I am thankful for literary giants like Alex Kershaw and Charles Glass who have so eloquently shared his story with the likes of me, one soul cast among millions, whose freedom has been largely gained by his great loss.
55 Avenue Foch, home of Pierre Wertheimer who fled to the United States prior to the occupation.
Wertheimer was 80% holder of Chanel Perfume dynasty. He put his business and holdings into the hands of an Aryan business partner, prior to leaving Paris. Coco Chanel did all she could to exploit the Nazi occupation in her favor by attempting to strip the Wertheimer brothers of their partnership. She was not successful in that endeavor, thanks to Wertheimer’s prudent decision prior to leaving Paris. But suffice to say, she was, for the remainder of the war, a collaborator in any way that benefited Coco Chanel. 58 Avenue Foch, Banker Nelson D. Jay, President of the American Hospital board of Governors. He also fled Paris prior to the occupation.
75 Avenue Foch Alfred Lindon who also fled to safety prior to the occupation, left 63 privately owned precious paintings at the Chase Bank in Paris. It’s uncertain what became of those paintings. The Nazis both looted famous and precious works of art as well as destroyed them.
May 26 – June 4 1940 The Battle of Dunkirk
September 1940 Battle of Britain (Recommended Reading by Alex Kershaw: “The Few.”) Kershaw’s book is about “a few” American pilots who smuggled themselves into Europe and then to England, violating FDR’s neutrality law forbidding Americans to fight in the European conflict. These pilots joined the RAF in spite of that. They saw a need and recognized they had something to offer, their ability to fly airplanes, in this gallant fight for freedom. Some of them were crop dusters.
September 7, 1940 – May 1941 German Blitzkrieg of London.
September 27, 1940 the Axis powers are formed as Germany, Italy, and Japan become allies with the signing of the Tripartite Pact in Berlin.
October 24, 1940Marshal Philippe Pétain and Hitler met at Montorie-sr-le-Loir. “And as London suffered the worst of the Blitz (Savage bombing of London which left 1000’s dead and even more homeless) Pétain was photographed shaking Hitler’s hand.” Pétain’s declaration: “It is with honor, and in order to maintain French unity, a unity which has lasted ten centuries, and in the framework of the constructive activity of the new European order, that today I am embarking on the path of collaboration.” (Alex Kershaw’s “Avenue of Spies,” page 44)
December 23, 1940Jacques Bonsergent was the 1st occupied Parisienne to face Nazi firing squad. His crime? Jostling a soldier at Gare-Saint-Lazare. (a metro train station)The Germans were definitely now making a statement about who was in control of the City of Lights.
June 22 1941 Germany invaded the Soviet Union. The invasion broke the non-aggression pact signed by Germany and the Soviet Union in 1939. Up until this point, Russia (Stalin) was fighting in conquest of Europe along side Hitler. Indeed in their pre-war strategizing, Hitler and Stalin had already decided how they would divvy up conquered Europe between them. Now, boom, just like that, this hellacious, volatile, hot bed of human abuse, cruel and vehement Soviet Union, became an Ally to the UK, rather than an enemy. But they were far from “friends.” At the time it was a stroke of luck. Heaven knows how Britain (and later) the US and their allies would have been frightfully pressed fighting on so many fronts, and perhaps the war lost, had Hitler not reneged on his pact with the Russians. But yet, this newfound alliance with Russia…..was rather like consorting with the devil. It was at the time a necessary evil.
May 14, 1941, Jewish men between the ages of 18 and 40 were called to present themselves to the Paris police. They were summoned using a green postcard, for which this wave of arrests became known as the “billet vert.” More than 5,000 Paris Jews were taken into custody in this first wave of arrests. After their arrest, the prisoners were sent to the detention camps of Pithiviers and Beaune-la-Rolande. Many of these Jews were later released only to be arrested again (and deported) in 1942.
August 20, 1941about 3,000 Jews were arrested in a sudden operation, undertaken by a joint French-German collaboration. These arrests were enabled by detailed lists of names prepared by French police officers. Many of these Jews were later released only to be arrested again (and deported) in 1942.
August 21,1941At Barbes Rochechouart metro station,The first German soldier is killed in occupied Paris by 22-year-old member of the French Resistance named Georges Pierre. Beginning on August
28 and over the next several days, French judges sent eleven innocent Frenchmen to their deaths as a response to this incident. French Vichy Marshal Pétain actually offered for the Vichy to have them publicly guillotined, but the Germans decided to do it in private in an effort to avoid further reprisals.
Fall, 1941 Hundreds of Jewish men were arrested and sent to the Compiègne internment camp, north-east of Paris. In the months that followed they were also released.
October 2, 1941French collaborators bombed 3 Jewish synagogues in Paris: 330 Rue Notre-Dame de Nazareth; Rue de la Victoire; and also one at 230 Rue des Tourelles, orchestrated by Helmut Knochen.
October – December 1941 The French Resistance steps up and continues it’s resistance activities in Paris with multiple saboteur activities.
November – December 1941 Knochen is removed from Paris by the Prussian Wehrmacht General Otto von Stülpnagel, the military commandant of Paris ostensibly for his (Knochen’s) orchestration of the Jewish synagogue bombings and the ensuing chaos.
December 7, 1941Pearl Harboris attacked by the Japanese, waking a sleeping Giant. The United states is now drawn inescapably into the war, both theaters, Pacific and European.
December 18, 1941340 Americans living in Paris are interned in a German prison facility in Compiègne, France.
December 1941 American Sylvia Beach’s book shop, “Shakespeare and Company” at 12 rue de l’Odéon,was closed by the Nazis. It boasted the company of “great expat writers of the time—Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Eliot, Pound—including some of the century’s most compelling female voices: Djuna Barnes, Gertrude Stein, Janet Flanner, Kay Boyle, and Mina Loy.” (Shakespeareandcompany.com)
French author André Chamson said that Beach “did more to link England, the United States, Ireland, and France than four great ambassadors combined.” Sylvia was arrested and held at the Garden d’Acclimation at the Bois de Boulognebefore being sent to an internment camp in Vittel France. She was transported there in September, 1942 and released in March, 1943.
1941-1944 The Germans (with the help of Vichy French Government) had established four primary internment camps just outside of Paris where they interned Americans, political dissidents, resisters, and Jews. They were typically housed according to their categorical label. The Jews, unless freed for some obscure reason from the internment camp, were typically always transferred from the camp to concentration camps where survival chances were even slimmer. Those 4 camps were: Compiègne, 50 miles NE of Paris; Drancy La Cité de la Muette (Operated by the Vichy until January, 1943) near St. Denis just north of Paris centre; and Pithiviers Beaune-la-Rolande; and Fresnes.This is a great website for the Drancy Internment Camp: http://drancy.memorialdelashoah.org/en/the-drancy-memorial/presentation/the-history-of-the-cite-de-la-muette.html
Gallery for Additional photos Camp de Royalieu Compiègne, France
March 27, 1942The first 1000 Jews are deported from French soil at Compiègne camp, Sector C, to Auschwitz Birkenau.
May 5, 1942 Knochen returns to Paris donning the German Iron Cross. He was brought back to Paris by his equally ruthless boss, Reinhard Heydrich, Chief of Reich Main Security Office (RSHA), SS Standartenführer -SS Commander of Gestapo and Criminal Police, KRIPO, nicknamed by Hitler, “The Man with the Iron Heart.”
Simultaneously with Knochen’s reinstatement to Paris, his nemesis, General Otto von Stülpnagel, was removed from his Wehrmacht military command in Paris and replaced by his cousin, General Carl-Heinrich von Stülpnagel.
May 11, 1942Heydrich leaves Paris May 27, 1942 Heydrich is killed by 2 Czechoslovakian British trained SOE agents in Prague.
Spring 1942 SS General Karl Otberg and Knochen are fully in charge of Paris Gestapo. Otberg is known as “The Butcher of Paris,” (See “Americans in Paris: Life and Death Under Nazi Occupation,” by Charles Glass.)
June, 1942These Nazi commanders and the Vichy French government begin plotting the deportation of the Jews from Paris. They initially propagated “A Jewish State in the East,” but assuredly sent them to their deaths. Pierre Laval, Prime Minister of Vichy France: “It would be no dishonor to me if I were to send the countless number of foreign Jews who are in France to this state one day.”
July 4, 1942 Danneker and Knochen in a meeting, decide that René Bousquet, Secretary General to the Vichy and his gendarmes would be responsible for gathering the Jews up, thinking perhaps it would go better for their own countrymen to oust them from their homes, rip them from their children, transport them to internment camps, and then deport them to concentration camps. Their sick and distorted thinking: Better the French do this to the French, then the Germans undertake it and suffer even more resistance.
July 4, 1942In a meeting later that same day between Danneker and French Prime Minister Pierre Laval, Laval actually recommends to have the children be deported along with their families. Danneker was thrilled with this unprompted offer from Prime Minister Laval.
July 16 – July 17, 1942
The Grand Raffle (The Great Round Up)
In a relatively short amount of time, 13,152 Jews, including more than 4000 children were herded into the Vélodrome d’hiver (Bicycle Sports Stadium) located at Blvd de Grenelle and Rue Nélaton(Memorial located at the wall near the subway station Bir-Hakeim very near the Eiffel Tower.) The Vélodrome d’hiver was an indoor bicycle track. The Jews were held there in deplorable conditions-no plumbing, scraps of bread for food, with little water- for an average of five days before being deported to concentration camps, most of them to Auschwitz Birkenau. Less than 4% of this group of Jews returned from the concentration camps, and none of those children. The youngest recorded age in the Great Roundup was 18 months old. The French catholic church made a rather belated appeal to Pierre Laval to spare the children. His blunt, cruel reply: “The children must go.” By the end of July, over 14,000 Jews had been deported. Not until 1995 did the French President at that time Jacques Chirac, admit and apologize for French complicity in this tragedy.
By 1942 if not earlier in the occupation, you could no longer tell the difference between a Vichy government collaborator and a Nazi.
September 24, 1942 Sumner Jackson was arrested, not for his yet undetected resistance activities smuggling the allied pilots out of Paris, but rather because he was an American. He was interned at Compiègne-Royallieu, Frontstalag 122B Sector B. Nearby in Sector C was the internment barracks for Jewish prisoners.
October, 1942General de Chambrun secures Jackson’s release from Compiègne. Sumner returns to his clandestine activities as well as his medical profession at the American Hospital in Paris. His wife and son are both relieved. The Jacksons were very secretive. (Who wasn’t?) There was no trusting de Chambrun with knowledge of their resistance activities. He (de Chambrun) was too aligned with the Vichy government. As were de Chambrun’s son and daughter-in-law, René and Josée (Laval) de Chambrun.
November 1942 Allied Forces invade Vichy controlled Northern Africa.
November 11, 1942The Germans occupy Vichy, France. Nowthe delusional world of freedom that the collaborating Vichy government had been enjoying up to this point, was clearly hampered.
January 1943,The French Vichy, now at an all time moral low, established their own para military force to be used against their own country men, called the Milice. It was headed up by Joseph Darnand. Darnand, a deportation expert himself, was the organization’s de facto leader. He, in fact, was a puppet of the true leader of the vicious Milice, Pierre Laval, the French Prime Minister. The Milice was merciless and vicious. The Milice’s most famous victim was Politician Georges Mandel. Mandel was Churchill’s first choice for the voice of the French resistance over Charles de Gualle. But Mandel, a Jew, refused to leave France on the pretense that it would appear he was a coward and that his efforts were best served in France, not England. The Vichy are also now forced to hand over operation of the Drancy Internment Camp completely to the Nazis.
February 2, 1943The Germans were defeated by the Russians at Stalingrad.
September 23, 1943Gestapo sets up yet another HQ and Gestapo torture/interrogation center at 11 Rue des Saussaies in Paris.
1942- August, 1944 The “Nazi Triangle” as it was called (“Avenue of Spies” quote by Alex Kershaw) consisted of a trifecta of torture chambers, these in addition to the torture that went on at the offices on Avenue Foch. These other three were at 5 Rue Mallet-Stevens, 93 Rue Lauriston, and 180 Rue de la Pompe, The address at 180 Rue de la Pompe was mere blocks from Phillip Jackson’s high school at number 106 Rue de la Pompe.
180 Rue de la Pompe was also previously inhabited by Nazi and Knochen’s top informer Comtesse Von Seckendorrff. She later moved her place of residence to the luxurious address of 41 Avenue Foch. Then, 180 Ave de la Pompe was expropriated by the Nazi Berger Group, headed up by Friedrich Berger, veteran of the Abwehr, working for the Gestapo on Avenue Foch. He actually had three equally sadistic women working for him as well in his torture house. They included a set of sisters who were also his mistresses, as well as a female Iranian taxi driver. These women were as lethal and cruel as their boss. The interesting note about 93 Rue Lauriston, is that this torture house was operated by Frenchman Henri Lafont, (born Henri Chamberlin) a notorious and violent gangster sprung from his French prison by Helmut Knochen, to be recruited to work in Nazi’s brutal attack on Paris citizens and her resistors. Lafont, a loser, by every definition, a self-serving ass, and an expert in criminal enterprise and the black market, espoused the perfect resume for the work Helmut Knochen had in mind.
March 1944, Theodor Dannecker dispatched to Hungary to destroy Europe’s remaining Jewish ghettos.
April 21, 1944The Porte de la Chapelle marshaling yards in Paris were hit by allied bombing. Approximately 600 people were killed and over 30 wounded, as bad a casualty rate as any during they London Blitz. An unfortunate fallout of Allied bombing in WWII was the unintentional injury and deaths of civilians. It’s a painful truth about a painful war.
May 24, 1944The entire Jackson Family, Sumner, Toquette, and their son Phillip are arrested by the French Milice, this time for suspected resistance activities. The family was taken out of Paris, and the men separated from Toquette at the Château des Brosses, near Vichy. This was the French Milice’s main prison.
June 6, 1944 The Allies land in Normandy, France,code name Operation Overlord. The French invasion had begun.
June 10, 1944 “Atrocity followed atrocity as the SS struck back indiscriminately at any community thought to have harbored terrorists. On this day, men belonging to the SS Der Fürher regiment entered the small town of Oradour-sur-Glaneand killed 642 people in one of the most atrocious crimes committed in France; 207 of the victims were children.” (“Avenue of Spies,” Pg. 129 Alex Kershaw)
June 10-11, 1944The Jacksons are moved to the Hôtel du Portugal,the Gestapo’s torture house in Vichy, France located on the Boulevard des Étas-Unis, (United States Blvd.)
July 7, 1944Phillip and his father Sumner were transported to the Camp de Royalieu internment camp at Compiègne where Sumner had been interned before. This time though they were held in a different place, reserved for enemies of the 3rd Reich.
July 15, 1944 Toquette is taken to a prison in Romainville.
July 15, 1944 Phillip and Sumner are deported to a labor concentration camp in Neuengamme, Germany, 10 miles SE of Hamburg.
July 20, 1944 Attempted assassination by Von Stauffenberg of Hitler at the Wolf’s Lair. The attempt fails, but before Stauffenberg is aware of that, he calls General Carl-Heinrich von Stülpnagel in Paris and tells him, he was in fact successful with the assassination, and orders the General to carry out his part of the coup in Paris. Stülpnagel ordered the arrest of 1200 SS and Gestapo men in Paris, including Knochen and Otberg and all their henchmen. “Then came a sound never to be forgotten,” (Alex Kershaw) and that was the sound of Hitler’s menacing voice on a radio in hotels and public places announcing the failed attempt on his life. And just like that the Coup was over. The Wehrmacht Generals in Paris were forced to stand down by the likes of Knochen and Otberg, and the Nazi reign of terror continued. The only reason the German Wehrmacht leaders were not executed was that Knochen and Otberg both agreed this would be too distracting from their task at hand. Given the push of the Allies toward Paris, they felt more than ever, the need to continue to hunt down resistors in Paris and those opposing the Nazi’s horrific goals.
August 10, 1944, A petite 5’3” 23 year old British SOE agent Violette Szabo, (mother of a two-year old girl) is arrested and tortured by the Gestapo at 84 Avenue Foch. She never. gave. up. one. piece. of. information. And I wonder “what would I have done? What would my daughter had done? Szabo ended up at Ravensbrück with Toquette Jackson and a host of other women resistors. Sadly on February 5, 1945 Szabo was executed with two other young women, also SOE agents, Lilian Rolfe and Denise Bloch.
August 17, 1944 The Bois de Boulogne murder of 35 resistance fighters who walked into a trap and were gunned down by Friedrich Berger and his gang of killers. In a clearing near the fortress in Mt. Valérienoverlooking Bois de Boulogne, there is a site now preserved as a monument to resistant fighters who were shot there.
August 17, 1944 Pierre Taittinger, who had become President of the Municipal Council of Paris in 1943-1944, meets with von Dietrich von Choltitz, the city’s now German military governor, a Prussian General himself who had been ordered by Hitler, given the onslaught of the Allies landing at Normandy and on their way to liberate Paris, “to crush all attempts at an uprising.” (“Avenue of Spies,” Alex Kershaw, Pg. 162) **After the liberation of Paris, the Drancy internment camp was used to detain suspected collaborators, among them, writer-director Sacha Guitry, opera singer Germaine Lubin as well as Pierre Taittinger.
August 18, 1944 Knochen leaves Paris along with SS general Karl Otberg and all of their loyal Nazi subordinates. Ironically, later that day, Knochen and the Gestapo officers arrived at Vittel for their first retreat destination, the same town where Sylvia Beach had been interned for being an American in Paris.
August 20, 1944 Toquette is moved from the Romainville prison and eventually arrives and is imprisoned at Ravensbrück Germany concentration camp.
August 22, 1944 Hitler orders General von Choltitz, “Paris is to be transformed into a pile of rubble.” Neither General von Choltitz or General Hans Speidel, whose office had received and transmitted Hitler’s order, “had any intention of being remembered by history as the destroyer of Paris.” (“Avenue of Spies,” Alex Kershaw, Pg. 166) Both of them had only recently been posted in Paris.
August 1944 Knochen was demoted to Private by Heinrich Himmler, Supreme Commanding Head of the SS and moved to the Russian front.
August 24, 1944 The Liberation of Paris: The French Resistance at 0900, soon followed by their American Allies of 2nd Armored Division, liberated Paris, France. Later in the evening, both the Tri color French Flag and the Stars and Stripes were raised side by side over the Eiffel Tower.
October 21, 1944Aachen Germany is the first German city to fall into Allied hands. Aachen is a beautiful city to visit and is located a mere 30 to 45 minute drive from our previous home in Schierwaldenrath GE, where we lived for 4 years.
April 21, 1945 Sumner and Phillip along with some 15,000 other Neuengamme inmates were transported to the Baltic port of Lübeck, to be placed on prison ships. They are both suffering from malnutrition, beatings, and exhaustion. They arrived at Lübeck and within a day or so were placed on the prison ship “Thielbek,”crammed into the hold of the ship with the other beaten down, many of them dying, prisoners. Dr. Jackson continued to treat his patients. His son worked with him. They refused to leave the patients in the hold when it was announced that all French-speaking prisoners in the hold could go up to the deck. Michael Hollard, a resistor prisoner on the ship, referred to his friend, Sumner Jackson, as “the devoted American.”
April 25, 1945 Toquette is released from Ravensbrück along with other French female prisoners as a result of the negotiations between the Swedish chairman of the Red Cross, Count Folke Bernadotte, and Heinrich Himmler, Chief of German Police in the Reich Ministry of the Interior and a leading Nazi responsible for helping to orchestrate the Holocaust. Toquette is literally saved in the 11th hour. She was transported to Malmö, Switzerland and began her long road to convalescence. Of the 550 women departed with her from France on August 15, 1944, she was only one of 17 who survived.
**Toquette Jackson continued to suffer from health issues related to her imprisonment and hard labor the remainder of her life. Sadly she lots her beloved husband in the conflict. She died in 1965-the same year I was born. It is strange to think that partly because of her courage in that war, that in the very year she died, I was born into freedom.
May 3, 1945 Sumner Jackson, along with his son Phillip still on the prison boat, set sail. The prison boats are subsequently shot by fighter pilots of the RAF, not realizing that the allied prisoners are inside. Phillip survives the ordeal. His father does not. Sumner Jackson was seen by another prison floating in the water on a piece of wood. Later he was presumed drowned. Phillip was herded into the city of Neustadtwith the survivors. Many of the prisoners were shot dead by the SS on the shore as they escaped the sinking prison ships. Phillip was fortunate enough to be only one of 50 people out of 2750 on the Thielbek that survived. The next day Neustadt was liberated by the British.
**Phillip Jackson, immediately the day of his liberation, began serving in the British military as a translator. It would be a year before he was reunited with his mother. Phillip Jackson recently died in December, 2016 at his residence at the Hôtel des Invalides in Paris, France.
May 7,1945 At SHAEF headquarters in Reims, France, the Chief-of-Staff of the German Armed Forces High Command, General Alfred Jodl, signed the unconditional surrender of all of Germany to the Allied forces. The war officially ended on May 8, 1945.
Other Notable Addresses During the Occupation and Why?
85-87 Rue du Baubourg St. Martin, Lévitan, a well known Jewish furniture store was requisitioned in July 1943 for sorting items stolen by the Nazis and intended for Nazi use either in their requisitioned homes and offices in Paris or else to be sent to destinations in Germany.
Pierre La Chaise Cemetery The burial places of André Wang and Georges Dudocks, both members of the resistance.
79 Avenue Victor Hugo: Otto Burearu: A Nazi Office for the censoring of Books, including Shakespeare.
129 Avenue de Malakoff, Salon and home of American Florence Gould, a favorite of Knochen for Thursday afternoon’s soirée. Gould was a French divorcee and dancer who caught the eye of Frank Jay Gould. Her husband spent World War II on the Riviera, but she “quickly returned to Paris, and in no time was cultivating Wehrmacht officers and Gestapo officials,” according to Frederic Spotts’s book, “The Shameful Peace: How French Artists and Intellectuals Survived the Nazi Occupation.”
122 Rue de Provence: One of the most popular wartime brothels, particularly for the Nazis in occupied Paris during the war.
58 Rue de Vaugirard, overlooking Luxembourg Gardens:
Home of General Albert de Chambrun (direct descendent of the Marquis de Lafayette) and his wife Clara Longworth, an American.
(Clara’s brother, Nicholas Longworth was married to Alice Roosevelt, only child of Teddy Roosevelt) General de Chambrun had fought, by all accounts gallantly, for his country in WWI. His American wife, Clara, ran the American Library in Paris and kept it open during the occupation. This was both astounding and suspect, considering the Nazi’s book censorship at the time. After all, Sylvia Beach was also an American. Yet, her book shop Shakespeare and Company was shut down by the Nazis, and she was interned at an American internment camp. The de Chambrun’s only child René de Chambrun was collaborator Marshal Pétain’s Godson and lo and behold, married to Josée (Laval) de Chambrun, daughter of Collaboration King himself, Pierre Laval, Prime Minister of France. One has a love hate relationship with General Albert and Clara de Chambrun. Chambrun was thought by many to be a collaborator. But he also was instrumental in keeping the American hospital open and out of Nazi hands. He also tried very hard but failed to gain the release of the Jacksons after they were all arrested in May, 1944. On the other hand, he was friends with a brood of French aristocrat who were decidedly collaborators and the enemy who occupied his city. Clara’s biggest crime undoubtedly was her ignorance. Her stubborn defense and adoration of both Pétain and Laval speak volumes about her inability to take her head out of the aristocratic sand where she had it embedded. The de Chambrun’s only child, son René and his wife Josée were even more suspect for their collaboration activities, and in particular Josée. She reveled in high society living and spared no expense indulging that life even during the occupation as she hobnobbed with both the Aryan (Non Jewish) French aristocrats as well as the top brass of the Nazi occupiers. She was her father Pierre Laval’s right hand woman. René de Chambrun was an attorney who represented many questionable characters, the cast of which included Coco Chanel. It should be noted also that if you want to defend this family’s honor, then take into hearty consideration 2 important factors: 1 that while most of Paris was literally dying from starvation or from exposure to the elements, and while other Parisiennes were being tortured and deported, and killed for their resistance activities against the Nazis, this family enjoyed relative calm, plenty of food, and no shortage of parties attended with high-ranking members of the Nazi establishment including the Nazi Ambassador Otto Abetz. And 2 There is nothing, no evidence in the annals of history, revealing this family intervening on behalf of a single Jew being deported to death camps. And why would they? Their beloved Pétain and Laval were instrumental in the support and success of those murders. Yes, when trying to decide if the de Chambruns were collaborators, there is much to consider.
1 Rue de Traktir, (about 100 yards from the Jacksons’ home at 11 Avenue de Foch) Home of Francis Deloche de Noyelle, the young 23-year-old who recruited Toquette Jackson into the French resistance work, the Goélette network, just one circuit under the umbrella of the broader resistance organization, The BCRA (Central Bureau of Intelligence and Operation)
OTHER NOTABLE QUOTES:
“As long as Gestapo is carrying out the will of leadership (Hitler) it is acting legally,” Werner Best, Knochen’s colleague.
“That college is a nest of assassins! It should be torched. The Gestapo is much too soft on these types. I looked into the case of this director and you can rest assured he won’t be released.” Otto Abetz, Nazi Ambassador to Paris during the occupation, Re: A Paris University professor who had refused to hand over names of students thought to have joined the resistance.
“Indignation can move mountains,” Germaine Tillion, Ravensbrûck survivor, on women’s role in the French Resistance.
“Je ne regrette rien.” (I regret nothing,) Toquette Jackson in a statement she made years after the war.
“I want you to know that I never ceased to be in love with Sumner, for whom I had forever a great admiration and respect. He has such big qualities,” Toquette Jackson, in a letter she penned to Summer’s sister after the war.
“We were lucky to still have each other….I was a kid until I was arrested and spent time in a concentration camp, which made me into an adult, but I had no adolescence. I had skipped from child to adult.” Phillip Jackson on losing his father in the war, but surviving with his mother.
“To die is nothing. What is sad is to die without seeing the liberation of the country and the restoration of the Republic,” Georges Mandel, French Jewish politician and leader in the Resistance, just before he was murdered by the French Milice.
“We’ll all be hanged for what the Milice have done. I don’t mind hanging but not with Darnand,” Josée (Laval) de Chambrun to her father, Pierre Laval, with regard to the French Milice and Milice commander Joseph Darnand, and their viciousness as she speculated on what might happen to collaborators after the war.
What happened to the Collaborators?
General Albert and Clara Chambrun were arrested immediately following the liberation of Paris. Essentially their release was only secured by Chambrun’s brother, Pierre Chambrun, who ironically in June, 1940 had been the only one of 84 Parliamentarians who voted against Pétain and the forming of the Vichy government. They were removed from their leadership roles at the American Hospital and the American Library respectively and maintained a low profile for a long time in fear for their safety.
René and José (Laval) Chambrun, assumed false identities and hid with wealthy friends in the country. Later they fled Paris all together until they felt it safe to return. Ironic isn’t it?
Initially on August 17, 1944 just before Paris was liberated, Knochen had both Laval and Pétain arrested and moved to Germany. Ironically, the collaborators finally fell victim to their occupiers for whom they had towed the line at the expense of thousands of French. However, their captivity evolved into somewhat of a hopeful and contrived escape from the new French Government. But, By April, 1945 they were retrieved by the Americans from Germany and turned over to the presiding French Government to stand trial for treason.
At the end of Philippe Pétain’s trial, he was convicted on all charges. The jury sentenced him to death. Due to his advanced age, the Court asked that the sentence not be carried out. General Charles De Gaulle, who was President of the Provisional Government of the French Republic at the end of the war, commuted the sentence to life imprisonment due to Pétain’s age and his military contributions in World War I. After his conviction, the Court stripped Pétain of all military ranks and honors save for the one distinction of Marshal of France.
Pierre Laval was tried and was found guilty and killed by firing squad in October, 1945.
Henri Lafont was picked up on a farm just outside of Paris. On December 27, 1944 in a person cell, he told his lawyer, “I don’t regret a thing.I’ve had four years surrounded by orchids, dahlias, and Bentleys-that was worth it. I have lived ten lives so I can afford to lose one. Tell my son not to go to night clubs…” He was killed by firing squad that same day with a cigarette between his lips as usual.
Joseph Darnand, head of the French Milice was killed by firing squad for treason.
René Bousquet was head of the French Police during the Paris occupation and responsible for helping to orchestrate the Great Roundup of Jews on July 16, 1942, the vast majority of which never returned from Auschwitz concentration camp. Bousquet was (surprise surprise) an old friend of René de Chambrun. He somehow escaped justice in the immediate aftermath of the war. Bousquet had many other high-ranking friends including François Mitterrand who was a member of the Vichy government himself and later President of France, (Socialist party,) from 1981-1995. Many collaborators did indeed escape justice. But according to Alex Kershaw’s report in “Avenue of Spies,” pg. 222, regarding Bousquet, “He was sensationally killed in 1993, just weeks before he was finally to be tried for war crimes, by a 51-year-old man who then pled not guilty to murder, arguing that Bousquet had so obviously deserved to die.”
By the end of the war, 3.5 million denunciations had been made by the French against the French. (“Les Parisiennes”, Pg. 157, Anne Sebba) I thought about making a list of “What happened to the Nazi leaders of Occupied France?” but first of all, I think any rendering of information should not tell the reader everything there is to know about a topic. It should tell them as much as necessary to ignite in them an interest to further research such facts on their own so that they might also be learners, not just readers. And also given the two groups, it is the collaborators, not the occupiers, with whom I identify the most. Of course, as free citizens ourselves, there is a prima facie case for most of us to identify with the resistors. But in the words of Anna Sebba, in her book, Les Parisiennes: How the Women of Paris Lived, Loved, and Died Under Nazi Occupation, “For some women, the choice involved little more than a decision to wear an outrageous hat or to walk out of a restaurant. For others it involved making a deal or a sexual exchange. But surviving in occupied Paris, for many women, demanded some sort of choice, some sort of decision, about how would they would accommodate living with the Germans. It is not for the rest of us to judge but, with imagination, we can begin to try to understand.”
I would hope that I would have the courage of Violet Szabo, Toquette or Sumner Jackson, or any number of mothers, daughters, wives, husbands, or fathers who gave their all to protect their children and their countries for the cause of freedom. Perhaps we don’t know for certain what our reaction would be when faced with torture or starvation, but it is still a relevant question today for all of us to ask ourselves, “What would I have done?” And “What would I do?” The answer is not clear until we are surely tested in that way. But here’s a thought: Nowadays in the relative comfort and peace of our American homes, we are tested other ways with this same question. When my children act a certain way that is unloving, hateful, cowardly, what shall I do? When I am faced with an opportunity to forgive or to be bitter, what shall I do? When my child is faced with the opportunity to take a stand for justice, what will their decision be based on the model I have shown them? What will their decision be indeed? What will I do in any number of relationship situations where I have the opportunity to exert influence, assistance, or hope? What are our choices in those instances? If nothing else, the answer to that reveals perhaps a little about what our choices might have been had we been an American or a Frenchman in occupied Paris.
This list of occupied Paris collaborators and their ends is a tiny tiny portion of all the information and record that is out there. Please continue to search out new facts and new stories. Remembering those, who today we literally must thank for our freedom, is a small task for us compared to the gargantuan task that they faced every single day of that tumultuous occupation. Winston Churchill’s words for the pilots of the RAF during the Great Battle of Britain, ring true here as well. “Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.”
**Nothing in this blog is intended to reflect the views or opinions of any person or entity other than the author of this blog.
Haynes, a Rhodes College professor, highlights the segregation crisis of 1964-1965 in Protestant churches in the South by telling the story of the “Kneel-In” campaigns across the south, primarily composed of college age student protestors, particularly in Memphis and particularly at the Second Presbyterian Church in Memphis, a suburban wealthy white church, that actually started in downtown Memphis but as it grew, the church moved to the suburbs. I love this book for many reasons. Kneel-Ins were similar to the “Sit-Ins” of those days that happened at cafes and diners to protest segregation. Kneel-Ins were non-violent prayerful protests of segregated churches. Haynes says “Unusual features of the SPC Kneel-Ins were its duration, the prominent role played by white students, the low profile maintained by the church’s ministers during the crisis and the church schism that resulted.” The schism being the split that inevitably resulted when the church FINALLY welcomed desegregation which resulted in the hardliners (the elders and their followers) that had stood staunch against integration, moved out to start a new church, “Independent Presbyterian Church” also of Memphis. Both churches are still in Memphis today. Both are desegregated now, and both have a very active role in the local area in fighting poverty and reaching out to marginalized citizens of their city. Both have made some sort of public and/or private apology to kneel-in participants who back in ’64-’65 were not allowed in their churches, first at SPC and then later at IPC once SPC became integrated. BUT the road to this repentance (and very well to their redemption) was paved with unbelievable racist acts and eventual imploding of its members. So many things to say, but I shan’t make this review itself-a book. For ONE thing, it’s amazing to me that ANY church can allow men (or women, but in this case-men) to control the church with an iron fist, putting their own personal agendas above everyone and everything even when their agenda is downright sinful. It is amazing to me that pulpit ministers can actually be hired by churches with the singular purpose of keeping them in a puppet role. In the case of SPC in the 60’s, the pulpit ministers had absolutely no influence or override ability with the “session elders,” the latter of whom wielded their racist beliefs with vehemence and an intensity that was incredibly awful. And furthermore that those pulpit minister would be so very cowardly and perhaps so in fear of losing their jobs that they would do nothing to stand up to the tyranny of their elder pharisees, who in their case, were just plain wrong! Many of these elders were successful business men in the area and had lots of money, and with that money came social and political power. They exploited that shamelessly to achieve their ends and agendas both inside and outside the church. Mostly the white students that participated in the Kneel-Ins attended Southwestern University, the majority of funds of which came from parishioners at SPC. Southwestern is now Rhodes College in Memphis. Those students were threatened, and nasty letters full of lies were mailed to their parents by SPC elders about their “clandestine” activity in the Kneel-Ins and their shamelessness in standing alongside black students. The black participants of the kneel-ins were mostly from Memphis and attended black churches in the area. Many of them were also college students but not at Southwestern since it had yet to become an integrated college. I think one of the main themes this book highlights are Christian Casualties. Casualties of churches. This was surely ONE of the ways we Christians and our churches produced casualties. There are many others. But surely this was a big one. When the church which espouses Jesus love and the gospel as the way to eternal life and the blueprint for truth and justice, but yet doesn’t allow blacks to enter their church, yes, absolutely, many kids and young people are going to make the decision to leave the church. And in many cases, that is exactly what happened here. And one has to wonder what has been the ripple effect of this racist climate of churches (in the 50’s and 60’s) over the course of a century? How many lives have been shaped, lost or derailed because people who called themselves “Christians” looked very much like sinners. It’s one thing to be a sinner and act like a sinner. But when you are a Christian and act hatefully and selfishly, you, more than the sinner, will lead people away from God. Haynes wrote with regard to SPC and other churches like them: “As it became clear that segregation could not be sustained in the institutions that shaped their lives Monday through Saturday, they were determined to make Sunday worship in the South the last segregated hour.” Different questions the book asks US-the reader: 1 “Do I have the courage to stand up to blatant wrongs being committed by people who are supposedly a messenger of God? 2 If I CAN’T change that situation, and if it is one that consumes my place of worship, therefore hampering greatly the witness of that church to the community and the world, do I have the courage to leave and go somewhere else? 3 If I were in that wealthy white church in the 60’s would I have been a participant of the Kneel-Ins along side my black brothers and sisters or would I have been hiding under the tall steeple of that church, huddling inside the warm sanctuary with “my people,” while the elders of my church stood arm in arm on the front steps-guarding the entrance to keep black people out? Where would I have stood? 4 What about today in my church? Are there people of color there? What am I doing to be a light for Jesus in order to bring people toward Jesus (including my children) as opposed to away from Jesus? Does my life now model one for others that makes them wonder who is the God that she serves? I want to know Him. Or does my life model for others one that says “I want no part of that woman’s christianity?” Read the book. Learn. Grow. Change.
Having faith is a pretty common term among we humans. But do we really know and appreciate what it means, and how does it interact with facts? We could say that Science is fact, and for instance, believing in Jesus is faith. Or you could say “I am going to the shop today to drop my car off,” is fact. And “One of my teenagers is going to pick me up and give me a ride home,” is faith. Speaking of that, I know factually that I have three daughters. I don’t know with a 100% certainty that they’re going to be “Okay” in every sense of that word 5 years from now, 10 years from now or even 15 years from now. That is where faith takes over. Recently two of my daughters and I had the privilege of spending several days on the island of Crete, Greece. On one of those days, we traveled to the Balos Lagoon-a must see on our Crete bucket list. However, the journey to that beautiful place was fraught with peril. Initially we drove along a nice asphalt highway, then exited on to a smaller but still easily navigable road through a couple of villages. Eventually we moved to a little more bumpy surface, still not clenching our teeth in fear, which brought us to the gate where we paid a national park fee to continue to the Lagoon. Oh but our drive had only just begun. Up to this point, I felt the road trip was easily traversed. But soon we found we were negotiating a very difficult road that would have been better traveled in an “off-road” vehicle not our little rental Fiat Diablo. Now it was white knuckled driving, wondering if we made the right decision to venture forward off the “main” roads. The first part of our trip to the Lagoon was cushioned with facts. The last of our drive to the lagoon was negotiated only by faith. Faith that we would not blow a tire on this mountain range of sharp pointy white rock; faith that we would not go tumbling over the side of the mountain several hundred feet down-a sheer drop to the rocky shores of the Mediterranean; faith that we would arrive successfully at our destination and in one piece. It is interesting and worth noting that we traveled up to go to a Lagoon that is obviously down at sea level. Once we finished that treacherous drive and finally parked, we found we had to hike down in order to access the Lagoon. I loved the analogy that this life experience offered me when thinking about faith and facts. We only have so many facts at our disposal on any given day. Science, for all its magnitude and wealth of research behind it, only knows so much. It simply doesn’t know everything. So it is with our lives. At some point in the smallest of things and in the biggest of things, one’s faith must take over. And when supported by robust amounts of courage, can-do spirit and for me, a strong measure of trust in Jesus, it will take you far past the “facts only” boundary lines. Moreover, if we limit ourselves with only the facts, we will live in fear of the unknown, and quite possibly be unwilling to do what it is that needs to be done. Unable to discover what is yet to be discovered, or to solve equations that are yet to be solved. Faith allows us to stretch ourselves. Indeed facts are true but they are not all the truth that there is. Example: The fact is I’m shy; I’m quiet; I’m introverted but faith is: I’m going to ask that girl out she might say yes and change my life forever. The fact is I have lost someone I love very much. And it was senseless and tragic. Faith is: there is still purpose in my life, and I can still find true joy. The fact is I have fears about taking on a mentoring relationship. I don’t know everything there is to know that is helpful in mentoring someone. Faith is: I don’t have to know everything or how everything is going to turn out before I get involved. Especially when I need to be involved. Therein lies the difference between your facts (important) and your faith (critical.) Facts and Faith do not intersect on life’s road. Rather they meet at the T. At some point your facts end where your faith begins. When we hit the T in the road, faith will take over as long as we don’t turn around and go back the way we came. The irony is this: faith allows the scientist to pursue the facts-to learn more! The best researcher is the one who knows he or she does not have all the answers. Otherwise what would be the point of researching? And so it is, the most mature among us recognizes that facts only get us so far. It doesn’t get you to glory. There are thousands of athletes, business people, pastors, leaders who at some point in their lives were told “based on the facts, I don’t think you will succeed at this.” Thankfully the likes of Thomas Edison, Walt Disney, Abe Lincoln, JK Rowling, and others had faith that gave them vision and powered them forward beyond the facts. It is true for any of us, whether we are a parent, a CEO, a pastor, a pilot, an engineer, a teacher, a friend, or a spouse-if we want to unleash the power inside of us, we have to understand that faith is real. It is truly a paradox, believing in something that we cannot see or perhaps feel or touch. On that road to the Balos Lagoon, the facts would have only gotten us to the pay gate. But faith took us on to glory. And we never once regretted that journey.
A couple of weeks ago my youngest daughter Katie and I were going through a wonderful museum in Chicago: The American Art Institute. I highly recommend it to anyone who finds themselves in the windy city. It is such a gift to have museums right here in the states which boast so many wonderful works of art, both American and European, all in one place. This particular exhibit from the American Folk Art section of the museum, really captured our attention. It’s a whirligig.
Yes, that’s right a whirligig. I love the whirligig, and not just because I like to say the word. Apparently whirligigs were used for a number of things-scarecrows, weather vanes to name a few. But the most significant fact about this whirligig is its creator and the inspiration of the creator. This whirligig aptly titled “America,” was made by Frank Memkus, a Lithuanian immigrant to the United States of America during the 19th century. On the placard right next to this exhibit, it states the artist’s clear purpose: “This early 20th century example (of a whirligig) is both whimsical and utilitarian, made to honor this country in a gesture of pride and patriotism.” Wow! Being an American patriot myself, obviously I love the way this whirligig bleeds red, white and blue. And I love the story behind the artist and his creation.
Anyone who knows anything at all about American history, knows that with the one exception of Native Americans, ALL of us come from somewhere besides here. Most of us are of European descent. My maiden name is English. My married name is either Irish or Scottish (the jury is out on this). I have friends galore with German last names and those with Italian last names, all English-speaking born and bred Americans. Our country was first settled in the 17th century by those who came from England (by way of Holland) seeking their independence and escaping the tyranny of a Monarchy. Read up on Ellis Island. Or better yet, pay the island a visit. Millions of immigrants came through Ellis Island in the early 20th century, not looking for a handout, but looking for a place to hon and market their craft. They were looking for a place to live life, to grow and to have their families. Unwittingly, in the process of seeking a better life for themselves, they built up a country. I love studying Texas history. For one thing, I live in Texas. But the story of Texas’ independence is absolutely fascinating. In 1824 we Americans were immigrants to Texas, encouraged (and invited) by the government of Mexico to settle the land. In addition to Americans from the bordering union states moving to Texas, were also thousands of German Americans. When this hodgepodge of American citizens became seriously oppressed and abused by the Mexican government, they fought together, died together, and inevitably, won their independence from Mexico. They became the “Republic of Texas” until they were annexed to the USA in 1846.
The common denominator between Frank Memkus, 17th century pilgrims, 20th century European immigrants, and 19th century Texans is this: they were all immigrants working toward a common goal. That common goal included a common language, and a common purpose: freedom. Therein lies the sore spot for Americans today. Are immigrants in this country still coming here to live, work, improve their lives and to contribute to the lives of those around them? Is their purpose like Frank Memkus, to hon their craft and to boast pride and patriotism in the country that has afforded them such an opportunity? Many are indeed. But still many are not. And therein lies the chasm between voting Americans who have clashing views on immigration.
Today there are hundreds, perhaps thousands of immigrants who fly the flag of their native country in their front yards, but not the American flag. There are also immigrants who want the abusive legal framework of their country to be applicable here in America. And then there is the language issue. I think it is an atrocity that American Schools do not focus on foreign languages the way European countries do. If we are to remain a global power economically (and otherwise,) we need to better address the foreign language requirements in public schools. But I also think that every person who lives and works in this country and wants to immigrate to this country to live the life of freedom that characterizes America, should know how to speak its language, English. It is the one single thing that binds us all together. What makes us American? Diversity? Absolutely! But that diversity demands a common bond that glues us together in peace time and in war. That common bond from the beginning of our formation was our language. And after that, our flag: old red, white and blue. The two represent ALL of us,: everyone that came over on the Speedwell and the Mayflower. Our language and our flag include everyone that walked through the doors at Ellis Island. Our language and our flag include every Texan that died at the Alamo. Our language and our flag include every soldier, North and South, who died in that bloody American Civil War. Like other American states who proudly don their state flags, in Texas we proudly fly the Lone Star Flag of Texas along with the American Flag. What I don’t see is the “Republic of Texas” flag? Why? Because in 1846 Texas became part of this great country, the United States of America. That’s why I think it is so sad when I see people flying the Confederate flag. It minimizes and debases The American flag. It minimizes and devalues all who died in the civil war. The American flag is what our ancestors, friends, and relatives have died for. I don’t care what war it was. And that’s why I am equally sad when I see an American immigrant today from any country, flying his native flag in his front yard either above or in lieu of the American flag.
But really what is this blog about? It’s about trying to shine a bit of light on both sides of the issue. Those who think we should block immigration all together have forgotten they themselves are an immigrant. And it is for those on the other side of the issue who have forgotten what binds us all together, our flag and our language. Both are paramount in bringing us together as a country whether it’s in the arena of public policy or the public park. Ironically, both sides have forgotten about Frank Memkus. If it weren’t for the Frank Memkuses of yesterday, this country would be a fraction of what it is today. Frank Memkus came here like so many hundreds of thousands of other immigrants grateful for what this country offered him, a chance. And a place to have life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. His whirligig is a resounding and thunderous message of his gratitude and his heartfelt thank you. That was and still is the American dream.
I am blessed with a lot of awesome friends. Sure they are awesome because I know they’ll be there for me in a pinch night or day. And they are awesome because they like me, I like them, and we have fun together. But those aren’t the only things that make them awesome friends. They are also awesome friends because they tell me the ugly truth. They are also awesome friends because they don’t drop me like a bad habit when I tell them the ugly truth. They are awesome because when we happen to disagree on something, I can rest assured knowing that our history together is not null and void. It counts for something. We have credibility with each other. Emotional deposits have been made such that an occasional withdrawal doesn’t derail the entire relationship.
Some time ago, my young adult daughter posted a comment on Facebook which was completely appropriate (in mom’s book of social networking etiquette). She simply stated an opinion on a hot topic in today’s culture as it relates to domestic abuse. Suddenly without any warning, a mutual friend of ours (much older adult woman) zeroed in for the kill. She shot back with several zingers one after the other seemingly in retribution of Shelby’s perfectly appropriate and compassionate (not merely passionate) post. Whether I agreed with my daughter’s views on the matter or not, her post was fine. In fact, it was pretty benign. Even so, Shelby’s post and my attempts to be peacemaker were met with undiluted wrath by this person who we thought was a really good friend. So our “friend,” UNfriended both of us on Facebook. Sure this happens a lot. I know that. But among acquaintances with whom you have no personal history, who the heck cares? On the other hand, when you find yourself unfriended by a person with whom you have a pretty strong relational history, it’s disturbing.
Social networking (and the internet) was non-existent when I was growing up. I was truly an adult in my 40s before it hit our world like a tornado. It’s a blessing and a curse. We have friends all over the world. What an awesome privilege it is to be able to keep up with their family adventures, jobs, kids, activities with just a few keyboard clicks. It’s completely impersonal. But as long as it is understood that it is truly completely impersonal, then no problem. When we make it personal, substituting electronic exchanges for real and necessary conversations, that is reckless. Unfortunately, social networking, especially (seemingly) with the 35 and under crowd, can have a hypnotic effect on them. Hours are spent surfing social networking rather than cultivating real relationships in person. And sadly, ridiculously, the number of likes they have on an Instagram post dictates their level of self confidence and what they believe about themselves. But another thing can happen too. People (such as our adult friend) can use social networks as a weapon. If you don’t say something I like, you’re off my friend list. This begs the question: “So if we come into your town, we shouldn’t call you for dinner? If you come into our town, will you not be staying with us? The once relationship we had with shared interests and shared experiences, those don’t matter anymore? Remember the time we kept your kiddos and loved on them so you could take care of important business? That’s now meaningless? The times we had a laugh together or a coffee with an enjoyable exchange of dialogue, that’s also meaningless?” I have to assume so. Because social networking has contributed to a pandora of shallow relationships. When you use social networking to mask your true feelings, OR when you blurt out your feelings about others unfiltered for everyone’s scrutiny, things that are none of their business, OR when you discard true friends like Saturday night’s leftovers because they posted ONE thing that irritated you-that’s shallow.
Equp4Work: Photo Creds
Most in ground pools have a water fill line. It’s rarely recommended to let your water levels run much below that fill line. It’s just not safe. And it’s also not fun. Do that, and your swimming pool suddenly becomes a wading pool. Our relationships are like that. If your relational efforts never rise above the the fill line of the relationship pool, you might just be a shallow relationship partner. If you shut down communication with a friend or a daughter or a son or a husband who really needs you, but you just don’t have time for that kind of investment, or if you hide behind the seemingly impenetrable wall of your social networking profiles, and fire off posts (good or bad) like bumper stickers on a car, then you might be a shallow partner in your relationships, not holding up your end of being the real deal. Also if your life is all about you and what you want, but rarely about what others want (your friend, your child, your spouse), then you might not be holding up your end in those relationships either.
In the bible, the book of Daniel chapter 3 tells a beautiful story of 3 teenage Jewish boys who dared take a stand with the King of Babylon in whom they were in servitude. They refused to bow down and worship his golden statute. Of course the king threatened to throw them into a fiery furnace, so that they might burn alive. Their response is incredible. “King Nebuchenzzer, We believe the our God can save us, but even if he does not, we will now bow down to your gods.” Wow! The measure of our faith is not in our responses to what God can do, but rather the true measure of our faith is in our responses to what God does not do!” These three young boys had their heads wrapped around that. They were anything but shallow. They were there for each other no matter the circumstances. They trusted in their past together to carry them through their future together. Whatever that may be. Their trust in God was equally not shallow. Had they only believe that God was omnipotent if he chose to save them from the fiery furnace, this would have been very shallow of them. Their faith would’ve been childish, without depth or maturity. But they believed in God and His power in every circumstance. They believed God was the God of the universe even if He did not choose to spare them from the King’s wrath.
Is someone you know and care for reaching out, but you are not reaching back? It may be on either a professional or personal level. Are you struggling to get the water level in your relationships up to the fill line? You better run the hose a little bit longer. Have you tossed a significant someone along the wayside of your life quicker than you can say “Jack Sprat,” simply because they voiced a different opinion from you? Do you put all of your interests and wants ahead of the people in your life who need you to prioritize their interests even if they are not yours? Have you long since scrapped the idea of a personal God, Creator, who cares for you because He wasn’t there to stop _______ from happening? (fill in the blank) Shallow. Shallow. Shallow. Give yourself a break and start forgiving where forgiveness can build a bridge for you to cross over from bitterness to joy. Give yourself a break and love your friends and family who admittedly don’t always have it together, but yet deserve a second chance, where your relationship history demands it. Depth is the opposite of shallow. How deeply are you rooted in your relationships with your true friends, your child or your spouse? Or are you only “wading” in water that is up to your ankles because you have neither the time or the inclination to do anything differently?