I was born in the summer of 1955, in a steel-producing city in the industrial region of Germany, to a family of blue-collar workers. During the tumultuous sixties, I was a young girl, happy and carefree, until a serious health issue altered my view of life in a profound way. My physical condition and my defiance against its grim prognosis devastated me and was perhaps the starting point of my attraction to rebellion.
By the time the seventies came around, the blossoming hippie era spread like wildfire throughout Europe and our village was engulfed in it. All around me, I saw signs of a new style of life and an invigorating liberalism. I was nineteen when my training course as a nurse came to an abrupt end because of the worsening scoliosis I had been struggling with since early teenhood.
In the midst of the emotional turbulence that came with passing through my teen years, I felt a strong desire to leave home in order to chart my own path. I stumbled along at first, fumbling my way into the counterculture movement. To cope with my disappointment, drugs offered an escape from pressure and criticism.
I had just turned twenty, when my boyfriend and I ventured on an unforgettable journey, travelling in an old refurbished camper. Our search for higher values and something deeper took us over 20,000 kilometres, through parts of Europe, the Middle East, and onward in a pilgrimage for peace and purpose. It was an adventure that often led us to the edge, where we experienced loss, sickness, and danger, which left deep imprints on our hearts.
During various instances along my journey, I sometimes remembered the religious lessons in my last year of school, and a treasured song, “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” by Martin Luther. Each time I sang that song, my heart warmed and lifted my soul. God was knocking on the door of my heart. I recalled how, as a young teenager, on my confirmation day in the old stone chapel, I received Jesus in my heart and had pledged to follow godly principles. But, in the throes of this new type of freedom and nonconformity, this pledge was all but forgotten.
After two years of travelling, still yearning for a purpose that would transcend earthly pursuits, I came to a crossroad in my life. Empty, disillusioned, and worn by drug use, I felt that I couldn’t keep living our dropped-out lifestyle much longer.
It was 1978, when after an all-night drive from the border of Nepal, we stopped for a rest at a small hostel. My life was about to change. Entering the canteen, I noticed the only guests were a group of missionaries having breakfast. As it was a rare occasion to meet foreign travelers in a town way up in northern India, a lively conversation soon began. Their kindred spirits and simple explanations of Bible verses led me to dedicate my life to Jesus, which marked a new beginning and renewal for my restless, searching soul.
Some years later, I decided to become a missionary, and I found great satisfaction in service to poor communities in a variety of developing countries. This chosen path was a direct result of the kindness of selfless and dedicated folks, like the missionaries I’d met on my life-changing journey to India.
Throughout more than 40 years of community outreach, including three decades working in Kenya, I have experienced unexpected provision at just the right time, protection in the face of danger, as well as Jesus’ favor, grace, and strength in seasons of hardship. As a missionary and mother of seven, I have learned, and am still learning, to rely on God’s strength rather than my own. Since I met Jesus, I have become more aware of how every task, challenge, struggle, and experience is a steppingstone, shaping me into the person I am meant to be.
When I look back on all that has taken place, I realize that the presence of God was woven into the tapestry of my life from the beginning. At times the threads were obscure and unnoticed, until the moment His presence moved into the forefront and I found my purpose.