Corrie ten Boom, Her Story
But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.
1 John 1:7
26. Walking in the Light
OUR LAST FEW weeks in Lweza proved to be the most fruitful of our entire time spent there, for it was in these weeks that I learned another valuable lesson— the lesson of walking in the light.
One afternoon Conny and I were sitting in the garden looking at the monkeys jumping from one tree to another. The trees and shrubs were a mass of color and sound, causing my heart to be filled with the glory of God's grace.
Yet Conny was discouraged. She had started a girl's club in the YWCA in Kampala and had spent many hours work with it. However, the girls were not interested. I was concerned about her discouragement, feeling it went far deeper than the problems she was having with her class.
I started to ask her about it when we were interrupted by a man walking toward our hill. Conny squinted her eyes into the sun and then shouted, "It is William Nagenda!" j What a joy it was to meet that dear African saint again. I never met an African with whom I could laugh so much and yet learn so much at the same time.
After we exchanged greetings William said, "When I saw you sitting here together a question came to my mind, 'Do they walk in the light together?'"
We answered almost simultaneously. "Oh yes, we do walk in the light together. We are a team."
Just at that moment a boy from the house called that there was a telephone message for me. I excused myself while Conriy and William remained behind to talk. oil
DD CORRIE TEN BOOM
Conny was sitting in a cane and wicker chair while William squatted on his haunches beside the path, his brown knees poking up beside his face.
"T have something to confess to you," Conny said to William. "And what is that?" he answered gently. "Your question gripped my heart. I must tell you that I do not really walk in the light with Tante Corrie."
William's face broke into a wide grin and his eyes began to sparkle. "So, that is why God had me ask that strange question."
Conny was serious. "Tante Corrie is so much more mature than I," she continued. "She has walked with Jesus for so many years. She has suffered much for Him in many ways. Thus when I see things in her life that are not right, I hesitate to speak them out to her."
"Oh," William said, startled. "That is not right. The Lord wants you to be very honest with Tante Corrie. That is one reason He has put you with her. Since she is walking in the light then when you also walk in the light, you will help shed light for her path as well as yours."
That night, after we had gone to our room together, Conny sat on the side of the bed and said, "Tante Corrie, this is very difficult for me to say, but I now realize
I must walk in the light."
I turned and looked at her. Her face was drawn and solemn. One by one she began listing the things in my life which bothered her—the things I did which she did not believe glorified God. It was not easy for me to hear the things which I had done wrong—things which had caused a shadow to come in Conny's heart. But how wonderful it was that Conny was being completely honest with me. I apologized for the things she had listed and then thanked her for bringing them into the light. "Let us always walk in the light together," I said seriously.
But it was still hard for Conny. She was much ycunger than I and felt she was still learning. Even though I wanted her to continue to correct me, she found it very difficult. The final breakthrough came after we left Africa and flew to Brazil.
We had been in Rio de Janeiro, one of the most beautiful cities of the world, for a few weeks. As we prepared to leave—to fly south to Buenos Aires—we discovered our suitcases were overweight. The kind people in Rio had given us so many presents we were more than twenty kilograms overweight. It was going to cost us a great deal of extra money to go on to Argentina.
I unpacked my luggage and made three piles: one to send to Holland by sea, one to give away to the poor in Rio, and the smallest one to go back in my suitcase to carry on to our next destination. Finishing my repacking I hurried next door into Conny's room and unpacked her suitcase also. I went through the same procedure, sorting her belongings into three heaps and then repacking only her necessary items. I was in too much of a hurry to notice that Conny said nothing.
A week later, after a beautiful time in Buenos Aires, we were walking along a lonely stretch of beach near our cabin. I was enjoying the beautiful view over a TRAMP FOR THE LORD 293 quiet bay when Conny began to talk. Her voice was strained. "I promised God I would walk in the light," she said, "and that means that I must get something settled with you. When you repacked my suitcase and decided what things to send to Holland and what to leave with me, I was not happy about it."
How stupid and tactless I had been to rush in and interfere with Conny's life! I reached out and took her hand. "How thoughtless I have been," I said. "Forgive me for not leaving it up to you."
"T do forgive you," Conny said. Like myself, she had learned not to play lightly with sin, but to hear another's apology and then, instead of passing it off, to forgive it. We walked on for a long time in silence and then Conny spoke again.
"Are you unhappy, Tante Corrie? You are so quiet." Now it was my time to walk in the light. "There is something hindering me," I said. "Why did you not tell me immediately that you were disturbed? That way it could have been settled on the spot and you would not have had to carry this darkness for all these days. From now on let us both 'speak the truth in love' and never let the sun go down on our misunderstandings."
It was a good lesson. From then until Conny married in 1967 and went to live with her husband, we'walked all over the world—always trying to walk in the light.