When winter comes to Vienna, so does the arctic air. I have never, ever, in my life been as cold as I was in Vienna. The ceiling opens up and the arctic air blows into the city and the surrounding villages. When you first see the Viennese women in their fur coats–sable, mink, lynx–you might feel a little twinge of animal-rights guilt. The next time you see the Viennese women you smile at the fashion they cut and the luxury. Every subsequent time you see a woman in a fur coat, you feel enormous envy as they are warmer than you will ever be in your felted wool outer things.
In the middle of that cold, dank, bone-chilling winter, Sundays will always arrive. To get to the ward meeting place, my family and I would be up by 6am, into our coats and mittens by 6:45 and out the door for the long walk to the train station; it was a twenty minute frozen march, which we children would sleepily navigate. When we arrived at the train station we would long to huddle inside the cozy waiting rooms, but they were filled with stinging tobacco smoke. Instead, we would wait on the platform, wind stinging the tips of our exposed ears, impossibly trying to shove our hands further down into our pockets.
The thirty minute train ride was a respite. We’d dutifully shuffle off the train and onto the bus that would carry us to the village’s downtown and to the ward meeting place, a set of rooms above a pet store. I remember the industrial tile floors and the quirky members. There were six of us in primary. I dreaded the end of church because it meant back into our coats and the long trek back. At least by 11:00, the bitter cold would be somewhat tempered by a few measly degrees and if we were lucky, some milquetoast sunshine. The bus ride back was more colorful: the black branches and gray clouds played against the red and orange brick buildings. Sometimes, I could even feel my toes. Back at the train station, I’d linger in front of the Pez dispenser machine, wondering if we would make an exception to buy just a little candy on the Sabbath (we never did.)
On the walk home, the water would sometimes melt from the trees and the flocks of ravens squawk loudly at our rustling. The anticipation of a roll and maybe a spot of soup, along with the realization that if you didn’t put one soggy foot in front of the other you’d never make it back to the apartment, drove my siblings and me to breath in the lung-burning air and walk a little faster.
This week, my husband, children, and I piled into the car at one minute past the hour and zipped to the warm chapel where we were in time for the Sacrament.
Sometimes, when I drive the two minutes to church, I think back to those frozen, blue mornings and remember all the saints that do not have the luxury of wool coats, let alone cars. All over the world, members of our church arise before dawn to make it on time to their church meetings. During the darkest times of the year, they gather to celebrate not only the birth of the Savior but the happiness and warmth of communing together.
So this year, I am going to be on time for my church meetings. If we end up living a block away from the church, we’re going to walk. I will give thanks for chapels and minutes-away temples. In my heart I will remember the sacrifices that faithful saints make all over the world to get to church.
Wow, did you bring back a lot of childhood memories. The freezing, bone chilling cold, the hour long trek to church, the 5 kids in our primary (but our primary was during the week), the church meeting in the basement of a department store, with 10 people total in attendance.
We’ve always made our kids walk to church, where we live two blocks from church. We’re just mean that way.
But I think back to the hour long trek to get to church each Sunday, and I marvel at the sacrifice my parents, new converts, made to get there. This is a good reminder of something else to be grateful for. I think I often diminish their sacrifice by not showing gratitude that I don’t have to make it too.
This was really lovely.
I love how you write. I can just picture your family walking in the cold.
I’d be too embarrassed to drive to church from my house. It would take longer to drive and park than it does to walk. (We live one house away from the parking lot.)
Brrrrrrr… We live so close to church, and we are still not on time. For years I was punctual, then I had children and allowed it to make me very - how should I say - flexible about getting there on time.
We take so much for granted. Thanks for the reminder.
Thank you so much for this, Carina. I became a member of the church when I was 14. Church was 2 hours away from our home. Yes getting up early, taking the bus and a 30 min. walk, rain or shine, to arrive on time to gather with a group of 20 members. These were happy “pioneer” years and I am so grateful to have been part of it.
I remember Sundays in Vienna, well, everyday actually. My companion and I lived outside and in the stairwells of the buildings where we tracted. We met for church in the 2nd district. The building was relatively new then and was concrete and glass. It had two maybe three stories.
We lived far away and our trip to the meetinghouse required multiple changes from the subway to the trolleys. We were always running to make the connection or we would be late. At evening we did it all in reverse.
The women and girls I remember were the ones wearing warm pulleys (pull overs) under the ubiquitous wool cape with either a scarf or a hat. Warm boots were absolutely necessary too tight and they would be colder than if they were too big.
Maybe because I now dress differently, it didn’t seem as cold, as it did the day we buried my mother in Parker, Idaho, where the wind blows down from the Tetons all the time. The road from Rexburg to Parker were solid ice the whole way. Was it ten miles, it seemed like more. For me that will always be the coldest place and time on the face of the earth.
That’s a worthy resolution alright. And a good piece of writing. Thank you!
The bitter cold has arrived here. We seem to be continually buying stuff from the street shops to help keep out the cold, extra gloves, scarves, etc… I’m heading to the store today to get some of those ultra-manly-super-studly man tights for my boys. One layer of clothing is not nearly enough.
And I’m envious of the fur coat ladies also..
This is a wonderful discription of your childhood trek to church. I appreciate the reminder to be grateful for the short drive we have. And that 9:00 church is not that bad when the chapel is only 5 min away. Though I am looking forward to 11:00 church next year (next week!)
Beautiful post Carina. Thank you.
Vienna winters are the coldest I have experienced. My husband is from there (international ward) and we dated mostly in Wien. In the winter that meant sitting in Kaffeehaus for hours sipping hot chocolate. I grew up in Germany and we would walk to church through a small forrest. love your post…