JOURNEYS Mennonite Stories of Faith and Survival in Stalins Russia, John B. Toews, 1998

nt request that my mother be allowed to move into his house. His condition was that she stay in her room. She dared not walk about the house or say anything for fear she would be turned out and have to move back into the chicken coop. When Alfred wanted to play outside, he was forbidden. All this was very difficult for me so I went looking for another dwelling. In the spring, we moved into a barn. I did some reno¬ vations and set up a stove. During the following year, there was a crop failure and everything was extremely scarce. Nevertheless, we got enough food and I was able to look after my mother for another three years. She was so thankful for this and often re¬ marked, “Anna, I’m so grateful that I still have you.” Around 1950 my mother became ill and I cared for her. I was so thankful she didn’t die during my absence. She once asked me: “Why has God led me in such a [difficult] pathway? I gave birth to twelve children and you are the only one left.” “Mother,” I replied, “you are really a very fortunate mother. As far as we know all your children, my brothers and sisters, are with Jesus. If the Lord should call you home, Jesus as well as father, the children and grandchildren will be there to greet you. Mother I wish I was as fortunate a mother as you are.” She seemed to understand that and calmed down. Almost everyday during the last week she asked: “Anna, will the dear Savior soon take me home? I want to go to Him.” During her last day she looked at me and said: “I’m so thankful I have you. Will Jesus soon come?” “Yes Mother, Jesus will soon come.” “Do you really think so?” “Yes Mother.” She was fading quickly. I lifted her in order to give her a drink but she died in my arms. I’m so thankful she is with the Lord and that I’ll see her again. REMINISCENCES 43 When I returned home after being away for four years, I had found my children living in bitter poverty. We didn’t have any beds to speak of. An old pelt was placed on the ground for Lilie and Alfred. The stove had been built in such a way that no one could sit or sleep on any portion of it. There were no dishes — the children had found tin cans in the hospital’s rubbish heap. Since the death of my sister, no one had cared for my mother and the children. As a result, Alfred starved. People would often ask, “Is Anna’s little Alfred still alive?” He no longer played, nor smiled, nor spoke. He could often be seen sitting on a little hill with his hair full of lice and his clothes nothing more than rags. An old lady once told how once, when she had given him a piece of bread, he had jumped up and grabbed it with both hands. Stories like this about my child cut deep into a mother’s heart! We learned to trust God even in the most abject poverty. Following my imprisonment, I began to work in the home of an official of our town. I was well paid for my labors which in¬ cluded knitting for others. I did not return home empty-hand