I live in Switzerland, and I now teach seminary. I remember when I found out I was having twins, I thought something like “AAAAAHHHHHHH!”. A few weeks ago, the bishop in our ward gave me another “AAAAAHHHH” moment when he invited me to teach seminary to the teenagers in our ward. Via Skype. I actually laughed. Skype? Seriously? I think he thought I was a little nut-so and maybe he should reconsider. (Some days, I don’t think that’s far from the truth.) Maybe he thought I didn’t understand. I felt like I couldn’t stop laughing. You know – that “you’re joking, right?” kind of laughing. Later I talked to two other seminary teachers in other wards who also teach four days a week with Skype, and they’ve had great success.
I can teach in English. We have six students, four German/English-speaking Americans and two German/English-speaking Swiss. They are all awesome kids. I teach one night a week after youth group and one morning a week via Skype. Early morning. 6:30 to be exact. We have students from two different cantons (like states) in our class, which means trying to coordinate two completely different school schedules (ya, I think I’ve spent no less than eight hours alone on getting this schedule right). If I can keep up with preparing lessons, we’ll add one more Skype morning to our schedule. Our first class was on my birthday last week. The students sang happy birthday to me – twice! I really enjoyed it!
Did I mention I live in Switzerland? And I have three kids ages four and under? Did I mention that in Switzerland a “big” family is two kids? Did I mention we’re studying the Old Testament? Did I also mention I’m taking German lessons – trying to improve my pathetic Deutsch? I’ll be honest. This calling has totally thrown me. I feel like I’m barely keeping my head above water as it is.
Some days, I am so excited. Giddy even. I love the Old Testament! It has already been awesome to have a very compelling reason to dive into the scriptures rather than surface reading. I’m pretty sure that is one of the reasons I have this calling is to help me stop coasting and start engaging. I have already felt taught by the Holy Ghost on several occasions. I’ve missed feeling so enlightened. I absolutely love this feeling!
I would be lying if I said there weren’t days I’m the opposite of excited. The Sunday after I was called, Jonathan was translating sacrament meeting (English-speakers wear headphones if they want translation). I wrangled all three kids through the whole meeting and nearly made it. As the meeting progressed, I started having my own pity party because the kids were starting to get difficult. Of all the people, why did they pick the foreigner with two-year-old twins and a four-year-old? Wasn’t there somebody, anybody, who had a little less going on than I did that could do this? How in the world was I supposed to keep up? I couldn’t even get through sacrament meeting. When was I supposed to prepare not one, but two lessons a week? Every week? AND keep up on my reading of the Old Testament? I started thinking about how few other callings there are that require teaching every week, let alone more than once a week. The kids were about to start shrieking and I was about to start sobbing. So we went in the foyer. A few days after that, I cried myself to sleep.
I feel like Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities in regard to this new calling:
It was the best of times,
it was the worst of times,
it was the age of wisdom,
it was the age of foolishness,
it was the epoch of belief,
it was the epoch of incredulity,
it was the season of Light,
it was the season of Darkness,
it was the spring of hope,
it was the winter of despair,
we had everything before us,
we had nothing before us,
we were all going direct to Heaven,
we were all going direct the other way.
To be honest, living here has been hard on so many levels. On the church side of things, it hasn’t helped that I don’t understand most of what is said (it’s all in German) and for the first seven months of living here I spent most of my Sundays in the nursery because Annika was having a hard time in class. Then the twins turned 18 months (hallelujah!) and we literally doubled the nursery with three in at the same time. But they weren’t too excited for a good many weeks about being there. Then Annika moved up to primary and again had a hard time. And then the nursery teachers stopped showing up. We moved here a year ago last August, and it wasn’t till the following March that I attended my first Relief Society meeting. I knew no one. I didn’t understand anything (no translation). I kind of wanted to go back to nursery. At least there I could talk to my kids and they sort of understood me. They actually cared I was there. It has been a lonely time for me. Can you hear the pity party? It took me till March to get up the courage to talk to the only Swiss mom with young kids who sort of lives near me. In German. And see if she wanted our kids to play together. Jonathan came around the corner at church just at that moment and could translate because neither of us could understand what the other was saying. But she was up for it and has been so patient and kind letting our kids play together. She is very patient with my German and knows enough English we can get by if I don’t know how to say something (though it’s usually in German). I’ve so appreciated her friendliness.
It has only been these last two months of living here that I have begun to feel somewhat acclimated here in general and in the ward in particular. I feel like I’m starting to sort-of make a couple of friends. Granted, they almost all live in Zug, which is half-an-hour away. But, it is improving. I don’t dread going grocery shopping anymore. I don’t worry about meeting other moms at the park and trying to start a conversation in German (my original plan for making friends here, which didn’t pan out). I can speak enough to get by now. I’ve learned showing you are genuinely trying to speak German (and learn their language) goes a long way with the Swiss. Contrary to common belief, the answer to the English question is not always a yes, especially when you live out in the country like we do. My conversations (such as going to a doctor or government place) usually start out saying “Ich spreche ein bisschen Deutsch” and then asking if they speak a little English. Then I tell them I will try in German. If I don’t know a word, I just use the English word and hope they know it. Usually we can get by. Do you know how long it took me to get an appointment with a pediatrician for the kids’ yearly checkup? A year! Jonathan finally just made it himself. Why so long? Because talking on the phone in German is so intimidating! You don’t have facial expressions or hand gestures to help. I’m embarrassed I was chicken for so long.
Fortunately, I have amazing visiting teachers who I know care about me (granted our visits are usually in German, but it’s good for me and my German is a little better now, so I can get by). I’ve had a testimony of visiting teaching for years and years, but it has only been since having the twins and again with moving overseas that I now know I NEED visiting teachers. My visiting teachers back home were a god-send. And so are the ones here. I thank Heavenly Father often for these women, their love, their service, and just plain coming to see me so regularly. They haven’t let language stand in the way, even though I’m sure it’s not been a picnic for them visiting a foreigner they can’t really talk to. Even though I don’t always know what they are saying with their voices, by their actions and compassion, I still know they sincerely care for me. This is sad to admit now, but last winter, sometimes they were the only people I would see, other than my husband and kids, for many weeks. In an eight-week period, my kids, Jonathan, or I were sick for six of the them. It was often much easier to just not go out with three sick little kids by myself in the winter in a new country where I barely spoke the language. One Sunday after being sick for a long time, we stepped outside of our apartment to go to church. I realized that I hadn’t been out that door in over three weeks. So when I say I never saw people for weeks at a time, I am not exaggerating.
These last three years with a very sick, sick pregnancy, then two crying babies and one crying toddler for an entire year while suffering from post-partum depression and trying to take a German class, and now living overseas have been so challenging, hard, stretching, humbling, crushing – often more than I could handle. Am I painting a bleak picture? It hasn’t always been so bleak, but it has been very hard. I’ve seen so many small miracles and tender mercies that I know are not by chance happen over the last few years. I know this is where we’re supposed to be. But I feel like a two-year-old sometimes – ”No! I don’t want to do that!” and cry and have my own little tantrum. I cannot deny all the help we’ve had both from people and from above. I am thankful for my Savior’s patience with me. And my husband’s. He is such a good, good man. Such quiet strength. He is disciplined and diligent and loving. He quietly serves our family. He is a tender father and so much fun, too. Again, so patient. I love his sense of humor, his witty and funny and sometimes a little bit corny jokes. I think they are all so funny! I love it when my nerdiness comes shining through without me realizing it, and he puts his arms around me and says “I love you!”. He is my greatest blessing.
