A Solitary Way

There was a time and a place where I felt totally alone, though surrounded by loving family and friends, a place that did not respond to my longing for music, art and culture in the way that would have nourished my soul. I mourned the absence of someone who would wholly understand me—"get me"—until I found this poem. It fed me. I knew then and there that the only true fulfillment for each person's longing for completeness and purpose can be found in Jesus Christ.

A Solitary Way

There is a mystery in human hearts,

And though we may be encircled by a host

Of those who love us well, and are beloved,

To every one of us, from time to time,

There comes a sense of utter loneliness.

Our dearest friend is stranger to our joy,

And cannot realize our bitterness.

There is not one who truly understands,

Not one to enter into all I feel,

Such is the cry of each of us in turn.

We wander in a solitary way,

No matter what or where our lot may be;

Each heart, mysterious even to itself,

Must live its inner life in solitude.

And would you know the reason why this is?

It is because the Lord desires our love.

In every heart He wishes to be first,

He therefore keeps the secret key Himself,

To open all its chambers, and to bless

With perfect sympathy and holy peace

Each solitary soul which comes to Him.

So when we feel this loneliness it is

The voice of Jesus saying, “Come to me”;

And every time we are not understood,

It is a call to us to come again:

For Christ alone can satisfy the soul.

And those who walk with Him from day to day

Can never have a solitary way.

And when beneath some heavy cross you faint

And say, “I cannot bear this load alone,”

You say the truth. Christ made it purposely

So heavy that you must return to Him.

The bitter grief, which no one understands,

Conveys a secret message from the King,

Entreating you to come to Him again.

The man of sorrows understands it well,

In all points tempted, He can feel with you;

You cannot come too often, or too near.

The Son of God is infinite in grace,

His presence satisfies the longing soul;

And those who walk with Him from day to day

Can never have a solitary way.

Charles E. Orr, published in 1911

How Liisa Got Her Crystal

(This is from my Madrid Memoirs.)

 So, the next time I start hatching something like this, stop me... I planned a mammoth trip with my three little children: I wanted to go to Finland to see my parents before we left the European Continent, and I wanted to go to Kufstein, Austria, to buy crystal. 

   We did have a lovely visit with my parents and the children’s grandparents.  From there, the plan was to fly to Frankfurt where I would rent a car and drive to Austria, not too far a distance, and then fly home to Madrid.

    I had heard of Riedel crystal through some of the military wives who let me browse through their catalog of china and crystal, including Waterford and Wedgwood, at greatly reduced prices. The catalog also featured Lladró and Hummel. I became interested in the Riedel crystal, but not being military, I could not order from the catalog. So I decided to go to the source (factory store)!

Riedel is a manufacturer of crystal wine glasses and related glass products based in Kufstein, Austria. Established in Bohemia in 1756, the company has been owned by the same family for more than 250 years and is now headed by the tenth- and eleventh-generation Riedels.

   Now, the trouble with the plan to drive to Kufstein was that I had not yet received the reissue of my driver license, which had been stolen in Rome on an earlier trip. I had started the renewal process before we left for Finland and had the new license sent to my parents’ address, hoping that it would arrive before we set out for the Continental Crusade. My father was dead-set against us stopping on the way, with three children, and I believe he was hoping I would not get the license in time. But it came the day before we were to leave. So, off we went, into an unknown dimension.

   There was a stop and a plane change in Copenhagen, and it would have been all right, except that Barbi’s bottles leaked all over and Rusty was running around madly while Kim was trying to control everything: "Aren't you embarrassed? He's your son!" (5-year-old, mind you.) Well, we made it to Frankfurt. But picture this: I had three tired and hungry little kids, my purse, a diaper bag, a big stuffed animal and a fluffy blanket to handle, in addition to all the suitcases, while I was looking for the place to rent a car. Happily it was nearby, and soon we were in our car. By now it was early evening, dark and drizzly. I had no idea where the controls were in the dashboard; while I was studying them, I must have made a comment to myself like “I don’t know where anything is!” To poor little nervous Kim it meant utter despair. She was brave, though, and fighting back tears she asked timidly “Do you know now how to drive this car?” 

   It rained the whole way down to Kufstein. I had no idea where to stay for the night… when suddenly, there was a big Gasthaus by the road, as if plopped down from Heaven. I pulled in and went in and asked “Gibt es Raum?” Yes, we got a large room, but with no heat or hot water, toilet down the hall and no food at the inn. I did go down to ask for some milk: “Gibt es Milch für das Kind?” We must have stopped somewhere to get some food. 

   The first night was no problem. In the morning then, armed with instructions how to find the Riedel factory, I packed all of us in the car, with bottles and diapers and sandwiches and drinks, and found the factory store. I left the children in the car right outside the store (for which I would most likely get arrested these days), and figured I’d take ten minutes to buy what I wanted, and we could be on our way to see “Crazy Ludwig’s Castle” in the Alps. Well, Ludwig was not the only one crazy in the Alps; I must have been in the store for hours, but happily I was kept abreast of the conditions in the car by anxious reports. “Barbi’s got diarrhea and its all over the car!” “Kim did this!” “Rusty did this!” “Barbi’s crying and won’t stop!” “We’re hungry!” “We’re thirsty!” “I have to go the bathroom!” And Mother took care of everything! I also stopped to buy one more bag for getting the treasured crystal home. And now we were on our way up to the Alps.

This is what we could have seen, had we have seen it...
(Actually have seen it a couple of times, but this was to be for the children...)

   About half way up, I decided it was “crazy” to continue: it was raining and it was cold. No one would care about Crazy Ludwig’s Neuschwanstein Castle, no matter how fantastic it was. So, we stopped by the side of the road, had our picnic lunch and drove back to the Gasthaus for our second and last night in Austria. However, the adventure was not over yet. During the night, Rusty threw up all over his bed. Barbi had terrible diaper rash, and with no hot water, I had to wash her bum with cold water. That was awful! I think it hurt me more than her. Then later she became totally constipated and had a hard time dealing with that. But finally we were back on our way Home.

   So, I had packed the crystal in two suitcases and a duffel bag; in addition we had two other suitcases for our clothes. Five large suitcases, plus all the other supplies that out of necessity go with those who are crazy enough to travel with little children. There was a stop and a plane change in Zürich. I suppose it went all right, since I don’t recall the event. From there, we were finally on a “direct” flight to Madrid! Obviously, I was not aware of the difference between “direct” and “nonstop.” They are not synonymous. (I still don't know what the heck a "direct flight" is. One that doesn't make random patterns in the sky as it flies?) Our direct flight stopped in Barcelona, where we had to claim our bags for customs clearance since it was our port of entry to Spain. What that meant, was taking our cargo down off one belt and then immediately transferring it on to another. (To me it meant that the cargo handlers were on a break.) There I was, five large pieces of luggage banging down the conveyor, not being able to keep up with them while I was also struggling with children and maintaining them corralled in one place. I think I would have lost it completely and performed a perfect meltdown, had it not been for two friendly nuns who totally took over  the luggage business. May the Lord bless them, wherever they are at this point.

   Meanwhile, my “international” flight had switched to “domestic” flight in Barcelona, which made sense, though the flight number and the plane stayed the same. My poor husband was not aware of the change and thus was at the international terminal while we were arriving at the domestic terminal. After disembarking the plane, we were escorted to a bus that was to transport us to the terminal building—another challenge with three little ones and all the carry-on items and no seats available. Interestingly, it was two men who offered to help: one held Barbi and the other carried the diaper bag. Somehow Frosty had figured out that he was at the wrong terminal, got himself to the right one, found us, and I ran into his arms and just bawled! But I had my crystal. Which I had EARNED.

(Did not buy all pieces, just the tableware.)