The common denominator of all mankind is a desire to hope in a better life.
Looking through old pictures brought me a deep knowledge of the place hope had in my family. My father and mother lost everything and started over three times. The first time was when they became refugees from Silesia to West Germany after World War II. They left, on foot with what they could carry or push in a baby carriage or handcart.
In West Germany, racked by losing the war, they were second class citizens trying to survive. They rebuilt with hope. My father could see that things in Germany were going to be slow in rebuilding so he turned his eyes to America. We had a relative who blazed the trail for us over the Atlantic. Below is a picture of my brother and I waiting to board the ship.
Again, my family had hope and started to rebuild security. The starting over this time included learning a new language and learning to navigate a new culture. But, there was hope.
When I reached age four, my family seems content and readjusted. Mind you, that was my point of view. Above, the Christmas after my fourth birthday, I was so happy with Suzi, my Christmas doll, sitting upon my father's knee. My mother posed reading, with what I believe was the bible. She might have been reading something entirely different but she was the one that had hope in Christ. That hope attached itself to me and carried me through my life.
I have been writing with the Five Minute Friday Group for two years and I really enjoy the talented writers who share their work. Would you like to join?