I want to go Home!

I don't remember exactly, but the police station in Wiesbaden may have looked like this one.

Our caravan was the only home I knew when I was young, and that night I needed to find a way home with my sister on our first day of winter quarters in Wiesbaden. It never occurred to me to doubt that God would help me. After all these years, I still remember my anxiety and the simple trust I had in Jesus to be there for me.

When the stranger on the road said he couldn’t help us, my tired and cold knees grew weak. Please, dear Jesus, I thought, I want to go home.

I opened my mouth not knowing what to say, when the stranger added, “Come with me. The police will know what to do.”

Gratefully, I hurried after him, Josefa’s hand moored in mine. Surely this man knew what to do to find our home again. Maybe he was an angel, sent by Jesus. We followed him down the street to a police station.

He opened the door and I felt a sense of relief as we entered a well-lit, warm room. The man talked to a policeman for a while, pointing to us. He turned, smiled at us, and said, “The nice policeman will take care of you.” He tipped his hat and proceeded to the door, his shoes clicking on the tile. When he opened the door and left, a cold blast of air made me shiver all over again.

I gripped Josefa’s hand harder, turned, and stared at the policeman. The police help people, I thought. But a shudder went down my back, anyway. I looked down. Maybe he would be mad at me for being so stupid and losing my way and not taking care of my sister.