Elizabeth's Guide to Traveling in Germany

Language:

• Most Germans, especially those in restaurants, will speak enough English that they can communicate with you. However, they will be much more willing to help you if you make the effort to try to speak their language.
• Please: bitte or bitte schön (bit-eh shun, where 'u' is as in put)
• Thank you: danke, danke schön, or vielen dank (thanks, thank you, many thanks; pronounced dan-keh, dan-keh shun--'u' as in push, or feelen dank--'a' is as in father)
• Greetings: 'halo' ('a' as in father) or grüß gott ('groos got'); 'halo' is obvious, 'grüß gott' is literally translated 'God is great' and is more of a Southern German/Austrian greeting. I think I've heard it the most in Austria.
• Ziehen: pull; drücken: push

Dining:

• Germans typically don't do the 'have it your way' thing with menu modifications. Unless there's something you really can't have (i.e. are allergic to) don't ask them to do substitutions. Go to quality restaurants, though, and you will probably be happy with what you get.
• They don't do free refills for drinks; drink your own water before the meal if you are thirsty.
• The hostess/waitress will probably not guide you to a table when you walk into a restaurant. There is a good chance they will simply wave at an area and say something that you should assume means "take your pick." Avoid tables that have labels that say 'reserviert' on them. Germans are very picky about their reservations, and if you sit down at a table that is reserved, expect to be asked to take a different table.
• If you sit down at a table, they expect you to take that table for as long as you like. If you come into a popular restaurant and they have a table available but that table has a reservation on it, they will tell you that you only have a certain amount of time at that table. Expect to abide by that time limit, i.e. possession is not 9/10ths of the law when it comes to table reservations.
• Your waiter/waitress will not interrupt your meal endlessly trying to earn a tip. Your waiter/waitress will also not expect a tip. If you want something, you will probably have to waive them down.

Driving:

• Right of way in Germany is very different than in the states. Unless you have a priority road (see next bullet), you always yield to the driver on your right. Fortunately, you really only have to worry about this when driving through neighborhoods. Most major roads through cities will be priority roads.
• The priority road is indicated by a yellow diamond sign, or by a sign that resembles a hazard/warning sign. The priority road (yellow diamond) means that vehicles entering the road must yield to you. The hazard variation of the sign means that the next intersection is a priority intersection, and that following the intersection, you return to the normal situation of yielding to the driver on your right.
• The US Army publishes a driving guide that explains all the important traffic laws. The driving guide itself starts on page 16 (the first 15 pages are laws that apply specifically to armed forces members holding a US Army driver's license).

Miscellaneous:

• Always have a 1- or 2-euro coin on hand when you go to a museum. Most museums will have lockers where you can store your bags while you're in the museum, and a lot of museums will not allow bags inside the museum. The great thing about museums in Germany, though, is that you actually get your 2 euros back when you retrieve your bags.

Deportiert

I had originally intended this post to be a facebook album, since it's built around pictures. However, as I thought about what I wanted to say I realized that FB was going to cut the comments off, and that would be sub-optimal. Hence I've made a photo-heavy blog post.

While I was looking for cool things to do in Berlin, I read that there were special bricks scattered around the city sidewalks delineating where people had been deported. I decided to look for them when possible (as much as I could while avoiding running into the hundreds of cyclists on the streets) and photograph every one I saw. I didn't do this to be disrespectful or intrusive on the residents of the city, but I figured if the people of Germany found it worth the permanent reminder, then it was worth me remembering it.

[As you read through these, please keep in mind that the translations are my own with the help of Google translate.]

This is the first one, and the only one I saw on Friday:

The inscriptions:

HIER WOHNTE ELLI ABRAHAMSON GEB. KORTOWSKI JG. 1879 DEPORTIERT 14.12.1942 ERMORDET IN AUSCHWITZ
HIER WOHNTE DR. KATHELEWY JG. 1896 DEPORTIERT 26.10.1942 RIGA ERMORDET 29.10.1942

"Here lived Elli Abrahamson, born in Kortowski in 1879 deported 14 December 1942 murdered in Auschwitz"

"Here lived Dr. Kathelewy, born 1896 deported 26 October 1942 to Riga murdered 29 October 1942."

(Note: I am not 100% confident confident about the word "RIGA" in Dr. Kathelewy's inscription, but given that the word has no German translation, and Riga is a city in Latvia, it is my assumption that Dr. Kathelewy was deported to the city.)

HIER WOHNTE MAHJUB BIN ADAM MOHAMED 'BAYUME MOHAMED HUSEN' GEB. 1904 IN DARESSALAM VERHAFTET SEPT. 1941 SACHSENHAUSEN TOT 1944

"Here lived Mahjub Bin Adam Mohamed 'Bayume Mohamed Husen' born 1904 in Dar Es Salam arrested September 1941 [SACHSENHAUSEN] died 24 November 1944"

This is the only one I saw where the victim was obviously not Jewish. Also, Google translate tells me that "Sachsenhausen" translates to "Saxony dwell," so maybe Mr. Mohamed was detained in Saxony until he died? Also, this is the only brick I saw where the victim was listed as "died" and not "murdered," which adds some emphasis to the ones where the victims were murdered.

HIER WOHNTE ISAAK FEILSCHUSS JG. 1887 ABGESCHOBEN OKT. 1938 BENTSCHEN SCHICKSAL UNBEKANNT
HIER WOHNTE GRETE FEILSCHUSS GEB. FRIEDRICH JG. 1888 ABGESCHOBEN OKT. 1938 BENTSCHEN SCHICKSAL UNBEKANNT

"Here lived Isaak Feilschuss born 1887 deported October 1938 to Benschen fate unknown"

"Here lived Grete Feilschuss born in Friedrich in 1888 deported October 1938 to Bentschen fate unknown"

HIER WOHNTE HARRY HUTTEL JG. 1897 IM. BIDERSTAND VERHAFTET 3.3.1936 ZUCHTAUS BRANDENBURG SACHSENHAUSEN BEFREIT 5.5.1945 MAUTHAUSEN

"Here lived Harry Huttel born 1897 in Biderstand arrested 3 March 1936 [ZUCHTAUS BRANDENBURG SACHSENHAUSEN] freed 5 May 1945 [MAUTHAUSEN]

I really struggled with the translation on this one, but the good news is that Mr. Huttel was freed. My best guess is that Mr. Huttel was detained in Zuchtaus, Brandenburg, and Sachsenhausen before he was freed.

HIER WOHNTE ROSA KATS JG. 1989 DEPORTIERT 1942 ERMORDET IN AUSCHWITZ

"Here lived Rosa Katz born 1898 deported 1942 murdered in Auschwitz"

HIER WOHNTE ADOLF JACKS JG. 1895 DEPORTIERT 2.8.1943 ERMORDET IN AUSCHWITZ
HIER WOHNTE EGON JACKS JG. 1923 DEPORTIERT 15.8.1942 RIGA ERMORDET 18.8.1942
HIER WOHNTE WILHELM JACKS JG. 1925 DEPORTIERT 1.3.1943 AUSCHWITZ BEFREIT/UBERLEGT
HIER WOHNTE RAHEL EDITHA JACKS GEB. SEELID (?) JG. 1898 DEPORTIERT 2.3.1943 ERMORDET IN AUSCHWITZ

"Here lived Adolf Jacks born 1895 deported 2 August 1943 murdered in Auschwitz"

"Here lived Egon Jacks born 1923 deported 15 August 1942 [RIGA] murdered 18 August 1942"

"Here lived Wilhelm Jacks born 1925 deported 1 March 1943 Auschwitz freed/survived"

"Here lived Rahel Editha Jacks born Seelid in 1989 deported 2 March 1943 murdered in Auschwitz"

Speculation: From the dates, I think what happened is that the oldest son, Egon, was probably the first one to get involved in the resistance. He was arrested in August 1942 and beaten/abused so severely that he died 3 days later. His younger brother probably got involved or increased his involvement at that time, resulting in his arrest and deportation a few months later, in March 1943. And then they just decided to come back for the parents the next day. I can't imagine the terror their parents must have been feeling the night after Wilhelm was arrested. Unfortunately, he was the only one of the family to survive.

HIER WOHNTE PAUL ROSSHANDLE JG. 1890 DEPORTIERT 1938 WARSCHAUER GHETTO ERMORDET
HIER WOHNTE MANJA ROSSHANDLER GEB. HIRSCH JG. 1890 ERMORDET
HIER WOHNTE LEO ROSSHANDLER JG. 1930 ERMORDET

"Here lived Paul Rosshandler born 1890 deported 1938 murdered in the Warsaw ghetto"

"Here lived Manja Rosshandler born in Hirsch in 1980 murdered"

"Here lived Leo Rosshandler born in 1930 murdered"

Leo Rosshandler was the youngest victim I found, probably 8 if his and his mother's murders happened at the time his father was deported.

I didn't translate any of these inscriptions until I was done taking all of the pictures, but when I did it hit me that to plainly list so many victims as murder victims makes a very strong statement. I'm curious what the German people think of this in general, but they tend to be fairly open about the Holocaust in other places, too. For example, the Mercedes-Benz museum talks about the Holocaust as the "most terrible event in history," or something similar.

To be honest, I like the bricks. I think they're simple and meaningful. I definitely like them better than the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, which to me seems like someone was going for simple and elegant, like the Vietnam Wall, and instead ended up in the land of "artsy and confusing." (Also, if you call it the memorial to the Murdered Jews, you leave out people like Mr. Mohamed, and others who were victims of Nazi aggression but not Jews.)

The one thing I do wonder about is whether it's really a good thing to be so self-condemning about the Holocaust. I'm not trying to make it sound as if it's not as bad as it was, but is it really good for a generation of people to grow up being constantly reminded that their grandparents/great-grandparents were murderers or accomplices to murder? I'm not qualified to answer this question, but I do wonder.

Of all the things I did in Berlin this weekend, this probably meant the most. Also, if you know German better than me and would like to help me understand some of these inscriptions, I would be quite grateful!

Berlin

There really isn't anything all that interesting to say about my trip to Berlin. I showed up, started walking, and after three days all I have to show for it is a lot of pictures. I think the most adventurous thing that happened during my trip is that it took about half an hour to get the change to pay for my train ticket when it started raining on Saturday afternoon. But what that means is that I didn't get mugged even though I spent all of my time walking alone (including at night) and I didn't get run over by a bike (even though I did my best) and I didn't get fined for not having a ticket on the U-bahn or the S-bahn (even though I did get checked). So I thought it was pretty awesome, but I don't know there's a lot to write about.

Total mileage over the three days is somewhere in the marathon range, probably on the high side. I did utilize the S-bahn the first day and the second day I caved after about 9 miles (estimating another 3-4 miles in the evening once I got off the training), but the only time I set foot in a train station yesterday was to scout out my platform for this morning, since my train left at 0600 and I wanted to make sure I know where I was going before my morning coffee kicked in. (My suspicions were confirmed when I got on the elevator this morning to head down to the lobby and pushed the number for the floor I was on...) I walked through a lot of neighborhoods over the past few days, and I probably could have seen some more cool things about the city if I'd rented a bike or better planned my trip, but I saw everything I wanted to see.

It became exceedingly clear to me that I am very much a history nerd, as the highlight of my visit was probably Saturday afternoon. My first stop of the afternoon was Checkpoint Charlie, the primary transit point between the American sector of West Berlin and Soviet sector of East Berlin during the cold war, including a visit to the Mauermuseum. The museum overlooks one of the original checkpoint guard huts, and has a lot of stories about how people escaped into West Berlin. After walking through the museum I visited the Tempelhofer Freiheit, or the airport where all of the flights flew in and out of during the Berlin airlift. Today it's Berlin's largest open park, and both runways are open for the public to walk/jog/bike/unicycle (yes, I saw some!)/rollerblade/paraglide/dog walk/whatever. I was slightly disappointed that I couldn't really see any aircraft wheel marks on the south runway, but I guess they paved it over to make it smoother for all the paragliders.

My most common experience was ordering food/drinks at restaurants. Typically, I'll walk up to a counter and order something in German--it's really not that difficult to say "ein kaffee, bitte." The nice person behind the counter then rattles off something in German, like, "schwartz oder mit milsch," and I would stare blankly at them. (The other common variation of this is asking for a scoop of ice cream and having them ask, cup or cone.) The person then usually changes into English that is more or less pretty good but always good enough for me to understand them. ("Black or with milk?") The lady on the train this morning told me I was sweet for trying and repeated things in English and German for me. Anyway, the end result is I'd like to thank the good people of Berlin for knowing enough English for me to get by.

Sorry to be boring, but everything else interesting about my visit is best told through all the pictures I took. So I think it's time to end this post and work on those. :-)

Eine Woche

One week. Wow, what a week. I arrived last Thursday, and it's been a bit of a whirlwind since then. I spent my first three days on deck waiting for my baggage. *I* was able make a connection in Paris in about an hour and a half--my bags were not so lucky. They arrived in Stuttgart the next morning, which was good, but instead of taking "up to 48 hours" for delivery, the company took a good 54 or so hours. I had been prepared for travel delays and actually had an extra change of clothes in my carry-on bag, so I became very proficient at washing a very small load of laundry each night.

However, this is certainly a very welcome change from Yuma weather! I am told it was hot for a short period of time about a week before my arrival. "Hot" meaning in the mid-90s. I will qualify this by saying that many buildings here don't have air conditioning, so these temperatures are a bit more uncomfortable than they would be in Yuma. Fortunately, since I arrived I don't believe the temperatures have gotten over the low 80s. Every afternoon the beautiful outdoors beacons and I enjoy a run, or walking around the base or into the nearby town.

I hesitate to say that Germany is exactly how I imagined it, but it is very close. I live right next to a small town outside of Stuttgart, which is considered a major city. The town has narrow roads and homes with steep roofs packed closely together. All of the cars are extremely small but traffic is very orderly. It's easy to walk around the downtown area, and you will see housing and shops intermixed with each other. The people are very friendly, and I have started being able to say a few simple phrases, although I do very poorly with prices. I need to learn to say "please say it more slowly."

I spent a lot of time this week sitting in orientation classes. Some things, like "Army Substance Abuse Program" were boring and painful and yielded little to no new or pertinent information. Some, like the German hospital tour, were interesting and quite useful. I feel sorry for all the new people here who have children. Not all German hospitals will serve children, so if you bring a child to the emergency room at the wrong hospital, the emergency room will send you away to a hospital that treats children. To further complicate matters, hospitals have specialties. So if you are sick, you go to hospital X, but if you have a broken bone, you go to hospital Y (which makes an exception for children with broken bones, even though it normally only treats adults). Fortunately there is a Patient Liaison hotline for us confused Americans that will tell you which hospital to take the patient to.

The other major difference that will take more getting used to is German traffic signs and traffic laws. There are maybe five signs that will look familiar and mean the same things as in the U.S. For example, their stop sign is exactly the same. The yield sign is identical except for the fact that it doesn't say "yield" on it (or anything else or that matter). One of three signs they can use for a railroad crossing is very similar--but the other two aren't. Some signs are similar but mean very different things. A sign with a bicycle on it does not mean "watch out, there are going to be bicycles on the road", it means bicycles only, if your vehicle has a motor, then stay out. (Same thing for the pedestrian sign: it doesn't mean "watch out for pedestrians" it means "pedestrians only".) A red circle around something does mean that symbol is prohibited, but it won't have a red line through it.

And then most of the signs you just have to learn from scratch. For example: any guesses as to what this sign means?

No stopping!

Ah, but then what does this one mean?

Restricted no stopping! Which means you can stop for up to 3 minutes as long as you don't park. Parking is defined as a stop longer than 3 minutes, or getting out of your car. Clear as mud, right? And then you start adding arrows to the signs... Honestly, it's not really that complicated. It's just different.

One other large difference in German traffic laws is right-of-way laws. If there are no signs at an intersection, the general rule is right-before-left. (There are many intersections on my way into town that have no signs whatsoever.) There is no requirement that the vehicles arrive simultaneously. If you arrive at an intersection and there is a vehicle approaching from your right, you must yield to them. The instructor at the class we are required to take before getting our German driver's licenses drew a scenario on the board with four vehicles at an intersection with no signs. In this case, you use what is called the Gentleman's rule: one vehicle yields their right-of-way to the vehicle on its left. This allows the intersection to clear, but the Gentleman vehicle ends up going last.

Next week I'm being sent to Greece and Italy...darn. Don't know how I'm going to handle that one. But hopefully once I return I'll have more fascinating cultural notes to share!

What Do I Know of Holy?

What do I know of you who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood but the shore along your ocean?
Are you fire?
Are you fury?
Are you sacred?
Are you beautiful?
Lord, what do I know?
What do I know of holy?


Words by Jenny Simmons. Performed by Addison Road.

 

Warning: Heresy ahead.

I first contemplating writing this post last May. Now here I am a year later, I've thought on and off about it for the year, and I'm still hesitant to push the "publish" button. The reason I hesitate is that this is a topic that is deeply personal for me--more so than anything else I have ever written about--and yet I want to share it. But I have just spent several hours today forming my thoughts here instead of studying for my upcoming final, so I owe it to myself to publish.


Some of you may be familiar with the religious environment that I grew up in. But for those who aren't, I will summarize for you what I remember most about that environment:
* We know what the Bible means.
* We know what God wants.
* We are obligated to do certain things--primarily reading the Bible and praying--in order to have "a relationship with God."
* If you do not have a relationship with God, you are a bad Christian.
A relationship with God and a belief that Jesus was the Christ and that he had died for your sin was supposed to free you from your sin. It was supposed to take away your guilt and shame.

To be fair, there were times when I felt this way about my practice of religion--that it freed me from my guilt and shame, that grace was wonderful, and that I was happy with my "walk with Christ." But most of the time it was a source of guilt. I wasn't reading the Bible enough. I didn't pray enough. I didn't feel that spiritual connection with God enough. I was not a very good Christian.

I honestly didn't feel very much guilt and shame for the ordinary, everyday things I did in my life. I was not, am not, and never will be anywhere close to perfect. I wronged people and I hurt people, just like every other human being. Some times I tried to make amends. Some times I did better than other times. Some times I would live up to my resolve to next time be more patient and and more kind--more like Christ. Some times I would ask for forgiveness--from the person I wronged, and from God. But those actions were not the primary source of guilt in my life.

I was taught a very strict interpretation of the Bible. We had to know what the Bible said, we had to define what it meant, and we had to follow it in order to not be in sin. So, obviously, we knew what the Bible said, and we knew what that meant. If you did not agree with the reigning interpretation of the Bible within the community, either there was a lot of controversy or you were in sin.

To those who are reading this that I grew up with--please do not take this as an attack on you or your beliefs. I freely acknowledge that I was much a contributor to this environment as anyone else. I believe that your intent was good--to encourage people, to help them, and to help them be more like Christ. You loved me unconditionally, with all my flaws, and I owe you a deep debt of gratitude.

In me, however, the end result appeared to be different than in all of you. Religion, God, Jesus--it was all supposed to be wonderfully freeing. I felt trapped.


Some probably blame the college I went to for my move to agnosticism, which I define to be uncertainty about the existence of God. I will definitely agree that the school facilitated this change, but it was by far not the source of this change. I held to Christianity throughout my time at school, but there were three definite factors that made me question my beliefs.

The first was having close friends that were not Christians, and seeing that their lives were not terrible and conflicted because of their lack of Christianity. This was not as I expected.

The second was the unquestioning adherence to scientific thought and the scientific process over religious texts when it came to matters of science. I remember during my freshman physics class being taught about dating igneous rocks based on the magnetic field that had been "frozen" in them. I don't remember the specifics of the lesson, but afterwards I approached the professor and asked how we knew that the field captured in those rocks was actually as old as the date given. Again, I don't remember the specifics of the answer, but what surprised me was the complete disregard for any religious theory about how old the rocks should be. To these people, the debate between creation and evolution that I had been taught was a huge controversy didn't even register as something worth thinking about. They were not hostile or opposed to Christianity--it just wasn't even an issue.

The third was the seminar class I took my senior year titled Science and Religion. Our professors were a philosophy professor who was an atheist and a chemistry professor who was a Christian. For the first time in my life I was exposed to someone who believe the Bible and practiced a religion similar to the one I had been taught, but who did not seem to require that he believe every word of the Bible as literal fact in order to practice his beliefs. I was relieved to see a glimpse of an alternate method of practicing Christianity, but I wasn't ready for it myself.


I honestly don't know what prompted my actual shift to agnosticism. I do know that it took me nearly a year after I graduated college, a year of puzzling and pondering, to make a decision. I doubted the Bible's veracity. There were multiple passages that I couldn't believe literally, as I had been taught. Moreover, if I couldn't believe some of it, then the claim that every word of the Bible was the word of God was suspect. I decided that I couldn't rely on the Bible to tell me anything about God, and not only that, I didn't have any independent evidence even of the existence of God. I couldn't say for sure that God didn't exist, but I couldn't give you a good reason that he did exist, either.

This took me a while to come to terms with. My faith, for the pain and difficulty it had caused me, had been a huge part of my life and something that I had relied heavily on growing up. It was difficult to decide that it was no longer a significant part of my life. However, I do remember the moment that I decided that I would no longer force myself to believe that God existed--it felt as if a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders. I did not decide that I was going to believe that God did not exist, or that I could never return to the belief that he did exist. I merely decided that I was going to be honest with myself about what I believed or didn't believe, and would not believe something because someone else had decided that it was true.


I spent a good amount of time in fairly solid agnosticism. I attended a fairly liberal Episcopalian church about once every month and found both the liberalism and liturgical approach to be useful changes from my previous experience with religion. Their approach to religion--a de-emphasis on the literal meaning of the words of the Bible, and a strong emphasis on physical ministry and care for the community--was refreshing. I wasn't sure what the theological basis for their approach was, but the outward effects--love the poor, care for the needy, welcome the outcast--was exactly what I believed Christianity should be.

My questions about the theology of the approach--even though I wasn't sure I cared about the theology--was settled when some good friends gifted me with Marcus Borg's The Heart of Christianity: Rediscovering a Life of Faith as a present after my graduation from graduate school. I will not go into the specifics of the book here, in part because it has been several years since I read it and I don't remember the specifics, but the most significant aspect of the book that I remember was the emphasis on the truth of the Bible rather than the literal meaning of the Bible. The truth of the Bible--that God loves people, that he wants a relationship with them, that he wants to heal them and care for them--does not rely on a literal interpretation of the stories of the Bible. I wasn't sure what the doctrinal authorities that I was accustomed to following would say about this approach, but I didn't and still don't care. The approach made a lot of sense to me. More importantly, I was relieved that there was an approach to Christianity that did not require me to believe the literal interpretation of every word of the Bible.


Even though I was relieved to learn that I could go back to Christianity without being trapped into something I couldn't believe in, I didn't see a reason to go back. Christianity had been mostly a source of guilt for me. For most of my teen years I had difficulty believing that hell existed, and since I'd become agnostic, I wasn't sure about the existence of heaven either. So if Christianity did nothing for the afterlife, and made my life here on earth worse off, there didn't seem to be much point to me.

My concept of the purpose of Christianity did not change until after I joined the Marine Corps. I have made it a habit, once I learn that a friend or acquaintance was is Christian, to question them in a non-threatening way about their beliefs--what their beliefs are, and why they hold them. So one night when I was at TBS and my platoon was cleaning weapons late at night after returning from a field exercise, I asked another Lieutenant in my platoon about his religious background. I told him about my background, and when I did he did not immediately try to convert me back to Christianity (like just about every other Christian I have met that learns that I am an apostate). He did, however, recommend that I read C. S. Lewis' Mere Christianity, and then he actually loaned me his copy. About a week before we left TBS, we sat down at lunch and had a long conversation about it.

I told him more about my understanding of religion, and how it had restricted me--how a relationship with God was a chore and an obligation and something that did not bring anything positive into my life.  He told me about his childhood, and about how the situations he had dealt with growing up had nearly destroyed him. Then he told me about his concept of God as a Father, how God had healed him, and how his relationship with God brought him joy and peace. I was pretty sure his theological conception of God was not as I had learned growing up, but to this day he is the best witness of God's love and grace that I have ever met.

My conversation with him made me realize something else--that true faith in God and love for God comes out of true brokenness and despair. Not necessarily the brokenness that you are required to feel and profess because you attend a church. But because there is a place in a life that needs healing. I'd never felt that way in my own life--that something was so completely broken that I needed God to step in and fix it. I wondered if that was why I wasn't a Christian, and if I would ever get to that point.


It was about a year ago that I realized that I believed in God again. I was hiking through Joshua Tree on a day I had off in the middle of the week. I was struggling with some recent events in my life--nothing like what my friend had dealt with, but events that at least gave me pause and that I had to figure out how to deal with. As I hiked back down the from the pass, I saw Mt. San Gorgonio in front of me as I listened to the words of the song I transcribed at the beginning of this post. I realized that I was worshipping God even though I couldn't tell you for sure that he existed. The song seemed to take everything I had believed and not believed about God since I started my journey and sum it up--what do I know? What have I seen of God, but the sliver of an ocean? How could I know the true nature of God? When have I ever experienced the grace of God as it is supposed to be? What do I know of God's love?

The answer is: I don't know. I can't know. The love and grace and majesty of a God is certainly much greater than my ability to imagine. Even more importantly, I would rather commune with a God that I don't know in a time that is reserved just for me and him then go to church every week and profess to know him.


Maybe you are thinking: ah ha! She finally gets it! Maybe you are thinking that despite what I have written of my characterization of my religious background, what I have expressed here about the nature of God is what you believe. That is perfectly acceptable to me. Just please don't ask me to characterize my beliefs in the same way that you characterize yours.

Maybe you are thinking that I have it wrong. You can argue with what I have written here all you want, either on a theological basis, or on any other basis you choose. Maybe you will argue that I am making this about myself and not about God. Please don't be offended, but I don't care. What I have and what I have decided for myself is for me and me alone. You are not going to convince me to believe something based on your interpretation of the Bible. If you don't like what I have written, that is perfectly acceptable to me. I am not asking you to conform your beliefs to mine. I am simply telling you what they are.

These days I am very sensitive about public displays and declarations of religion. It doesn't matter who it comes from--a family member, a friend, a youtube video--but every statement reminds me of the religion that I tried to live with for too long. It makes me angry, in part perhaps because the people who make these declarations seem to have something in their practice of religion that I could never figure out, and in part perhaps because I used to make the same kind of statements but feel that I was being dishonest with myself when I was making them. My beliefs are a personal matter to me, and unless people are feeding the hungry or caring for the sick, I wish people would keep their beliefs as a personal matter to themselves.

I am not offended when someone brings a matter of religion to me privately. My brother recently asked me about what I believed and expressed his desire that I make a decision because it was something that was very important to him. I do not agree with his approach, but I am grateful that he loves me enough to ask. (Brother--I'm sorry that I don't have a better answer for you!)


I don't have a good definition of what I believe right now. This is the way I put it to a friend just over a year ago, prior to my hike: "I honestly couldn't tell you if God exists or not, although I do have an ongoing conversation with him regarding who he is, what exactly he does around here, and why I should really care. Is that irreverent? Maybe. But that's my honest attempt to figure things out. Is it inconsistent? Of course, but I've learned to accept some uncertainty and inconsistency when it comes to religious issues." I am okay with not knowing. I am okay with having questions. I am okay with doubts. My state of not knowing and having questions and doubts is much more fulfilling and real to me than what I had when I said that I knew.

The most important thing is that I am honest with myself. Just like I decided several years ago, I will not force myself to believe something because someone else says that's what I must believe. I believe that God would rather have my honesty than a complete declaration of theology. If that's not true, then he's not a God that I want to believe in.

I won't call myself a Christian. I can't because I won't make the statement that I believe that Jesus died for my sins. I disagree with C. S. Lewis' characterization of Christ and am perfectly comfortable saying that he was a Jewish prophet but not the Son of God. I am perfectly willing to say that he was a radical figure that challenged the religious authorities of his time, who loved people that society treated like dirt, and gave of himself sacrificially. I believe the world would be a better place if we tried to live like him, and although I do not do so as extensively as I used to, I do try to pattern my life after his.

I don't believe that the Bible is the word of God. (I warned you at the beginning that there would be heresy.) I believe that it was written by men and that it describes their perception and knowledge of God. Occasionally I'll open mine, but I don't need to open it to know the parts that are most important to me: "For faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." "We walk by faith, and not by sight."

Bad Guy

They don't tell you about this part when you walk into your recruiter's office and tell the Marine sitting behind the desk that you want to be a Marine Officer. I spent a good portion of my time this weekend sitting on an Administrative Separation (AdSep ["ad sep"]) board. An AdSep board is a panel of officers that recommends to the Commanding General whether a Marine be separated from the Marine Corps for administrative reasons. Also, if the board recommends separation, they recommend a characterization of service--whether the Marine should receive an honorable, general, or other than honorable discharge.

An administrative separation does not always imply wrong-doing on the part of the Marine--for example, a Marine that is injured is administratively separated. However, many times Marines don't uphold the standards they are expected to uphold. These Marines might have minor punishment administered--loss of rank, loss of pay, loss of liberty privileges, etc. There might be no punishment--an overweight Marine will certainly not enjoy the PT and the weigh-ins and the inability to be promoted, but that Marine is never formally punished.

Under certain circumstances, Marines are also be separated from the Marine Corps. If an overweight Marine refuses to lose weight for a long period of time, they will be AdSepped. Until recently, Marines that were homosexual were AdSepped. And Marines that are caught using drugs on a urinalysis are AdSepped.

I have sat on two AdSep boards so far. They followed some amount of legal proceedings--there is a prosecutor called the recorder, the Marine typically has a Navy lawyer representing them, and three officers outside the Marine's chain of command serve as the judge and jury. The first one I did several months ago was not too difficult. The Marine admitted to using marijuana, and the focus of the board was to determine his characterization of service. However, in the board I sat on this past weekend, the Marine insisted that the marijuana in his system was innocently ingested. He brought in a friend with a medical marijuana card that claims the drug was his, his fiance came to explain that she would never allow drugs in their home, and another Marine testified as a character witness.

I have many thoughts about the process and this board that I would love to explain in detail, but I don't have time. The one thing I do want to discuss: at one point during the board, while listening to the Marines' fiance testify, I realized that I was the bad guy. A situation that had happened inside their home had been brought up on a public website, and she was explaining to the board that it was slander. As she talked, discussion broke out between the other board members, the recorder, and the Navy lawyer over the general topic. Since no one else was listening to her, and I was sitting closest to her, she turned to me, looked me in the eye, and continued with her explanation. She looked almost desperate, and I realized: in her eyes I was the judgmental, unfeeling authority that wouldn't care about what had actually happened, wouldn't care about the fact that they had two small children to support, and would have no mercy. Of course, that wasn't true, but sitting there in my uniform and refusing to show any empathy, that is more than likely how I appeared to her.

It was a difficult case to hear. The board doesn't actually make the final decision to separate the Marine--we just make a recommendation to the Commanding General, and those recommendations are not infrequently overturned. However, when it came down to deliberations, there was one board member who decided that the Marine was guilty fairly quickly, one board member who was very reluctant to do so, and then there was me. I was the swing vote. And I made the recommendation, based on the evidence and testimony that was presented and in accordance with the appropriate orders, that the Marine should be separated from the Marine Corps.

It wasn't an easy decision to make. Was the Marine telling the truth, or was he lying? Was it a single mistake he'd made, or had he finally been caught at something he'd been doing for a long time? Did a single mistake after 10 years of service to the Marine Corps or the possibility that he was telling the truth mean that we should give him an extra few months in the Marine Corps (his contract was finished in several months regardless) to figure out what he would do afterwards? Did his misconduct warrant an other than honorable discharge or only a general discharge? What would happen to his family if he was separated from the Marine Corps with little time to prepare? The decisions I made could potentially have a huge impact on his life.

They don't tell you about this when you're an officer candidate. We expect to be responsible for lives in a war zone. They don't tell you that you'll end up sitting on a board, looking a woman in the eyes and realizing that you're about to destroy her livelihood.

One of the Marine Corps' leadership principles is "Seek responsibility and take responsibility for your actions." I will take responsibility for my decision--I believe it was the right decision. However, I hope that the General who will read our recommendation will decide that there is room for mercy, too.

Stubbe Springs

Adventures are rarely fun while you are having them. Actually, you don't typically think of an adventure as an "adventure" while you're having one. You're more likely to think of it as--"it's pouring rain and my tent is flooded," or "the road is mostly washed out and I don't know if I will be able to get my car down the mountain and back onto pavement," or "uhh...where did the trail go?" It's not until later that you realize it was a real adventure.

Adventures of the tamer kind--"yay, we just followed the trail to the top of the mountain," or "that was a nice 70-mile bike ride" pale in comparison to the real adventures, the ones that produce some amount of adrenaline and make you question why you wanted to hike/camp/bike/snowboard/be anywhere but warm and dry at home that day. The real adventures are much more fun the next day, or the next week, or the next month, when you're safely at home, warm and dry, and recounting the story to friends. So you can imagine how I felt yesterday when I realized that I was in the middle of an adventure--a real one.

New Year's Eve was a beautiful day for a hike in Joshua Tree, and I was far from the only person who thought so. The park was swarming with people, and I saw four sets of hikers on a trail where I have hiked previously (twice) and never seen anyone. My first mistake was starting a little too late, and over-estimating the amount of daylight I had left. My second mistake was forgetting my flashlight. (Also, I neglected to see how much moonlight I would have once the sun went down.) My back was a little sore as I started hiking, so I didn't hike quite as fast as I typically hike, which even further decreased the amount of daylight I had. I hit the overlook before sunset, took a short break, and then as I headed back up the trail realized that the shadows were starting to get long.

It wasn't an issue until I realized that the wash I was following had fewer footprints in it than it had previously. Since I was a little pressed for time, I decided not to turn around and try to find where the trail had left the wash, but instead keep pushing and hope I could find another place where the trail passed by the wash. Needless to say, hope is not a course of action, and I soon realized it was unlikely that I would find the trail again by following the wash. I thought I saw what might be the trail, checked it out--nope. By this time, back-tracking would have taken too much time. And so the adventure began--no trail, and daylight quickly fading.

I first took a few seconds to put the detachable legs back on my hiking pants. If I was going to be hiking cross-country in search of the trail, I didn't want my legs to get needlessly scratched up in the process. The trail was supposed to head northwest to a pass in a major ridge, and then back northeast into the valley I'd come in on and then link up with the main trail. If I headed north, I would be heading towards higher ground, where I would be more likely to be able to see the trail again. As very last resort there was a high point on the ridge to the northeast, where I would be able to see everything, including what I thought of as "home valley" where the loop met up with the main trail. The cross-country travel would be slow, and it was questionable whether I would be able to find the trail from that hill once the sun set, but sooner or later I would be able to find my way out.

I hiked up a small ridge off to my right, hoping to see the trail, but all I saw was another ridge. I hiked up that one, too. At this point, I still hadn't found the trail, so I figured the trail must have cut south or west from the wash (I was headed northeast), and that it was unlikely I would find it again in that valley. At this point, that wasn't a big deal, since I'd abandoned the idea of finding the trail in that valley anyway. Fortunately, from this second small ridge I could see the main ridge I needed to cross before I reached "home valley".

I looked at my map again and realized the trail likely cut through a pass off to the west. I decided that heading down to that pass and try to find the trail was probably not going to be as fruitful as heading up to a saddle in the ridge, where I could see everything. Also, if I ended up fighting northwest and then back northeast without a trail, it would probably be a lot slower than simply heading north without a trail. I identified the saddle on my map and started heading towards it as fast as I could--I needed to have some light left once I got up there in order to find the trail again. The adrenaline was pumping full volume at this point. If it got dark before I found the trail again, I would have to decide between sitting in one spot and waiting for daylight or risk actually getting lost while stumbling around in the dark. I wasn't lost at this point--I knew exactly where I was and exactly where I needed to be. If I stumbled around in the dark and couldn't recognize where I was once it got light again--then I would have real problems.

Fortunately, less than 60 seconds after I started hiking towards the ridge, I stumbled across the trail again. I breathed a huge sigh of relief--there would be no cross-country navigation. No trying to find the trail in the dark, or deciding between waiting it out or risking getting lost. However, I didn't know what lay ahead of me on the trail, or how easy it would be to lose the trail again (a problem compounded by fading light and no flashlight). I started walking as quickly as I possibly could, following the trail through the wash I had identified earlier. I was almost grateful for the adrenaline, because it meant that I couldn't feel any nagging pain in my back, and it didn't hurt to hike as quickly as I could.

As I hiked, I paid close attention to the trail in front of me, double-checking places where I thought it might branch. The other danger I identified was tripping or twisting/spraining my ankle. I've hiked/walked on twisted ankles before, so I knew I could do it, but it would slow me down significantly and cost me precious daylight. I didn't have a back-up plan should I happen to lose the trail  again once it got dark, except that I figured it would involve a lot of sitting and thinking and straining my eyes to try to identify peaks. I could feel the temperature drop, and my hands started to get stiff. I tried to ignore it--thinking about the cold wouldn't make it go away, and if I stayed moving I would probably be fine. Chilly, but fine.

The trail emptied into a large well-defined wash, which I was grateful for. It would be difficult to lose the wash, and there were copious footprints to tell me I was still on the trail. Also, there was a sign at the location I'd entered the wash, so if I paid attention there would more than likely be a sign telling me where to exit the wash as well. Unfortunately, even with my elevated pace the wash stretched on for what seemed like forever (but was probably only half an hour), and the stars started to come out as the last of the daylight faded. Now I paid close attention to the footprints in the wash, which indicated that the trail had indeed not left the wash yet. Finally, I saw the sign with a single arrow pointing left. The map had indicated that once I left the wash, it wasn't far until I joined up with the main trail again. And sure enough--after a couple minutes I saw the sign marking the junction of the loop and the main trail.

The adrenaline started to subside; I had hiked the main trail in, and it was easy to follow in daylight. I hoped it would be as easy to follow during the night. I relaxed slightly, but I was on my last slivers of daylight. I didn't realize it at that point, but the light from the moon and stars had already become a factor--a few minutes later I realized that I could see my shadow. YAY!!!!!! I had moonlight! It wasn't going to get any darker, and if I was careful, I wouldn't lose the trail on my way out.

I breathed a gigantic sigh of relief, then forced myself to relax. I looked up at the moon and stars--something I enjoy anyway--and saw that Orion was easily identifiable. I took a picture of my last sliver of daylight and the moon, and then a picture of the moon. My day hike had turned into a night hike, and although I was chilly, I wouldn't be spending the night, so I could deal with a little bit of cold until I got back to my care.

I don't know if you've seen the movie 127 Hours, in which the protagonist gets trapped in a canyon and cuts his own arm off in order to get out. I read the book several years ago so I didn't see the movie, but it was obvious in the book that the author had been almost seeking a life-or-death situation like the one he found himself in--going off on his own for days, not telling anyone where he was going or how long he would be gone (one thing I always do when I hike on my own), taking risks, etc. I've never thought of myself that way, but I realized on that hike that I might be more like him than I think.

I have a lot of training and skills, and they've never really been tested. I'll test myself physically all the time, but I've never put my skills to a real test--this was the closest I've come. As an outdoorsman/woman there's a certain pride that comes from knowing that yes, indeed, I have the abilities to work myself out of a sticky situation, and I proved it when X happened. I could have prepared better and reduced my chances of getting lost in the first place with a flashlight. Instead, I found myself testing my skills and my ability to assess situations and make decisions under pressure. Although I believe I made the right decisions, I got lucky when I found the trail again, because I really did think it was behind me, and I was fortunate that I had a half-moon to provide some light even though I hadn't verified the moon would be out that night before I left. When things go wrong, it's usually the result of multiple failures. I made several mistakes, but they weren't enough to put me in my worst case scenario of spending the night in Joshua Tree.

Anyway, I made it to my car safe and sound and actually did manage to enjoy the night portion of my hike. I have added flashlight and compass to the things I will always bring with me on a hike from now on, and will be more careful with rationing daylight. But you can bet I will not stop hiking. :-)

I apologize that I have not been writing as many blog entries as of late. The work I do now is actually slightly more sensitive than what I did in Afghanistan (crazy, right? but true), so I have shied away from writing about that. And although I do have some fun stories from the weekends I go to drill, I usually get back late and launch right into the work week, so I never have time to write about them until several days later. I will try to do better, as I do enjoy writing, and I know that you all enjoy reading.

Semper Fi! And please, if you take one thing away from this story, let it be this: if you are going to go hiking around outdoors, then please tell someone where you are going and how long you will be gone! It will give you a fighting chance when you make every mistake in the book and don't manage to stumble across the trail.