THE LADY OF THE WASHING MACHINE.

Our delightful Swiss host, Heine, and his Canadian wife, Agnes, promised us a surprise tour. We first met them when they were missionaries in Indonesia. Now they owned a chalet on the slopes above Lake Brienz, at Iseltwald, near Interlaken. After an inspiring bible retreat, we sped away to Heine’s birthplace at Cheffausen, on the border of Switzerland and Germany. From there we travelled to the East-Swiss town of Gais, next to the Austrian border.

As Heine drove he casually remarked, ‘ We are off to see a pastor and his wife, as if that would explain all. Meandering through picture-postcard countryside, I recalled a story which had often challenged me.

‘Do you mean we are going to see the lady of the washing machine?’ I asked, barely believing it to be possible.

‘Ya,’ he said, ‘How do you know her?’ I reminded Heine that twenty years previously he had written her story for a World Vision magazine. These dear friends established World Vision and Aid to orphans in Indonesia.

We drove on through mountain passes, down into green-sloped valleys dotted with chalets. As we passed through villages into tiny, cobbled squares, and brilliant, red geranium - decorated window ledges, and fountains where villagers gathered to chat, I felt excited about the couple we soon would meet.

There high in the mountains of Gais, with its bleak winters, lived Pastor and Mrs Lauchenauer and their seven children. For the nine in their diminutive home, the mother washed all the clothes by hand. In summer, hand-wrung clothes partially dried. In winter, mother and daughters carried the wet garments from the outside laundry up the narrow stairs to hang and dry on the heavy cords strung from wall to wall in the bathroom. Some village homes still retrain the inside drying lines.

For those who live in temperate climates, it is difficult to imagine washing sheets, shirts, heavy clothing, table cloths, etc in winter by hand, and drying them inside.

So the courageous mother began saving odd francs and small coins to buy a washing machine, knowing that her pastor husband’s meagre allowance prevented such a luxury.

Over many years she saved her coins until she reached her goal to buy a simple twin-tub washing machine.

However, our friend Heine, once a fellow student with her husband at a German Theological Seminary, visited the isolated couple and their family. The Lauchenaurers invited a few friends to their tiny lounge to hear Heine tell of his work among the orphans of Indonesia. Then, at the close, the mother left the room, but soon returned with a cloth bag which she handed to Heine. ‘Please use this for the orphans,’ she offered. As the coins jingled, Heine understood how carefully she saved for her needs; and he hesitated.

But in that moment, Heine realised that God’s love motivated dear Frau Lauchenaurer to offer this sacrificial gift. Refusing her gift, meant refusing God.

‘I saved for a washing machine,’ she explained quietly, ‘ but it is first God’s money, and I want to help the orphans.’ She gave all, like the widow who placed her entire savings, two mites, into the treasury box. Little wonder that such offerings delight our Lord.

Over the twenty years since reading that story I often thought of this dear Swiss lady. If tempted to overspend, even now, the thought of Frau Lauchenaurer’s sacrifice reminded me that money belonged to God, Who entrusted me with its use.

I was privileged to travel half way around the world to meet this dedicated lady, through the generosity of kind friends. We sat in her simple lounge room talking together of God’s goodness in allowing us all to meet, and praying in Swiss-German, and Canadian and Aussy English.

With the help of her ( now ) married children, ( one of whom was expecting her eighth child that day ) and her husband, the lady now owns a small washing machine, with indoor heating pipes recently installed by her practical husband.

I shall always remember this humble lady’s offering , and her gracious hospitality. She expressed surprise when I told her how her sacrificial gift continually challenged me, who lived on the other side of the world. It slowly dawned on her that the Lord used her precious gift to inspire others.

We read, too, of the sacrifice of Mary of Magdalena , when she broke the jar of precious ointment to anoint the Lord Jesus, just prior to His death. He said to her,

‘This gift will be known to all generations.’

We cannot say, we do not know

How much is reaped from what we sow.

But in God’s hands and by His might

The harvest will be His, by right.

And we will glorify His name,

Whose grace and mercy never wane.