Testimony of a Chicken Pastry

The first time I met Bolette, I was highly impressed by her vitality. She was visiting my grandparents while realizing her dream of a grand roadtrip along the Eastern United States - at the age of seventy-plus! The greater part of her stay at our house in Maryland was spent running around in the backyard with my sister and I, chasing tree squirels. They do not have squirrels in Danmark. She was entranced by them.

Although not a Seventh-Day Adventist, Bolette was very respecting of our family's beleifs. She gladly participated in our evening worships, smilingly ate our odd assortment of vegetarian food, and patiently endured the English conversation (alhtough most Danes speak English fluently, Bolette has lost the ability due to a serious stroke). Later, once she had returned to Danmark, my grandparents excitedly informed us that Bolette had begun irregular visits to an SDA church in her home town of Aalborg.

It was therefore with high hopes and missionary zeal that I arranged to visit Bolette several weekends ago. It had been many years since I'd seen her, and I wasn't quite sure what to expect. But, I knew that nothing can serve as a better bridge to religion than personal attention from an already-practicing Christian. What an opportunity to witness!

As I disembarked from the train on Friday afternoon, I scanned the station benches for her familiar, vibrant face. I at last sighted her standing by the platform steps, earnestly searching the crowds of passengers for me. But, oh dear - she was pushing a walker! My train had come forty-five minutes later than we had orginally arranged. Yet, she had remained standing the entire time, awaiting my arrival. She was overjoyed to see me. Still, a walker? I began to wonder whether it had been such a wise idea to invite myself for the entire weekend...

With steady, though elderly, strides we made our way down several cobblestone streets to her city apartment. Bolette lives all alone. Her son is in the general vecinity of the area, but she prefers her independence, and does most things without assistance. This became evident as she laboriously prepared our afternoon tea. I offered to help her various times, but she simply wouldn't hear of it! Guests were meant to sit and relax. Not bustle about with plates and cups! As she rattled in the kitchenette with cookie tins, I surveyed her abode from my armchair. It was a grand total of three small rooms: a bathroom, a bedroom, and a living-study-kitchen-dining room. Although she did not have enough room for anything besides a knee-high coffee table and a writing desk, she had somehow managed to find space for her vast collection of cat figurines. A polished, feline face smiled back at me from every nook and cranny.

Bolette was a firm beleiver in afternoon "tea." When she was at last finished with her preperations, the little coffee table boasted a steaming pot of hot chocolate, three kinds of cakes, and four varieties of cookies. Then began the conversational efforts. It was challenging for both of us. Although my Danish skills can get me from point to point without too much difficulty, I'm still lacking when it comes to light chat. She, although not entirely deaf, had to struggle to understand what my gramatically unstable sentences were trying to tell her! After exhausting my vocabulary and her imagination on the topics of cats, drama, art, squirels, knitting, Africa, and Christmas time, I decided to turn to more practical purposes. Having noticed that there was only one bed on the premises, and recognizing the fact that she had told me it was mine, I wanted to find out where she was planning on sleeping that evening. Would she be spending the night with one of her friendly neighbors? - Merciful heavens! Of course not! - she assured me. Why, she would be sleeping quite cozily on the little livingroom couch. I gawked at her in amazement. You will understand my shock when you take a look at this "couch" pictured above. It was nothing more than a large armchair! No amount of remonstrance or pleading on my behalf would convince her otherwise. She didn't mind sleeping on the couch. In fact, she wanted to sleep on the couch. What's more, she was going to sleep on the couch, so I better forget the subject and let her do it!

When everything had been cleaned up from our refreshment (it had taken quite a while to eat, because Bolette is having trouble with her dentures), we decided to go for a walk in the cool evening air. As she dawned her fur coat, crocheted cap, silk cape, and leather gloves, I felt like quite the vagabond. My admiration of this remarkable hostess grew in leaps and bounds as we made our way up and down the public streets of Aalborg. I could tell that they were often frequented by her aged, bending form. She wasn't going to let a silly think like a walker keep her from getting out and about town.

It wasn't exactly suppertime when we returned from our excursion. But we decided to eat anyway, since there wasn't anything else to do. Once again, Bolette labored alone beside the refrigerator, refusing all offers and attempts at assistance. I wasn't quite sure what I was expecting for the evening meal, but I was sure that there would be a wide variety of edible choices; at least, if "tea" had been any indicator. But I was highly mistaken. When the lenghty proceedure was complete, the table was bedecked with a knife and a fork for each, two empty plates, two glasses of juice, and a small plate of vegetable pastry-cups. Masking my surprise I expressed my delight at their promising scent, and asked what it was that they had in them? She gave me a Danish word that I didn't recognize. I knew she wasn't saying peas or carrots, which I could obviously see peaking out from the top of the cups. But wait. Was there something more there as well? I leaned closer for better look. She began saying something about how she knew I could eat them, because they didn't contain pork. No, it couldn't be. But it must! They were full of chunks of chicken. My speechless eyes rose to meet hers. She smiled at me ingratiatingly, and pronounced, "Vaersgo!"(a Danish equivalent of "there you go!" and "enjoy!")

What would Jesus do in such a situation? I have only eaten meat twice before in my life. Both were accidents, and I nearly vomited from disgust after discovering my error on each occasion. But there was nothing else on the table to choose from! I knew every little task was an effort for her to perform. She had remembered specifically that Adventists didn't eat pig or unclean fish. She had given me her very best as a hostess. What could I do? I met her gaze once more. There she sat, uncomfortably bent forward on the couch that was to be her bed for the evening, eagerly awaiting my reaction. What could I do? I lifted one onto my plate, and set to it.

Bolette did not "convert" during my stay with her. She did not respond to an altar call, she did not clamor for Bible studies, she did not gush forth with promises of fidelity to Christ and His church. But the thrilled expression of joy that she wore on her face as I polished off the last of those Chicken pastries, was all I could have ever asked for...