The reflection is excerpted from the publication, “Enlarge the Space of your Tent,” compiled by Sister Victoria Wiethaler in 2003.
Sister relates, "Immediately after birth I received conditional Baptism because I was not expected to live. But my mother, full of confidence in God, consecrated me to the Lord, if my life would be spared. I attended grade school taught by lay teachers, but I often visited my aunt and uncle in Vilsbiburg, a mission of our sisters, and I got acquainted with them.
The sister superior made an application for me to the Munich motherhouse. I was trained as needlework instructor and then missioned to Pleystein, the home of Bishop Michael Wittmann. After five happy years, I applied for reception, stating that I was ready to go to a foreign country because our schools were closed for us by the government.
During our novitiate in Westphalia, we were filled with enthusiasm to go to Brazil, none of us realizing that we would never see that land. Mother Almeda made a special visitation to our novitiate telling us that all of us would go to North America since Mother Medulpha had asked several times for sisters. We were a little disappointed but saw the will of God in it. At a private interview, Mother Almeda told me that I would go to Mankato, a very beautiful place. Mother remarked, 'You will feel at home with the sisters of the North West province since they have a very good spirit.'
"No doubt, there were adjustments to be made after we arrived in Mankato-language, food, homesickness. One of the first Sundays I wrote to my former novice mistress 'If the ocean were not so wide, I would like to jump across.' (Afterwards, I was sorry I wrote that.) But soon the loneliness was offset by English lessons, needlework, and getting acquainted with a new land and new people. When I first heard English prayers, I said 'Lord do you have to listen to that all the time?'
There have been many joys in my life, but sorrows, too. America's entry into World War II cut off communications with Germany. However, through the Swiss Red Cross we could write 25 words on an aerogram a few times a year. My father died December 1, 1944, but I received the message only the next year in July. My mother died in 1955. At my first home visit after twenty years, I surely missed them. I enjoyed several more home visits with my brother and four sisters. Each was a grace.
