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“Use your phone to video this,” my husband says as he settles into the driver’s seat of our rented Audi. I take a deep breath and get out my phone as his eyes narrow on the road ahead. One word. There is one word that has captivated his imagination as our cruise drew to a close.
Autobahn.
Subject of much lore and speculation, this famous federally controlled highway system in Germany is known for its lack of something I value highly here in Tennessee.
Speed limits.
Now, of course drivers around here often ignore the aforementioned speed limits and there is the occasional idiot who pushes 100 on I-24 through downtown Nashville (don’t get me started), but generally there is at least an attempt to get drivers to slow the heck down.
So, imagine my speed-loving husband’s joy as we pull out of Nuremberg and hit the road for a two hour drive to Wiesbaden, Germany where he lived as a child. Imagine the glint in his eye and the way he leans forward, just a bit, as we enter the infamous highway and adjust to reading the German road signs (Thank goodness they drive on the right like we do!). To my relief, many stretches of the Autobahn do have speed limits but, once you get out of the city and onto the open road of the German countryside, those speed limit signs disappear and this is where I see my husband give his inner child a firm handshake. This is where we get passed by a bright yellow Lamborghini like we were driving backwards, y’all. And this is where he puts the pedal to the metal. Nothing speaks louder than seeing it for yourself so, here you go! Note the tension in my voice when he hit his goal of 120mph…
He was so happy.
And I didn’t die.
Our goal for this final leg of our trip was to visit the picturesque town that held three years of fond memories for Kyle and his family. From third through fifth grade, Kyle lived in Wiesbaden with his family while his father was stationed there with the United States Air Force. I’ve seen photos and heard stories of this idyllic time in their lives for over thirty years, and Kyle has always dreamed of going back.
Wiesbaden
When we arrived in Wiesbaden, we drove to the base housing and explored his old neighborhood. Very little had changed. He remembered details like it was yesterday.
“That’s our house and there is where the Rapleys lived, and over there the Baskerans. The Williamsons were across the street there.”
Years peeled away as memories flooded his mind. The friendships he forged during those years are, mostly, still intact. For the first time, I saw the little boy my husband used to be. An adventurous, tree-climbing, hill-sledding, neighborhood-exploring, football-playing eight-year-old who had no idea how unique this life he was living would seem to most people. Christmas Markets in the old town, ski trips to the Alps, excursions to France with friends, and walking cobblestone streets around the Marktkirche Cathedral all must have seemed “normal” to a boy with a playing card clipped to the wheel of his bike. But not to me. Not to a small-town girl who rarely traveled more than two hours from her childhood home and didn’t even set foot on an airplane until she was twenty-five. That girl was a homebody, afraid of what might be “out there,” and wanted nothing more than to stay in Texas until she died…at least until she met the love of her life.
I married a military boy who never put down roots in one place for long, and because of him I have seen the world. His love for travel has been absorbed into my bones. His desire for adventure has eased me out of my shell and given me a taste for music and culture far outside my own.
The stories I’ve heard of his time in Germany have always fascinated me. I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of seeing the world as a child like he did, of having friends from multiple cultures and religions. But here we were. And those stucco houses with clay-tile roofs were right here. In front of me. I was breathing the air he knew as a boy, walking in grass that felt his bare, callused feet more than forty years ago. Occasionally, I noticed mothers with small children playing in front of the houses and I wondered: What will those kids remember? Will they come back like we have today? Is their experience here, in this beautiful German town, as formative as it was for Kyle? For their sake, I hope so.
We drove up and down the streets multiple times. We saw his elementary school, the tree where he fell out of a branch and broke his arm, the hill that always had good sledding, and stood in front of his old house with the tiny window giving away the basement below.
From my journal:
After we explored his old neighborhood we drove into the old town area of Wiesbaden and check into our hotel, The Nassauer.
The best way to describe it: like the hotel in The Shining.
Instead of a/c, we opened the huge window. I was concerned about sleeping with city noise but it turned out to be fine. We slept like babies on that king bed with its fluffy toppers and heavy blanket!
We took a walk around downtown and ate amazing Italian food at a local restaurant, then took a nap because we had plans to visit Natalia in Frankfurt at 10pm!
Ok, a little background is needed at this point. Two years ago, we had the privilege of hosting Natalia, a precious young woman from Germany for several weeks. Because Wiesbaden is only thirty minutes from Frankfurt, where she lives, I could not imagine going home without seeing her and hugging her sweet neck! She had school and choir practice that day, so the meetup had to happen late, but we made it work and it was totally worth it to see her!
A Sweet Reunion
We took an Uber to Frankfurt and back because we didn’t feel comfortable navigating a big city at night. Good thing, because there was construction (and people!) everywhere.
The Uber driver dropped us off at the Cafe and Bar Celona, which was very busy, to meet Natalia and her father. We were quite early, so we decided to order appetizers to munch on until they arrived.
But her practice ended a little early, much to my joy!
From my journal:
A little while later, I realized someone was approaching me. I looked up and it was Natalia! She literally jumped into my arms and we hugged and hugged again! It made me so happy to see her, meet her father, and reminisce about the time she spent with us.
We talked for a long time and finally realized it was almost 11:30. With more hugs and promises to visit longer next time we hopped into another Uber to drive back to the hotel. THAT trip was crazy. Not only was it raining, the driver raced through the streets like a bat out of hell! I don’t know what record he was trying to beat, but I think he succeeded.
I apologized to Kyle for all the times I’ve told him his driving scares me!
Y’all, that driver was nuts. I’d say more, but I can’t do it justice here. All we could do was hold on for our lives. It was that bad.
After our heart rates returned to normal, we crashed in the hotel’s huge, plush bed. We had a good (but short) night’s sleep and a quick breakfast, then it was time to head to the airport back in Frankfut. After driving in Frankfurt’s morning rush hour, navigating a huge airport with unclear directions (mostly in German, of course!) and going through level after level of security (which felt like being in the Hunger Games), we finally boarded the plan to head home.
Hours later, as we flew over Eastern Canada into the United States, I looked back on this wonderful week and on thirty years of marriage.
So, now, here I sit. Seven hours into a nine hour flight. It has been mostly smooth with a few bumps. I’ve watched two movies and taken a nap. I am beyond ready to be home, but I sure am going to miss this sweet time with Kyle. 30 years.
This week we laughed, loved, celebrated, danced, and saw the world together. This week I saw a glimpse of my husband as he was many years before we met. I will always treasure this trip and this time with my precious husband. Thank you, Father, for his enduring love for me. Thank you for this life we share.
Like C.S. Lewis once said, “There is so much better ahead than what we leave behind.”
A quick note…
To those who are newly married and/or in the throes of life, parenting, and struggle, let me advise you to remember that love is a long game. Choose each other. Every day. Don’t give up. Thirty years from now, you’ll be so glad you made it.
What is ahead?
I’m in the process of reimagining my writing spaces. What is my “why”? Who am I writing for? What do I really want to say as opposed to what I think I’m supposed to say?
The name of this Substack, Beloved, be Loved, has felt limiting for quite a while now, which would explain why I’ve posted less and less frequently. Unfortunately, when I think up titles, I tend to put unintentional constraints on my writing which then makes me feel like I’ve painted myself into a corner. I start with a bang but run out of things to say and end up feeling like writing long-term is not sustainable. And if I limit myself to one subject, it’s not.
But what if I loosen up? (That is SCARY, y’all!) What if I take risks? As I get older, I feel the urge to leave a mark that resonates far beyond me. I want to point you, my dear reader, to Truth and call out lies. I want to tell good stories along with honestly hashing out the ones I wish weren’t mine or yours.
What does that look like? Maybe it is traveling the world together or simply exploring our back yards. Either way, I want to marvel at God’s creation and, at the same time, lament the destruction we see all around us. The world is broken…but not for long. In the words of Julian or Norwich: “All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.”
I believe this, and I believe I have a responsibility to shine light into the darkness however I can. For some, it is though art or music. For others, it is activism or political involvement. For me, well, I write.
You’ll see the changes very soon. I’m excited to embark on this new, more adventurous journey with you.
Until then, look up from that screen. Live with your eyes wide open. There is beauty all around.
~Jeanine
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