First Service: Following God's Calling and Finding Life's Purpose

Jaeger, Andrea

ISBN 10: 075730169X ISBN 13: 9780757301698

Publisher: Hci, 2004

Synopsis

The one-time tennis prodigy describes how an injury led to the premature end of her career and her decision to follow the Word of God and dedicate her life to The Silver Foundation, a non-profit camp for children with cancer.

About this title

About the Author

Andrea Jaeger is a former #2 ranked female tennis player turned philanthropist. An active Christian (nondenominational), she co-founded The Silver Lining Foundation, based in Aspen, Colorado, which she has run for more than a decade. She also operates the Little Star Program, headquartered in Durango, Colorado, which gives money and provides programs to children afflicted with a variety of hardships and diseases.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter 1
Worthiness, not Pride

 

Before I formed you in the womb I knew you; before you were born I sanctified you.
―Jeremiah 1:5

           

 
As with many Americans, I was a child of determined immigrants seeking freedom and a better life in a new country with countless opportunities. My parents, Roland and Ilse Jaeger, longed to leave their native homeland of Germany, where everyone they knew told stories of the ravaging effects of two world wars. They had both lived through horrors of their own, and this added to their personal strength and determination to make a new life for themselves and, eventually, a better life for the family they hoped to start.

My father was a gifted athlete, but his frequent bouts with sports injuries curtailed his dreams of becoming an international soccer or boxing superstar. As much as this ­disappointed him, these injuries might have saved his life since they prevented him from being drafted into the German ­military.

War had been difficult for the Jaeger family. While my dad's father, my grandfather, was fighting at the front, his mother battled the ravages of a brain tumor and died in the prime of her child-rearing years. My dad's father was then taken prisoner by the Russians and held captive for four years. Filled with sorrow and despair, my father was determined to keep the remains of his family together to rise up against the death and decay all around him.

My mother had a fateful encounter during the war that, if acted upon differently, would have altered the course of many lives―including mine. In the pastoral German countryside, in view of the Rhine River, a soldier broke into my mom's home at the end of the war. French troops had captured the town of Brennet, Germany. The Americans were in Berlin. The Nazi regime was falling. As in all wars, bullets, mortars and bombs bring down innocent bystanders. Soldiers have to make split-second decisions to spare and take lives, including their own. This particular soldier was securing the perimeter around my mother's home when his attention was drawn to a noise in the kitchen. He made his way inside.

My mom sensed a presence behind her and turned from the kitchen counter where she was undertaking her daily chores of preparing a meal. Startled by the invasion, her eyes locked on the soldier. She feared for her life. He slowly came closer to my mother, lowered his firearm and withdrew a long blade. The soldier lifted the knife high in the air, apparently ready to slash my mother, but she didn't flinch. She watched the knife slice through the air. If it was her time to die, she certainly wasn't going down as a coward. But rather than harming my mother, the soldier decided to smash the knife down on the counter. In a mark of compassion, in the blink of an eye, the soldier spared my mom's life.

Staring at my mother, the soldier expressed that this was not her time to die. She had her own destiny to fulfill. Long seconds passed as they stared at each other, taking in how quickly life can turn to death and vice versa. The soldier made the next move, slicing himself some cheese, and then proceeded to quietly make his way out the door, never to be seen again. With the life-threatening situation over, Mom, in her typical no-nonsense fashion, continued about her chores. Nothing would deter her from her duty of making sure the family had food on the table.

My parents survived these rough challenges and more harrowing ones as well. No one lives through war without scars―emotional, spiritual or physical, or worse yet, all three―but it gave them an even stronger will to succeed and more reason to focus on their future and fulfill their hopes and dreams.
My mother's aunt lived in Chicago. Roland and Ilse, in love but not yet married, were encouraged by her stories of life in America―the land of prosperity. With few possessions, but a wealth of dreams, they set sail for the strange new land that would soon be their home. They had to travel separately, as my father had difficulty getting a visa from the German government, which wanted to keep as many of its citizens as possible―especially the men―to help in the rebuilding effort. In February 1956, undaunted by the challenges of traveling alone, my mother bravely ventured by boat to the United States of America, where her aunt met her in Chicago. My father finally joined his teenaged sweetheart in November of that same year. By January, they were married.

Roland and Ilse sought their own version of the American success story as they started their new life together in Skokie, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago. Knowing little English, they jumped with blind faith into a culture they knew almost nothing about.

With a clean slate, and their inherent dedication and never-give-up attitude propelling them forward, my parents hit the ground running. They learned the language and acquired skills that would help them build promising careers. My father began in construction, eventually becoming a foreman. This ultimately provided him with the leadership skills and financial resources to fulfill his real desire: opening his own restaurant and bar.

Ilse helped Roland in his quest to own a restaurant by working as a beautician to help save money. Being a hairstylist alone did not satisfy my mom's drive for success, and with her own determination and fortitude she eventually opened up her own beauty shop.

In just over four short years, my parents saw their dream realized. The Postillion Lounge opened its doors in 1961. Roland and Ilse treated their American customers to a family restaurant with a definite European flavor. They were proud to be Americans, but held fast to their heritage.

In spite of these accomplishments, Roland and Ilse felt that something important was missing from their lives. They longed to start a family. In 1962, they received their wish with the birth of my sister, Susy. Another dream was fulfilled.

My mom said that Dad cared for his newborn as if 'the sun rose and set with Susy.' And she loved that about him. He would put his daughter on his new red Corvette, proudly wrapping his arm around her as my mom snapped away with the camera. The Jaegers were the quintessential immigrant success story: a young, beautiful family proudly living the American dream for all it was worth.

Susy, an ideal child, made life easy for them. While some parents could never think of taking their young child out to dinner, my parents could take Susy anywhere without a fuss. She behaved well beyond her years and never cried or threw temper tantrums in public places. Even at home, Susy was well-mannered and rarely needed discipline.

This atmosphere gave my parents reason to expand their family. When Susy was nearly three years old, my mother became pregnant with me. Very quickly, my parents learned how different children born of the same parents can be. As my mom drove along Lake Shore Drive, on June 4, 1965, her labor pains began fast and furiously. From the outset, I had a sense of urgency to get things done in a style all my own. Through the pain, Mom somehow safely drove herself to the hospital. It was a difficult labor for my mother. She was a small woman and I was a large baby. Fortunately, the doctors managed to remove me with a minimal amount of damage while using forceps to safely deliver me. My mom survived the ordeal with few problems, but I came into the world looking decidedly unlike the Gerber baby. Pronounced forceps marks on my head, along with a bruised face, led my parents to hide all delivery and hospital photos.

Susy was charming and persuasive from the start, always looking and acting as if she was born to lead more than just our family. She was a child model, featured in many catalogs and magazines with great success. She was also highly intelligent, easily reading books written for adults even as a child.

I was completely different from Susy. While she was an extrovert and liked being in a crowd; I was shy and preferred to play alone. It was as if I was in a world of my own. Susy was charming and entertaining, while I 'disappeared' into fascinating internal ventures. Susy could always be trusted to do the right thing and behave impeccably, making people feel welcome. I was being trained by unseen forces to follow my spirit. This made me appear aloof, indifferent and unresponsive to others.

My parents had a perfect built-in babysitter for me in Susy. I fondly called her 'Foofin' until I could properly pronounce her name. I was enthralled with trying to crawl, walk, run and even bike to have fun with Susy and then excitedly escape to my own retreats. I found it very entertaining to watch Susy captivate people with her colorful intellect and considerable beauty. This eventually served me well since one of my favorite activities became studying how people interacted with one another.

As do all successful restaurateurs, my parents worked long hours. But this hard work made it possible for us to visit our ­relatives in Germany every year. Since countries in Europe are so near to one another, my parents would always add scenic and educational side trips along with our visit to their home country. They wanted us to appreciate the culture and history of all of Europe.

The scenery and European way of life thrilled me. It seemed that every nook and cranny in the quaint little villages that dotted the countryside were somehow historically important, and conducting business always took a backseat to something as simple as eating lunch. And unlike America, where we were the newcomers, every place we stepped here was part of my family's history. The butcher, baker, neighbors, grocery store owner, wine merchant, restaurant staff, even gas station attendants, all knew my parents. We were treated as visiting royalty. The butcher gave us free snacks; the baker, samples of his tastiest dessert. Every merchant grabbed a handful of his or her favorite delicacy and handed the morsels over to Susy and me, lovingly placing them in our tiny hands.

I would spend mornings picking strawberries along the Rhine River with my grandmother. This lovely woman, whom I affectionately called 'Oma,' had a smile as sweet as Swiss chocolate. That smile was permanently etched on her face. Everything she did, every memory I have of her, is with that beautiful smile. Perhaps she was so cheerful because part of her purpose was to sprinkle our lives with great joy.
Oma's entire English vocabulary consisted of 'ya-ya,' 'so-so' and 'thank you.'
I would ask, 'Oma, do you want to go with me to the river and pick strawberries?'
'Ya-ya,' she'd answer with a jolly lilt in her voice.
I would inquire, 'How do you think this area looks to pick from?'
'So-so,' she'd reply, blue eyes sparkling.

The language barrier never bothered us. We had our own special relationship because love, spoken through the heart, transcends all boundaries, languages and cultures. It has its own way of communicating. I never learned to speak much German―unlike my sister, who was quite fluent, picking up my parents' mother tongue quickly―and Oma never learned any more English, but our relationship was strong and immovable.

After picking fresh strawberries and gazing at the swans delicately making their way along the crystal clear water, my grandmother would say to me, 'Thank you.' Then we would turn toward the road for the leisurely walk back to the house, winding back and forth on a meandering pathway, our spirits playfully enjoying the moments spent together. It was there, in these quiet, intimate moments with my Oma, that I started honing my skills to carry on conversations without having to speak at all. It was comforting to me to be able to retreat like this and not be forced to talk.

When it was time to leave Oma's chalet, she would stretch herself out the window, waving as if her hand reached right into heaven. Tears streamed down her face, but her bright smile still shone through the sadness of watching us leave, comforting us and reassuring everybody that we would all be okay until our next visit. It was this way every time until my grandmother died in 1995.

Back home, as the warm summer air began to take on the briskness of autumn, it was time for me to start preschool. While separation anxiety is common among youngsters who leave their mothers for the first time, mine was acute. Right from the start of my academic career, I never felt a sense of belonging in school. I enjoyed my own internal world and wanted to keep it intact―my conscious thoughts uninterrupted and the inexplicable pull on my spirit strong.

Leaving her baby daughter for the first time was difficult for my mother, but she put on her game face for my benefit and gathered herself for first-day introductions. 'Andrea, this will be fun for you,' she said positively. 'Look at all the children, and oh, look, here comes your teacher!' Her peppy speech notwithstanding, I was mortified. The classroom was a chaotic mix of unfamiliar sights, sounds and smells. Children gleefully played in ways that startled me. They yanked each other's hair, ate crumbs off the floor and shrieked loudly. This was as different from my quiet, comfortable world as it could be. From the start, I was miserable. I would never get used to being there.

I reached up and pulled on my mother's protective sleeve, preparing a speech that would save me from a place I didn't feel I belonged. My mom was concentrating on hearing the drop-off and pick-up information from the teacher. I gazed sadly across the room again at the organized unruliness. A precocious and inquisitive child with insatiable curiosity, I knew, even at this young age, that I would not learn anything here. I would spend most of my time watching others being calmed down and taught simple activities. I wanted more than what the nursery school class could provide.

I turned to my mother, prepared to plead my case for returning to the car and finding another school. Despite her valiant attempts to stay strong for me, her lips quivered with emotion. Tears welled in her eyes. My heart sank. I couldn't add to her anxiety. I silenced myself and, without hesitation, voiced my feelings to God.
That's when it started to click: My uncomfortable introduction to school unlocked the first door into what was urgently driving the spiritual portion of my life. What I thought was talking to myself in an internal dialogue, was not that at all. Finally, the spiritual longing that cycled through my thoughts daily made a solid connection. All along, I had been reaching out to God, searching for a purpose and a protection that I knew my parents couldn't satisfy. I took my request to the Creator.

This innate connection with God was natural. I was born ­believing in Him and fully acknowledged that there was a reason and purpose behind everything, whether I favored the outcome or not. In my spirit, I instantly felt a sense of comfort to help me deal with this overwhelming situation. Not wanting to attract attention, I whispered under my breath, 'God, I know I am not supposed to be at this place. I will put up with it for now, but this will have to change.'
Many people think that God only listens to people but cannot reply. This fallacy stops relationships from going to another level with God. I expected responses. I knew that God provided results and would always assist me. This declaration of faith was critical to God opening our two-way communication system. It was unlike anything I experienced with any person.

God soon answered my prayers. Not long after, my parents decided to move our family farther out into the ­suburbs, where we could have a spacious house with a big yard, shaded by an abundance of trees. Along with a nicer house, my parents wanted us to be in good schools that would challenge and inspire us, satisfy our craving for knowledge and help us attain our own dreams.

Mom and Dad loaded us up in their shiny blue Cadillac and drove about thirty miles north of Skokie to the picturesque town of Lincolnshire. I marveled at the change of scenery. Cement playgrounds turned to ample green fields. We took the toll road, but soon four-lane highways gave way to country stores and wide-open vistas.

Among the houses we saw, 6 Sheffield Court turned out to be the perfect one. My parents made an offer and soon it was ours. The brick ranch-style home contained three bedrooms and two bathrooms with ample living and dining space. There were so many trees in the front and back yards that I would often lose track trying to count them. Enormous old willow and oak trees surrounded the neighborhood, standing sentinel and making us feel safe and ­protected. The driveway had a slope perfect for sledding in the ­winter, and skateboarding and roller-skating in the spring, summer and fall.

Laura B. Sprague Elementary School was within biking and walking distance from our home. Susy and I would walk to school every morning until my parents―whose bank account was depleted from buying the new house―could afford to buy us new bicycles, since we had long outgrown our old ones.
Susy continued her role as older sister, mentor and babysitter to me with endless patience. It was a big job for her, as my curiosity continuously sidetracked me on our trips to school. I searched for monarch butterflies, caterpillars, milkweed, frogs, birds, bunnies and anything that moved in the countryside's natural kingdom.

Lincolnshire was more than our new home; it was a kid's ­paradise.

 

©2008. Andrea Jaeger. All rights reserved. Reprinted from First Service. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Publisher: Health Communications, Inc., 3201 SW 15th Street, Deerfield Beach, FL 33442

Edition details

• Publisher: Hci
• Publication date: 2004
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 075730169X
• ISBN 13: 9780757301698
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 240