Renate's Reflections

        Monday was Memorial Day. Every year, I invite to my house people with whom I have a connection from Brazil. It turned out to be the biggest group ever and figured there were about 52 people here. Half were children. We grilled, enjoyed the dishes everyone brought to share, and sat around and talked. The little ones gave the bounce house a run for its money and the balls from the pit were all in said bounce house at the end of the day. It's always great to be together. It's also a day to remember those who gave their lives for the freedoms we enjoy as citizens of this nation. I come from a multicultural family. My father was from Germany and my mother is American. They met in Germany in the early 60s when my mom was a university student in Marburg, the city where my father had been born and raised.            During World War II, both my grandfathers served in opposing armies. My American grandfather was stationed in I...

       Yesterday, May 21st, Ernie entered the presence of the Lord -- two days before his birthday. He was a man of God who loved the Word of God and to serve God. It's hard to believe Ernie's race is finished and that his family has to continue theirs without him. He had an impact on my life in the brief time that I knew him. My first memory of Ernie is from seven years ago. I had recently moved to Winston Salem and was attending a new church. At the beginning of the service that particular Sunday morning, four men went to the platform and began to sing "All my ways, they are known to You" by City Alight. I had never heard it, but the message of the song came through in clear, four-part harmony. Ernie sang with gusto and joy.  Ernie taught Sunday School series from time to time. One quarter, my mom and I attended his class on church history. He had a depth of knowledge of the subject that would put most scholars to shame. He spent hours every week in prepar...

                       My father would have turned 84 today. He was born in late spring 1940 in the old university town of Marburg/Lahn in Germany. At the time, World War II was gaining traction in Europe. It was a precarious time in history.                   The citizens of Marburg were subjected to nightly bombing raids by allied aircraft and one of Papa’s earliest memories was of running with his mother and sister to the bomb shelter several blocks down the street. It was in that shelter where my father met his best friend — a friendship born in uncertainty, but one that would last a lifetime.           During the nightly air strikes, the allies destroyed the train station but were careful to steer clear of ancient landmarks such as the Schloss (castle) on the hill and the Elizabeth church. Both bui...

  This story has been running through my mind a lot lately. It's one of the funnier things that happened during our thirty-year marriage. Doug was . . . let's just say a bit overreactive at times. It seems to be a trait handed down by the Reiner men from generation to generation. All the Reiner women reading this will nod their heads in agreement. The Reiner men will snort and say, "Not me!" And then the Reiner women will remind the men of a particular instance . . . Well, you get the idea. It was Alex's senior year of high school and we were headed out to Fortaleza after a break. The trip was long and we had our Akita, Zeus, with us so we decided to split the trip into two days. To save a little money, and to have a place for the dog, we made arrangements to spend the night at the Iguatu camp which was right on the way.  Night had fallen by the time we arrived at the camp and there were only a few lights on. We were essentially unloading in the dark. The fi...

          Yesterday, May 2, 2024, marked the 7th anniversary of Doug's entering the presence of the Lord. Seven years. It seems like it was just the other day and so long ago at the same time. I think of him every day. My thoughts can be memories of our life and ministry in Brazil or of the time we were in Cleveland during treatment. Most often, I remember those last few days in the ICU of the hospital. The pain hits with that sweet tightness in my chest. It's familiar now and doesn't catch me by surprise. The tears still pool in my eyes at random thoughts and remembrance. They roll down my cheeks as I share them with the grief support group. Someone hands me a tissue from the ever-present box on the little round table in the middle of the circle. The others look at me nodding their heads in understanding. Some are teary as well. I feel arms embrace me from behind whispering, "I'm praying for you," in my ear. "Thank you," I say. We all sit there in...