The reflection is excerpted from the publication, “Enlarge the Space of your Tent,” compiled by Sister Victoria Wiethaler in 2003.
Sister Dolores relates, "I was born on December 4, 1916, and christened Barbara in honor of the day's saint. I was the sixth of eight children in the Karl and Barbara (nee Weig) Rauch household, one boy and seven girls. Zengerhof, the tiny village where I grew up, lies nestled among the undulating hills in the picturesque Bavarian Uplands about two miles west of the Czechoslovakian border. It is situated far from the big cities where people were starving and kingdoms toppling at the close of World War I. The closest we came to experiencing these history-making dramas were numerous visitors to our door asking for food, and none ever left empty-handed. The first show I ever attended was a puppet show for which the entrance fee was one egg per person.
Growing up on the farm was a great experience for a child. There were plenty of exciting things to do, always in company of numerous playmates: brother and sisters, cousins, and neighbors. Religion was an integral part of that life. One of my earliest memories is a deep religious experience as I listened to Mother talking to me about God.
Daily family prayers after supper were led by my father, who could go on endlessly with intentions that needed an extra Our Father, often after the completion of the rosary. My first day in school provided me with a firm career goal. I came home declaring 'I am going to be a teacher.' That goal never changed. Seeing my determination, a wise pastor advised my parents to enroll me in the district girls' school directed by the School Sisters of Notre Dame. So, beginning with grade four, I made my way daily through woods and meadows to the next town, an hour's walk, while my siblings attended the two-room country school nearby.
In the course of the next four years, I got to know the Notre Dame Sisters, but I had no desire to join them. For most of my school years, I had been in charge of collecting money for poor children in Africa, using a box given to me by a missionary in Africa. It was topped by a black figure who nodded his thanks whenever a deposit was made. That charmer had stolen my heart. I would teach in Africa. The quiet resolve became a serious commitment on the day of my First Communion at the end of grade four.
Toward the end of grade school, I had to look for a boarding school to continue my education since there were no high schools or colleges in our vicinity. My pastor helped me complete an application blank to enter the training program of the Holy Spirit Sisters. I was on my way to Africa - I thought. I had not reckoned with opposition from my father, who told me kindly, but firmly, that he would never consent to my leaving Germany. Again, on the advice of my pastor, I enrolled in the SSND Teacher Training Institute at Weichs. He assured me that I would be free to go to Africa after I finished the six-year course, if I decided to do so.
I completed high school and teacher training - and fell in love with the School Sisters of Notre Dame. That posed a serious dilemma. I still wanted to serve in Africa, but SSND had no ministries on that continent. A good confessor helped solve my problem. He assured me that I seemingly had a call to the community of my teachers. If God wanted me to minister in Africa, I would receive a clear sign from God. Not realizing that I would have to wait 46 years for that sign, I trusted that counsel and asked for admission to SSND.
As candidate, I was sent to a government school to assist an elderly (sister) principal in teaching a group of fourth grade girls. Events moved rapidly after that. Hitler had taken over Germany three years previously. He had used the time to consolidate his position. Now, he was ready for his threatened move against the Church. Headlines in all newspapers proclaimed Hitler's Five-year Plan to remove religion from all German schools. Crucifixes and religious pictures were replaced by photographs of Hitler and the swastika; all priests and sisters were to be dismissed from the schools within five years, beginning immediately.
At the close of the school year, thirty-five schools directed by School Sisters of Notre Dame were taken from them. That move left three hundred sisters and eighty candidates without employment. There was heavy pressure on the teacher-candidates to join the Nazi ranks and fill the vacancies left by the departing religious teachers. Candidates were faced with three choices; leave their religious community and continue teaching as lay teachers, train for another ministry, or immigrate to America where our sisters were extending invitations to join them. After some hesitation, my father gave me permission to immigrate to America. His fear that I might be drawn into the ranks of the Nazis had triumphed over all other considerations.
I shall always consider the call to leave my homeland for the sake of mission one of the great graces of my life. Saying good-bye to family and friends was difficult. I never saw my parents again. It also was not easy to cope with the adjustments that had to be made to another culture in order to find understanding and acceptance. Finally, it took courage and an abundance of grace to deal with subtle, and sometimes not so subtle, prejudices, gently without resentment. With God's grace, the support of kind superiors, companion sisters, and wise spiritual guides, I gradually learned to accept myself as the person I am. Concomitantly, God showered me with many blessings in return for any generosity on my part, especially with a freedom to let go, a willingness and an ability to change.
The victory came neither quickly nor easily. Gifted with a solid educational background and above-average intellectual ability, I threw myself into the teaching ministry with a vengeance. Success crowned my work. It also blacked out for a long time my desire to serve in mission fields. Hadn't God sent me to America?
During the mid-70's the first SSNDs went to Africa. ‘That's where I should be,' my whole being cried out, 'however, surely, I am too old now.' But involuntarily, the phrase left my lips whenever someone spoke of Africa: 'That's my continent; I have been wanting to go there since I was knee-high.' Not surprisingly, everyone seemed to concur in the conclusion to which I had come: too old.
It was different that afternoon at the Generalate in Rome in June of 1983. Our Renewal Group had listened to reports on Notre Dame missions. Again my heart had thrilled to the stories in excitement and frustration and my lips formed the familiar words as I passed Sister Mary Margaret Johanning, our General Superior, on leaving the Aula. She smiled an indulgent smile as others had done on similar occasions. I silently concluded: 'See, God does not want you in Africa.' But then everything suddenly changed. I had not proceeded more than twenty steps from the Aula when word was passed along the groups of sisters that had formed: 'Sister Mary Margaret wants to see Sister Dolores.' Unsuspecting, I returned to the meeting room and was greeted with, 'Are you serious about going to Africa?' I responded, 'Well, of course; but I am too old now.' Sister Mary Margaret answered quietly, 'Pray over it and we will talk about it tomorrow.'
This incident marked the final step to realizing a lifelong dream. God had led me to America to prepare for the job I was destined to perform in life. God had accepted the promise I made on my First Communion day and directed my path toward its fulfillment.
God was not yet finished with surprises. The Bishop of Kisii, my African sponsor, requested my credentials, and I concluded that I would teach in the Catholic Teachers College, which was then opening. However, on my arrival in Kenya, Bishop Mugendi, my African sponsor, informed me, 'I will find other personnel to teach in the college. I need you, a geographer who knows climates, soils, and environments, to research our famine-prone western parts of the diocese. Write a program for solving the problem, find a donor to support the work, teach young African people to take proper care of the land.'
Soon I was driving along rutted dirt roads to study the degraded wastelands of South Nyanza and saw the hopelessness in the eyes of haggard men and women, and pot-bellied half-clad children begging for hand-outs. I also began working with a young, poorly educated staff, and finally realized what my life in America had been all about. God had prepared me for His work in Africa through experiences, education, and training, which I could not have received anywhere else except in America, including tasks and challenges which had not been to my liking.
I am back in America, which I call HOME, recalled by loving community leaders concerned about my physical welfare. Now I have the time and leisure to contemplate Divine Providence and give thanks for the privilege of having been called to help restore a little corner of God's creation to its pristine beauty and fertility. "May God be praised!"
