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It seemed I heard it thunder, and in the thunder I heard the word, "Go."
My heart welled up with joy until it ran over, just as it would have if He had said "Stay."
From that moment I realized anew the meaning of that hymn,
Ready to go, ready to stay,
Ready my place to fill;
Ready for service, lowly or great,
Ready to do His will.
I kissed the children hurriedly and boarded the TWA. The next morning we landed at Le
Bourget Air Field, Paris, the same air field where Lindbergh landed when he made his famous
trans-Atlantic flight. Because of fog, we had not been able to come down at the regular D'or Field
in Paris. People scattered. Everyone seemed to know where he was going. There I was, alone, out
there on that great air field, a makeshift airport.
I thought, "Lord, what will I do? What will I do?"
God marvelously helped me find a phone. I looked through the phone book and found a
name that looked familiar. I did not know much French, only enough not to get lost and not to be
afraid to be alone. I called this number, and a man answered. He said they had heard of me, that
they had read the little booklet telling my life story in French, and that he and his wife would meet
me soon at the air terminal. They did, and procured a room for me in the Algerian section of the
city of Paris -- a very poor section, but it was very near to them.
Now, I am not a sightseer. I am more concerned about souls than sights. Upon my return
home, many people said, "Did you go to the Louvre? Did you go to Notre Dame? Did you go here,
there?" To all these questions I only said, "No." But I was thrilled to tell what I did experience.
One morning early I was looking for a clean place to eat breakfast. (Paris is a very dirty
city; the dust of the centuries has settled everywhere. And no one dares to touch that ancient dust,
for the citizens are proud of it.) As I walked down the street, I saw a group of people with their
heads together talking in a very animated fashion. As I passed them, I recognized that they were
speaking my mother tongue, which is Hungarian -- the first language I ever knew to speak.
As I neared these women and listened to their Hungarian speech, I was so thrilled that I
stopped and listened. I did not mean to be eavesdropping. Indeed, I did not realize what I was
doing until one of the women turned around and looked at me from head to foot several times. The
others all followed suit.
I said to them in Hungarian, "O please, I'm sorry. I did not mean to be eavesdropping, but
I'm a stranger here in France. I'm from America and I'm on my way to Israel. I heard you speaking
Hungarian. My mother was born in Hungary, and it just made me feel homesick to hear you speak
her language. But please don't mind."