Life Lessons from the Hiding Place

Published by Fleming H. Revell a division of Baker Book House Company '* P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

Printed in the United States of America

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be repro¬ duced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, record¬ ing—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

ISBN:0-7394-4342-9

Scripture quotations identified PHILLIPS are from LETTERS TO YOUNG CHURCHES by J. B. Phillips. © Macmillan Publish¬ ing Co., 1947, 1957.

Scripture quotations identified KJV are from the King James Version of the Bible.

When my parents were married, many years ago, they claimed Psalm 32:8 as their 'life verse/' the promise that they felt was God's assurance for them: "I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye" (kjv).

... this promise became the special direc¬ tive for my life as well.

Corrie ten Boom From Tramp for the Lord

Contents

1 Inheritance 11 2 Five Is Not Too Young 26 3 From Small Beginnings 41 4 The Many Ages of Love 53 5 Winking Angels 65 6 Around the Oval Table 82 7 Seventeen, and So Much to Learn 96 8 The Best Is Yet to Be 112 9 Love and a Sound Mind 124 10 Reach Out 145 11 In and Out of the Watchmaker s Shop 154 12 All Is Well . . . Until It Rains 168 13 The Red Cap Club 182 14 Even the Least of Them . . . 207 15 Leaders and Blunders 216 16 Safety Pins on Uniforms 229 17 Opposition! 242 18 . . He Took My Hand" 253

Foreword

Today I know that memories are the key not to the past, but to the future. I know that the experiences of our lives, when we let God use them, become the mysterious and perfect preparation for the work He will give us to do.

Corrie wrote that in The Hiding Place, without realizing that it had provided the introduction to this book.

As I worked with Corrie, following her around America and living with her in Hol¬ land, I saw her in many different circum¬ stances. It is a constant amazement to me how the Lord uses her. One time my hus¬ band, Ward, and I prayed with her in a small room off a large auditorium. She was ashen with pain and weariness. When she walked on the stage before four thousand people, her voice was firm and her message animated. She was—and continues to be— a living example of the way in which the Spirit of the Lord works through His avail¬ able servant.

However, as In My Father s House began to grow, I became excited to see how this was more than a collection of memories— more than nostalgia from a rich life. Here we had the unique lessons of a family preparing for a future, a future that would demand the power of God's love and strength.

If we are living in the time in which we believe Gods plan for planet earth is reach¬ ing its completion—when the new begin¬ ning Jesus promised will take place—then each individual and family needs the pat¬ tern for living in this present age. Never before in human history have guidelines been more important.

The applications of various parts of Corrie s life to modern living were impressed upon me as I savored those wonderful "years before." I've learned so much for my own life and family as IVe lived with Corrie In My Fathers House. Let s visit together . . .

Carole C. Carlson

"Remarkable, extraordinary . . . Peter, where did Cook find strawberries in the midst of winter?"

The Dutch merchant summoned his but¬ ler and pointed to the luscious fruit in the silver compote. Even in the home of great wealth this was an amazing luxury in the early 1800s.

"Its the gardener, sir . . . ten Boom. He does some miraculous things in that hot¬ house of his."

"Ten Boom, you say. Hmm, must remem¬ ber him. Astounding! Bring me some more, Peter, with lots of thick cream."

My great-grandfather ten Boom grew those plump strawberries during the chill¬ ing months when ruddy-cheeked children skated over the canals. He was no ordinary

12 In My Father's House gardener, but a master craftsman who caressed the soil into performing miracles. He experimented with plants, manipulating them between an ice cellar and a hothouse, until he produced the fruit that was served at the dinner table of his employer, one of the richest men in Hofstede, Bronstede, Heemstede.

Those simple strawberries saved my great¬ grandfather from jail!

It was during the time of Napoleon; Eu¬ rope was trembling from the onslaught of the evil little man from Corsica. Swagger¬ ing across the continent, victorious in war, the French emperor conquered country after country and forced men into submis¬ sion. The government of Holland was ruled by Napoleon's followers and their oppres¬ sive regime.

My great-grandfather was an independent man; he had spunk, but not much tact, I'm afraid. He refused to submit to men who denied freedom to other men. However, Hollanders at that time had two alternatives: They were either obedient to those who served the strutting dictator, or they faced what could be very severe punishment.

Tyranny at any time in mans history de¬ mands loyalty.

Inheritance

One Sunday Great-grandfather went to his church and heard the minister announce the opening hymn; the theme was from Psalm 21, but as the congregation began to understand the words, one voice after another stopped. They realized it was a pointed description of their political situa¬ tion. Nobody dared to continue.

But Great-grandfather and the minister sang louder, a defiant duet (translated from the Dutch): The evil one considers himself to be free from all bondage, and runs around, while he stirs the people. At the same time, the bad people assume they hold the reins of government, and they are being raised to the summits of honor.

Sad hearts and silent voices were encour¬ aged by the bravery of the minister and the spunky gardener.

When news of ten Booms traitorous act of defiance reached the authorities, he received a summons to appear at the town hall. He must have been prepared for the consequences, as he addressed the officer in charge.

14 In My Father's House "What does this Mr. Snotneus f snot-nose] want with me?"

First he challenged the regime; then he hurled that contemptuous name at his accuser!

But where do strawberries fit into all this? Before Great-grandfather had a chance to be sentenced or taken to prison, his boss, who was a very influential citizen, interceded and had him pardoned. (A gardener couldn't grow fruit in jail, could he?)

My father told us this story of Great¬ grandfather and his personal challenge to the Napoleonic regime with a sense of joy.

"I'm glad he was a real man," Father said. Over a hundred years later when people said to Father, "Stop having Jews in your house—you will be sent to prison," my father answered, "I am too old for prison life, but if that should happen, then it would be, for me, an honor to give my life for God's ancient people, the Jews."

From Generation to Generation

Willem ten Boom, my grandfather, was not strong like his father, so he chose a work that was not physically difficult. In the year

1837, Grandfather purchased a little house in Haarlem for four hundred guilders and set up shop as a watchmaker.

It was in 1844 that Grandfather had a visit from his minister, Dominee Witteveen, who had a special request. "Willem, you know the Scriptures tell us to pray for the peace of Jerusalem and the blessing of the Jews."

"Ah, yes, Dominee, I have always loved God's ancient people—they gave us our Bible and our Savior."

Beginning with this conversation, a prayer fellowship was started, with Grandfather and his friends praying for the Jewish people. This was an unusual idea among

Christians at that time. The Jews were scat¬ tered throughout the world, without a coun¬ try or a national identity; Jerusalem was a city torn by centuries of conflict. The atten¬ tion of the world was not upon the Middle East, and yet a small group of Dutch believ¬ ers met in a little Haarlem house, a watchmakers shop (later called the Beje), to read the Scriptures and pray for the Jews.

In a divine way that is beyond our human understanding, God answered those prayers. It was in the same house, exactly one hun¬ dred years later, that Grandfather s son, my father, and four of his grandchildren and one great-grandson were arrested for help-

16 In My Father's House ing save the lives of Jews durirtg the Ger¬ man occupation of Holland.

Another strutting dictator, more arrogant and insane than Napoleon, had planned to exterminate every Jew in the world. When Holland was controlled by Hitlers troops, many Jews were killed.

For helping and hiding the Jews, my father, my brothers son, and my sister all died in prison. My brother survived his imprisonment but died soon afterward. Only Nollie, my older sister, and I came out alive.

So many times we wonder why God has certain things happen to us. We try to under¬ stand the circumstances of our lives, and we are left wondering. But Gods foolish¬ ness is so much wiser than our wisdom.

From generation to generation, from small beginnings and little lessons, He has a pur¬ pose for those who know and trust Him.

God has no problems—just plans!

Beginning with Mama

My mother was a woman with a loving sense of humor and a striking appearance. She had thick, dark, curly hair and brilliant blue eyes—an unusual combination for a Hollander. She came from a large family and was left fatherless just after her mother gave birth to an eighth baby. While she was still very young, her mother and her brothers and sisters were forced to earn their own living.

One of her sisters, Jans, started a kinder¬ garten where Cor (my mother) and another sister, Anna, became her assistants. Im sure this experience helped my mother later in training her own children.

When Jans added a Sunday school to her kindergarten, she began to work with a young theology student, Hendrik Wildeboer, who became her special boyfriend. Cor caught the eye of a handsome teacher in the Sunday school by the name of Casper ten Boom, and they immediately found some¬ thing in common: Their birthdays were on the same day, May 18.

Romance grew between Cor and Casper; when Cor journeyed to Harderwijk to visit her grandmother, Casper was so lonely that he followed her the next day.

About fifty years later, I visited the quaint village of Harderwijk on the Zuider Zee with Father. As we walked along the Bruggestraat, Father said, "This is where I proposed to your mother. There were cobblestones instead of pavement at that time, but many

18 In My Father's House of the old houses and the sea gate are still the same."

He paused to remember the youth that had vanished, and his love for the gentle woman with the laughing eyes.

"Did Mother say yes immediately?" I asked.

"No, not until the next day, and I spent a very restless night waiting for that decision!"

When I asked him if he had ever regret¬ ted his decision to marry Mama, his voice was firm. "Never! Until the last day of her life, I was just as much in love with your mother as I was on that day in Harderwijk. We didn't have an easy life—we had many sorrows—but God led us by His extraordi¬ nary providence."

A Little Jewelry Store

Grandmother died shortly before Casper and Cor were married. By then, Father had started a jewelry store in a small house in the heart of the Jewish section of Amsterdam.

Once a customer arrived who was a pas¬ tor from Ladysmith, South Africa. He came into the shop and asked Father to provide a clock and a bell for his church tower. This was a tremendous encouragement to a young merchant. The order was simple to fill; all Father had to do was to go to the fac¬ tory in Brabant to make the selection; the manufacturer did all the installation. How¬ ever, the commission from that sale provided enough money for the young Dutch couple to be married.

Uncle Hendrik, Janss husband, was a min¬ ister in a little village near Amsterdam. Mother and Father had to go to the town hall first, to be registered and married in a civil ceremony. The man at the town hall who married them thought they were "high people" because they came from Amsterdam. He tried to be very dignified, in a manner suitable for this dis¬ tinguished couple, and began the marriage speech with great airs.

"Honored bride and bridegroom . . . you are now . . . you are now gathered . . . you are now gathered here. . . ." He stopped, looked around, and burst into tears.

Father said, "I'm so touched by your speech and tears, but we would like to be married."

The poor fellow finished the ceremony somehow, but Uncle Hendrik conducted the final marriage rites in his church—with¬ out tears.

20 In My Father's House

The newlyweds moved into a* shabby lit¬ tle house in Amsterdam after their wedding. It's probably just as well that the emotional clerk from the town hall didn't know of their humble means!

Mother had dreamed of a home with a small garden, for she loved flowers and the beauty of color.

"I love to see much of the sky/' she often said.

The sky was there, if she stretched far enough to see it in the narrow street out¬ side the old house. Their cramped home had a single room on each story, with worn-out furniture left by my grandmother.

Money was scarce, but happiness was abundant.

The neighborhood of Jewish people made it possible for Father to participate in their Sabbaths and other holy days. He studied the Old Testament, their Talmud, with them and was given opportunities to under¬ stand and explain the fulfillment of the prophecies of the Old Testament in the New Testament.

My father's love for the Jewish people was nurtured in the Jewish quarter of Amster¬ dam during those first years of married life.

Father and Mother lived on poverty's edge, and yet their contentment was not depen¬ dent upon their surroundings. Their rela¬ tionship with each other and with the Lord gave them strength.

Plan for Parenthood

When the first baby was expected, Mother was glad she had learned to sew. She had inherited an old sewing machine from her mother, and every moment she could find she stitched little garments for the baby. A Jewess who lived upstairs couldn't contain her curiosity and asked Mother if she was a seamstress.

''No," Mother answered proudly, "but I'm expecting my first baby. See the little dress I've made?" She held up a dainty garment tenderly.

The Jewess was astonished. "You're not sewing the clothes before the baby arrives! That is tempting God!"

Mother was puzzled, but this didn't stop her from preparing for her baby. However, she began to understand why Mary had only swaddling clothes for the baby Jesus. It wasn't lack of money but the Jewish custom not to sew the layette before the birth of the 22 In My Father's House child. IVe heard that Portuguese')ews main¬ tain this tradition today.

When Betsie, the first child, was born, Mother became quite ill. She asked her youngest sister, Anna, to come for a few weeks to help with the new baby. Those few weeks stretched into forty years.

Mother and Anna had always been close, but when Mother married, Anna went to live with Jans and Uncle Hendrik. Anna, however, became very lonely for Cor and was delighted when Mother and Father invited her to stay with them in Amsterdam.

Within seven years, four more babies were born, but one didn't live. Father had to look for a cheaper house to accommodate his growing responsibilities.

By the time I was born, they were living on the Korte Prinsegracht, in a house at the end of the canal, where few people passed the shop. Business was at its lowest ebb.

I was a premature baby, with blue skin and pinched features. When Uncle Hendrik saw me he shook his head sadly. "I hope the Lord will quickly take this poor little crea¬ ture to His home in heaven," he said.

Fortunately, my parents didn't feel the same .as Uncle Hendrik. They surrounded me with love and good care. There were no incubators in those days, and one of the greatest problems was keeping me warm. I cried so pitifully from the cold that Tante Anna rolled me in her apron and tied me against her body; then I became warm and quiet.

Many years later while I was in Africa I met a missionary family whose baby could not be comforted, until a native girl bound the child to her back with a piece of cloth. The baby became calm, secure in the close¬ ness to the body of a person who loved him.

I must have felt that same way bound snugly in Tante Annas apron.

Throughout the first year of my life I was a poor, sickly looking creature. Mother told me that once she was traveling by train with a friend who held a beautiful, plump baby on her lap. The baby's name was Rika, and the people in the coach were giving her many admiring glances and comments. They would look at me in my mother's arms and then turn away, unable to find anything pos¬ itive to say.

Mother told me this bothered her at first, but then she would hug me and whisper, "I wouldn't exchange you for anyone in the whole world, you darling ugly baby with the beautiful eyes."

24 In My Father's House

When Rika was two years olch, she began having epileptic seizures. I played with her all through my childhood, but I remember how aware I was that her little face would change so drastically as the sickness would overpower her. Mother was always ready to care for Rika; throughout her life Mother taught us to be helpful and loving toward those who were weak or abnormal.

Haarlem Inheritance

Grandfather Willem died when I was six months old, leaving Father his shop in Haar¬ lem. We moved into the house, which wasn't very large, and poor Mother still didn't have her garden. She put some flowerpots on the flat roof and called this her yard. She had geraniums in clay pots, hanging fuchsia, and some ivy climbing the brick wall. She devel¬ oped a roof garden long before the modern penthouse dwellers thought of such a thing.

Even in the "new" house in Haarlem, she could see only a small piece of the sky she loved. The roof became her "outdoors" when she became too weak to take her daily walks in the street.

During those first years of their marriage, the financial situation must have been very serious. Anna worked night and day to nurse Mother when she was ill and to care for four children. She earned the grand sum of one guilder (about thirty cents) a week. Father gave her this magnificent salary each Sat¬ urday but often by the following Wednes¬ day the finances would become so desper¬ ate that Father would have to go to the kitchen and ask, "Anna, do you still have your guilder?"

Anna always had the guilder available, and it often bought the food for the family on that day. This was certainly "blessed money."

This was the beginning of my rich inher¬ itance. When I remember my family life, I realize that my parents and my aunts had truly mastered the art of living. They enjoyed life and they loved children.

"We never laughed so much as when you children were small," Tante Anna often said.

In our hearts we must have stored some of the memory of laughter to be brought out in later years, when the sounds of happy voices were scarce in our beloved land.

Five Is Hot Too Yoimq

In 1892, the year I was born, Holland was entering an exciting and important era. In a few years, Wilhelmina would be crowned queen at the tender age of eighteen. There were signs that the stability of the latter part of the nineteenth century would soon be rocked by the rattling of German swords.

Foreign policy was being shaped around lines of power, as young Kaiser Wilhelm II ruled the country that later played such an important part in my life.

History in the making means nothing to a child, but it was a world event for me when Mother or Tante Anna pinched a guilder hard enough to squeeze out some sugar and buttej for those fat little cookies I loved. The fragrance of baking would float from the iron

Five Is Not Too Young

stove into the shop and tantalize the cus¬ tomers just as it put us in a happy mood.

When I was five years old, I learned to read; I loved stories, particularly those about Jesus. He was a member of the ten Boom family—it was just as easy to talk to Him as it was to carry on a conversation with my mother and father, my aunts, or my brother and sisters. He was there.

One day my mother was watching me play house. In my little girl world of fantasy, she saw that I was pretending to call on a neigh¬ bor. I knocked on the make-believe door and waited ... no one answered.

"Corrie, I know Someone who is stand¬ ing at your door and knocking right now."

Was she playing a game with me? I know now that there was a preparation within my childish heart for that moment; the Holy Spirit makes us ready for acceptance of Jesus Christ, of turning our life over to Him.

"Jesus said that He is standing at the door, and if you invite Him in He will come into your heart," my mother continued. "Would you like to invite Jesus in?"

At that moment my mother was the most beautiful person in the whole world to me.

"Yes, Mama, I want Jesus in my heart."

28 In My Father's House

So she took my little hand in hers and we prayed together. It was so simple, and yet Jesus Christ says that we all must come as children, no matter what our age, social standing, or intellectual background.

When Mother told me later about this experience, I recalled it clearly.

But, You're So Little

Does a child of five really know what he's doing? Some people say that children don't have spiritual understanding—that we should wait until a child can "make up his mind for himself." I believe a child should be led, not left to wander.

Jesus became more real to me from that time on. Mother told me later that I began to pray for others, as young as I was.

The street behind our house was the Smedestraat. It was filled with saloons, and many of the happenings there were fright¬ ening to me. As I played outside jumping rope, or joined with Nollie, my sister, in a game of bihkelen (ball and stones), I saw the police pick up these lurching, incoherent men as they slumped to the ground or slouched in a doorway, and take them into the police station.

29 Five Is Not Too Young

I would stand before the yolitie bureau (police station) behind the Beje and watch the drunks being pushed in. It made me shiver. The building was made of dark red brick, and way at the top were turrets with small windows. Were those the cells, I wondered?

It was in that same police station years later that my father and all his children and a grandson were taken after being arrested for helping Jews escape from the German gestapo.

As a child I would be so concerned for those arrested that I would run into the house sobbing, "Mother . . . Im afraid those poor men are going to be hurt. . . they re so sick!"

Bless Mother s understanding. She would say, "Pray for them, Corrie."

And I would pray for the drunks. "Dear Jesus, please help those men . . . and Jesus, help all the people on the Smedestraat."

Many years later I spoke on a television station in Holland. I received a letter after the program that said, "My husband was especially interested because you told us that you had lived in Haarlem. He lived in a house on the Smedestraat. Three years ago he accepted the Lord Jesus as his Savior."

30 In My Father's House

I read that letter and recalled'the prayers of little Corrie. That man whose wife wrote me was one person I had prayed for seventysix years before.

Does He Listen?

At another time in my later years I was camping with a number of Haarlem girls. Around the campfire one evening, we were talking about the Lord and chatting about the pleasant events of the day.

"Do you know that I am a neighbor of yours?" one of the girls asked me. "I live in the Smedestraat."

"I lived there until five years ago," said another girl.

"My mother lived there," said a third. We all began to laugh to discover that all eighteen of those girls, who were sleeping in the big camp tent, had lived on that street or their parents had lived there. They found it an amusing coincidence.

"Listen," I said, "I just remembered some¬ thing that I had almost forgotten. When I was five or six years old, I used to pray every day for the people in the Smedestraat. The fact that we have been talking about Jesus and that God has even used me to reach

31 Five Is Not Too Young some of your parents is an answer to the prayer of a little child. Never doubt whether

God hears our prayers, even the unusual ones."

How often we think when a prayer is not answered that God has said no. Many times He has simply said, "Wait."

The Future Comes Quickly

When we are very young the future is so hard to grasp. My father had one coming event that he mentioned in every prayer. It baffled me. I didn't want to ask in front of the entire family; I thought they might think I was foolish to ask about something I heard several times a day.

I waited until Father came upstairs to tuck me in; this was a time I could ask him any¬ thing.

"Papa, you always pray in every prayer, 'Let soon come that great day when Jesus Christ, Your beloved Son, comes on the clouds of heaven.' Why are you longing for that day?"

"Correman, remember when you saw the men drunk and fighting in the Smedestraat, and they were taken to the police station? The whole world is filled with fighting. You

32 In My Father's House may see worse fighting in your lifetime than what you have seen on the street."

I hoped not. Fighting upset me. "In the Bible," Papa continued, "we read that Jesus has promised to come to this world to make everything new. The world is now covered with hatred, but when Jesus returns, the world will be covered with the knowledge of God, like the water covers the bottom of the sea."

Thinking of that wonderful day, I knew why Papa prayed for it so often. "Oh, Papa, then everyone will know about Jesus! Til be very happy when He comes."

Let the Children Come

Decades later I was speaking to a group when I challenged parents to "bring your lit¬ tle ones to the Lord Jesus. He has said, 'Let the children come to me; the kingdom of God is theirs."' (See Matthew 19:14.)

Then I told how I made a decision for Jesus when I was five years old.

After that talk I left the platform and went into a small room in the building where I found a father with two little boys, all on their knees. The father had an arm around both of those boys, and I moved back qui-

33 Five Is Not Too Young etly while the man told the boys tenderly that they were not too young to ask Jesus to come into their hearts.

What a wonderful heritage those boys have, to know that their father cared enough about them to lead them to a knowledge of their heavenly Father!

Later I received a letter from a lady who told me the results in her life of that evening.

I went home after that meeting and went directly to my little girl, Mary, who was in bed. She knew about the Lord because she had been to a Sunday school, but that night, in her bed, she gave her heart to Jesus.

The next morning she said, "Oh, Mommy, Fm so happy that Jesus is now in my heart. He made me a child of God."

Mary was singing the whole time before she went to school, and I was amazed that she sang many songs about heaven.

My husband went to school to pick her up that day, and as he approached the schoolhouse, he noticed that a great many people were standing around, and there obviously must have been an accident. Then he saw what had happened.

Mary was on the street, her little body crumpled like a rag doll. She was dead.

34 In My Father's House

As I read that letter my eyes were so filled with tears that the words blurred.

Mary had passed behind a big transport truck and had not seen another car, which was coming toward her from the other direction. She was killed immediately.

My husband brought her little body home. He was in deep despair, but then he remembered the songs Mary had sung that morning. I told him what had happened the evening before, and right then, my husband, who had never made a decision for the Lord Jesus, accepted Him as his Savior.

On Mary s burial day many children of her class came to the Lord.

I sat for a long time with that letter on my lap, realizing that I must have a new sense of urgency to talk to parents about the joy of leading their children to the Lord. What a wonderful assurance Mary s parents had to know that someday they would be with her again.

During some of my talks I have often repeated this little poem: Safe? Said a precious little laddie, To his father one bright day, 35 Five Is Not Too Young "May I give myself to Jesus, Let Him wash my sins away?"

O, my son, but you're so little, Wait until you older grow, Bigger folks 'tis true, do need Him, But little folk are safe, you know.

Said the father to his laddie, As a storm was coming on, "Are the sheep all safely sheltered, Safe within the fold, my son?"

"All the big ones are, my father, But the lambs, I let them go, For I didn't think it mattered, Little ones are safe, you know."

Author Unknown

Praying for Crazy Thys

As a child in Haarlem I prayed for a man most people avoided. His nickname was Gekke Thys (Crazy Thys), and he was the town tramp, an idiot. I pitied him and when I was five or six years old started to talk about this to the Lord.

How curious the little minds of children are. Was it my mother or one of my aunts

36 In My Father's House who gave me the advice to cast my burden on the Lord in prayer? Or did the Lord Him¬ self give me this motivation?

Every prayer in the evening and in the morning ended with this request: "And Lord, be with all the people in the Smedestraat and also Gekke Thys."

My sister, Nollie, was only a year and a half older than I, but she seemed so much wiser. I remember walking with her through the Smedestraat one day and stopping to watch a crowd of children surrounding someone they were taunting and teasing. As we inched closer to the others, wanting to know what was happening but a bit afraid of getting involved in something that looked so mean, we realized that poor old Crazy Thys was standing in the middle of the cir¬ cle, confusion and hurt showing in his face.

I was so full of pity for poor Thys and angry at the cruel children that I shouted, "You leave him alone, do you hear!"

The children stopped at my bold chal¬ lenge. Thys looked for his defender and saw a little girl, less than half his size. Suddenly he walked toward me and stooped down. I could smell the unpleasant odor of his unwashed clothes and matted beard. He put his hand under my chin and kissed me on both cheeks.

Nollie was shocked! She grabbed my hand and pulled me home as fast as we could run. Down the Smedestraat, into the alley that ran beside our house, and through the side door we raced.

"Aunty, someone ... hurry! That dirty old Gekke Thys kissed Corrie. Lets wash her cheeks!"

My face was so thoroughly washed I was afraid my skin would fall off. I heard some¬ one say, "Such dangerous tramps shouldn't be allowed to go so freely in the streets."

Stinging from the rebuke as well as the face scrubbing, I went to my mother. "Mama, why was it so bad that Gekke Thys kissed me? He's such a poor unhappy man. Everybody makes fun of him."

Mother took me into her bed and talked quietly with me as I nestled against her soft shoulder. She said, "Correman, its good that you have pity for this man. The Lord Jesus gives you love for Gekke Thys and for the drunken men in the Smedestraat. Jesus loves sinners, but before they are going to love Him, these men can be very bad. Its wise to keep a little distance. But there's one great thing you and I can do—and you are 38 In My Father's House doing that already—pray faithfully for them."

Shortly after that incident Gekke Thys disappeared from the streets. I don't know how the Lord worked in his life, but a deep concern for the feebleminded was fostered in me.

Fear No Evil . . . Except

A child is not fearless, contrary to what his parents may think at times. A child is often a bundle of unexpressed fears, un¬ known terrors, and shadowy worries. I was afraid of the doctor's office, my family's leav¬ ing me, and the mystery of death.

Nollies nightgown was my contact with security. We slept in the same bed, and I can remember clinging to Nollies nightgown as long as she would allow me. Poor Nollie, when she would try to turn, she would be anchored by my little fist clasping her tightly.

One time Mother took Nollie and me to visit a woman whose baby had died. I wished

Nollie had been allowed to wear her night¬ gown on that journey, because I needed des¬ perately to hang onto it.

We. climbed a narrow staircase and en¬ tered the poorly furnished room of one of 39 Five Is Not Too Young

Mama s "lame ducks" (the name we chil¬ dren had given to her proteges). Although we often did not have sufficient money for ourselves, Mother always found someone who was in greater need.

In that shabby little room was a crib with a baby inside. It didn't move at all and its skin was very white. Nollie stood next to the crib and touched the baby's cheek.

"Feel that," she said to me. "It's so cold." I touched the little hand and then ran to my mother and buried my face in her lap. I had touched death for the first time, and it seemed that the impression of cold re¬ mained with me for hours and hours.

When we returned home, I ran up the narrow stairs to my bedroom and leaned against the antique chest of drawers. There was an enormous fear in my heart—almost terror. In my imagination, I pictured the future in which I saw myself all alone, my family gone, and myself left desolate. My family was my security, but that day I saw death and knew that they could die too. I had never thought about it before.

The dinner bell rang downstairs, and I was so grateful to go to the big oval table and get warm again and feel the security of being with my family. I thought how stupid the 40 In My Father's House grown-ups would think I was ifd told them about the fear that was still in my heart.

I ate dinner quietly that night, which was not easy when you are in the midst of such a lively family. Our dinner table spilled over with conversation.

After dinner Father took the Bible, as he always did, and began to read the lines from Psalm 46:2. "Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea" (kjv).

I sat up straight in my chair and stared at my father. I didn't know much about moun¬ tains, living in flat, flat Holland, but I cer¬ tainly knew a lot about fear. I thought Papa must have known exactly what my problem was that night.

My faith in Papa, and in the words he read from the Bible, was absolute. If they said not to fear, then God would take care of it. I felt secure again.

My doll, Casperina, and I were going to have a party! Mama and Tante Anna were cooking, and I watched their long skirts bus¬ tle past me from my perch on the footstool beneath the table. This was a wonderful place to play, safe and secure beneath the red and black tablecloth.

My friend was named after my father, but the resemblance ended there. I loved her very much, but dragging her up and down the stairs of the Beje had left her with a few fingers missing and a slightly cracked head. Oh, my, why couldn't she look like Nollie s doll, who was immaculately dressed and didn't have a scratch on her china face? Poor Casperina, she would never be in the same society with Emma, Betsie s doll, who was named after the mother of the queen.

42 In My Father's House "Never mind, Casperina," I whispered to her in the shelter of our little house beneath the table, "Jesus loves you, and so do I."

When I was especially happy, I would sing a little song that Tante Jans had composed: 'k Zou zoo graag eens komen, Heiland, In dat heerlijk Vaderhuis.

(I should just like to come, Savior, In the beautiful Father-house.)

However, instead of singing to come I sub¬ stituted to peek, combining my words with a mischievous look around the fat table leg.

Tante Anna laughed at me. "Corrie, you'd better not let Tante Jans hear you change the words in her songs. When she writes \ should like to come to heaven,' that's what she means."

Some things grown-ups don't understand, I thought. I meant that it would be great fun just to look around for a moment in heaven, where I knew I would spend my future. I just wanted a little peek; after all, my fatherhouse right here on the Barteljorisstraat was all the heaven I wanted right then.

I clutched Casperina's three-fingered hand in mine and whispered, "We'll just stay in our own secret place, where no one will ever—ever—scold us for anything."

43 From Small Beginnings

A Time to Uproot

A time comes when all children, even a little Dutch girl with her jaw set and her black-stockinged legs rigid upon the stair¬ case, must leave their father's house for a time. I was born with my feet slightly turned in, a defect that the doctor said would cure itself with time and growth.

''Don't worry," he told Mama and Papa, "when she is about sixteen, she will become vain enough to turn her toes the right way."

However, when I turned my toes in even more and tightened my fingers in a knuckle¬ whitening grip on the railing, I meant business.

"I'm not going to school. I know how to read; I can learn arithmetic from Papa, and Casperina needs me at home."

There. That was settled.

"Of course you're not going to school alone, Corrie. I am going to walk with you."

Papa bent over me, his beard tickling the top of my head, and one by one loos¬ ened my fingers on the railing. With the release of each finger, I howled a bit louder. By the time Papa had my hand in his, he was almost dragging me down the street toward school. I thought my hand

44 In My Father's House would break—just like Casperina s—and then it would be impossible for me to go to school.

It must have taken great dignity for Papa, with his immaculate suit and erect car¬ riage, to struggle past the homes and shops of his friends with a red-faced child an¬ nouncing her objections to the entire world.

I knew Father was not angry, but his will was law. I had to obey.

When we arrived at the school, I saw a little boy being carried into Master Robyns s classroom in his fathers arms. (At least I was walking!) He was crying lustily, even louder than I was. He looked so ugly that I felt sorry for him. But what about me? I real¬ ized how I must look to others and stopped abruptly.

Papa released my hand; my fingers weren't broken at all—only my heart was slightly injured. However, when Papa kissed me gen¬ tly on the cheek, bringing the familiar fra¬ grance of cigars and cologne, he assured me that when school was over, he would be wait¬ ing at home, and I knew I would find that blessed security I needed in the shelter of his arms.

45 From Small Beginnings

God was teaching a little lesson in a small life, because sixty-seven years later, He reminded me of my fingers on the railing.

I was in a room of Zonneduin, a house in Holland that some friends and I had estab¬ lished first for ex-prisoners who had been in concentration camps, and later for any per¬ son who needed nursing and rest. I had been traveling so much and was tired—tired of strange beds and different food, tired of dressing for breakfast, tired of new people and new experiences. I liked this very luxu¬ rious house with its large rooms and decided to stay and enjoy the comfortable life in Hol¬ land, although I knew that God didn't agree with my decision.

Most of the furniture in the entire house was mine, but there was one room in par¬ ticular that reminded me of the happy fam¬ ily life of my past. It was a room that held my treasures: photographs of those I loved, mementos of my family during the years before. Every picture was like the railing on the stairs. My hands grasped the past and tried to hold on, but my heavenly Fathers hands were stronger.

I left the house for a while for some speaking engagements, intending to return

46 In My Father's House to my old room and settle in for good. How¬ ever, when I came back to Zonneduin some weeks later, my pictures were down and the strange belongings of someone else were on the bed.

My friends had not known of my personal decision to return to this room; my irregu¬ lar life, my coming and going unexpectedly, was difficult for those who had to manage the big family of patients and staff in an orderly way.

But I decided to stay, and that was set¬ tled!

My heavenly Father spoke to me, "Only obey me, Corrie. I'll hold your hand. It is My will that you leave your room. Later you will thank Me for this experience. You do not see it, but this is one of My great bless¬ ings for you/'

Father's hand was firm, but I knew His love.

I packed up my suitcase again and left for the United States. How the Lord blessed my time there. Meetings began to grow in size, and when I saw people come from darkness into light, from bondage into lib¬ eration, I began to see the pattern. I could praise my Father that His hands were stronger than mine.

From Small Beginnings

Blue Stones Can Hurt!

School life did not prove to be as horri¬ ble as I thought. I can still remember the sensation of victory when I worked an arith¬ metic problem and discovered that the final figure was what it was supposed to be. How¬ ever, my mind was not always so attentive to details. I was a daydreamer, carrying my fantasies into a world where everyone needed an expensive new watch, and every day was a walk on the dunes with the sun¬ shine warming my cheeks.

The headmaster of our school was a strict taskmaster, insisting upon obedience and discipline without question. He had warned all the children not to step on the "blue stone," which was a small square stone slightly higher than the rest in the outer yard. I was not paying attention to his instructions and stepped on the stone. Instantly my face was smarting from a sharp slap on my cheek. I can still feel the shame of it, after all these years, for I don't believe the people at home had ever slapped my face. A color photoplate was impressed upon my mind, which has never faded. The tears covered my face, but I could see the girl who stood in front of me who wore a red dress and a white apron; there was a green door

48 In My Father's House on the garden gate, and the'colors all blended with the blazing eyes of Mr. Loran, the headmaster.

I couldn't wait to get home that day. Before I opened the door my cries had over¬ powered the sound of the bell, which announced any visitors to the shop.

Mama took me on her lap and comforted me; and when I had quieted, Papa held me in his arms as he did when I was a baby. I can still feel the sensation of safety as I put my head upon his shoulder. What a secu¬ rity to have a refuge when life is really hard!

Forty-five years passed after the bluestone incident. The gestapo had arrested me, and I was being asked the location of the secret room in which I had hidden four Jews and two underground workers. I real¬ ized that if I told, it would mean prison and possibly death for the six people who were there, so I didn't tell. The interrogator slapped me on the face, and at the same moment I recalled the backyard of the school, the angry headmaster, and Mother and Father's comforting help.

"Lord Jesus, cover me!" I cried. "If you mention that name, I'll murder you!" shouted the man interrogating me.

49 From Small Beginnings

But his hand stopped in midair and he couldn't beat me any longer.

What a security to have a refuge when life is really hard!

In Dat Vaderhuis (In That Father-house)

Our house was not very big, but it had wide open doors. I don't think that many guests who came to the Beje ever realized what a struggle it was to make both ends meet. As Mother said, "We must turn every penny twice before we spend it."

We didn't feel that we were poor, how¬ ever, and indeed we weren't. The words "we can't afford it" were not a part of our think¬ ing, because as children we knew something about the status of family finances and didn't ask for what we knew was impossible.

Many lonesome people found a place with us, where there was music, humor, inter¬ esting conversations, and always room for one more at the oval dinner table. Oh, it's true, the soup may have been a bit watery when too many unexpected guests came, but it didn't really matter.

Mother loved guests. Her lovely blue eyes would brighten, and she would pat her dark hair into place when she knew we would be 50 In My Father's House squeezing another visitor arouncfour table— already bursting with four children, three aunts, herself, and Papa. With a flourish she would place a little box on the table, and spreading her arms wide, she would say to our visitor, "You are welcome in our house, and because we are grateful for your com¬ ing, we will add a penny to the blessing box for our missionaries."

Years afterwards on my trips around the world, when I have been dependent upon the hospitality of others, I believe that I have enjoyed the reward for the open doors and hearts of our home. Here on earth I have enjoyed a "house with many mansions."

I often think of the verse that says, "Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days" (Eccles. 11:1 Kjv).

Corrie, Stand Still!

Although money was scarce, the outside world thought we were wealthy. Every mem¬ ber of the family dressed neatly and well. At least—almost everyone. Mother made most of our clothes, until the burden became too much, and Miss Anna van der Weyden, the seamstress, came in to help.

51 From Small Beginnings

Clothes to me were just something to keep me covered and warm. The endless fit¬ tings for a new dress and the inevitable pricks from countless pins were torture to my restless body.

"Corrie, come here, dear/' Mother would call in the tone I knew was meant to be another torturous session trying on clothes.

"If I don't finish this homework, Mama, Master Robyns will make me stand in the corner."

Come! There was no escape. I knew if I didn't subject myself to trying on a new dress that Mama was making, I would probably be assigned next time to Miss van der Weyden, and her clothes didn't fit as well as Mama's. The whole process was such a bore, and there was no way I could look like Nollie or Betsie anyhow. I just preferred to be me. However, I was a ten Boom and must not bring shame to the family name!

Mother had such a marvelous sense of humor, and having been a kindergarten teacher before her marriage, we profited by her practical knowledge of child psychology. She knew that praising my appearance would not provide me with motivation for my self¬ esteem. However, when she said, "Corre-

52 In My Father's House man, you are such a bright girl .'. . I'm sure Master Robyns calls on you often in class. You do want to look nice when you stand up to recite, don't you?" then she would strike a responsive chord, for I was eager to learn and have recognition in school.

I stood still for Mama, but only briefly. There was so much to do, so many things to learn, so much to live. I had a built-in sense of urgency to cram all that life and love could offer into each precious day.

Children need the wisdom of their elders; the aging need the encouragement of a child s exuberance.

Wisdom and exuberance lived side by side in the Beje, a house filled with the varied personalities of the old and the young.

Tante Bep (Alone in the Crowd)

Children s nurses in the rich houses of Holland were very lonely. They were not at home in the kitchen with the servant girls (who thought the nurses had privileges that they didn't enjoy), and they were not at home in the drawing room with the master and mistress of the house. Consequently they frequently became bitter with their cir¬ cumstances of not belonging in any niche of society. Tante Bep was a childrens nurse, going from job to job and becoming more unhappy each year.

54 In My Father's House

She was the oldest of Mother srsisters, and one of the reasons (I realize now) that my mother was very skilled in the art of tact. Mother usually had to steer a smooth course in our family with all of the aunts and their individual views on education and discipline; she knew how to bring the ship between the rocks.

When Tante Bep became too weak to work as a nurse, Father and Mother took her in. She had the same big, beautiful eyes like Mother, but the expression was very unhappy. She was quarrelsome about everything. There was the issue of the coffee, for instance. She told Tante Anna, "Pm the only one in this house who can make coffee.'' Now if there's one thing that was important in our house it was a good cup of coffee. Tante Anna would shift her apron around her ample waist, clear her throat with gusto, and say, "Bep, if you think your coffee is so good, you may just take over all the cooking from now on."

"Anna," Mother would say with her soft smile and gentle persuasion, "we couldn't exist without your fine cooking—and Bep, I know your coffee is excellent too; so per¬ haps you would like to make it your way on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

It was such a small house, it was impos¬ sible to avoid Tante Bep, but I tried because

55 The Many Ages of Love

I didn't like to be compared to the Waller children. The last place she worked before coming to live with us was with the Wallers, and I thought they must have been angels who had their halos polished every day.

The Waller children were always neat. The Waller children never ran in the house.

I didn't like to tell Tante Bep anything, because she might say, "The Waller children would never say such a thing."

Mother always soothed my insulted feel¬ ings by telling me, "Tante Bep complained about the Waller children when she was car¬ ing for them. Love her for what she is, Correman, and remember that she has had a very lonely sort of a life."

Tante Jans (That's That!)

"Corrie, close the door . . . my feet are cold and I'll be sick with all the drafts in this house."

Tante Jans was always concerned about her health and made us very conscious of her needs. She had a diet that was different from the usual fare of the rest of the fam¬ ily; as a child, I sometimes thought it would be interesting to be sick and have my own trays of food and special attention.

56 In My Father's House

Her rooms were special too. Mother and Father had given her more floor space than the rest of the family because Tante Jans had a great deal of furniture to fill the rooms she occupied upstairs.

Her husband had been a well-known min¬ ister in Rotterdam, and she had worked faithfully beside him in the church. They had no children, and it was a great loss in her life when he died before she was forty years old. After his death, it was clear that her place was to be in our house.

Tante Jans was not a woman to curl up with grief, and as soon as she had become established in her new quarters, she began all of her many activities that contributed to our buzzing household.

She was a poetess, an authoress, and an unusually good speaker. She started a monthly paper for girls, wrote books with a gospel message, organized clubs for young women, and even began a club for soldiers.

One time Tante Jans swept into the house, pulling the scarf off her mouth, and proclaimed, "There are soldiers wandering around the streets of Haarlem with idle minds and mischievous thoughts. I am going to start a club for soldiers."

57 The Many Ages of Love

That's that! It was settled. When Tante Jans made one of her announcements, the wheels were set in motion. Before we knew what had happened, our house began to look like a military installation. They would come alone or in pairs, young men who disliked the street life and were looking for the sim¬ ple warmth of a home. One sergeant she met on a streetcar was a great musician. When he saw the harmonium that Tante Jans had against the wall of her room, he sat down and began to play, making the thin walls of the house quiver with each cre¬ scendo of volume.

Tante Jans folded her hands and listened intently to the talented soldier. She decided that Nollie and I should have him give us music lessons.

Even if we had not enjoyed music, we would have learned because Tante Jans decreed it. Soon I could play hymns well enough to join in the meetings and accom¬ pany the singing. It taught me at a very young age not to be self-conscious in the presence of men—although I don't think that was the intent of Tante Jans.

Some people have the gift of raising money by convincing others of the worth of a project, and this was one of Tante Jans s

58 In My Father's House special talents. One afternoon she had a tea and invited some wealthy women she knew to come to her rooms. We scurried around rubbing her silver tea set until it glistened and making sure everything was immacu¬ late for the occasion.

I peeked out the window and watched the ladies arrive, swishing into the house with their long dresses underlined with full pet¬ ticoats. How could they possibly walk and maneuver the narrow stairway with all those skirts? I had a hard time just keeping my feet in front of me! It must be a burden to be rich and have to dress in such fancy clothes, I thought.

Evidently Tante Jans was convincing, for in a short time she had enough money to build a military home. When it was finished and filled with soldiers, she went twice a week to give Bible studies.

Tante Jans didn't move with the times; she marched to her own beat. Her outspo¬ ken ideas on behavior, clothes, and theol¬ ogy were constant abrasives on the surface of our family relationships.

When I was a child, I thought Tante Jans was very rich because she was a minister s widow and received a small, regular pen¬ sion. Sometimes she would have an unex-

59 The Many Ages of Love ' * pected donation, and we would all share her joy. However, when she bought clothing for us it could be embarrassing—especially for Nollie and Betsie who had their own very distinctive tastes.

"Oh, dear," Betsie would say as she turned to give us the effect of a drab gray dress Tante Jans had given her. "Do you think she would mind if I put some lace around the neck—or maybe a pink sash at the waist?"

"Betsie, if you think that's bad, just look at this hat," Nollie would groan as she pulled a bonnet on backwards, sending us all into suppressed giggles. Tante Jans s taste in hats was somewhere between the style of a ser¬ vant girl and that of a great-grandmother.

Nollie was very fashion-conscious, and the gifts of stodgy clothes were a challenge to her ingenuity.

I didn't care about my appearance; I accepted all she gave me and consequently received the most hats and dresses. During the First World War most of Tante Jans's income stopped; it was dependent upon gifts of people who were having a financial strug¬ gle themselves. I remember she was sur¬ prised by an unexpected gift of fifty guilders (about eighteen dollars) and quickly gath¬ ered her muffler and umbrella to go shop-

60 In My Father's House

ping. When she returned, we thought some¬ thing amazing must have happened, because she had forgotten to button her coat to the top. The sight of Tante Jans with face flushed and scarf loose was as uncommon as seeing the queen riding in a streetcar!

"Come in everyone ... I have something to show you." We all followed her into her room, and she spread her packages on the sofa and began to distribute them with sup¬ pressed excitement. There was a warm blan¬ ket for Mother, a coat for me (black and shapeless, but practical), a blouse for Tante Anna, and cakes for the whole family. Any sweets were rare for us, reserved for birth¬ days and very special occasions.

I found out later that she had spent more than seventy guilders on us. I believe she was one of the richest persons I have known, for she knew how to give to others.

Tante Anna (Sheltering Apron)

Tante Anna, stocky, practical, unsenti¬ mental, was our substitute mother when¬ ever Mother was too ill to care for us. She ruled over her little basement kitchen like one of Tante Jans s sergeants over his pla¬ toon. She was firm and hardworking, but 61 The Many Ages of Love

overflowing with love for Mother, Father, and all the children. When I was very young, I would stand beside her in our basement kitchen and lick the bowl of something she had been making. I watched the legs of the people passing by the kitchen window, for that was all we could see from beneath the street level. I began to wonder about all the people in the gigantic world outside.

"Tante Anna, where do babies come from?" I asked.

She stirred the alle haphetzelfde a bit and answered carefully, "Well, Corrie, when a baby is too small and weak to live in the cold world, there is a place underneath a mothers heart where it is kept warm and can grow, until it is strong enough to stand the cold in the big world."

I could understand that. It seemed like a very good plan of the Lord s.

My question answered in a simple man¬ ner, I went on to the more important mat¬ ters of life, such as investigating with my finger the inside of another bowl. This one contained a special treat—allusion, which was a dessert made with stiffened egg whites and flavored with lemon and sugar. There was more air than substance, but good for a big family.

62 In My Father's House

Tante Anna was a good cook, stretching a little far. She would cook a stew on the big, black coal stove until most of the veg¬ etables all blended into each other. The alle haphetzelfde meant "every bite the same," and I know it was a real surprise and a treat when we encountered a bit of meat.

She had her club work too, and her con¬ cern for others reached into the homes of the wealthy who employed servant girls. Every Wednesday and Sunday evening a group of them would come to a club room and bring their sewing and embroidery work. Tante Anna taught them gospel songs and gave them a Bible study. When one of "her girls" went the wrong way, Tante Anna be¬ came ill. Her face would become puffy and swell, and we didn't have to ask; we knew that she had received a piece of bad news.

"Tante Anna, who was it this time?" we would ask.

She would take her apron and try to hide her blotchy face.. "It was Betty," she would say, dabbing at her eyes. "She wasn't strong enough in the Lord ... she ran off with Hans. . . he's had two wives before this!" She would become as distressed as any mother would over a wayward child.

63 The Many Ages of Love

1 * "Anna/' Father would say, "you must not bear this yourself. Cast your worries upon the Lord."

Nollie (Mijn Moedertje)

Nollie was physically the strongest of the three girls in the family. I considered her my elder, although she was only a year and a half older than I. Even when she was a lit¬ tle child, she felt responsible for me; she was my moedertje (little mother). As a tod¬ dler, whenever she drank water she brought a cup for me too. I had to drink even if I wasn't thirsty. After all, Nollie knew best. I was shy and she was not; she voiced her needs and views. I waited.

One time, when we were very young, Nol¬ lie and I were out for a walk when a man on a bicycle knocked us down right in front of our house. Covered with mud and shocked, we ran into the sitting room, loudly declar¬ ing our presence.

Nollie screamed and everyone came running, brushing her hair out of her eyes, wiping off the dirt, and kissing away the tears. I stood in the corner, watching all the commotion and wondering when I should take my turn screaming—after Nol-

64 In My Father's House lie was through, of course. I knew my time to be comforted would come.

Suddenly Mother said, "Hemeltje! [Little Heaven!] Come look at Corrie."

Everyone stopped and for the first time realized that I was standing in the corner of the room, big tears making muddy rivers down my cheeks. Finally I was given the attention of the grown-ups.

The little alley beside our house was the locale of many events in our lives. There wasn't much room for playing in our over¬ crowded house, so the alley was our yard, our recreation room, and our schoolhouse of life. Once Nollie met a little boy named Sammy Staal. I think there must have been some¬ thing wrong with his heart, for his skin had a bluish color and his nose was always red. He was unable to walk and propelled him¬ self in a wheelchair. Nollie made friends with him, and encouraged by Mother, she would push him for hours and hours while the rest of the children were playing active games. When he died, Nollie was heartbroken.

Nollie s grief was probably a shared feel¬ ing. Even when we were very young, we knew that our problems were never too small for the grown-ups; there were many ways and many ages of love under one Dutch roof.

Secrets are for children, and promises are like soap bubbles—easy to make, easy to break. The one time I tried to keep a secret from Mama, my little deception was uncov¬ ered. I talked in my sleep.

I was very young, perhaps eight or nine, and very flattered that Richard would ask me to go for a walk through the dunes. He was the nephew of our minister and quite grown up—a teenager.

However, I was not prepared for an act of boyish curiosity that surprised and shamed me at the same time. We had reached a valley where we could not be seen, and suddenly he pulled me close to him and started to do very strange things. Even without previous warnings from pro¬ tective parents, I knew this was wrong.

I pulled away from him, flushing with childish indignation, and stamped my foot.

66 In My Father's House "Richard, you stop that. Mama would think thats dirty!"

Richard looked frightened but defiant. "She isn't here . . . and you mustn't tell."

"Mama isn't here, but Jesus is, and I'm sure He doesn't think it's right."

Richard was defeated. He stopped imme¬ diately and said, "Promise me never to tell anyone what I tried to do, especially your mother?"

I thought this over for a while. After all, he was Richard, and a very important per¬ son in my eyes.

"Well, I guess so ... I promise." As we walked back home, he told me some very nice stories and I forgot about the incident.

At least I thought I forgot about it! The next day I was ill and had a fever. I talked about the walk on the dunes but wasn't conscious of what I had said. After the fever was gone, Mama asked me what had happened with Richard.

"A promise is a promise, Mama, and I said I wouldn't tell anybody in the world."

"Correman, never forget that Jesus is always with you. Every morning I ask Him to keep you and all of my children within His constant care. In the evening, I thank

Winking Angels

Him that He sent His angels to guard you. Now you and I will pray together/'

I remember Mother folded her soft hands around mine when she prayed. I thought how wonderful it was that she asked Jesus to guard me. She prayed, "ThankYou, Jesus, that You never leave my Correman alone ... thank You that You protected her during her walk on the dunes. Please lay Your hand on Richard . . . show him how wrong he was and that You are willing to make him a good clean boy."

How did she know about Richard? I won¬ dered if mothers know everything. Oh, well, never mind . . . Jesus knows, Mama knows, and everything is all right.

Dutch Mischief Makers

I was no little angel. Mischief was my mid¬ dle name, and Dot, my cousin and best friend, was my willing partner. Her father, Uncle Arnold, was the usher, or verger, of St. Bavo's, the magnificent Gothic cathe¬ dral that dominates the center of Haarlem. Its cavernous interior provided endless hours of imaginary play. In the banks (or pews) with their enclosed rows of seats, shut off from the aisles by half doors, a child

68 In My Father's House could have a private house. We could be pirates, hiding in our caves, or storekeepers in our offices; we could run a school or own a sweet shop.

The pulpit was out of bounds. We were not allowed to go there; that wasn't proper or respectful. It seemed quite awesome to a small child, because the chair in the pul¬ pit doesn't stand on the ground. It is held up by the bronze wings of an eagle. The font in front of the pulpit is supported by three brass snakes, and that was enough to keep us away without being told.

Our voices would echo in the stone inte¬ rior, adding intrigue to our games. Some¬ times Uncle Arnold would have to hush our exuberance.

"Children, children, there are graves beneath our feet. Step softly."

The position of usher carried the privi¬ lege of living within the cathedral grounds. Uncle Arnold's family had a cozy little house just off the side entrance to the church. I always loved going in through the narrow passageway surrounded by beautiful blue

Dutch tiles.

Living within the cathedral didn't make Dot any holier. If I didn't dream up a prank, she would.

We were in the same grade in school and usually walked together to our classes. I was comfortable with Dot because we were on the same level of academic achievement, which was toward the bottom of the class. Whenever we had difficulty with our home¬ work, we asked Josien van Paassen to help us. She was not only bright but also owned a bicycle. A winning combination. Her father was a minister with a regular monthly income, but the earnings of a watchmaker went up and down like the weights on the grandfather clock.

One morning Dot called for me on the way to school, and she was unusually excited. "Corrie, come here, look what I found/'

She handed me a dime that was broken in half; the coin had probably been run over by a carriage, and the two pieces were wedged on the cobblestones just waiting for a little girl to pick them up. A dime was a great deal of money to us; it could buy ten pieces of candy at the sweet shop on the Begynestraat. Such a rare and wonderful treat!

We skipped off to school, neither one of us admitting that we thought we were going to do anything wrong, and ordered our can- 70 In My Father's House dies from the jolly lady who owned the shop.

Dot slipped the two parts of the dime to me and I placed them on the counter, then made a very fast retreat out the door. We were running toward school when we heard the bell of the shop door ring and the owner call, "Girls . . . girls . . . come back. . . !"

I grabbed Dot's hand and we ran a little faster, my feet having their usual problem of keeping up with my own momentum. We felt so guilty and for weeks avoided going by the candy store. The candy didn't taste very good either, and in later years when I read this Proverb I thought about that childish caper. "Bread obtained by falsehood is sweet to a man, but afterward his mouth will be filled with gravel'' (Prov. 20:17). Can candy really taste like gravel?

Another time Dot and I made some solid snowballs and put them in our pockets. It was so cold they didn't melt but formed hard balls just the right size for mittened hands to grasp and throw. We were walking through the Kruisstraat behind three digni¬ fied men, who were loudly discussing their problems. I winked at Dot, and we reached into our pockets, drew out our ammunition, took aim, and fired. The top hats flew into the snowy streets, and two sweet little girls raced to pick them up.

"Here you are, sir," I said with a serious face and very polite demeanor, as I brushed the snow carefully off the hat. Dot picked up the second hat and handed it to one gen¬ tleman who had a very bald, cold head. He fitted the hat on his head and said, "Thank you, young ladies," as he looked around to see who the rascals were who committed such a crime.

Hats Off

Not all my episodes with hats went un¬ punished, however.

The director of our school was a very strict man, not the type of person who would tol¬ erate misbehavior from his students. Father had helped Mr. van Lyden start the Chris¬ tian educational institution, and because of this assistance we didn't pay to attend it, a fact that was a great help to the ten Boom family. When the school was new, many of the disciplinary problem children from other areas were sent there, and several times Mr. van Lyden had to send them back to the schools they had attended previously.

72 In My Father's House

I was shocked when a student was expelled. Just imagine how humiliating it was for the parents to have their child sent away from school for bad behavior!

I must have been about ten years old when this occurred. I sat at my desk, gazing out the window, watching the wind swirl the dust on the playground. I was thinking about the new hat Tante Jans had given me, a large blue and white sailor, which I hated just because it was a hat. The teacher stepped out of the room and an idea flashed into my mind.

"Listen, everyone," I said to the class, "I have a brilliant idea. Exactly at two o'clock we'll all put on our hats or caps. We can smuggle them under the desks so Mr. van Ree won't see them. I've got a watch and I'll give the sign."

The room of sixty ten-year-olds crackled with excitement, and I was the leader. The fact that I had a watch made me very impor¬ tant, because I was the only one in the class who had one. * Two o'clock arrived and the classroom was very quiet. We were working out arithmetic problems in silence, and the teacher looked from one to another, distrusting our unusu¬ ally good behavior.

I was sitting toward the front of the class and, after giving the signal, I took my hat from under my desk and put it on. I didn't hear a thing in back of me. I looked around and to my horror saw that no one else had the nerve to follow my example, except Jan Vixeboxe who sat way in the back of the room. When my eyes returned to the teacher, he was staring right at me, furiously glaring from humorless eyes. There was terror in the atmosphere.

"Go to the headmaster at once, Corrie ten Boom!" he commanded.

Oh, no, not the headmaster! That was Mr. van Lyden, and he expelled students for infraction of the rules.

I slipped from behind my desk, pulling off my hat as I left the room. In the hallway I opened the coat closet and ducked in, hid¬ ing myself in a dark corner behind the coats. I don't know how many miserable hours I spent there, but it seemed like an eternity before the bell rang and I ran out ahead of the rest of the students.

I expected to be dismissed, just as the problem pupils from other schools had been.

I thought of all the shame I would bring to Mama and Papa, of all they would have to go through because of my misdeed. How I

74 In My Father's House loved them! I thought of all the' care they had given me, of the difficulties we had as a result of sickness and lack of money. We were such a close-knit family that we always shared joys and sorrows, and now this! Dis¬ missed from the school my father had helped organize!

At the supper table that night I was so quiet Mama thought I was sick. I went upstairs early and crept into bed, pulling the comforter under my chin. I told Nollie every¬ thing that had happened.

"Why don't you ask forgiveness of God?" she suggested.

"Ive already done that . . . but do you think He will arrange it so that I won't be sent away from school?"

I asked Nollie the deep questions that were puzzling me, because she was almost twelve! Certainly she would know all the answers.

"I don't know," Nollie replied, "but do you remember that boring psalm that Papa read at the table, where every sixth or seventh verse were the same words? 'Then they cried unto the LORD in their trouble, and he saved them'out of their distresses'" (Psalm 107

KJV).

For the first time since the hats-off inci¬ dent I began to cheer up. "Why couldn't we do the same?"

We "cried unto the Lord" and then fell asleep. The next morning Nollie shook me awake and told me her wonderful idea. We had a little monthly missionary magazine that I delivered to several people as my spe¬ cial work in evangelizing the world. Mr. van Lyden was one of the subscribers. Nollie suggested, "You must manage in some way to go to the headmaster and personally bring him the mission magazine for this month. It can't do any harm, and perhaps it will do some good."

That morning, with my heart pounding right through my best school dress and a very pious expression on my face, I went to the headmaster's room and handed him the paper. He looked at it and then at me. The pause took a hundred years and the silence hurt my ears. He didn't have much of a sense of humor, but I believe the corners of his mouth turned up just a little bit.

He cleared his throat, tapped the desk with his pencil, and said, "Corrie ten Boom, I don't think you behaved as a very good Christian girl yesterday."

76 In My Father's House

That was all I ever heard aboutmy crime. The Lord saved me from my distress.

Mice in the Manuscript

When I was about twelve, I decided that I wanted to be a writer. I curled up on my bed, pad of paper on my lap, and wove a wonderful fantasy about the adventures of Nollie, Josien, Dot, and all of Dots broth¬ ers and sisters on a holiday without our par¬ ents. It was a beautiful story, filled with more adventure than Dickens and more vivid character sketches than Louisa May Alcott.

How famous I would be!

Betsie shattered my dreams. She came into the room and asked, "Whats that?"

It seemed quite obvious to me. "Its a book I'm writing," I answered as smugly as a sis¬ ter seven years younger could reply to the ridiculous question of a grown-up.

Betsie seldom voiced any words of dis¬ couragement, but this time she said, "How foolish . . . you can't write a book."

I just won't show anyone my book any¬ more, I thought. So I hid it in the attic and forgot the priceless manuscript for several months.

When I remembered later to take the papers out of their secret niche, there was only one-tenth of this potential best-seller left. The rest was eaten by the mice. I was so disappointed that I decided never to write a book again.

The Shadow of His Wings

My security was assured in many ways as a child. Every night I would go to the door of my room in my nightie and call out, "Papa, I'm ready for bed." He would come to my room and pray with me before I went to sleep. I can remember that he always took time with us, and he would tuck the blan¬ kets around my shoulders very carefully, with his own characteristic precision. Then he would put his hand gently on my face and say, "Sleep well, Corrie ... I love you."

I would be very, very still, because I thought that if I moved I might lose the touch of his hand; I wanted to feel it until I fell asleep.

Many years later in a concentration camp in Germany, I sometimes remembered the feeling of my father's hand on my face. When I was lying beside Betsie on a wretched, dirty mattress in that dehuman-

78 In My Father's House izing prison, I would say, "Oh, L<3rd, let me feel Your hand upon me . . . may I creep under the shadow of Your wings."

In the midst of that suffering was my heavenly Father's security.

Reach as High as You Can

My desire to please my papa was one of the basic motivations of my life. I remem¬ ber when I was walking home from school, there was a very dirty wall I passed every day. It was full of flies, and during the warm weather one of my games was to run my hand along the wall and try to catch a fly. When the challenge had been met, I would release it and try for the next catch.

One day when I was busy with this messy game, I heard a familiar voice behind me, "Now isn't this a joy to meet my youngest daughter here on the street."

I was suddenly very embarrassed about how dirty I was, for Papa was so immacu¬ late and well dressed that I didn't dare put my hand in his. He never mentioned my appearance, just walked along chatting about the visit to Mrs. de Vries and his talk with the servant girl about the Lord, until we arrived inside the Beje.

'Tm home, Cor," he'd call to Mama. Then he turned to me and said, "And I know, Corrie, that you're going to wash your hands before you see your mother."

Such a small thing, but I remember the shame of being so dirty in Papa's presence.

We were always challenged to do our best. When Papa took a watch apart and put it back together again, it was a task he per¬ formed without regard to the owner's social status or wealth. He taught us that it wasn't important what you think, or even what other people think, but what God thinks about the job you have done.

When Nollie and I were teenagers, we decided to take sewing lessons. I made a blouse; it was a very careless job, with crooked seams and poorly fitted sleeves. I pulled it on, knowing that I looked very sloppy but not really caring much until I saw Papa's face. "Corrie, the servant girl maybe able to teach you how to scrub a floor, but your mother should teach you how to sew. When you spend your time and money on making something, it should be your best effort."

Achievement and honesty were such basic ingredients in Papa's personality that there were times when we had to hide the giggles

80 In My Father's House he disliked so much. One of the stories Mama told about him was, "My husband is so honest that when the children were babies, he wouldn't allow me to give them a pacifier, no matter how loud or how long they cried. He would say, 'They think they are getting a drink. That is fooling a child to put something in her mouth which is a lie.

Mama would sigh with amused resigna¬ tion and say, "So my babies never had a paci¬ fier, because my husband is so honest.''

Papa was honest about pain too. When¬ ever we had to go to a dentist or a doctor, Papa would come along to comfort us. How¬ ever, he would never say that we would not have pain. He said that if we had to have a tooth filled or pulled that we must be brave and strong. Whenever it was possible, he went with us. Holding his hand gave us courage. If the doctor did need his assis¬ tance, his strong hands kept our hands or head from moving.

Perhaps it is wrong to tell this today—in view of the permissive way in which many children are being raised—but we were dis¬ ciplined without spanking. I cannot remem¬ ber being paddled as a child, but there was * no doubt in our family that we were to obey

Father. His will was law, and we all knew it.

We never spoke about the "line of author¬ ity' in our home—it was simply understood. Father didn't have to stand up and say "I'm the head of this family!" He just was. We never felt any desire to have it any other way because the love and security of all our rela¬ tionships were built upon the established fact that God was always with us, and He had appointed Casper ten Boom in charge of the mansion in Haarlem called the Beje.

Around the OvcdTcdCo

-'^asassssL,-

Can a piece of furniture be important? The oval table in our dining room was the gathering place for hopes and dreams, the listening place for prayers and petitions, and the loving place for joy and laughter.

But Sunday it was something more—it was the special place for family and friends.

Sunday was an important day for us; it was a day when everything—from the clothes we wore to the spoons we used— was distinctive. My Sunday dress was the new one I received for Christmas, so I sel¬ dom had a choice about what I would wear to church. Tante Anna could work magic with that dress, adding a colored sash or a ribbon in a way that improved my rather careless appearance. It was another of her small gifts of service that said, "I care."

When we were ready for church, Father would lead the way to St. Bavos while we

Around the Oval Table

trailed along, trying not to scuff our shoes or muss our Sunday outfits.

After church it was good to go home, especially when the weather was chilly, for St. Bavos was unheated, and there were days when my teeth would chatter through the entire service.

At home I would help with the Sunday dinner, first by smoothing a beautiful white cloth over the oval table. I tried to do this carefully, because I knew that Betsie wanted it to hang evenly, and it was a great desire of mine to meet her standards. Everything about Betsie was neat and I was . . . oh, well—just Corrie.

"Good work, Corrie,M she would say, and that was all I needed to encourage me for the rest of the day.

The delicate china, which had been brought from Indonesia by father s older sis¬ ter, Tante Toos, and Tante Jans s ornate sil¬ ver service—a gift from wealthy members of her husbands church—were placed on the table. Then Tante Anna would emerge from the kitchen, wiping her hands on the generous apron she used to cover her black silk dress, and ring a little bell.

"Come to dinner, everyone."

84 In My Father's House

When we were seated, Father would remove his fresh Sunday napkin from its holder, place it carefully on his lap, and bow his head.

"Lord, we thank You for this beautiful Lord s Day and for this family. Bless this food, bless our queen, and let soon come the day that Jesus, Your beloved Son, comes on the clouds of heaven. Amen."

Our table talk on Sunday sometimes cen¬ tered around the sermon we had heard, but usually Father was cautious not to say too much. He attended the cathedral near our home because he felt that God had called him to that place, but he didn't hold any position in the church. His views were not accepted by the liberal thinkers who were in positions of leadership.

Conversations around the dinner table were lively because we all had stories or experiences we wanted to share. I believe that the great enjoyment of a family eating together is having this time when each per¬ son can be heard.

Father had a special talent in directing our talks so that no one would feel left out. We loved to tell personal stories but were taught to laugh at ourselves, not to make fun of others.

I remember one time when Nollie was telling about a painting she had done in school.

"I thought the drawing was rather good," Nollie said, "but when Mr. van Arkel walked over to my desk, he held up my picture and looked at it one way and then another, scowl¬ ing all the time."

"Maybe he just wanted to get a better view," Betsie offered.

"I'm afraid that wasn't his reason," Nol¬ lie answered.

(Studies were important in our family, so each one of us received special attention when we talked about school.)

"What did Mr. van Arkel say, Nollie?" Mother asked.

"He said, 'Do you know of which Proverb your drawing reminds me, Nollie ten

Boom? "

"I told him Honi soit qui mal y yense.' [Disgraced is he who thinks wrong of it.] It's from a motto on a badge of knighthood. Boy, did Mr. van Arkel laugh!"

Nollies eyes twinkled when she told the story. Father really enjoyed a good joke, as long as the girls didn't giggle. Laughter he loved, but giggling was verboden.

86 In My Father's House

On Sunday afternoons we frequently had visitors who would stop for a cup of tea and conversation. Sometimes we would go for a walk, but we didn't study, sew, or work on the Lord s Day. The only work allowed was winding the watches that were in the shop for repair.

Father said, "Even on Sunday, I must milk my cows."

Father's Friends

Fellowship around the oval table was more than just a family affair. Throughout the years there were many people, young and old, rich and poor, who contributed so much to the richness of my childhood. I loved to have some of Father s friends visit in our home, because they laughed a lot and always told wonderful stories.

When Father was a young man in Amster¬ dam he worked in a mission called Heil des Volks, which was in a very poor part of the city. There were three other men who gave their time and energy to this particular out¬ reach, and they all became fast friends.

The four men would meet often, sharing their burdens and triumphs, studying the Bible together, and discussing many topics of interest. As a child, I was always happy when they came to our house; it was a time when I loved to listen to the conversations of these great friends and learn from their experiences. The children were welcome to stay during their discussions and encour¬ aged to participate if we had something we wanted to ask. I can still recall the fragrant mixture of cologne and good Dutch cigars that lingered in the room.

Frits Vermeer was a rather round Dutch¬ man who loved to joke. He was "Uncle Frits" to us, just as the other good friends were called Uncle Dirk and Uncle Hendrik.

One of the first things Father would do when his friends arrived was to bring out the box of cigars from its place in the desk where the bulky ledger of the shop was kept. From his pocket, he would take the special cigar clipper that had keys for winding the clocks on the other side. It was a very important tool, and many children over a span of half a century sat on his lap and played with it.

Uncle Hendrik was considered the theo¬ logian of the group and was constantly being challenged for a Bible verse to meet some situation or problem. He was seldom at a loss when asked to quote something appro¬ priate for the occasion.

88 In My Father's House

Uncle Dirk, the fourth member of the group, was the only one who wasn't mar¬ ried. However, he loved children very much and was able to express that love in a spe¬ cial way.

On one occasion, when Father s friends were discussing their concerns, Uncle Dirk was anxious to tell about an orphanage where he was on the board of directors. I sat up and listened carefully, because chil¬ dren without parents bothered me so much. I thought how terrible it would be not to have the love of a mother and father.

"I decided to become the father of the orphanage," Uncle Dirk announced. "I have been on the board of directors, arguing for better conditions for those poor children, but I have not seen any positive results. I must get in there and work myself."

Father was delighted. "Dirk, this is cer¬ tainly the leading of the Lord for you. He has not given you a wife, but He is going to bless you with many, many children. We will pray about it."

Father would begin to pray with his friends in an attitude that was so easy and natural that the conversation never seemed to stop; it would flow easily from friend to friend to the Lord.

Many times through the years I remem¬ ber the wonderful moments I had listening to the stories and experiences of Fathers friends. There is a Proverb that says, "Do not forsake your own friend or your fathers friend'' (Prov. 27:10). I have often thought how wise that is.

Bible Study Was a Game

With the dishes cleared off and kitchen duties accomplished, the oval table could be turned into a place for games. We didn't play cards (for that was considered a form of gambling), but we had a lasting enjoy¬ ment in the type of games that taught us something.

Different languages were introduced as a game, not as a forced study. When I was in the fourth grade, we began to learn French. As I remember, I loved the melodious sounds of this beautiful language, but it was and remained a difficult language for me. The next year I started English, which was easier, but I wondered as I struggled with all the different English meanings for words if I would ever go to England or America and have an opportunity to use the language.

90 In My Father's House

Father wanted me to learn English well, and he gave me a little Sunday school book¬ let in English that was called "There's No Place Like Home." I read it over and over again.

The greatest fun in language learning came during our Bible study. The entire fam¬ ily would take part, each one of us having a Bible in a different language. Willem usu¬ ally had the original in Hebrew and Greek; I would have the English; Mother the Dutch; Nollie the French; and Betsie or Father, German. It was a special and joyous time for us.

Father would begin by asking what John 3:16 was in English. I would answer from my English Bible, Mother from her Dutch Bible, and Betsie would reply in German.

When I was so young, it didn't seem pos¬ sible that Betsie would ever have a chance to use a Bible verse in German. We didn't know any Germans then! However, God uses such seemingly insignificant ways to prepare us for the plan He has for our lives. Over forty years later, in a concentration camp in Germany, Betsie was able to use that verse— and many more—to speak to the prisoners and the guards about God's love.

When Father Prayed . . .

Every room in our house heard our prayers, but the oval table probably experi¬ enced more conversations with the Lord than other places. Praying was never an embarrassment for us, whether it was with the family together or when a stranger came in. Father prayed because he had a good Friend to talk over the problems of the day; he prayed because he had a direct connec¬ tion with his Maker when he had a concern; he prayed because there was so much for which he wanted to thank God.

When Father talked with the Lord it was serious but unpretentious. He talked to Someone he knew. Once we had a minister in our house, and when his visit was over, Father prayed, "Thank you, Lord, for a good day. We hope everyone goes together in the same way."

The minister left with a puzzled expres¬ sion on his face. Could this be the Casper ten Boom so many of his parishioners told him had such a deep understanding of Gods Word?

Father always prayed before and after each meal. He included two things in his 92 In My Father's House prayer: the queen and the second coming of Jesus Christ.

The knowledge and anticipation of the return of Jesus Christ was given to me by Father during one of the quiet, thoughtful times before I went to sleep as a small child. As for the queen—patriotism and loyalty were an accepted way of thinking in our house, as it was in most Dutch homes. How¬ ever, I never thought that the prayers of the little ten Boom girl would be answered in such unusual ways.

Me? A Guest of the Queen? Not Me!

It was the year 1956, more than half a century after I first heard Father pray for the queen. I was in Formosa with Dr. Bob Pierce, a man whose outreach of love and concern has spread throughout the world. He said to me one day, "Corrie, I believe it would be a good idea for you to talk with the queen of your country."

Bob is an American, and I forgave him for not understanding about proper protocol with members of royalty. How ridiculous, I thought.

"Bob, you don't know what you're saying ... I can't go see the queen."

He looked at me gently and said, "Just pray about it." And so I did.

Wilhelmina had been queen through two world wars; her reign had spanned two gen¬ erations, and now she had abdicated and given the position of monarchy to her only daughter, who is our Queen Juliana. Wil¬ helmina chose to have the title of Princess from that moment on.

When I was back in my homeland, I wrote to Princess Wilhelmina and said that I would like to meet her and bring greetings from Bob Pierce and World Vision International. The day after my letter was delivered, the princess sent her car to pick me up.

I sat in the back seat of the limousine, enjoying every kilometer from Haarlem to Het Loo Apeldoorn, where her palace was.

Wouldn't Father have loved this, I thought. All those years he prayed for the queen and here is his daughter, Corrie, having a visit with Princess Wilhelmina herself!

One amazing thing after another hap¬ pened. I was given the opportunity of speak¬ ing with the queen and meeting all the people in the palace. After a few hours I had to tell Princess Wilhelmina that I had to leave for some meetings that were planned in Germany.

94 In My Father's House

She looked at me and said, "1 expected you to stay several weeks here, and you're just staying a few hours. Why are you going to Germany?"

The war had been over for more than ten years, but its memories were still vivid to many Hollanders.

"I must go to Germany, your Highness, because God has called me to tell them of His love and forgiveness."

She dismissed what I was saying with a wave of her hand, but later when I returned once more to Holland she sent word for me to come and stay in the palace for a long time. I was allowed on that visit one hour each evening with Princess Wilhelmina. She said, "Pm too old for too much, so we may either eat together or talk for an hour.'' I chose the last part and had my meals with her lady-in-waiting afterward. Princess Wil¬ helmina knew her Bible very well, and we enjoyed those hours in her lovely private chamber. She gave me the opportunity to tell her of the miracle God had worked in my life to forgive my enemies.

I believe that in some way something of Father s prayers many, many years before were answered when God allowed the * daughter of the watchmaker to carry His message of love to the queen.

I had a happy time of fellowship with many people in the palace. I had personal contact with most of them when we talked about the most important person, our Lord Jesus Christ. But the happiest moments of each day were the hours with that great lady who had reigned over our little country in a time when two world wars had wounded Europe.

Seventeen, and So Mucfi

to Learn --

When Betsie told a story, she wove threads of brilliant color through the word pictures she created. When she moved into a room or dressed for a meeting, it was with a special flair. She knew levenskunst (the art of living)!

I wasn't what people would call a "mature" teenager. I was a tomboy during my adoles¬ cence—not a "young lady." However, I loved imitating and wanted to learn, but it didn't seem possible to me that I would ever have those soft qualities of womanhood that were so natural to my older sister.

Betsie taught me many things, and one of them was how to tell a story. She had a Sunday school class for many years, start¬ ing to teach when she was seventeen. She loved her pupils, and the little gifts and adoring glances she received from those boys and girls proved that her love was y-v r

Seventeen, and So Much to Learn

returned many times. One day she said to me, "Corrie, you must take a class too."

"What can I teach?" I asked, thinking how embarrassed I would be if someone asked me a question I couldn't answer. There was so much I didn't understand, especially all those kings and judges and battles in the Old Testament.

Betsies answer was, "Try it! Tell the story of the feeding of the five thousand."

Now there was a story I knew! So I went with her to her class, believing this was a very simple assignment. What an embar¬ rassment! How inadequate I felt when I fin¬ ished the story in five minutes. The class was thirty minutes long, and I didn't know how to fill the remaining time. Betsie took over, and I listened with amazement as she told the same story over to a spellbound class of kids.

I was rather discouraged; I didn't know how to tell a story, but after that experience I was determined to learn. As I listened to Betsie I realized that you must weave a tale, leading your listeners on a word journey.

A girlfriend of mine, Mina, was a teacher in a Christian school, and she promised to help me. We asked permission of the direc¬ tor of the school to allow me to give the 98 In My Father's House

Bible story in her class every Monday morn¬ ing. They were pretty drab at first, but grad¬ ually I began to learn how to add those imaginative touches that made them more interesting.

I used the technique of describing one picture after another, leading my little class through the art gallery of the Bible. When I told the story of the feeding of the five thousand again, we visualized Jesus with all the people sitting on the grass around Him. We would look at these people individually, imagining where they lived, what sort of problems they had, and what they might be thinking about this Man with the divine love in His eyes. The next picture is of Jesus and His followers, the disciples, talking about how the tired, hungry people were going to be fed. There was no bakery or fish market within sight, but there was an obvious need for food. The blue waters of the Galilee reflected the surrounding green and brown hills, and the luxuriant grass where the people sat to listen to Jesus was pressed to the ground by the crowd.

Then I would carry my listeners with me to the climax, as Jesus took the five loaves and two fish offered Him by a boy who had gone shopping for his mother, and "looking

99 Seventeen, and So Much to Learn up toward heaven, He blessed the food and broke the loaves and He kept giving them to the disciples to set before them; and He divided up the two fish among them all. And they all ate and were satisfied" (Mark 6:41-42). "What a feast we have when we believe Jesus Christ!" I would end.

I had no idea how valuable this lesson was going to be in later life. If Betsie had told me that someday I would be speaking before thousands of people, Tm sure that the fear of such a thing would have silenced my clumsy efforts at storytelling immediately.

From Bach with Love

Music was as much a part of my young life as television is to the children of today. Mother and Tante Anna had taught kinder¬ garten, and I can remember them singing to me the little songs they taught to their schoolchildren. When I was old enough to sit at the organ called the harmonium and pump the pedals with my feet, Tante Jans had arranged for one of her military visitors to give Nollie and me music instruction.

We loved to sing in our house. Nollie had a rich soprano voice, Willem sang tenor, and 100 In M-y Father's House

I was the alto when we learned to sing the Bach chorale "Seidfroh die Weil ." I grew up loving Bach.

One time Father called us together and said, "We re going to St. Bavo's tomorrow evening for a great treat!"

I couldn't imagine anything that could be better than some of the concerts we had already enjoyed at Uncle Arnold's church. Because of Uncle Arnold's position as care¬ taker, we were given special permission to listen to the concerts, sitting on the bench beside the door that separated his home from the main sanctuary. Only the people who had money could afford to attend these fine concerts, and without Uncle Arnold, all the members of the ten Boom family would seldom have been able to enjoy such riches.

"Wear your warm clothes," Mama warned, as we were getting ready for the mysterious treat.

St. Bavo's was a vast, unheated building with footwarmers for those who could af¬ ford to pay, and a hard wooden bench with cold stone at our backs for Uncle Arnold's relatives.

We all lined up, excited over the antici¬ pation of Father's "great treat," and went to the cathedral, bypassing the front entrance

101 Seventeen, and So Much to Learn and going in the side door to our own spe¬ cial reserved seats. The smell of moisture and dust, smoldering gas lamps, and the burning coals in the footwarmers was so familiar, and the excitement began to build. We sat down, with Father wrapping a wool blanket around Mother and plac¬ ing a pillow at her back to make her more comfortable.

A wiry man with unruly gray hair and a drooping mustache passed us before going upstairs to the world-famous pipe organ. I had explored the area where this impressive organ stood and wondered how anyone could learn to play on so many manuals with sixty-eight stops. We had been told that Mozart played that organ when he was only ten years old.

We soon knew why the evening was going to be such a treat. I held my breath as Albert Schweitzer began playing a Bach prelude. He was an authority on organ building and an organist who could fill the cathedral with exquisite beauty. During the day St. Bavos was a composition in gray, inside and out, but in the evening—with the gas lamps giv¬ ing a Rembrandtesque light, the pillars point¬ ing upward in a mysterious glow—the atmos-

102 In My Father's House phere of harmony was heaven.'I thought eternity must contain this kind of beauty.

Albert Schweitzer was a German philoso¬ pher, physician, writer, and theologian. He had gone to Africa as a medical missionary and established a hospital and a leper colony. As his fame grew throughout the world, I often thought of the first time I heard him interpret Bach and how much Father s treat contributed to my lifetime love of music.

Impatient to Learn Patience

We are not born with patience, and I believe God began to teach me something of what this means when I was in my sev¬ enteenth year. Because I was the youngest of the family, I remained childlike for a long time. I loved life intensely, charged with the desire to cram every available experience into each day. Then came a terrible blow that depressed me so severely I thought I wouldn't survive.

For some weeks I had a slight fever. For a time I managed to disguise how I felt, but soon Mama began to see my listless attitude and called the doctor. He probed and tapped, listened and questioned, and then told me I had tuberculosis.

103 Seventeen, and So Much to Learn

Death sentence! So young, I thought. . . why would God want me with Him when there was so much for me to do on earth?

"You must go to bed, Corrie, until the fever is gone," the doctor pronounced.

In those days tuberculosis was as fearful as cancer is now. I cried and went upstairs slowly, not looking back. It was the middle of the day and it seemed strange to undress and go to bed!

I cried to the Lord, "Why must I be ill, Lord? I will live! I will be healthy!" It took many days before I could surrender and accept the situation. I surely had to learn what it says in Colossians: We pray that you will be strengthened from God s boundless resources, so that you will find yourselves able to pass through any experience and endure it with courage. You will even be able to thank God in the midst of pain and distress.

1:11-12 PHILLIPS

Through my tears and anger, I would thank Him, but I couldn't understand w hy He wanted me to lie in bed, imprisoned by the walls of my little room.

104 In My Father's House

At first many visitors came upstairs, but after several months had passed, some people forgot me. I began to feel more selfpity and rebellion, but I prayed every day for peace in my heart, and finally the moment came when I could say, "Yes, Lord, you know best."

At that time Willem was a theological stu¬ dent at the University of Leiden. He was going to have an examination in church his¬ tory and often came home on weekends.

"I get things in my head if I teach them. How about it, Corrie. If I give you some books will you study them?"

It was not the first time I had to assist him in that way. To earn some money in his col¬ lege time, he gave lessons in Latin to a boy who was a very unwilling pupil. Every morn¬ ing from seven until eight o'clock he taught him, and I joined the two of them. If the boy didn't listen and was absolutely uncooper¬ ative, then Willem taught me Latin. I enjoyed those lessons and knew that my brother was a good teacher.

I gained a great love for church history during those months of confinement, and it took my thoughts away from my illness.

The doctor did not visit me much; rest was the only cure he knew, and he told the 105 Seventeen, and So Much to Learn

1 * family not to allow me to get out of bed until there was no sign of a fever. One day he passed my room after visiting Tante Bep, who was very old and feeble, and I called him.

"Doctor, I have a pain in my abdomen. Its right here," I said, pressing my fist on my right side.

He examined me and found an appendix infection, which was probably the cause of my fever all that time. I don't think anyone has ever been so happy with appendicitis! After five months of confinement I left my bed, had a minor operation, and returned to the wonderful outside world.

In the World, but Not of It

Until that time in my life the outside world was very small. It consisted of the streets and alleys of Haarlem, with only brief excursions with Father to Amsterdam, or an occasional visit to a neighboring village to visit friends.

I began to want to be somebody outside the protection of the Beje—to learn about the world that existed away from the Barteljoristraat. I didn't dream that I could see some of the countries and people that I

106 In My Father's House read about in my geography book, but at least I wanted to experience life outside the shop.

Was I wrong? I struggled with this ambi¬ tion and decided to ask my Bible teacher, Mrs. van Lennep, who was a very under¬ standing woman who counseled well. She said, "Corrie, its very natural for you to feel the way you do. You can do something in the world through the power of the Lord."

The first thing I did was launch into an intensive study of many subjects. I received diplomas in home economics, child care, needlepoint, and others. It proved to be a good background for my first job.

My opportunity came to be "out in the world." I heard about a job from one of the girls at school. The Bruins, who had a mag¬ nificent home, needed an an paire for their little girl. This position was a combination governess and companion. I knew this was what Tante Bep had done in her youth— and she had become a lonely and rather dour old woman—but this didn't quench my orig¬ inal enthusiasm for what I thought would be a new adventure in living.

Father and Mother gave their permission, and I packed my few clothes in a little suit¬ case and left with great anticipation for Zandvoort, a village by the sea, about ten miles from Haarlem.

The contrast between my homelife and my new job began with my first glimpse of the home. It was so big! How could just one family live in a house that size?

As I began my job, I tried very hard to please the entire family. At home I had always known fun and laughter, with a large dose of love and affection. Out in the world it wasn't the same. For the first time

I was faced with a new way of thinking, a different kind of family life than I had ever experienced.

If this was the way to "be somebody," I wasn't sure it was what I wanted.

Thursday was my day off, and it was such a relief to go back to Haarlem for my cate¬ chism lessons. Going home each week only made me realize the contrast between the security of our family and life in the outside world. In some ways, it was disillusioning to me.

I had determined to do my very best as an an paire. I wanted to leave often, but I was not a quitter, so I stayed.

One day, however, Willem came to Zand¬ voort with the news that our oldest aunt, Tante Bep, had died. She had been an in- 108 In My Father's House valid in our house for many years, and Tante Anna had the full responsibility of nursing her after I left. Now Willem told me that Tante Anna was very tired and should have a long rest.

I told my employer that I must leave at once because I was needed at home. Free¬ dom at last! In my heart I wanted to rejoice that I was going home, but under the cir¬ cumstances it really didn't seem the proper thing to do.

As Willem took my little bag and we walked away from that house of luxury, I felt no regret. Willem said, "Let's go down to the beach—it's such a glorious day!'' And then he began to sing Bach music very loudly.

Somehow I felt it was all right to rejoice inside, but I didn't think it was right to let it show. "Willem, how can you do such a thing? Tante Bep has died and you shouldn't be acting so happy.''

"Of course we would be happy, Corrie. A child of God is a citizen of heaven and the attitude of a Christian must be one of praise when someone has died. Our grief for Tante

Bep would just be one of selfishness on our part, of grieving for the sake of ourselves."

I kilew he was right, and when we arrived at the Beje, it was with our hearts at peace

109 Seventeen, and So Much to Learn with the knowledge of the glory of Tante

Bep's new home in heaven. How good it was to be home! There was a harmony there that was such a contrast with the rich home of my former employer. I realized then w hy Tante Bep had the type of personality she had. Just a small taste of the life she had led gave me more understanding. We never know until we walk in someone else s shoes.

The Everlasting Arms

There were so many times when the prob¬ lems of the moment, whether they were small or large, would overwhelm me. I remember at a time, not long after Tante Bep s death, when Mother became very ill. I was so worried about her, and in addition I knew there was a large bill that had to be paid within the next few days. People were not interested in buying watches at that time, and Father and I were sitting in the dining room talking things over.

I stared at the familiar red and black tablecloth that had seen happy and sad times. I felt so depressed. Everything was wrong, and there didn't seem to be any good thing that could come out of such a dis¬ couraging situation.

110 In My Father's House "Father, what must we do? Everything is so terrible!"

"Don't forget, Corrie—underneath us are the everlasting arms. We won't fall."

I didn't know that expression and I asked, "Is that in the Bible?"

"It certainly is. Moses spoke those words to the sons of Israel."

"How does that help us right now?" I asked rebelliously.

"Girl, it makes all the difference. Moses tells us in the Book of Deuteronomy that God is a dwelling place. We have the promise of security when His arms are beneath us . . . holding us . . . supporting us. . . strengthening us."

Thirty years later I was lying on a dirty mattress in a concentration camp. It was pitch-dark, and in that restless room Betsie lay so close to me that I could feel her heart¬ beat. It was irregular and feeble.

I tried to think of something comforting to say to her before we fell asleep, and sud¬ denly I remembered the dining room, the red and black tablecloth, and Father saying in his calm voice, ". . . underneath are the everlasting arms."

"Betsie . . . are you asleep?" "No, not yet," she said weakly.

"Remember what Father told us: 'God is our dwelling place. Underneath are the ever¬ lasting arms.'"

I can't be sure, but I believe she must have smiled in that black barracks.

"Oh, yes, Corrie . . . and they will never leave us."

The Best Is Yet to Be

Our concerns reached beyond the bor¬ ders of Holland. We all wanted to know more about other lands, different languages, and people from contrasting cultures. This interest was stimulated by visitors from many countries, and by reading good books.

During my late teen years a man came to Holland who focused our attention on for¬ eign missions. His name was Jan Willem Gunning, and he started a movement for "mission study advice." Betsie, Nollie, Willem, and I became involved in groups that he formed. During the summer we went to a conference in Lunteren, a center in the midst of the woods and heather fields.

It was so exciting to meet real missionaries from all over the world.

On the first day of meetings, an elderly missionary led the hundreds of people at

The Best Is Yet to Be

the conference in group singing, and our own Nollie was chosen to be a soloist.

"Nollie, isn't it thrilling? Imagine—you're going to sing for all those people," I said.

"Oh, Corrie, don't remind me or I won't be able to utter a sound."

It was a new experience for all of us. We listened to the lectures and then divided into smaller discussion groups. We chose what we wanted to study and later used the mate¬ rial in weekly meetings at home. Mission students from a large school led these dis¬ cussions, and we became great friends with some of them.

Many girls we knew were interested in more than the study groups; the mission stu¬ dents were as new and different as the sub¬ jects we were being taught. Unfortunately, there was very little time for dates. In fact, the only time available was two hours before breakfast. I've never been very alert at an early hour, but I learned to accept the chal¬ lenge of this discipline for the advantages of the friendships.

I slept with a little rope around my toe. When a boy came to meet me when I was still asleep, he pulled the end of the rope, which hung outside my window, and I would jerk to attention. Soon we would be l\4 In My Father's House walking together over the heather fields of Lunteren, talking about mission activities and what we wanted to do with our lives. It was innocent enough—but not the part of the conference I would relate to Tante Jans!

One boy, Albert de Neef, had a girlfriend who was not very strong. She had gone to her doctor for a physical to find out if she was healthy enough to go to Indonesia, but during the conference she heard that she had been rejected. Those two were very sad, so we invited her to come to the Beje for a visit. She had so much fun with us that she almost forgot her disappointment. However, a year later, during another mis¬ sion study conference, she was reexamined and was given approval to go to the mis¬ sion field.

Because of that little act of hospitality, we became quite popular among the mission students. A new world opened for all four of us when we started a mission study group at home.

'i. We had such good training at those camps. I never dreamed how much this would mean years later when I became a tramp for the Lord and visited mission fields on five continents.

Beyond the Dikes

My horizons began to stretch. At the camps for missions we met people from all over the world. Then through the YMCA in Haarlem we had further opportunities to know people from other countries and other denominations. The Y was only a building where young men could have meetings, but tourists came from other countries, expect¬ ing it to be a hotel. The manager didn't speak English, and many times he brought guests to the Beje, where he knew they would be welcomed. We could exercise our English, broadening our interest in the whole world situation at the same time.

I learned more about Christians who did not have the exact beliefs in some doctrines that we did. As a little girl, I had always thought that the Dutch Reformed Church was the only one that had the right theol¬ ogy. Others could love the Lord, I granted, but they really had a lot to learn!

As my interest in a true ecumenical faith grew, I began to learn about Christians who endured so much for their beliefs. Father once told me of Christians in Russia who were called Stundists. They loved the Lord and were willing to suffer for Jesus. They

116 In My Father's House knew the Bible from cover to cover and were very strict in their behavior.

Father said, "God has given Russia a great blessing by sending these Christians to that country. They live in the vast area of Siberia in a kind of community life where young and old are trained to glorify the Lord."

It seemed so remote to hear about suf¬ fering of Christians. We were free in Hol¬ land, and it was difficult for me to imag¬ ine Christians in another land undergoing persecution.

More than half a century passed after Father told me about the Stundists. Ellen de Kroon, my secretary and companion, and I went to Russia. We traveled all the way to Tadzhik, far inside Russia near to Siberia, and there we found a lively church, so ded¬ icated to the Lord that it was a light in that dreary land. These people were Stundists, and I remembered Father s story.

A very old woman, stooped with age, a lifetime of extreme hardships written on her face, came to me and said, "Corrie ten Boom, I have prayed daily for you for years."

I was astonished. "How did you know about me?"

"Ofice I got a care package from Germany. One of the boxes was packed with a page from a Christian magazine, and I read about your experiences and the work you do now.

God told me to pray faithfully for you."

It never ceases to amaze me the way the Lord creates a bond among believers that reaches across continents, beyond race and color. This spiritual bond is something man has tried to establish with big national or world councils and organized ecumenical movements but always misses when the Spirit of the Lord is not present.

Sadhu Sundar Singh

A person who influenced my life in my late teens was a man from India. As a boy he was taught to hate Jesus. He knew about God, but the Bible of the Christians was a book that he believed was a gigantic lie.

Once he took a Bible and burned it, feeling that with this act he could publicly declare his scorn of what he believed were the untruths it contained. When missionaries passed him he threw mud on them.

But there was a terrible unrest inside of him; he longed to know God. He told this story about himself: "Although I had believed that I had done a very good deed by burning the Bible, I felt

118 In My Father's House unhappy. After three days, I couldn't bear it any longer. I rose early in the morning and prayed that if God really existed, He would reveal himself to me. I wanted to know if there was an existence after death, if there was a heaven. The only way I could know it for sure was to die. So I decided to die.

"I planned to throw myself in front of the train that passed by our house. Then sud¬ denly something unusual happened. The room was filled with a beautiful glow and I saw a man. I thought it might be Buddha, or some other holy man. Then I heard a voice.

"'How long will you deny Me? I died for you; I have given My life for you.'

"Then I saw His hands—the pierced hands of Jesus Christ. This was the Christ I had imagined as a great man who once lived in Palestine, but who died and disap¬ peared. And yet He now stood before me . .. alive! I saw His face looking at me with love.

"Three days before, I had burned the Bible,, and yet He was not angry. I was sud¬ denly changed ... I saw Him as Christ, the living One, the Savior of the world. I fell on my knees and knew a wonderful peace, which I had never found anywhere before.

That was the happiness I had been seeking for such a long time."

When I first heard about Sadhu Singh, the stories seemed to grow, until it was impossible to separate fact from fiction. Then he came to Holland and was asked by some people who were active in mission work to come to a weekend conference at Lunteren. I was so excited about the possi¬ bility of hearing him that I went to the con¬ ference grounds, although I knew it was booked to capacity.

With a rucksack and a blanket under my arm, I arrived at the entrance to the camp house. A tall student by the name of van Hoogstraten was giving out cards for the rooms. When he came to me I said, "I don't have a reservation, but I can sleep out in the field. I would just like to attend the meet¬ ings with the Sadhu."

The student smiled at my determination and said, "Miss ten Boom, there's a room for you. You're welcome here."

This same young student later became a missionary and died in a Japanese prison camp during World War II. The kindness he showed me was one of his characteristics, and years later he was a blessing to his prison guards. One of his daughters, Connie, later

20 In My Father's House became my first companion for seven years as I toured the world.

That weekend, as I listened to the Sadhu, I was amazed but disturbed. He told of the visions he had seen—of how he really saw Jesus—at a time when he didn't believe. We had all read about the apostle Pauls expe¬ riences on the road to Damascus, but here was a man who claimed to have had this experience himself.

One boy ventured to ask the question we all wanted to know. "Please, sir, how did Jesus look?"

He put his hand before his eyes and said, "Oh, His eyes, His eyes ... they are so beau¬ tiful." Since then I have longed to see Jesus' eyes.

Nobody moved or spoke. The Sadhu's face was the most Christlike face I've ever seen.

It made me happy and sad at the same time.

After the meeting I needed to think, and so I started to walk through the heather by myself, trying to understand all I had heard, questioning my own relationship with God.

As I was walking, I was deep in my own thoughts and almost ran into the Sadhu, who Was going for a stroll too. I worked up my courage to ask him some questions but soon found he was very easy to talk to. He put me completely at ease.

"Please, Mr. Sadhu, tell me what is wrong with me? Pm a child of God, I have received Jesus as my Savior, and I know that my sins are forgiven. I know He is with me for He has said, 'I am with you always 'til the end of the world.' But what's wrong with me? I've never seen a vision or experienced a miracle."

The Sadhu smiled at me. "Sometimes people come to me to see a miracle. When they come now I'll send them to Corrie ten Boom. That I know Jesus is alive and with me is no miracle . . . these eyes have seen Him. But you, who have never seen Him, know His presence. Isn't that a miracle of the Holy Spirit? Look in your Bible at what Jesus said to Thomas in John 20:29: 'Blessed are they who did not see, and yet believed.'

"Don't pray for visions; He gives you the assurance of His presence without visions."

It was such a relief to me ... it seemed as if the Lord had thrown a curtain aside and I could see the light. Yes, it's a tremen¬ dous thing that we can know the Lord is with us!

Paul has said, "I know in whom I have believed."

122 In My Father's House

And Peter . . . how beautifully he expressed it: And though you have never seen Him, yet I know that you love Him. At present you trust Him without being able to see Him, and even now He brings you a joy that words cannot express and which has in it a hint of the glories of Heaven; and all the time you are receiving the result of your faith in Him—the salvation of your own souls.

1 Peter 1:8-9 PHILLIPS

Sharing

When I went home after that conference I couldn't wait to tell what I had experienced. It was early in the morning and Tante Anna was still in bed. I woke her up and began to spill out what had happened. I couldn't stop talking.

Betsie and the others heard me and came in, all of us crowding on the bed. I tried to recall everything I had heard and finally, when I paused long enough for anyone to comment, Tante, Anna said, "It's just as if you have seen and heard one of the disci¬ ples of Jesus."

Father said, "Isn't it wonderful to have such joy here on earth? It's a little foretaste of heaven. Yes, the best is yet to be."

Father often said that after we had shared some particularly rich occurrence.

Years later when Father entered a door of a prison, he said, "Remember, Corrie, the best is yet to be." After ten days Father's spirit stepped out of that prison and into paradise.

The best had arrived.

It was 1909. The world around us was bursting with change; an American explorer, Robert Peary, had reached the North Pole; the doomed Lusitania, one of the largest and most modern ocean liners, was steam¬ ing luxuriously across the Atlantic; in Rus¬ sia the tsar was beginning a program of per¬ secution against the Jews, while in Palestine a young man, David Ben Gurion, was dreaming of a return of Gods chosen people to their ancient land.

The early part of the twentieth century was preparing the way for a surge of science and an upheaval of society. In Holland, how¬ ever, our attention was upon the birth of a baby princess, Juliana, heiress to the throne.

In man's never-ending quest for man¬ made peace, the leaders of the world were gathering in The Hague, Holland, to make another attempt to form an international

Love and a Sound Mind

body, where nations might try to solve their disputes.

Nollie, Willem, Betsie, and I were young people intensely involved in our own pur¬ suits and yet revolving around each other.

Nollie was a naturally gifted teacher; eventually it became her profession. At one time she taught in Haarlem under a head¬ master who was a very narrow-minded, dis¬ agreeable man. It was so painful to see our sweet, fun-loving Nollie become depressed on Sunday evening as she thought of the next day, when she would have to face her school superior again. Her face would get longer and longer, but she knew the chil¬ dren loved her so she continued as a firstgrade teacher.

Eventually she went to another school in Amsterdam, and this took her away from home for the first time. She met Flip van Woerden, also a teacher, and they were mar¬ ried. The Lord gave her seven children, and she had a better chance to use her motherly gifts than in the classes at school.

My dear, studious brother, Willem, with his precise beard and inquiring mind, pro¬ vided an intellectual stimulus to our con¬ versations and home life. Although Willem was the natural heir to Fathers business, he

126 In My Father's House did not have the inclination toward watch¬ making, preferring to study theology instead. Father never pushed his children into work that they didn't want, and consequently, Willem did not feel that he was disappoint¬ ing Father by not following in his footsteps.

We all loved music, but Willem had only one favorite composer—Bach. We learned to sing Bach chorales just as most children learn nursery songs. Nollie sang soprano, Willem, bass, and I, alto. How fortunate we were to have a brother, because Bach with a ladies' trio would have been rather frothy!

Willem did not have any girlfriends, so when he told his friends at the university that he had asked Tine to marry him, Karel, his good friend, said, "I never thought you would marry! You never looked at any girl."

When he had been married ten years Willem was called to be a minister for the Jews. He went to Dresden, Germany, and studied in the Delitcheanum. His thesis was written on racial anti-Semitism, a subject that may not have pleased some of his pro¬ fessors. He wrote that the severest pogrom in the entire history of the world could come in Germany. The amazing fact is that this study was presented by Willem in the year

1930, three years before the birth of Hitler's Third Reich.

I admired my brother very much and sometimes wondered why God hadn't made me an intellectual. Perhaps he could use my simple way of thinking in some way, I thought—but I certainly didn't know how!

When I looked at Betsie, it was usually accompanied by a sigh. Betsie had beauti¬ ful curls, my hair was straight. Betsie was neat and lovely, I was put together as an afterthought. How I loved Betsie, who was seven years older than I. She was not able to work hard, because she was weakened by severe anemia, but she managed to accom¬ plish so much.

Betsie could turn a drab room into a place of charm; she could transform a dull hap¬ pening into a rollicking, amusing story. We were introduced to art at an early age, and Betsie could make an art exhibit a tremen¬ dous treat, when she was the guide.

We were so rich in art in Holland and very conscious of our heritage from the masters of the past. When Betsie took me to the Frans Hals museum in Haarlem, she would point out the beauty of each masterpiece.

"Look, Corrie, at the way Hals paints the faces of his subjects. Aren't they marvelous?

128 In My Father's House

And look at their hands—have you ever seen anything more beautiful?"

She would explain to me the exceptional talents of Rembrandt, showing me how he expressed the character of those he painted. Betsie could weave stories through a visit to an art exhibit in such an exciting way that I couldn't wait for the next chapter. It added to the richness of my childhood and the quality of my appreciation for classical art and music.

Betsie didn't promote herself; she re¬ mained in the background, always helping and ready with good advice and a sense of humor. Sometimes she assisted Father with his weekly paper, which he wrote for watch¬ makers, turning an ordinary report on a visit to a factory into an original, humorous story.

The church of our childhood and later years was the Grote Kerk, or St. Bavo's, the grand old cathedral that played such an important part in our lives. In the late after¬ noon there was a service called the "every¬ day church," which was supposed to last about half an hour. Usually not more than twenty persons attended, but the ministers were obligated to conduct the service for the faithful few. Since it is human nature to forget a job you do not like, sometimes the min¬ isters did not appear.

When I was in my late teens and early twenties, my cousin, Uncle Arnolds son, took his fathers job and was usher, or care¬ taker, of St. Bavo's. He often telephoned me and said, "Corrie, no pastor turned up for the service this afternoon. Please come and help us out."

I remember once when that request came I had a particularly full day at the house and in the shop, and my head was blank of any message I could bring to the small gather¬ ing of people. I ran to the kitchen where Betsie was cooking, hoping she would have a suggestion.

"Betsie, what in the world can I tell the people at the cathedral?"

Her answer came without hesitation; it was as if she had prepared it all day. While she told me the sermon, she brushed my coat, fixed my hair, and looked critically at my appearance.

"Keep your coat on, Corrie; your dress isn't too clean. Take Psalm 23 as your sub¬ ject—'The Lord is my Shepherd.' Sheep can be very stupid, you know. Sometimes they don't see food behind their backs. We

130 In My Father's House need the Lord just as much as sheep need a shepherd."

Betsie told me the whole outline of the sermon while she accompanied me to the door.

"HI pray for you . . . I m sure God will bless the message."

I was halfway through the little alley and turned to see her still standing in the doorway.

"Betsie, I can't think . . . what hymns should I give them to sing?"

"Just ask them for their favorites." There was a blessing in the cathedral that day while in the kitchen of our house, Bet¬ sie prayed.

She was tidy about her person, her pos¬ sessions, and her thoughts. I remember years later I passed her cell in the German prison in Holland where we were political prisoners of the Nazi regime. The Red Cross had just sent a food package to the prison¬ ers, and on the little corner shelf stood that food in neat rows. Over a stool was a hand¬ kerchief and a bottle with two tulips, a pres¬ ent from the judge with whom Betsie had prayed after the hearing. In those stark sur¬ roundings was an atmosphere of cleanliness and order, which was the stamp of Betsies personality.

Although we had our individual interests, we loved a family project together. Mama and Papas twenty-fifth anniversary was our chance to plan a real celebration. Nollie had been working as a teacher, and she had to supply the finances for the party. She had saved as much as she could in order to rent the hall of the YMCA. We planned the enter¬ tainment, but that was free—except for the personal price of courage I had to pay to per¬ form before all the guests.

Willem came as Johann Sebastian Bach, playing his part with a dignified flourish. He was a musician, and I probably thought it was easy for him. Nollie, who loved to dress up, was Sarah Bernhardt. (Why hadn't I learned those social graces?)

The evening of the party Mother was flushed with excitement; I thought she had never looked more beautiful. Father es¬ corted her to the YMCA as if he were taking the queen herself to a royal ball. Dozens of friends from the rich to the servant class were at the party; merchants on the street; clients whose clocks Father repaired and wound; people to whom Mother had brought soup and comfort—all swarmed into the hall to 132 In My Father's House bring their love and congratulations to the popular watchmaker and his wife.

When the party was almost over, I finally mustered the nerve to contribute my part to the entertainment. I was introduced with a flourish by Willem and stepped forward in a borrowed Salvation Army uniform. I can't remember whether the uniform fit or I sung on key, but I do know that an edge was taken off my shyness in my first public appearance.

The four of us had pooled our money to buy a silver serviette ring for Father and Mother, which Willem had engraved with a Hebrew inscription. It said: THE LORD IS GOOD. HIS MERCY IS FROM ETERNITY AND HIS FAITHFULNESS FROM GENERATION TO GENERATION.

The Lord was faithful in giving me the strength to sing in front of all those people. I don't think I dreamed when I was seven¬ teen that I would be called to speak before thousands some day. His faithfulness is cer¬ tainly "from generation to generation."

Ethics, Dogmatics, and Bathtubs

In d 910, a Bible school opened in Haar¬ lem. When I saw the program I was so excited. There was so much I wanted to learn. I plunged into this new enterprise, taking seven different subjects at one time. For two years I struggled with ethics, dog¬ matics, church history, Old Testament, New Testament, story of the Old Testament, and story of the New Testament. Such an under¬ taking might not be so difficult for a clever student—but that I wasn't.

During this time Mother suffered a slight stroke. Although she became weaker phys¬ ically, her gentle spirit and positive attitude were an encouragement to all of us.

As my workload at home increased, it became more of a chore to keep up with my studies. Finally the day of judgment arrived— examinations. The first part was practical application; we had to give lessons and an¬ swer questions from students. I passed this quite well and was full of confidence when I appeared before the group of ministers who were to give me the second part of the examination.

The ministers gathered to interrogate me in a room that should have held no terror for me. It was a large conference room open¬ ing off a familiar corridor in St. Bavo s. Dot and I had played in that room as children, but when I saw the rather formidable-look-

134 In My Father's House ing gentlemen sitting on both sides of the massive table, my courage began to wither. The fireplace on one side of the room was large enough for me to walk into, but I real¬ ized I was no longer a child hiding in the coatroom so the principal wouldn't see me.

The president of the church asked me the first question. "Miss ten Boom, what did you study for ethics?"

"I followed the teaching of Mr. Johnson for two years ..." I began, but got no further.

St. Bavo's was usually chilly, but the ici¬ cles seemed to form on the ceiling. Pastor Williamson, the president, lifted his eye¬ brows and stared at me. He and Pastor John¬ son had been theological students at the same university, and their disagreements were well known among the faculty.

"You studied nothing else?" Pastor Williamson asked disdainfully.

It was tense. I was tense. Suddenly I couldn't remember a thing. Out of seven dif¬ ferent subjects I managed to get seven fail¬ ing grades!

Willem, why didn't I have your brains? When I returned home with the news of my defeat, Betsie was one of the first to con¬ sole me. However, I didn't think she gave me the sympathy I deserved because she said, "You must do it again." Something about the way she said it made me repress my objections.

"When you have failed an examination, Corrie, you know your whole life that you have failed; when you do it again, then you know your whole life that you have suc¬ ceeded and have the diploma."

Eight years later I took the examination again and passed.

The important lesson I learned from my Bible school experience was that from these organized studies we learn the wisdom of the wise but not much of the "foolishness of God."

The best learning I had came from teach¬ ing. I could serve the church by giving cat¬ echism lessons and preparing people who were to take their confirmation. In the Dutch Reformed Church you do this when you are eighteen years or older. I was also licensed to give Bible lessons in the non Christian schools. Parents who sent their children to secular schools could elect to have their children take these lessons.

I learned to listen to the Holy Spirit when I prepared for the lessons, and when I talked with the children and young people, my "lessons" were more of a conversation with 136 In My Father's House them than telling what I knew, ft was a joy to learn in this way much of the reality of the gospel. Talking over my experiences with Father and the others was an added train¬ ing. Besides this important result of that fruitful time, there was the new experience that I received a small amount of money for this and decided to save that special income for a very special project.

When I was growing up there was one luxury I wanted: a flush toilet. Of course we had toilets, one upstairs and one downstairs, but they were the accommodations that necessitated a once-a-month service from the workers in the city sanitation depart¬ ment. As I saved my small salary from the Bible teaching, it was with great anticipa¬ tion of supplying the Beje with two porce¬ lain pleasures.

Next—a luxury of pure ecstasy—I saved to buy a bathtub! Each room in the house had a bowl to use for washing, but we were very frugal with precious heat during the winter, and there were many mornings when we broke the ice to splash our faces.

When my "bathtub fund" was large enough to buy the splendid fixture, it was a thrilling day at the Beje. The bathtub was equipped with a gas water heater so that it no longer was necessary to be polar bears to get clean. We had a platform built under the tub so the water would drain out.

Somehow all of those hours struggling over ethics, dogmatics, and all the rest of the subjects that enabled me to teach were worth it to achieve such a magnificent ma¬ terial goal. How I enjoyed that tub!

Patriotism and Prayer

Discussing the truths of the Bible was as natural to our family as talking about sports or current events. It was remarkable how Father found so many contrasting people for his Bible study groups. It was this will¬ ingness to share his time with others that made him so rich with friends.

For three years we had a prayer meeting every Saturday night in Heemstede, a neigh¬ boring village. Father, Betsie, and I went on the streetcar to the meeting, in hot weather and cold, rain or snow; it was a regular part of our life.

In 1914, war swirled around our little country. Each nation had been trying to increase its own wealth and power for de¬ cades, and the threat of a clash was becom-

138 In My Father's House ing a reality. Only five years had passed since The Hague Peace Conference, and yet all the great powers seemed to believe that threats and force were the tactics to use to get what they wanted. The world was en¬ gulfed in a terrifying game of fear.

From the time the Austrian crown prince, Archduke Francis Ferdinand, and his wife were assassinated, one after another of the countries of the world issued declarations of war.

Father continued to pray for the queen and the government of Holland, as he always had. We were very patriotic and loyal to Queen Wilhelmina and her prime minister, Abraham Kuyper, who was also a prominent theologian.

A division of purpose developed in our weekly prayer group. "Casper, it s not right to pray for those in government," some of the people said. "The world is evil—Satan is prince of this world and we should only look at the kingdom of God."

But Father said, "As Christians we are in the world, but not of the world. We must not give over our country to the enemy, because then we would be disobeying

1 Timothy 2, which says, 'First of all, then, I urge that entreaties and prayers, petitions and thanksgivings, be made on behalf of all men, for kings and all who are in authority, in order that we may lead a tran¬ quil and quiet life in all godliness and dignity'" (w. 1—2).

As the weeks and months of World War I went on, the pietists became more uncom¬ fortable as Father, Betsie, and I continued to pray for our government. The difference in these basic beliefs drove the group apart. The others began to draw more and more into their spiritual shells, until we could no longer meet together for prayer.

Beyond This World

Father was not quarrelsome about his bib¬ lical beliefs, but he stood fast in theological debates, especially with Tante Jans. They used to have some rather lively discussions, which Mother and I didn't enjoy.

Father was a Calvinist, and I heard him speak frequently about predestination. I never quite understood what he meant, so one time I asked, "What is predestination?"

He answered, "The ground on which I build my faith is not in me, but in the faith¬ fulness of God."

140 In My Father's House

That was an answer I enjoyed, and I repeated it many times in the years to follow.

One of the main points of dissension between Father and Tante Jans came over faith and works. In the Book of Philippians it is written: "So then, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed, not as in my pres¬ ence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure" (2:12—13).

Father talked more about "it is God who is at work in you ..." and Tante Jans empha¬ sized "work out your salvation." I believe the fear she had of death may have been the result of never quite believing she had worked hard enough for God.

The Great Journey

One of the great human mysteries I shared with Father was why Tante Jans, a powerful evangelist, a woman with a zeal to teach and write about the Lord Jesus, had such a dread of dying. When the time came when we knew she didn't have much longer on earth, we didn't know how she would react.

Father loved Tante Jans, as we all did, in spite of her crusty manner and argumenta¬ tive personality.

"Jans," Father patted her wrinkled hand gently, smiling into the no-longer stern face, "are you ready to make the great journey? The doctor has said that it can't be too long before you have to leave us."

Tante Janss face lit up. "Jesus said, 1 give my sheep everlasting life.' That's good ... I can't do anything more ... I'm safe in the hands of the Good Shepherd who gave His life for us. He prepared a mansion in the house of the Father for me."

When the hour of death arrived, God took away her fear.

On the day of her burial the house was full of people who told how she had been used by the Lord to bring them to Him. We told them about the joy she had and that the fear of death had vanished the moment she knew she had to die. A friend of hers, a nurse, said, "I'm so glad to hear that. I often wonder if in the hour of death the devil will take away my assurance of salvation. I've seen so many Christian people die in agony, attacked by fear, although I knew they were children of God."

142 In My Father's House

Another nurse, who had also come to honor her friend, gave some good advice. "Just tell the Lord that you have this fear . .. then pray that when the hour of death comes for you, Jesus will protect you against any attack of the enemy and that He will give you a clear experience of His presence. He said, 1 am with you always 'til the end of the world.' This prayer will be answered. I've seen many people dying too. All who prayed this prayer beforehand died in great peace and assurance of Jesus' presence and salvation. I could see it on their faces."

When the second aunt in our family died, it made me think more about time and eter¬ nity. We are citizens of heaven—our outlook goes beyond this world. I know the truth of the Bible, when it says that God doesn't give us a spirit of fear, but of power, of love and a sound mind.

Her Silent Love

One morning I was talking to Father about a chance to make some attractive magazine advertisements for our business, when I heard the sound of a crash. I ran into the kitchen and saw Mother slumped by the sink; a large kettle had fallen on the floor.

Her left arm hung limply at her side as she struggled to hold on to the counter.

"Mama, sit down, dear." I helped her to a chair and ran to get Father.

"Hurry . . . somethings wrong with Mother."

Father rushed in and put his arms around her. She looked up and whispered in a voice that was barely audible, "Oh, Cas, weVe been so happy together."

She thought she was going to die right then. We supported her carefully and guided her to her room. When the doctor had exam¬ ined her, he comforted us by saying that strokes could be dangerous but frequently were not so serious. "One of my patients had a stroke and after that went to Switzerland three times. Your mother can live another eight or ten years."

Mother never fully recovered the use of her body after her next stroke, and for the remainder of her earthly life, her speech was limited to one word: "Corrie." With a word, the nod of her head, the opening or closing of her eyes, we saw a display of love that enriched all of us.

We developed a method of communica¬ tion in which we would try to guess her 144 In My Father's House thoughts, and she would answer with a motion of her head.

It was such a joy to be with her—and my own attitude improved during the three years God allowed Mother to be with us after her most severe stroke. I began to understand what the verse in Romans meant that says, "For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed to us" (Rom. 8:18).

Gods glory shone through Mother.

Europe was devastated at the end of World War I; there was danger of starvation in war-torn countries, and yet there was also a resurgence of hope in the world. "Make the world safe for democracy" was the slo¬ gan of the Allies. The humanitarian com¬ passion of the United States and the victor nations in sending supplies and food pre¬ vented millions from going hungry.

In Holland, we were thankful that we were spared from the terrible conflict, but we wanted to reach out with help to those who weren't so fortunate. What could the ten Boom family do?

Germany was a wounded country; many of its children were undernourished and suffering from severe malnutrition. We began to think of ways to provide homes for these children in Holland, building them up with good food and care, before return-

146 In My Father's House ing them to their own homes. Since Father knew many watchmakers, he discussed with me how we could organize an outreach for children of watchmakers in Germany.

Father was chairman of the international watchmakers, a position he had earned not only because of the respect others in the profession had for him but also because he was willing to work and keep his promises. After the war, he spent many hours con¬ tacting watchmakers all over Holland to ask them to take a German child into their homes for a time.

"Why don't you take one yourself, Fa¬ ther?" I asked.

But Father was more realistic. "Just wait, Corrie. Many have promised to take chil¬ dren but not everyone will be faithful. We cannot depend on everyone. There will be children for whom I have no home and we can take them."

When the day came for the children to arrive, Father, Betsie, and I went to the rail¬ way station to see that each child went with the proper family. What a scene it was. The children stood on one side, shy, wistful, frightened, and the adults waited expec¬ tantly-to find out which ones were to be a part of their households. One by one names

Reach Out

were called, and someone would step for¬ ward to welcome the poor little things. An attempt had been made to match children with families who had girls and boys of the same age. I had to struggle to hold back my tears. Our little Dutch children were so ruddy-cheeked and sturdy beside the pale, undernourished Germans.

Soon everyone was accounted for—well, almost everyone. I had been watching one little girl pushing herself into the corner of the waiting room, as if she hoped to become a part of the woodwork. As each name was called, she tried to make herself less noticeable.

"Father, look at that girl—don't you have anyone left on your list for her?"

"Let's see . . . no, I don't believe so. We shall take her home with us."

My mind began to buzz. She could go to Willem's former room. (He had been mar¬ ried in 1916 to Tine, our doctor's sister.) I must see about some clothes for her—and perhaps we still had some dolls left in the attic.

Then we saw another one. A bedraggled little boy was waiting dejectedly for some¬ one to claim him. Father checked his records and found out that the mother had 148 In Father's House become ill in the house where he was sup¬ posed to go. So we took Willy too.

"Come along, my young friends/' Father said. "You need a good meal and a warm bed."

He reached down and held out his hands to two skinny little children, one about ten and the other a year or two younger. What a sight they made. Four spindly legs raced to keep up with Father's stride as we re¬ turned home.

Willy was a street urchin from Berlin. The ten Boom home, modest as it was, must have appeared like a palace to him. When the children sat down to the table and Tante Anna brought them soup, they both picked up their bowls and began to slurp, the excess making rivulets down their dirty chins.

"Corrie, these two must have a bath," Betsie announced, although the need was obvi¬ ous to anyone who could see or smell.

Willy only spoke German, but the word bath must have a universal meaning for lit¬ tle boys, because he looked first at Betsie and then at me. There was sheer panic in his eyes.

Father sensed immediately that Willy thought these two funny ladies were going to subject him to the indignity of washing.

"Come along, sir, I will show you the most magnificent invention of our time!"

I'm sure Willy didn't understand what he was saying, but the tone of his voice and the flourish with which he directed him to the bathroom must have assured him that there was a marvelous treat in store.

After we tucked the children between clean sheets, Betsie, Father, and I went to Mothers room to tell her about the addi¬ tions to our household. She couldn't under¬ stand German, but in the following weeks it was such an inspiration to us to see how she managed to love and help those Ger¬ man children. She could quiet a quarrel with the shake of her head or ease a hurt with outstretched hands.

"Isn't it wonderful," Betsie said, "to have children in the house? And what a blessing it is to have Willy. Father has been so out¬ numbered by females."

The next challenge soon arrived in the person of Mrs. Treckmann and her two lit¬ tle girls. We had known her through our association with the YMCA, and when she wrote from Germany that she was in des¬ perate need of help and that her children were suffering from malnutrition, we started to make up more beds at once.

150 In My Father's House

Mrs. Treckmann was more undernour¬ ished than her girls, Ruth and Martha. Her face was gaunt and lined with the strain of hardship, which war writes on the bodies and spirits of human beings. Oh, Lord, I thought, don't ever put us through that in Holland. I don't think I would have the per¬ sonal strength to watch my own family suffer.

For the weeks their mother was with us in the house, the two little girls were rather difficult to handle. Ruth would throw tem¬ per tantrums, which threatened not only the wood paneling on my bedroom door, as she kicked it uncontrollably, but also the peace of our house, which was always active—but not with voices of discord. Her mother responded to these outbursts with several solid slaps across her face, which added to Ruths rebellion.

Through Mrs. Treckmann's actions we came in contact with the German way of discipline. Slapping for the slightest reason produced rather negative results, for Ruth responded with more tantrums.

In some way, without words, Mother taught Mrs. Treckmann that sometimes a beating on the bottom side of the anatomy was healthy, but slapping was not wise.

Mrs. Treckmann finally returned to Ger¬ many, but we kept Ruth and Martha, along with Willy and Katy, for quite a while. The first time Ruth began her door-kicking, attention-getting tantrums, we ignored her as if she were nothing more than a little fly buzzing around our deaf ears.

No slapping was required. Ruth and Martha became two of the nicest little ladies we ever had.

It was many years later that I received a letter from Ruth. She wrote that she had read some of my books and remembered the time she was in our house. "What a naughty girl I was, and what love I experienced in your home!" she wrote. "My husband and I pray that we can pass on the love we have received to people who need it. The Lord is our strength. How good to know that."

It was twenty-eight years later and I was in Germany. Another World War had en¬ gulfed the nations, and by this time I knew from horrible firsthand experience what it was to see my family and thousands of oth¬ ers suffer, even more than those in the First World War.

After a meeting in West Berlin I saw a neatly dressed gentleman smiling at me. Something about him jogged my memory.

152 In My Father's House

Of course—the little street boy with his slang and naughty eyes!

"Tante Corrie, do you remember me? Ym Willy who lived with your family many years ago.

There was a new light in his eyes, and I wasn't surprised when he told me what had happened to him.

"I had never heard anyone pray in a house before. I knew that people went into the big cathedrals and said prayers, but when I lived with the ten Booms I heard praying before and after meals, and other times during the day. Many years later I accepted the Lord Jesus as my Savior, but I believe it was because you had planted those seeds of love in that skinny, frightened boy who came out of the slums of Berlin."

The Saddest Day

The children from Germany stayed for a while, building their bodies and healing their spirits, before returning to their homeland. Those were growing years for all of us, but weakening years for Mother. Three years after Mothers severe stroke—times in which her love and patience spoke louder than any sermon—her physical life slipped away from us. Father saw the woman he had loved for so many years, the wife who gave him such strength, leave for her home in heaven.

She had taught us so much. She never pushed Father toward greater success in his business; she sustained him with her en¬ couragement, no matter what trials he had. When money was scarce, she stretched what we had; when we met defeats, she taught us to try again.

Father looked at the woman he loved so much, knowing that she was with Jesus and that she was free of pain for the first time in many years.

"This is the saddest day of my life," he said. "Thankyou, Lord, for giving her to me."

Father's loss was acute, but he did not engulf himself in self-pity. He knew where Mother was and he also knew that the Lord s work had to go on in this world.

A :A . ■//"//, In and Out of the Watchmaker s Shop --

Five . . . six . . . seven . . . eight . . . the chiming clocks in the shop told me it was eight o'clock in the morning. What a won¬ derful way to start the day... with the grace¬ ful Frisian clock singing the hour, the sonorous grandfather clock vibrating its bass melody, and a dozen or more pendu¬ lums joining the chorus. I hummed a little tune under my breath as I poked the fire under the coffeepot and brought one slice of white bread and one of brown bread out for Father's breakfast. He would descend the narrow staircase in exactly ten minutes. You could regulate your watch by his arrival in the dining room each morning.

This was the day Father wound the clocks in the homes of his wealthy clients. His

In and Out of the Watchmaker's Shop

breakfast must be prompt, for he was as dis¬ ciplined as the timepieces he treated.

8:10 A.M. "Goede morgen, Corrie. You have been busy already, I believe."

He looked at the sacks lined up against the cupboards and knew that I had been up preparing meals for the day; meat, vegeta¬ bles, potatoes, and stewed fruit started cook¬ ing before breakfast. I would begin the food in boiling water and then remove it from the stove for a special long-cooking method. Each pot would be wrapped in sixteen news¬ paper pages and then enclosed in a towel, sealing in the heat. It was a very effective and efficient way to cook and store food.

After breakfast and prayers, Father would go to our astronomical clock and check his pocket watch. The clock was impressive, taller than Father, with an accuracy that demanded synchronization with the Naval Observatory clock in Amsterdam. Neither cold nor heat affected the astronomical clock.

"Mmm ... two seconds fast," Father com¬ mented. He adjusted his own timepiece pre¬ cisely in preparation for the work of the day.

His bicycle was dusted, his hat adjusted, and off he went, pedaling intensely down the narrow Haarlem streets until he reached the homes of his clients in the suburbs of 156 In My Father's House the city. He was an aristocrat and a servant, a gentleman of dignity and a confidante of the most lowly. Class distinction was very strong in Holland, but to him every human being was someone of value.

As he whirred through the streets he waved to many townspeople, endangering the security of his hat in the wind. When he arrived at the first house, breathless but prompt, he would go to the back door, ring the bell, and greet the servant girl who answered his summons.

"Hannah, how delightful to see your shining face this morning/' he would say with a manner as gallant as one approach¬ ing royalty.

"Oh, Mister ten Boom, I'm so happy to see you. I've been reading the Book of John—just as you told me—and I have so many questions."

"Good, Hannah. I shall come to the kitchen for coffee at eleven o'clock. Perhaps some of the other servants will want to have a little talk too." '

Father made everyone feel important, and in a home where there were twelve or four¬ teen servants, a downstairs maid or cook's helper might not have too much feeling of self-worth. Many of them looked forward all week to the arrival of the watchmaker.

His clients were people of means, many of them in the import business or owners of sugarcane plantations in Indonesia. The mistress of one mansion asked him which dancing school he attended, in order to learn how to bow in such a courtly manner.

Dancing school! Imagine such a thing. Father answered, "I never learned to dance, nor did I attend such a school. My father taught me manners."

Formal training had not been a part of Fathers background. He left school when he was fourteen years old to become Grand¬ father s helper in the workshop. He attended night school for a time, but his training was not of a highly intellectual level. He was selftaught, especially from theological books and magazines. Sometimes when Willem explained to his fellow students at the uni¬ versity Father's answer to a problem, he would be asked, "Where did your father study theology?"

Father s horizon was wide, and he talked with even his most outstanding customers with wisdom and insight. He was equally at home in the kitchen and in the beautiful sit¬ ting rooms. He understood all these people because of the love in his heart, received through the Holy Spirit. (See Romans 5:5.)

Among the customers whose clocks he had to wind was a distinguished pastor and philosopher, Dominee de Sopper. Father often asked him probing questions. After some months, the Dominee offered to give a course in philosophy in our home; although Father's beliefs didn't agree with this scholar's liberal views, the disputes between them didn't spoil their warm friendship.

For several winters this pastor, who later became professor of philosophy at the Uni¬ versity of Leiden, had a weekly study group in our house. There were agnostics, athe¬ ists, fundamentalists, and liberals in this group, all with a quest for knowledge and none able to escape Casper ten Boom's direct answers to complex problems. "The Bible says ..." he would say when the argu¬ ments became involved.

Father had nothing against philosophy, for he believed in a philosophy of living based upon the Word of God. However, he would express his differences when others would base their beliefs in such men as Kant and Hegel. Kant, the eighteenth-century German philosopher, had introduced a way of thinking that influenced many in the intellectual community. He did not believe in absolute right and wrong and questioned whether people could accept things that were beyond their five senses. This would rule out spiritual realities or biblical truths. Hegel pursued the philosophy of relative thinking, which led to the basic political and economic ideas of Karl Marx and Adolf Hitler.

Without formal educational training. Father could debate the most brilliant with the Book he knew so well. He baffled some, converted others, and had the honest respect of all in that unusual study group.

Out of the Frying Pan

When Father returned home after mak¬ ing his clock-winding rounds, I was anxious to hear what had happened.

"What did Mrs. van der Vliet say today? Did you see Pastor de Sopper? What about the cook at the de Boks'—has she been read¬ ing the Bible we sent?"

"Oh, Corrie, Corrie," Father laughed, "let's wait until after supper. The thought of the food you prepared this morning sus¬ tained me for the last five miles."

160 In My Father's House

My job for many years was to assist Tante Anna in the housekeeping, cooking, clean¬ ing, and nursing. Betsie worked with father in the shop as a bookkeeper, and I pursued the household tasks. I loved housekeeping; I found it challenging and creative. For instance, I tried to beat my own time records in washing and ironing. On Monday my goal was to have the clothes folded and put away by four o'clock. If I could make it by 3:30 or 3:45,1 would reward myself with an extra fifteen minutes to half an hour of reading.

I learned to bake bread, churn butter, and stretch a little to make a lot.

The division of labor at the ten Booms was suddenly changed by a flu epidemic in Hol¬ land. All the members of the family became ill. When Betsie was sick, I had to do her work in the shop; this was something I had never done before. I felt as if I had two left hands. It was a different world: meeting people, remembering their particular likes and dislikes, seeing in facts and figures the precarious balance of the family business.

When Betsie was well again, I made a sug¬ gestion. "Why don't we exchange jobs for a few months, so I can learn more about shop¬ keeping? I'm so terribly ignorant of what goes on in the business."

161 In and Out of the Watchmaker's Shop

And so we switched. It was 1920; Willem and Tine had their own family, Nollie and Flip had been married a year, and the little German children had returned home. Time for a change.

I loved the work in the shop. The only thing I thought unpractical was that when a customer brought in a broken watch I always had to ask Father, or one of our watchmakers in the workshop, to look at what repairs were needed or broken parts replaced.

"Father, I believe it would be useful if I learned watch repairing—will you teach me the trade of watchmaking?''

Immediately Father agreed. He had a great trust in my abilities.

"Of course I can teach you—and after some time I will send you to Switzerland to work as an apprentice in a factory. I hope you will become a better watchmaker than 1 am. Dear Father, he was one of the best watchmakers in all of Holland; he wrote a book about the exact regulation of watches; he edited a weekly watchmaker's paper; he had been a pupil of Howu, one of the world's best clockmakers in his time. How could Father expect me to become better than he?

162 In My Father's House

Tante Anna overheard his remarks and said, "Cas, I must warn you—Corrie will never give her full time to her trade. She always tries to do six things at a time/'

Tante Anna was right. She was a woman with singleness of purpose: the comfort of our family. It must have been difficult for her to cope with the many directions of my attention, those ambitions of my heart that ignored the circumstances of our lives. I knew I was the youngest child of a respected businessman who did not have much money, and I was happy and content as such a per¬ son. But I believed there was more for me to do.

"Dear Lord," I would pray in the privacy of my little room, "can You use me in some way?

Blessed Money and Cursed Money

It took only a week for Betsie and me to know that changing jobs was right for both of us. Betsie, with her natural flair for beauty and order, added a new spark to the house¬ hold. Cupboards were rearranged more effi¬ ciently, flowers appeared on the table and in windowboxes; even the meals seemed to have more imagination.

163 In and Out of the Watchmaker's Shop

I loved the store and workshop. It had a very special atmosphere, and gradually I began to overcome my shyness and insecu¬ rity in meeting people and enjoyed selling the watches and clocks. There were many ups and downs in the watchmaking busi¬ ness, but Father seemed to have a keen understanding of the economic situation of our times. In his weekly paper, Christiaan Huygens, he wrote information and sugges¬ tions for others in the business. Since he read all other papers about his trade in Ger¬ man, English, and French, he could ade¬ quately fill his paper with important news about trade and business.

However, when it came to making money in his own shop, it wasn't always so simple. He loved his work, but he was not a money¬ maker.

Once we were faced with a real financial crisis. A large bill had to be paid, and there simply wasn't enough money. One day a very well-dressed gentleman came into the shop and was looking at some very expensive watches. I stayed in the workshop and prayed, with one ear tuned to the conver¬ sation in the front room.

"Mmm . . . this is a fine watch, Mr. ten Boom," the customer said, turning a very

164 In My Father's House costly timepiece over in his hands. "This is just what IVe been looking for."

I held my breath as I saw the affluent cus¬ tomer reach into his inner pocket and pull out a thick wad of bills. Praise the Lord— cash! (I saw myself paying the overdue bill and being relieved of the burden I had been carrying for the past few weeks.)

The blessed customer looked at the watch admiringly and commented, "I had a good watchmaker here in Haarlem . . . his name was van Houten. Perhaps you knew him."

Father nodded his head. He knew almost everyone in Haarlem, especially colleagues.

"Van Houten died and his son took over the business. However, I bought a watch from him that didn't run at all. I sent it back three times, but it was just a lemon. That's why I decided to find another watchmaker."

"Will you show me that watch, please?" Father said.

The man took a large watch out of his vest and gave it to Father.

"Now, let me see," Father said, opening the back of the watch. He adjusted some¬ thing and turned it back to the customer. "There, that was a very little mistake. It will be fine now. Sir, I trust the young watch¬ maker ... he is just as good as his father. I

165 In and Out of the Watchmaker's Shop think you can encourage him by buying the new watch from him."

"But, ten Boom!" the customer objected. "This young man has had a difficult time in the trade without his father. If you have a problem with one of his watches, come to me, I'll help you out. Now, I shall give you back your money and you return my watch."

I was horrified. I saw Father take back the watch and give the money to the customer. Then he opened the door for him and bowed deeply in his old-fashioned way.

My heart was where my feet should be as I emerged from the shelter of the workshop.

"Papa! How could you?" I was so shocked by the enormity of what I had seen and heard that I reverted to a childhood term.

"Corrie, you know that I brought the gospel at the burial of Mr. van Houten."

Of course I remembered. It was Fathers job to speak at the burials of the watch¬ makers in Haarlem. He was greatly loved by his colleagues and was also a very good speaker; he always used the occasion to talk about the Lord Jesus.

Father often said that people were touched by eternity when they have seen someone dying. That is an opportunity we

166 In My Father's House should use to tell about Him who is willing to give eternal life.

"Corrie, what do you think that young man would have said when he heard that one of his good customers had gone to Mr. ten Boom? Do you think that the name of the Lord would be honored? There is blessed money and cursed money. Trust the Lord. He owns the cattle on a thousand hills and He will take care of us."

I felt ashamed and knew that Father was right. I wondered if I could ever have that kind of trust. I remembered myself as a child, when I had to go to school for the first time.

My fingers were tight on the railing again, not wanting to go the direction God wanted, only to follow my own stubborn path. Could I really trust Him—with an unpaid bill?

"Yes, Father," I answered quietly. Who was I answering? My earthly father or my Father in heaven?

The Trivial Things

As ,1 continued working with Father, we both realized that our characters were formed by our job. Watch repairing is a train¬ ing in patience. How Father helped me when I had difficulties in the work!

"And who in the whole world should I help with more joy than my own daughter/' he often said.

The workshop was opened every morn¬ ing with prayer and Bible reading. If there were problems, we prayed over them together. Father practiced what Paul advised: ". . . whatever happens, make sure that your everyday life is worthy of the Gospel of Christ" (Phil. 1:27 PHILLIPS).

These simple things kept morale high, but also it was such a joy to experience Jesus' victory. He is a Friend who never leaves us alone.

When my hand was not steady and I had to do a very exact work of putting a frail part of a watch—the balance, for instance—into the movement, I prayed, "Lord Jesus, will You lay Your hand on my hand?" He always did, and our joined hands worked securely. Jesus never fails us for a moment.

I experienced the miracle that the high¬ est potential of God's love and power is avail¬ able to us in the trivial things of everyday life.

Mis Wed... Until It Rains

I felt a little strange among the people in that room. Most of the women at the meet¬ ing of the Christian Union of the Lady Friends of the Young Girl were very digni¬ fied, wearing their beautiful black dresses with high collars and long sleeves. What was I doing here? I thought. I was suddenly very conscious of my rather low-necked, shortsleeve blouse, which was appropriate for the watchmakers workshop but a bit out of place for a gathering of the Union des Amies de lajeune Fille.

When one lady began to make her speech, I forgot about myself and listened, as she expressed great warmth and love for girls who needed help and guidance during a time in their lives when there were possi¬ bilities for extremes in good or bad.

In Holland, Sunday school classes ended when one was twelve or thirteen years old,

All Is Well . . . Until It Rains

and YWCA groups were designed for girls eighteen or older. In those crucial and for¬ mative years between the two age groups there was nothing organized for them in the Christian world.

Suddenly I felt a finger punching my back and a whispering voice said, "That's work for you, Corrie ten Boom."

I turned around and looked into the kind eyes of Mrs. Bechtold, a dear old lady who had been a friend of Tante Jans.

"No time," I answered, thinking of the house, the shop, the Bible studies in schools. Oh, dear, I was much, much too busy!

"Talk it over with the Lord," Mrs. Bech¬ told said.

That was exactly what I did when I went to bed that evening.

Do It

The next day I told Betsie about the meet¬ ing and how the Lord had laid it upon my heart to do something about girls in their early teen years. She began to make plans— we had no money, no experience—but we started.

Betsie had taught Sunday school for many years, so it was not difficult for her to get

170 In My Father's House long lists of names of former pupils. She began to talk to her girls about our plans, and in her quiet way she was a tremendous motivator. The first thing we did was to start the Church Walk Club. The youth church on the Bakenessegracht started at ten o'clock Sunday morning, so we met the girls on a bridge at 8:30, had a long walk to the dunes, played there for a while, and then went to church together.

This was a beginning, but we realized that Sunday was not enough. We talked it over with the children and decided that on Wednesday evening we would gather at our usual meeting place on the bridge and walk to Bloemendaal, where some of the wealthy women had said we could use their parks and gardens for games. The grounds of some of those estates were like forest preserves, and it was such a privilege to be able to enjoy them so freely. After each time of fun we would have a talk about the Lord with the girls.

The club grew and grew as girls brought their friends. It began to get around that Tante Kees (my nickname) was "not such a bad sort"—for an adult, that is!

Betsie and I soon realized that we had a serious need for more girls' club leaders.

While Betsie gathered names and addresses of former Sunday school pupils, I found my place for selecting prospects was in the shop. When a young lady bought a watch, or brought one in for repairs, I would find myself looking at her and thinking, "Now I wonder if she's a Christian." As I stood behind the counter and she was sitting in front on a chair, I would start to talk about juvenile delinquency, the need of the gospels reaching the whole world, particu¬ larly girls twelve to eighteen years of age.

When one of these young ladies seemed interested, I invited her to our leaders' club. Within a short time we had forty leaders.

Soon some of them dropped out when they realized their responsibilities, but when the chaff left, the wheat remained, and we had an enthusiastic, able group of young women.

Once a week the leaders got together, and everyone had to teach the others the games she knew. I instructed them in giving a Bible message with a short story and a thought they could use that week. Whenever ques¬ tions came up, we talked them over together to find the answer. We brought up our prob¬ lems in our prayers and didn't depend on our own resources to work a miracle.

172 In My Father's House

These leaders got together a list of former Sunday school girls and told them about the clubs, where to meet on the bridge, and the name of the park or garden where they would have their game and talk club.

What a beginning we had! It was dy¬ namic—until the rainy month of August started and the entire H.M.C. (Haarlemse Meisjes Clubs or Haarlem Girls' Clubs) con¬ sisted of dripping-wet leaders who waited in vain on the bridge for the girls who didn't come. We had too many fair-weather girls! We could have given up at that point, but most of us believed if the Lord had directed us into this work, that he wanted us to go on! We were dampened but not drowned!

What we needed was a roof over our heads, and we found a room in a house on the Bakenessegracht. It was close to the Beje, and when supper was over, it took me only a few minutes to run to a meeting. On some Wednesday evenings we had a room jammed with girls, and at other times the place was empty.Tt was during the "empty" time that our leaders' training club became our leaders' prayer group; we asked the Lord to give us a clubhouse instead of just a club room.

Every city has its famous benefactors, and in Haarlem the name of Teyler was well known. Stories of his wealth, the organiza¬ tions he had endowed, and his reputation as a promoter of Dutch art were renown. One of the many houses owned by Mr. Teyler had a very large room with many smaller ones around it; from a family view¬ point, it was not a practical home. We asked the regent of the property if we could rent the house—and because we were going to use it for good moral purposes, our offer was quickly accepted. What an answer to prayers!

We had the time of our lives! As we planned together with the girls, they all expressed their different areas of interest. One of the girls, for instance, wanted to learn English. The next week we had an English class started in one of the smaller rooms. The leader of that class was one of our customers in the shop.

The one thing we couldn't do in the Teyler house was the vigorous physical activity that some girls wanted. So for one evening a week we rented a gymnastic hall in Haar¬ lem with all of the equipment we needed. There we started the athletic clubs for the more adventurous.

174 In My Father's House

God blessed the work. Yes, we'made mis¬ takes, but in spite of our blunders, the clubs grew in numbers and in strength.

As a result of my association with those women who had given me that first inspi¬ ration, we were made a part of the Chris¬ tian Union of the Lady Friends of the Young Girl, with international headquarters in Switzerland. Our board of directors con¬ sisted of dignified ladies, most of them from the upper strata of society and very strict in their opinions. However, they had a healthy sense of humor and astonishing flexibility, considering their background.

One of the areas of real challenge for the board was a young spinster with exploding ideas. Her name was Corrie ten Boom. A doctors wife, Mrs. Burkens, was given the job of "controlling" Corrie and protecting the larger group from adventures that were considered too dangerous.

Taboo!

Everything went very well with the board, until I came up with an idea that was revolutionary. I wanted to start a club with boys and girls together! Such a thing was unheard-of for a Christian organization; boys belonged in boys' clubs, and girls in girls' clubs, especially during the time of puberty.

Dating had no place in the Christian soci¬ ety; however, a boy and a girl would meet each other in the streets, in secret. After all, I knew a little bit about that—and I will never forget Tante Jans's written tracts after she saw girls flirting in the Barteljorisstraat: "longe Meisjes, Scharrelt Nietl" ("Young Girls, Don't Flirt!").

The reason we considered having a club for both boys and girls was because the girls themselves were having such fun together that we began to be concerned that we were raising a spinster society. The leaders' group thought if we started a coed club, girls would feel free to invite a boyfriend to the club meeting and wouldn't have to resort to see¬ ing him in secrecy.

I'll never forget the board meeting when I announced that we were starting such a group.

"Corrie, what would some of the parents think?"

"It's never been done before!" "Corrie, you really surprise us!" I think I really surprised myself. I pleaded and argued that this was such a good oppor-

176 In My Father's House tunity for real fellowship between the sexes. The only possibility for boys and girls to be with each other was to either meet in the streets, or in the case of bad weather, to meet in the pubs.

I won the battle. However, the board left me with one restriction: For one entire year nobody was allowed to tell about our exper¬ iment. At the end of that critical first year, if we didn't have any real problems, we were allowed more publicity. So we started the Vriendenkring (The Club of Friends). It may not have been a very clever title, but it was a very popular club. The secrecy of its begin¬ ning increased its popularity.

Each evening program of the Friends' Club was unique. My first question was, "Well, what will we do this evening?" Sometimes they discussed rowing on the Spaarne River, but more often the topics centered around politics or the service of the Lord. Somehow young people do not seem to have the same aversion to these topics as their elders.

We had young men of many persuasions; some were communists, while others loved our country and our queen. Many were faithful church members; others were agnostics or atheists. We had no require¬ ments for joining the clubs, and if they didn't like the short Bible talks, they didn't have to listen.

Once the mixed club decided to climb the tower of the cathedral. I ll never forget how I felt as we climbed the highest steps on the outside of the tower and came into the mid¬ dle of the pinnacle. I looked down upon the grote markt, which blossomed with the wares of the farmers and merchants three times a week, and probably wondered what it would be like to land in a bin of onions!

It was the first and last time I ever gath¬ ered courage for such an experiment. Going down was almost a greater nightmare than climbing up, and I may have considered (if I had time) the reason why the Lord was putting me through such a test of courage.

Boys and girls found each other in the club, and marriage feasts were high points for all of us. Some were married in churches but later told me, "We have forgotten what the minister said, but the things you taught us in the club feast we understood much better and have remembered them."

Family Leadership

I had an area of concern about the mixed clubs, and that was my own feeling of inad-

178 In My Father's House equacy. I knew that the clubhouse needed a director, a substitute father and mother, and I certainly was not equipped for either position. We prayed about it, and out of the Vriendenkring came just the right couple.

Wim was a tailor from a family of tailors. His father, brother, and Wim s girlfriend, Fie, worked together in their business. They were such a joy to be around—they loved life and especially liked to celebrate with music. The first days of each week they devoted all of their time to developing their musical interests. The walls of their small tailor shop were covered with musical instruments, such as violins, guitars, and mandolins—even the little nine-year-old daughter joined in the family orchestra.

I had to take one of Father s suits in for alteration one Monday morning and was invited to sit down and listen to their con¬ cert. I was their only audience on that day and after almost an hour, I said, "How long do your concerts last?"

"Oh, we play from eight in the morning until eleven at night most of the time on the first four days of the week."

I wasn't used to this lack of work sched¬ ule. ({But what about your tailoring busi¬ ness?" I asked.

"Most of the time we start that on Thurs¬ day . . . sometimes earlier, sometimes later. That depends on . .

Their mother finished the sentence, .. how much we have to eat in the house!"

My business sense was aroused. "Do your customers agree with this long waiting time when they have ordered a suit or a dress?"

"They don't have to wait long," Wim answered. "When we work, all four of us work together. Fie works with us too." He looked at her with love and pride. "Soon, Tante Corrie, we'll get married and then we are going to live in her room."

I knew Fie's room; it was just an attic in a large apartment house. Not a very pleas¬ ant place to begin married life, I thought.

"Well, the room is cheap," Wim said when he saw my concerned face.

"Wim ... Fie ... I have an idea. Let's talk about it."

Fie was not only a member of our Friends' Club, she was also a perfect leader of sev¬ eral of the girls' clubs. That Monday morn¬ ing, in the tailor shop temporarily turned concert hall, we began to dream. If Wim and Fie could live in the big clubhouse and be the directing couple for the H.M.C., not only would some of their immediate prob-

180 In My Father's House lems be solved, but it would als'o establish a permanent chaperone on the premises, which would quiet some of the criticisms we had heard.

Wim and Fie moved in and faithfully directed our clubhouse for many years. They became known as "Uncle Wim and Aunt

Fie," and later their baby daughter became the youngest member of the H.M.C.

All of my spare time was devoted to the clubs. Father and I experienced ups and downs in the watchmaking business, but each evening I always had one or two clubs to attend. When I came home, Betsie and Father were always longing to hear what I had experienced. They were our prayer part¬ ners, and we knew that the Beje was home base for prayer support for all the work in the clubs. How we rejoiced together when people who came to the clubs gave their first yes to Jesus!

About forty years later I returned to Hol¬ land after tramping around the world; in a church one day I met a man who came to me and asked, "Don't you know me? In your Vriendenkring I found the Lord. He has never failed me."

Another time a minister saw me in his church and said from the pulpit, "In your club, Corrie, I learned to appreciate the Bible as the living Word of God."

I praised the Lord and chuckled to my¬ self—it was certainly worth the year of being "on trial" and that terrifying climb up the cathedral tower to hear testimonies like that!

The quiet years of the early 1920s in our home were punctuated by the sound of Tante Annas fading alto voice, singing the great old hymns of the church. As the oncevigorous body became weaker, she stayed in bed most of the time, memorizing verse after verse from her worn hymnal. She knew most of the songs slightly but now learned all the words from the first to the last line. "I've never had time to memorize," she said, "and its such a joy."

She knew that her time on earth was lim¬ ited, but she seemed determined to enter heaven with a song on her lips.

When a day in the shop had been par¬ ticularly difficult, or someone had come to the house burdened with heavy sorrow, it was an encouragement to hear from the lit¬ tle bedroom upstairs the beautiful words: 183 The Red Cap Club

He leadeth me, O blessed thought! O words with heavenly comfort fraught! What e'er I do, where e'er I be, Still 'tis God's hand that leadeth me.

After a short, severe illness, God led Tante Anna to her new home in heaven. Father, Betsie, and I sat at the big oval table, once so crowded with all the ten Booms, and talked about the past.

"It's a new life now, Corrie; we must remember the past but live in anticipation of the future."

Who could be despondent around Father? His positive attitude enlivened the dullest day. I looked at the empty chairs and began to dream a bit. Mother had always encour¬ aged us in our dreams. I recalled the time Betsie and I had gone to her with an idea we had.

"Mama, when we grow up we want to help children of missionaries. So many of them can't stay with their parents on the mission field, and then they are sent back to Hol¬ land to live in those big places where mis¬ sionary children have their home."

We had recently visited one of those houses, and although the leaders were kind, we felt so sorry for the boys and girls who 184 In My Father's House had to sacrifice because their parents were obeying God by serving in other countries.

I remember how Mother brightened at the thought. She had just left the hospital after a minor operation and told us about a talk she had with the head nurse.

"My nurse had been a missionary for years and when she heard that I had three daugh¬ ters she said, 'Mrs. ten Boom, I think you should keep one daughter at home, one should be a deaconess in our hospital, and one you should give to the missions.'"

My eyes grew big at the thought. Which one was I to be?

"What was your answer, Mama?" "I told the nurse—I would not know if I could give a daughter of mine for the mis¬ sion field!"

Mother explained the reason for her strong feelings. She continued her story: "My own mother was in Indonesia when she was a lit¬ tle child. Her parents lived there, and both died on the same day. There were three small children left without parents. A black woman took them all to her home and cared for them for two years before they could find a ship with a captain who was willing to take the three orphans to Holland on his ship, with¬ out grown-ups to supervise them. The kind

The Red Cap Club

people who kept my mother and her brother and sister were very good to them, but my mother's childhood was very primitive. If you wish to serve the Lord by educating mis¬ sionary children, I believe it would be a very worthwhile pursuit, Corrie."

That story and my dream soon leaped into reality. The meanderings of my mind were interrupted by Willems familiar voice down¬ stairs. "Is anybody home?"

He told us he had something important to tell us, so Betsie, Father, and I gathered in the parlor. Willem began by saying, "As you know, I'm a board member of the Salatiga Dutch East Indies mission."

Oh, dear, was Willem going to go to the mission field?

But that wasn't it at all. His request, I admit, was a strange "coincidence"—com¬ ing at that particular time.

"There are three children of missionar¬ ies," Willem continued, "who need to have a home on short notice. Their parents must leave for the mission field. They're very clever children, two girls and a boy. Now we can find a home for the boy, but not for the girls. They all need to study, but there isn't much money."

(That was a familiar phrase in our house.)

I g6 In My Father's House "This is a faith mission," Willem ex¬ plained. "When the finances are good the parents can pay; but if there is nothing, then the foster parents must live on faith like the missionaries. I thought perhaps it could be something for you."

"We'll pray about it, Willem," Father replied, pulling on his beard as he did when he was deep in thought.

Willem knew that he couldn't press Father into a decision before prayer; that was the way decisions were made in our family. How¬ ever, after supper and prayer I cleared the dishes from the table as Betsie poured milk into the steaming cups of coffee and Father lit a cigar.

"One girl could sleep in Tante Bep's room," I suggested.

"So, you are already arranging the house," Father chuckled. "If you two agree, I will not refuse. However..." and Father paused, perhaps beginning to think of the foolish¬ ness of a man in his sixties with two unmar¬ ried daughters taking the responsibility of raising young children. ". . . let's not decide too quickly about this."

The next day the mission director vis¬ ited us.

187 The Red Cap Club "Mr. ten Boom . . . ladies/' and he bowed gallantly to us, "the board of the missions met last night and thanked the Lord that you are willing to take the two girls."

Father smiled. "Who told you that? Of course, if you have already thanked God, we cannot refuse. When can the children come that we may see them?"

"Tomorrow." Betsie and I began to rearrange closets, prepare beds, and plan meals before any of us had a chance to question our decision. It was quite clear to us that the Lord meant for us to take the girls, but we hadn't counted on the added surprise in the mis¬ sionary package.

The next day three children came: Puck, a spirited little girl of eleven, Hans, a twelveyear-old with great intelligence, and Hardy, their fourteen-year-old brother. We loved them from the beginning, responding imme¬ diately to their bright minds and willingness to adapt to a new way of life. When they were small, they were educated in Indone¬ sia, where their parents served on the mis¬ sion field; but when they grew older they were sent back to their home country to boarding school, or to live with families. Nat-

1 g8 In My Father's House urally, the children preferred families to the schools, so they were eager to please.

We showed Puck and Hans to their rooms, and they began to unpack their few belongings from the little cloth satchels they brought with them. Hardy stayed in the kitchen, looking down at the floor.

"Come along, Hardy, its time for us to leave," the mission director said.

"Sir," Hardy said softly, looking from Father to the director, "can't I stay in this house with the bearded old man? I had to say good-bye to Mom and Dad; I don't want to say good-bye to Hans and Puck too."

Father said, "Of course you are staying, young man. You don't think I can run this household full of women all alone, do you?"

And then we were six.

Our quiet, thin little three-story house was suddenly stretching its walls and echo¬ ing the activity of three children. The side door swung in and out like the pendulum on one of our clocks, and it was a good sound. Father seemed to increase his pro¬ ductivity with all the chatter and singing going on around him; the entire tempo of our lives picked up.

Betsie and I discussed the division of labor, and it was settled that she would take

189 The Red Cap Club care of their clothing and food, and I would be responsible for sports and music. I could combine that with my club work. The first thing I did when the children came was to sell my bicycle. I decided to walk a great deal with them, and as long as we didn't have enough money for bicycles for everyone, I intended to train myself and the children to walk where we had to go.

The Alpina watch company had sent us little red caps—the type worn by the Swiss yodelers—and I gave each of the children one of these. The first time we all ventured out on a walk, the conductor of the street car saw us and said, ''Well, here comes Corrie and her Red Cap Club."

We bobbed along the streets of Haarlem and out to the dunes for our hikes, but it wasn't long before there were more red caps added to our little "club."

Along Comes Lessie

Just as we had the children of the watch¬ makers come to live with us after the First World War, we inherited another girl who had been promised a home in Holland and then had been rejected. Lessie was a mis¬ sionary's daughter, who was on a boat ready

190 In My Father's House to sail from Indonesia to Holland, when a telegram came from the uncle she was going to visit, saying that she was not welcome. Her mother was so upset because Lessie needed a time in Holland to begin the train¬ ing school for teachers, and all the arrange¬ ments had been made.

"The parents of Hans and Puck were at the ship—bidding Lessie good-bye/' they said. "They always have room, but if they don't they'll make it."

Consequently, we received a letter an¬ nouncing the arrival of Lessie within two days. There was no time to write our answer; in fact, there was no alternative.

"We have no room for more beds," Betsie said. Her precise nature of housekeeping was straining with the increasingly crowded and cluttered conditions. However, she didn't complain; she moved things, rearranged fur¬ niture, and we made do.

"I can sleep in the tower—the place where the suitcases are kept," Hardy said.

A plan was already forming in my mind. "No, we'll put two beds on top of each other in my room." I invented a type of bunk beds with our old bedsteads.

When Lessie arrived, hurt because she had been refused by her one relative, she was welcomed by us with open arms.

191 The Red Cap Club

Within a short time the Lord chose to send us two more girls. We experienced that with men there are impossible situations and circumstances, but with God all things are possible.

Our Red Cap Club added more caps, and we began to look like a troop of yodelers!

All the girls went into the training school for teachers, and Hardy went to another school, just for boys. Poor Hardy, he was surrounded by girls, and Lm sure he must have felt overwhelmed at times. He began to disappear for several hours at a time, and one day Betsie marched into the kitchen with a frown on her gentle face.

"Do you know what Hardy is doing?" Oh, dear. I began to imagine all sorts of evil things, none of which seemed to suit Hardys basic good character.

"Hes going to Charlie Chaplin movies!" Betsie announced indignantly.

"To the movies? You don't say!" None of us had ever been to the movies, but somehow I didn't hold as scandalous a view of this new invention as Betsie did. We didn't forbid Hardy from this pursuit, but we tried to make the activities for the chil¬ dren so attractive that they weren't too inter¬ ested in such things.

192 In My Father's House

I loved the physical activities with my fos¬ ter children. When we walked together, we talked together, and it was more valuable than any "lectures" we might give. We had such great fun on our hikes. Once we walked with one of my clubs from Haarlem to Am¬ sterdam, which was a distance of seventeen kilometers (about ten miles). We carried our lunch and sang whenever our spirits began to droop a bit. My foster children were the most enthusiastic.

We had gymnastic lessons too, although

I wasn't a very good pupil myself. My feet never seemed to do what my mind instructed them. We all worked out on the gymnastic bars, with a succession of teachers who taught their individual type of body move¬ ments; the German method taught a dif¬ ferent style than the French, and both were contrary to the Swedish gymnastics. I learned to do a bird s nest on the bars, but I was certainly an awkward bird compared to my club girls.

In .the middle of a gymnastic lesson, I would blow my whistle and we would have a Bible lesson that would last from two to five minutes. The lessons were usually in the form of stories that the children could 193 The Red Cap Club remember—stories that emphasized a Bible truth.

For instance, I told the story about the old monk. "There was an old monk who sang a Christmas song every Christmas Eve for his brothers in the monastery and for visi¬ tors who would come from the village for the special services. His voice was very ugly, but he loved the Lord and sang from his heart. Once the director of the cloister said, I'm sorry, Brother Don, we have a new monk who has such a beautiful voice ... he will sing this Christmas.'

"The man sang so beautifully that every¬ one was happy.

"But that night an angel came to the supe¬ rior and said, Why didn't you have a Christ¬ mas Eve song?'

"The superior was very surprised. We had a beautiful song, didn't you hear it?'

"The angel shook his head sadly, 'It may have been very inspiring to you, but we didn't hear it in heaven.'

"You see, the old monk with the raspy voice had a personal relationship with the Lord Jesus, but the young monk was singing for his own benefit, not for that of the Lord's."

194 In My Father's House "That's a good story, Tante Kees," Puck panted while trying to do a backbend and talk at the same time. (She called me by the nickname that all the club girls used.) "Is that in the Bible?"

"No, Puck, but the Bible does say, 'but if anyone loves God, he is known by Him' (1 Cor. 8:3). Do you think that God knew the young monk?"

The girls were in a training school for teachers, and the quick little Bible studies in story form came in very handy for them.

One day they told us about a student in their class who cried a lot. Hans was espe¬ cially concerned about her, and at supper time, while everyone was around the oval table, she brought up the subject.

"Remember me telling you about Miep, the girl in our class who cries a lot? Well, I talked to her today during recess and found out that she lives with a cousin. Her parents are in Belgium. She can't seem to eat. Any¬ how, her cousin told her that she had to fin¬ ish her meal before she could leave for school, so she's almost always late. She's miserable with her cousin and doesn't want to go back."

"Please, Tante Betsie, Tante Kees, take Miep into our house," Puck said. "She's

195 The Red Cap Club really so sweet but so unhappy. We can sleep two in a bed."

The next day, Betsie went to visit the cousin and his wife. They were good people but had very little insight about raising a teenager. They agreed that we should have Miep in our house for a time.

When Miep arrived, Betsie gave her a real welcome. "Look, Miep, no one here has to eat who doesn't want to ... here is the bread; whenever you are hungry, you can help your¬ self and make a sandwich."

Miep soon became a happy, relaxed girl, full of humor and a good, normal appetite.

With seven children in the house now, the Beje was an active, noisy place. In the evenings Father sat in the living room, sur¬ rounded by his second family, busily writ¬ ing his weekly paper. He went about his work oblivious to the din surrounding him, looking up occasionally to smile at one of the children.

The girls were always in a hurry to get to one of their clubs or to do their studying. They tried to shorten the devotions at night, but Father, called Opa by the children, was aware of their methods.

Puck said once, "Opa, let s just read Psalm 117 tonight."

196 In My Father's House "Well, now, Puck, I just think Ill read Psalm 119."

A visitor commented to Father that he was astonished at all the noise and laugh¬ ter in our house. Father said, "Our children are such good kids . .. why they never quar¬ rel and are always ready to help each other. They're just angels."

I sighed and went upstairs to talk to Puck, who had been sent to her room for the "angelic" way she had said, "I hate Lessie!"

She was sitting in the corner of her bed, curled up in that defiant position children take when they know they're going to be punished.

"Puck, don't you know that Jesus says hatred is murder in God's eyes. He told us that we must love our enemies," I said.

"Well, I can't love Lessie!" "In Romans 5:5 Paul says, '. . . the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.' If you give room in your heart for the Holy Spirit, He will give you His love, a part of the fruit of the Spirit—and that love never fails."

Puck looked up, a trace of tears in her eyes,' "But, Tante Kees, what must I do?

Such hateful thoughts come in my heart."

"John says, If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness' (1 John 1:9 Kjv). Jesus will cleanse your heart with His blood, and then He will fill you with His love. Shall we go to Him now and tell Him everything?"

Puck relaxed. All the tension in her taut muscles left, and she lowered her head as we prayed together. Puck and Lessie became the greatest of friends. Years later Puck was in a concentration camp in Indonesia, placed there by the Japanese during World War II. The guards were very cruel, and how she needed the Holy Spirit to give her love for her enemies! She was married then, and her husband, Fritz, was in a concentration camp in the Philippines. When she was released she only weighed 79 pounds. Fritz survived the years of imprisonment and was an emaciated 106 pounds when he was freed.

Puck told me after the war, "I always thought if I came out alive, I wonder if my parents in Holland will have the strength to stand the hardships of the war—but I know that Opa and Tante Betsie and Tante Kees will be there/ That gave me a feeling of secu¬ rity. When I was beaten, I thought of you

198 In My Father's House and Opa and remembered what you had taught me about love for my enemies."

Pucks parents were still alive when she came back after the war. Opa and Tante Betsie were no longer there, but what they had taught Puck lasted. "The righteous shall be in everlasting remembrance" (Ps. 112:6 Kjv).

Although Betsie and I never married, we received such love from all of our children and were able to give them so much of our love! However, a house full of teenagers was not uncomplicated. There were many things to talk over with the Lord. Daily. Sometimes there was not much money. When they needed new shoes they had to wait until the finances were available. Cardboard or news¬ papers temporarily stuffed in the soles were frequent emergency measures.

We shared our sorrows and joys with all of them. When I sold an expensive clock or watch, I came to the living room, stood in the door, and made an impressive announcement.

"Ladies—and the two gentlemen pres¬ ent—I wish to inform all of you gathered for this important occasion that Mrs. van der

Hoeven has just purchased the gold Alpina, and paid cash for it!"

Cheers. Hurrahs.

199 The Red Cap Club "Now I can get my shoes." "And I my petticoat." When the situation was serious, we prayed about it and didn't forget afterward to thank God together. We lived as a real family.

Betsie was wonderful in contacting the parents; she wrote them every week. When one of the girls got a new dress, she took a snapshot and sent it to the parents together with a piece of material.

Marijke was the only girl who had diffi¬ culties in school. She was studying to be a kindergarten teacher and loved children but was terrified of examinations. Once she failed, and it was difficult to persuade her to go back the next time.

She adored Opa—as all the children did. The evening before the crucial day of the examination, he was writing his weekly paper and concentrating so intently that it was almost impossible to stir him, except with something very tempting.

He laid down his pen when Puck brought in the tea. She had made cookies, and every¬ one had to pay attention to such a treat.

"I'm not going to the examination tomor¬ row," Marijke stated.

200 In My Father's House "Why not?" Father asked, immediately concerned over one of his children.

"I'll fail again." Father smiled. "Listen, Marijke, you have done your best and possibly you can t do it alone. But Paul said, 'l can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.' Do you think He will give you strength if you trust Him?"

"Paul never had to go to examinations," Hardy remarked with the complete assur¬ ance of a teenage boy who knows all the answers.

"I think his questioning from Felix was a bit tougher than an exam for a kindergarten teacher," Lessie answered, pleased with her¬ self for making this comparison. (We had been studying the Book of Acts.)

"Can you really pray for everything? Even something as little as an examination?" Mar¬ ijke asked with renewed interest.

Father leaned back in his chair, warming his hands with the steaming tea, relishing the chance to discuss the Scriptures. "Paul says in Philippians 1:27, Whatever happens make sure that your everyday life is worthy of the gospel of Jesus Christ/ When you belong to the Lord, there s not one single thing you have to conquer in your own

201 The Red Cap Club strength. The hairs of your head are num¬ bered; can anything be more trivial than that?"

"But, Opa," Puck said, "yesterday I didn't learn French because I was busy making the cookies. That was more fun than dull old French. So this morning I prayed that I wouldn't be called on. But God didn't help me. I did get called on—and what a mess I made of the French words!"

"I'm not surprised," Father chuckled. "If you didn't learn, you can't expect the Lord to help you."

Hardy added, with a sudden burst of understanding that made me very pleased with him, "I've found out that if I want to pray for something that is wrong, I simply

V » can t.

It was years later that I had to learn another lesson about prayer for something that was not 100 percent right.

It was in 1945, shortly after the war, that I went to Switzerland. I had spoken there in many meetings, but also I visited my former watchmaker friends from whom I had learned my trade many years before. I bought some watches while I was there. In Holland, there was still a severe shortage of 202 In My Father's House imported articles and to buy Swiss watches was rather complicated.

When I put my watches in my suitcase, I smiled because of the methods we had learned in the time of the underground work when we saved Jewish people and hid arti¬ cles in our luggage. Surely nobody should be able to find my three watches!

Before I went to the train, I prayed the way I always do when I start a trip.

"Lord, protect us against accidents, bless the engineer of the train and give him wis¬ dom, make us a blessing for our fellow trav¬ elers, and Lord . . . give us success in smug¬ gling ... in smug. . . ." (I wanted to say, "In smuggling my watches," but I couldn't.)

The moment I started to pray for it, I knew it was a sin. Smuggling to avoid paying money is the same as stealing. I didn't smug¬ gle my watches, and I experienced again that prayer can be a discipline. Praying for some¬ thing that is wrong is not possible.

As the girls grew older and discovered that boys were more than just a nuisance, it became an increasing challenge to answer their questions. The walks we had together brought a closeness and ease of communica¬ tion, in spite of our difference in age. Usually we walked on Sunday afternoon, since our week was filled with work and school. I remember when we walked from Haarlem to the dunes near Zandvoort, the sun warm on our faces and the sand inviting us to sunbathe, we would frequently lie on our backs and talk about... well, just the things girls talk about.

"Tante Kees, were you ever engaged to be married?"

"Tante Kees, do you long to have a hus¬ band? Do you find it difficult to be single?"

Once they started, the girls could ask questions as rapidly as a second hand could move in an accurate timepiece.

"You rascals . . . this is a very important subject to talk about when you are begin¬ ning your lives as young women." I had no sadness or regret, only joy in telling the story of Karel.

"There was a time in my life when I expected to marry a boy who loved me and whom I loved. He was going to be a minis¬ ter and was from a big family where several members were clergymen. They had the usual problems that ministers have with finances.

"His mother did not approve of our get¬ ting married. She wanted him to marry a rich girl.

204 In My Father's House

"How I struggled with myself at that time! When he introduced me to the wealthy girl he was going to marry, I had the feeling that my heart would never survive such a blow."

"What did you do, Tante Kees?" "I went to my room and talked it over with the Lord. From what I can remember it was something like this: I want, Lord, to belong to You with my body, soul, and mind. I claim Your victory, Lord Jesus, over that wound which is hurting me. Let Your victory be demonstrated also in my sex life/ "I didn't quite analyze what I needed, but the joy is that with the Lord, it is not nec¬ essary to give Him a clear diagnosis before He knows the cure."

"Did you have an immediate victory?" "No, there was still a battle—rather severe—but then the Lord healed me and the pain didn't come back. The Lord gave and continues to give me a very happy life.

I have the love of all of you—and I love you. My life isn't dull at all. The best thing is that when Jesus restores such a loss, He gives a fulfillment that is a little bit of heaven—a peace that passes all understanding. From our side it is only necessary to surrender."

After I had told this, Puck said, "Now I understand more what Opa said yesterday: 'Our times are in His hands.w

He Brings You Safely Home

It was the middle of May 1940. By that time the children were all away in their dif¬ ferent jobs or married. It was a time of fear and confusion in our land.

Hitler and Goering had ordered a heavy bombing of Rotterdam—and we were bewil¬ dered! The Dutch experienced the first large-scale airborne attack in the history of warfare.

We were completely unprepared for such an ordeal. On the morning of May 14, 1940, a German staff officer crossed the bridge at Rotterdam with a white flag in his hand and demanded the surrender of the city. He warned that unless it capitulated, it would be bombed.

While surrender negotiations were actually under way, the bombers appeared and wiped out the heart of our great city. Over eight hundred persons, mostly civil¬ ians, were massacred; several thousand were wounded, and seventy-eight thou¬ sand homeless. Rotterdam surrendered

206 In My Father's House and then the Dutch armed forces did the same. It was then our dear Queen Wilhelmina and the government members fled to London.

The German juggernaut was on the move. An army of tanks larger in size, concentra¬ tion, and striking ability than any tank force yet mobilized started through the Ardennes

Forest from the German frontier. We read that these tanks stretched three columns wide, for a hundred miles behind the Rhine, and broke through the French armies headed for the English Channel.

Our Hans was married by then and had two children and another one on the way. Her husband was a teacher, and they lived in Rotterdam during that terrible bombard¬ ment. They fled to a small suburb of Rot¬ terdam, where her third baby was born in a cellar. For a year they lived in that cellar, which formed a bomb shelter.

Hans told me in later years that over and over again she repeated to her children, "Opa taught us, When Jesus takes your hand, He keeps you tight. When Jesus keeps you tight, He leads you through your whole life. When Jesus leads you through your life, He brings you safely home."'

In addition to the work in the business, the club work, and the care for our chil¬ dren, I continued with the Bible lessons in the schools. One of these classes was for children who had learning difficulties. It was such a joy to know that the Holy Spirit doesn't need a high IQ in a person in order to reveal Himself. Even people of normal or superior intelligence need the Lord to understand the spiritual truths that are only spiritually discerned.

God gave me a great love for the "excep¬ tional children." I remember going to these schools and telling Bible stories and being rewarded when their faces lit up with sweet and simple happiness.

Sometimes I asked them questions to see if they understood what I told them. Once a feebleminded girl answered a question of mine that might have baffled a person of 208 In My Father's House normal intelligence. I asked, <?What is a prophet and what is a priest?"

She said, "They are both messengers between God and man."

I continued, "Then they are the same— a prophet and a priest?"

She thought a while and then answered, "No, a prophet has his back to God and his face to us—and a priest has his face to God and his back to us."

I wasn't sure if she had learned that by heart, so I asked her, "Well, what was I today?"

She said, "You were both—you told us about God and you were a prophet. Then you prayed. You didn't pray for yourself, but you prayed for us—then you were a priest."

That was a backward child who answered in that manner! When you bring the gospel, it is the Holy Spirit who works.

I tried to teach these children other things with much less success; one time I started to instruct them about the stars. I brought some.white beans to school and laid them on the table in the form of constellations. I showed them Orion, and they looked at the formation of the beans, and all of them knew it very well. Then one evening I took them

Even the Least of Them

outside and said, "Look, children, there is Orion . . . see it?"

They just shook their heads. "No, Tante Corrie, they are white beans in the sky."

They never understood what I told them about the stars, but the truths of the Lord they seemed to understand well.

Whenever you come in contact with fee¬ bleminded people, please tell them that Jesus loves them. They often understand

Gods love better than people who have problems because of their intellectual doubt.

Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 1:20—21: "Where is the wise man? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom did not come to know God, God was well-pleased through the foolishness of the message preached to save those who believe."

Some Are Forgotten

Father shared my concern, my outreach for the debilitated and the disturbed. Once he heard from a servant girl about a woman in a mental hospital who never received a visit from anyone.

210 In My Father's House

Father, Betsie, and I prayed for this woman, and then I made the trip to the hos¬ pital. It took me some hours to go there, and when I finally found the woman, I discov¬ ered that she was clear in her thinking, although a bit mentally disturbed. Also her body was sick, and she couldn't leave her bed.

"May I introduce myself? I'm Corrie ten Boom. IVe come to visit you," I said.

She looked up at me with tears of joy in her eyes.

"Did God send you?" "Yes, I'm sure He did ... and I'm glad too, because I would like you to be my friend. Will you?"

"Oh, yes," she said eagerly. "Will you please visit me sometimes? Can you tell me about Jesus?"

I thought for a moment. How much did this woman know? What Bible story could help her? I prayed for inspiration and then told her about the good shepherd who brought the lost sheep home.

We became real friends, in spite of being such an unequal combination! There I was, a healthy, normal girl, and she was an older woman with a confused mind. I truly believe the Lord brought us together.

Often in the midst of a very busy work¬ day with the watch repairs stacked on the counter waiting to be done, Father would say to me, "Why don't you visit Alida today? She's come into my mind . . . perhaps she is lonely.''

Dear Papa! It meant more work for him because a visit to this friend of mine took at least four hours of the day

On one visit we talked at some length about heaven. Two days later the nurse at the hospital called me on the phone. "Alida has died suddenly. Can you give us the address of her relatives?"

I know that tears came to my eyes, but I could thank the Lord that she was now with Him in the beautiful heaven we had so recently talked about. "I'm sorry," I told the nurse, "I don't know anything about Alida's relatives."

"But you were such a close friend," she replied.

"I asked her once if she had sisters and brothers. She told me that years ago they had brought her to the hospital. She had never heard from them again. She didn't know if they were alive, and if so, where they lived."

212 In My Father's House

Father said that evening, "Corrie, I believe that this friendship and the time you gave that poor woman has shown Gods loving kindness for the despised and lost more than any other work you have done. fm sure it was important in Gods eyes."

Just a Boy Named Henk

Henk was a boy who was a member of my Bible class for mentally retarded. He came from a family with eleven children, and it was difficult for his poor tired mother to give him much attention.

It was from this simple little boy that I saw again how the Holy Spirit reveals him¬ self in such a marvelous way to low-IQ people.

Once I visited Henk at home, and his mother received me with such a thankful manner. "Henk talks so much about the sto¬ ries you tell in his Bible class. He never remembers anything about any other class, but when he comes from your class he talks to his brothers and sisters about it."

"Is Henk at home?" "He s in his room upstairs ... in the cor¬ ner of the attic. Hes there most of the time... he s really my easiest boy. We know hell never become a professor or anything impor¬ tant, but he does work for a salary—hes in a government workshop where he makes clothespins the whole day. Dear Henk, he s so satisfied, but when he s at home the house is so full of noise that he goes to his attic room.'>

I went upstairs and found Henk on his knees in front of a chair. Before him was an old dirty picture of Jesus on the cross. I stopped at the door to listen, for Henk was singing. His voice was soft and hoarse.

Out of my bondage, sorrow and night, Jesus, I come, Jesus, I come; Into Thy freedom, gladness and light, Jesus, I come to Thee. Out of the depths of ruin untold, into the peace of Thy sheltering fold, Ever Thy glorious face to behold, Jesus, I come to Thee.

IVe heard Bach played by Schweitzer, and anthems sung by gigantic choirs, but at that moment I felt as if I were in a cathedral with angels surrounding me. I tiptoed back down¬ stairs without disturbing him, praising God again for the love He brings into the lives of "even the least of them."

214 In My Father's House

Some time later I heard tfiat Henk's mother had gone into his attic room and found him before the chair, with the picture of Jesus in his hand. Henk was home with the Lord. When I heard about his death I wondered if he had been singing, "Jesus, I come to Thee" at that last moment.

Thirty Years Later

It was after World War II and I was work¬ ing in East Germany, teaching the gospel in a huge cathedral. I went into a counseling area to talk with people individually; there were many more who needed help waiting outside in another room. I heard a very noisy discussion; everyone seemed to be talking too loudly at the same time. Suddenly every¬ thing was quiet and I heard an unusually tender, beautiful voice singing. It was Henk's hymn in German: "Out of my bondage, sor¬ row and night, Jesus, I come."

I opened the door into the room where the inquirers were waiting and saw a child of about fourteen years of age. Her face was like an angel, and there was something so moving about her that many in the room were crying. The girls mother stood beside her and held her hand.

When they came into the inquiry room, I found out that the girls name was Elsa, and I realized immediately that she was not a normal child.

"Where did you learn that song, Elsa?" I asked her gently "In prison ... a man taught it to me, and I sang it every day."

"Why was Elsa in prison?" I asked her mother.

"My husband is a communist. Elsa is mentally retarded. She loves the Lord Jesus and speaks about Him frequently, but her father is an atheist and a leader in his party, so he had no difficulty putting Elsa in prison. A short while ago we got her out ... it was so terribly cold in that jail that the guards themselves helped me get Elsa out. They heard and enjoyed her singing, and Elsa was always ready to tell them about her Lord."

My lips quivered as I held Elsa s hands, and I remembered so many things . . . the Bible studies in Holland . . . Henk in his attic room . . . and what Father had often said to me. "Corrie, what you do among these people is of little importance in the eyes of men, but Em sure in Gods eyes it is the most valuable work of all."

I loved the activity—the challenge—the excitement of seeing lives changed. The need in the young people was obvious as the clubs multiplied rapidly.

Once a month we had representatives of every club gather to give suggestions and form plans. We had so many interest groups: handcrafts, sewing, piano, harmonium, choir. As a few girls with other talents expressed the need for another group, we would find a leader and begin another club.

I led the music group myself. Music has always been an important part of my life, and it was such a joy for me to work with these girls. Our club had eight members; seven girls worked at a table on harmony and the study of music, while one went to the piano or organ. Consequently, each member had the lengthy chance of five or ten minutes behind the keyboard.

Leaders and Blunders

My, what mistakes I made in that club! If I had taught them watch repair, I would have known exactly what I was doing; but the times that I sent a substitute leader, my lack of real skill in music was glaringly evident! My sub¬ stitute was Ann, a lady who had many diplo¬ mas from the music academy. When she took my organ and piano club, her trained ears suffered—to put it mildly Dear Ann, I learned so much from her! She never refused to help me. In her humble and shy way, she lovingly told me of some of the horrible mistakes in instruction I had made. However, she didn't have a critical spirit and was able to correct me in such a loving manner. This was a gift that set such an example for me.

I loved this music club, but the fewminute message was the important part of the evening for me. These short talks about the Lord weren't deep theological studies but stories from the Bible and about the lives of other Christians. They were brief on pur¬ pose; some of the club members expected this part of the evening, but it wasn't really their cup of tea. They seemed to endure it for the sake of the fun in the clubs.

We had a theme for everything we did: It was "Him in the Midst of the Clubs.'' This is exactly what we did—put the message in 218 In My Father's House the middle of the meeting. We knew if we gave it at the beginning, some would avoid it by coming late; if we talked of our theme later in the evening, they left early.

However, many seeds fell upon fertile ground, and when club members began to open their hearts and ask questions about Jesus, we decided to start a Catechism Club.

In this group, they could learn enough to become a member of the church. Some called it the Confirmation Club.

I especially loved the Heidelberg Cate¬ chism (not all of the fifty-two Sundays, but many of them). I translated the old-fash¬ ioned and complicated style of expression into everyday language that my girls could understand. It was amazing how they enjoyed it and how much it became a part of them.

My teaching, however, did not always meet with enthusiasm from the pastors of the churches.

To become a member of the Dutch Reformed Church there was an examination by the pastor in the presence of elders and deacons. The first time I had just a few confirmands, so the pastor invited me to come together with the new members he had trained. It was an interesting experience.

First the pastor asked one of his pupils a simple question. "Who was the first man in the world?"

Silence. Embarrassment. He hinted by saying, "It starts with A." She replied with a proud smile, "That must be Abram."

The pastor was so humiliated.

My pupils studied the Bible and the cat¬ echism very hard. The last few weeks before confirmation, they came several evenings to see me and to repeat what they had learned. One of my confirmands was asked, "Do you know the name of one judge of Israel?"

Without hesitation the boy rattled off the names of Othniel, Ehud, Shamgar, Debo¬ rah, and the names of the other judges. The examining board was impressed.

One of my girls was asked to tell the story of one of the judges. She said that Gideon was a very shy and bashful man; and when the angel appeared to him, he told Gideon that because the Lord was with him, he was a mighty man of valor. However, she added, "I would never have chosen him to become a hero. I think he was a sissy. But because the Lord was with him, he was mighty"

Later I heard from the French nanny of the minister s little boy that the pastor came

220 In My Father's House home and declared, "Fll never examine Corrie ten Booms confirmands and mine to¬ gether again! I've seldom been so ashamed of the poor results of my teaching."

Later it was more than embarrassment, it became a real collision. I was examining a girl for confirmation and refused to rec¬ ommend her because she didn't believe that Jesus had died on the cross. She was very unhappy over my decision and said, "I'm not religious like you, but I'd like to become a member of a church. I think its dignified and I like that. Besides, my mom is going to give me a new dress for the occasion."

I still refused and she went to the minis¬ ter, who reversed my decision and allowed her to become a church member. He said, "I like the idea of a herd. Some are sheep, some are not—but that doesn't matter."

That minister eventually left the pas¬ torate to become a professor of theology at a university.

Leadership Training

As the clubs and the work increased, it became obvious that we must devote more time to leadership training. When we had our weekly meetings with our leaders, we took turns telling a story from the Bible while the rest of us criticized. The type of questions we asked were: Was the gospel clear?

How was her first sentence; did it attract attention? Was there humor? What help was there for the girls this week? What importance did the story have for eternity? Did she describe colors, movements? Did she draw clear pictures with good illustrations? Was it an inspiration for action, for faith, for endurance?

Problems were discussed and then there was prayer. All of us did the work because we loved it; we had so much fun ourselves, but we also understood why it was impor¬ tant. It was a humble little piece of build¬ ing the kingdom of God.

One of the problems we had was that we didn't have enough able leaders. Another serious one was that it was difficult to get rid of the wrong ones. The most impossible of all the leaders was Kipslang. The girls gave her that name because she told the Adam

222 In My Father's House and Eve story by saying that the snake had legs like a chicken. After that her name became Kipslang (chicken-snake).

The girls roared with laughter during her story about Adam and Eve, and she cried with holy indignation over their ridicule. Weren't girls supposed to be serious when listening to a Bible story? Kipslang s club was always a sensation. Girls cried often because of her harsh remarks, and she usually answered by crying also. There was always noise and disorder in her club, and on one occasion the girls began to throw chairs at each other. It was quite out of control, but no other club was as popular because some¬ thing was always happening there!

It was really remarkable: Once we had ten clubs that all formed as a result of split-ups from Kipslang s club! Dear Kipslang—she was often a headache, but club work cer¬ tainly prepared her for the future. When I last heard of her, she had been married three years and had just given birth to her second set of twins.

Let's Go Camping

During the summer we arranged camps that brought girls and leaders closer together than all the weekly meetings. Most of the time we went to the Bliscap (an old word for joy), which was a simple log cabin with room for about sixty girls.

The campfires were high spots during our outings. There we talked about the Lord, sang hymns, and prayed. The girls were very strict about our campfire time—they were rascals and "born after the fall," but they always said, "At a campfire you look into the flames and listen to God."

In the camps and conferences, one of the biggest dangers was the gossip. We made a camp law and one of the articles was: "If you must tell something negative about some¬ one else, first tell ten positive qualities about him."

If a gossiping remark was made during a meal, we simply said, "Pass the salt, if you please."

Our foster children enjoyed the club and camp life with me. All of them were such a great help to us as leaders, and the love between us made it possible for me to depend upon them for so many tasks. It was always such a joy to have them together with the other club girls. Most of them had such good training that later they were able to do club work wherever they were, scattered over the world.

224 In My Father's House

My girls learned some of the basic lessons of life and death at the camps. Toddy and Janny, sisters, had several real aunts in Hol¬ land with whom they spent a part of their vacations. Once in a camp with me, they received a phone call from an uncle that their most beloved aunt had died. They had known that her life was in danger for she was a hemophiliac. When she had a wound, the bleeding wouldn't stop, and upon the birth of her first baby she died. She was very young, and the girls were brokenhearted. It was the first time that someone they loved had been taken from them by death.

"Would you like to go to be with your uncle?" I asked.

"Yes, we would. We couldn't enjoy camp anymore—perhaps we can help with the funeral.''

"Tomorrow I'll take you to the train. There's no connection tonight," I explained.

I saw their sad young faces and suggested taking a walk over the heather fields. When we were alone, I let them talk and talk about their aunt. I have found this is one of the most important things to do for a person who is grieving—have him talk about the loved one who is gone. Toddy and Janny knew their aunt loved the Lord and that she had known there was the danger of dying as soon as she had a wound.

I had my little New Testament in the pocket of my uniform and read from Ro¬ mans 8:28. "All things work together for good to them that love God. . . ."

Also, "These little troubles (which are really so transitory) are winning for us a per¬ manent and glorious reward out of all pro¬ portion to our pain" (2 Cor. 4:17 PHILLIPS).

Toddy and Janny confronted the reality and the glory of death that summer at camp.

Some years later Toddy married her uncle, which may seem strange, but he was only nine years older than she. They had several children and a good life together.

Along the River Rhine

One trip (which was unforgettable) was a hiking and camping adventure the club girls had through Germany. All the girls (who could spend the time and money) met each week in our clubhouse to learn the German language. If someone knew a sen¬ tence that would be useful when traveling, she would express it to the group, and all the girls would write the sentence in Dutch and in German in their notebooks. Every-

226 In My Father's House one had a little knowledge of the language before we started our trip. I told them the German words and they wrote them down phonetically.

The Rhine River was never so beautiful as it was that summer. I don't believe I've ever enjoyed a trip through a foreign land as much as I did when traveling with girls who had never been outside their country.

Many years later, one of the girls who went on our German trip became seriously ill. In her feverish state she talked about the only foreign country trip she had ever made; it had been the highlight of her life. How¬ ever, just the recall of that trip didn't help her when she was treading the valley of the shadow of death. There she was not alone, because Jesus was her Savior. She had given her heart to Him in one of the clubs. This was the most important purpose of our club work: to confront each person with Him, who is our only comfort in life and death.

Jesus is the real security in this world, even in the hour we have to leave it.

Blunder Boom

Sometimes I think my middle name is Blunder. I made some big mistakes, but I can say that our clubs became a success in spite of me. I loved my girls and shared many of their joys and difficulties.

As the years passed and some of our club girls grew older or others wished to join, some of the teenagers didn't like to belong to a club where "older people" came.

"We must make an age limit for our clubs," some experienced club leaders sug¬ gested. "Let's make it twenty-five years."

I protested. I had some fine girls who had already passed that age, and I couldn't stand the idea of being forced to send them away.

"I don't think we should have any limit— let's just consider the ages eight to eighty. Why not?"

No one challenged me. When I had a fixed opinion, it was almost impossible to dissuade me; consequently, the age limit was never changed.

One blunder (which may have turned into a blessing) was when I chose a campsite rather close to soldiers' quarters. In their free time, the men showed a great interest in the girls. Of course, the girls returned that interest. That's understandable.

One day during that camp we marched through the village at the moment the sol¬ diers came off duty. The boys surrounded

228 In My Father's House us on all sides. An officer who had been a daily visitor at the Beje saw our problem. Ffe took his bicycle and rode beside our group, ordering all the soldiers away. Then he escorted us until we reached the camp.

That officer was a blessing to me, but I'm not sure all the girls felt the same way. The campfires became quite a problem. When the girls gathered around the fire, we seemed to have soldiers growing out of the trees. It was very difficult to get any attention from the girls for our talks and singing. I appealed to the officer for help, and he offered. "Every evening Ill send you two trustworthy sergeants to serve as camp watchers. They'll report any soldier who comes within a quar¬ ter of a mile of your tents and campfire."

After that two men joined our campfire every evening. They were never the same men, so the rotation system worked very well. They told us later that they enjoyed their "girls' club watch," and there was never a lack of volunteers.

I've sometimes wondered if there was some seed of the1 gospel sown in the hearts of those men. We never know. God can give a straight blow with a crooked stick. He blesses in spite of our blunders.

We used every method we could think of to recruit girls for our clubs. We took lists from school or church, we talked to shop¬ keepers, we even placed notices in the news¬ papers. One of our girls, Annie, answered our advertisement when she was only eleven or twelve years old and remained as a club girl for many years. The advertisement was simple, but it brought results. It read: DO YOU

LIKE TO GO ON WALKS? IF YOU WANT TO MEET OTHER GIRLS AND HAVE FUN, COME TO THE TEN BOOM SHOP AT BARTELJORISSTRAAT 19.

The gymnastics club was one of the most popular. I worked out with the girls under the guidance of capable teachers, but I cer¬ tainly wasn't one of the best pupils. Far from it. My girls were much stronger than I, and how they helped me because of my fain efforts to do some of the exercises.

230 In My Father's House

When the gymnastics club needed a slo¬ gan, one of the girls suggested that it should be: WE MAKE STRAIGHT WHAT IS CROOKED. What rascals! They looked at my legs and then at my face to see if I understood what they meant. We had such great fun together. The teasing made for an easier relationship. We were friends, and when I blew my whis¬ tle, they all sat down to listen. Most of them knew very little about the Lord Jesus, and several of them freely admitted that they came for fun and not for spiritual matters.

One time I flopped on the floor after try¬ ing some new trick on the bars and failing miserably. The girls did their best to help Tante Kees accomplish the simple exercises.

I spied Greetje sitting cross-legged in the corner and moved wearily toward her. Then I saw that she was crying, and I asked her if she wanted to tell me what was wrong.

"My older sister Betty is dying. I have learned so much here about Jesus, but I know she doesn't know anything about Him."

"Tell her," I said. "But how, Tante Kees; I don't know as much as you do."

"Tell her about the cross where Jesus died to carry the punishment that we earned. Tell

231 Safety Pins on Uniforms

Betty that Jesus loves her and has said, 'Come to me alF—and that means Betty too."

Greetje began to cry harder, but it was her turn to work out on the bars, so she strug¬ gled to get up and wiped away the tears. After she was through she came back to me.

"Then what should I do?" "Ask Betty if she knows that she is a sinner.

"She knows that." "Tell her that every sinner may come to Jesus. She must ask forgiveness, and then He will make her heart clear. You know what I told you about that today. She must ask Jesus to come into that clear heart. Let her first say: 'Thank you, Jesus, for dying r v) ror me.

Greetje went back for another workout. The third time we talked I said, "Tell Betty that Jesus has said, 'In My Father s house are many mansions ... I go to prepare a place for everyone who belongs to Me/ When Betty gives her heart to Jesus, she surely belongs to Him."

For several gymnasium evenings, I taught Greetje more about the way to bring Betty to the Lord. After a few weeks, I was invited to come to their home. Greetje greeted me at the door and there was no sign of a dis-

232 In My Father's House tressed little girl. "Tante Rees, come in . . . I want you to see Betty."

Resting on a small bed against the wall was a pale young girl, smiling at me with the radiance only God can give. "Jesus is in my heart . . . He has forgiven me my sins. Greetje told me all about it."

Some days later that girl died, and again I had to speak at a burial. I praised the Lord that my work in gymnastics with the girls— even though awkward at times—had been used to reach someone before it was too late.

Gradually the clubs began to take on more degree of organization. It was exciting to see that this wasn't the case of formation of an organization first, then imposing upon it the concept of girls' clubs—but of the need com¬ ing before the structured format.

Out of the gymnastics club, in particular, came the Girl Guide clubs in Holland. The uniforms, slogan, songs, and mottos were gradually added, but only as there was a necessity for them. We did discover, how¬ ever, that there was a healthy difference between Boy Scouting and Girl Scouting.

One of our gymnast teachers was a scout leader. I asked him what activities he had with the boys that week, and he showed me some games and taught me some knots. Oh, 233 Safety Pins on Uniforms well, I thought, we can do that. The next day

I taught the knots and played games with my Girl Guides. This is easy! Ill just ask him each week what he does and copy those activities.

The next week he told me that he had fas¬ tened a strong rope on a tree at the top of a dune and strung the rope to another tree some distance away. The boys had to climb along that rope from one end to the other. I listened to this idea, but that day it dawned on my stupid mind that Boy Scouting and Girl Scouting were two different things!

The End of the World?

One evening I was meeting with a group of pioneers (the older Girl Guides), when Max, one of our faithful members, ran into the room, late and breathless, her voice high with alarm.

"Tante Kees, there's something wrong with the stars! They're running all over the sky, as if they want to see what is happen¬ ing on the other side of the horizon."

The girls, excitable creatures that they were, jumped up and ran outside. "Why, those are meteors," I said. "Let's go to the Kenaupark and watch from there ... we can see better."

234 In My Father's House

We ran to the Kenaupark where our beau¬ tiful cherry tree The Bride of Haarlem was and watched the exciting display of shoot¬ ing stars.

Pietje said, "I'm scared ... is it the end of the world?"

"Girls, those are not stars but meteors, perhaps broken off from other planets. As soon as they enter the earths atmosphere they are heated and become luminous like a streak of light."

"Pietje, this isn't a sign of the end of the world, although Jesus has told us that when He comes one of the signs of the time will be terrifying things happening in the heav¬ ens. Jesus told us to look for these signs. Peter makes it very practical when he tells us, 'Because, my dear friends, you have a hope like this before you, I urge you to make certain that such a Day would find you at peace with God and man, clean and blame¬ less in His sight' (2 Peter 3:13 PHILLIPS)."

We returned to the clubhouse and were seated again in our circle on the floor as the questions began to tumble out. It was an exciting time of sharing, and I was thankful for the shooting stars.

I told about the many signs that Jesus mentioned and that Luke 21:32 tells us that

Safety Pins on Uniforms

the generation that will see all these signs shall not pass away, until they are all fulfilled.

Jap was one of the girls who was a deep thinker. "I wonder, Tante Kees, if we are liv¬ ing in the generation when all the signs will be fulfilled and Christ will return. We should keep our triangle within the circle and not forget it!"

(The triangle represented the three stages of development: social, intellectual, and phys¬ ical; the circle meant the spiritual develop¬ ment. We emphasized that when the triangle was within the circle, we were in the proper position in our lives as children of God.)

Milly was puzzled; this was only her sec¬ ond time in our club, and she was hearing us speak of spiritual matters that confused her. "What does that mean, about the tri¬ angle and the circle?" she said. "Are you speaking in a secret language?"

For the first time Mien spoke up. "It means . . . stop trying to work things out for yourself and ask God to do it. I tried hard, but it didn't help . . . now I have asked Him to manage me."

On Parade

There was one outstanding yearly occasion when my father took a direct part in working

236 In My Father's House with my girls. This was the important Hol¬ land holiday on the queens birthday.

On August 31, Queen Wilhelmina's birth¬ day there was a great celebration, with parades and speeches, picnics and fairs. It was an old-fashioned Fourth of July done up in Dutch style. Father, as one of Haar¬ lem's leading citizens, organized the activi¬ ties of the day and sat on the platform with the mayor.

Since Father was the chairman of the parade committee, my Girl Guides always had a very prominent place in the lineup. We could display our flag, with the triangle inside the circle, and take that opportunity to explain to anyone who asked what the sig¬ nificance was of our symbol.

On one parade route we marched with an elaborate horsedrawn carriage, resplendent with liveried coachmen. It was so elegant that I couldn't resist poking my head out of the coach window and making a funny face. Father, however, was always dignified, in spite of his prankish daughter.

After Wilhelmina was replaced by her daughter, Juliana, as queen, the date for the celebration was changed to April 30. Since the following day was May Day, the occasion for the international communist parade, we always arranged for all the banners to be removed so that the communists couldn't take advantage of our decorations.

Going International

The club work and Girl Guide activities grew each year, until some members of the YMCA in America heard of these efforts and invited me to an international conference in Riga, Latvia. Little Latvia was an inde¬ pendent country then, still able to practice religious freedom. After the communists seized Latvia in 1940, Christian practices were stamped out.

It was in the 1930s when I went to Latvia. On the way to the conference grounds, I was invited to be the guest of two old ladies in their home. Their country had been torn by wars and revolutions and had changed nationalities several times. During a revo¬ lution, the house of the old women had been raided, many of their valuable possessions were destroyed, including their antique wall clock. It had been repaired many times but never was able to strike the hours. The chain for the weight was hopelessly tangled, and I worked on the clock for quite some time, although I am a repairer of watches, not 238 In My Father's House clocks. It was frustrating, so I talked over the problem with the Lord and He gave me the solution. I can still see the two ladies standing hand in hand, tears of joy on their faces, when they heard their clock strike again. That night, when one of them heard the clock, she awakened the other and whis¬ pered, "Father's clock is striking."

How glad I was that I was a watchmaker and could bring some happiness into their lonely lives.

At the conference I learned that I had a lot to learn! I heard about the leadership of Girl Guides in other countries and felt like a real beginner. The spiritual training, however, was a bit of a disappointment. There was a lot of talk about "character building," until finally

I asked, "Don't you think that we miss the purpose when we tell the girls to be good cit¬ izens but fail to bring them to Jesus Christ?"

To my amazement they changed the pro¬ gram because of that question. The talk about evangelization in the clubs had been planned for the last day, but it was resched¬ uled for the second day.

When I returned home, we decided to improve our image somewhat and have bet¬ ter uniforms. We made dark-blue uniforms, but if the girls didn't have enough money for that, we said that any navy-blue dress was adequate.

With my own homemade uniform, an orange ribbon substituted for the official Girl Guides scarf, I went to my second inter¬ national conference on a mountain near Vienna, Austria. There I met the top lead¬ ers of the Girl Guide movement in England, and they were very proper. Once we had an official roll call and I couldn't find my belt. I grabbed a belt from another dress and put that around my waist. We were making a horseshoe march in formation and a Dutch Girl Guide whispered to me in agony when she passed me, "You have two belts—one is hanging on your back."

Suddenly I felt very tacky; I compared my dress with the smart uniforms, perfect to the smallest detail. I began to feel like Alice in Wonderland when she grew into a giant. There I was with two belts and that glaring orange ribbon fastened to my front with a safety pin.

One of the Girl Guide officers said to me, "Em glad that I had the chance to meet you and talk on top of this mountain, but if I meet you in such a uniform in London, I will act as if I have never seen you before."

After that experience I realized that this enterprise was too serious to remain ama-

240 1° My Father's House teurish. When I returned to Holland, we asked some prominent and talented women to help us form a national board of direc¬ tors. We studied handbooks from other areas and held many conferences. Since there were groups of women interested in this work from many different places in Holland, we chose a central meeting place—the rail¬ way station in Amsterdam. We could work in the quiet first-class waiting room until the moment our trains left.

But I became concerned about the direc¬ tion of the Girl Guides. Coming in contact with leaders from other parts of the country, we discovered that "religious instruction" was not acceptable. It was considered propaganda for a religion. We could have clubs for Chris¬ tian girls with Christian leaders, but our aim to reach the other girls was made impossible. It seemed that all the club work, Bible stud¬ ies, conferences, camps were just prepara¬ tion for something more. Consequently, a new Christian movement was born.

De Nederlandse Meisjesclubs (Nether¬ lands Girls' Clubs) grew out of the Girl Guide movement but added the missing dimension. After a few years, the outreach of these clubs burst beyond the borders of Holland, and we had six thousand members in the Netherlands East Indies and eight

241 Safety Pins on Uniforms

hundred in the West Indies. Because of our symbol, the name of our club members was Triangle Girls.

The first article of our club law was impressed upon many young minds. It was: SEEK YOUR STRENGTH THROUGH PRAYER.

Years later, in a time when camping and parades, conferences and singing were beau¬ tiful memories of peaceful times, I was in a prison cell. Every sound was magnified in the deadly silence of those cubicles; I real¬ ized there was a girl crying next door. I called to her and said, "Don't cry, be strong . . . we'll be free soon."

The answer shocked me.

"Tante Kees ... oh, Tante Kees ... is that you? I'm Annie."

I recognized her voice. She was one of my faithful club girls, who had been arrested after my family and I had been taken to prison. My heart almost stopped. That poor girl was the last person I expected to be strong in such a terrible spot. I called to her through the bar¬ riers of the prison walls. "Annie, do you remember the first article of our club law? 'Seek your strength through prayer.'"

She stopped crying.

Opposition to lives that are yielded to Jesus Christ takes many forms, some dra¬ matic, some subtle. Satan is a clever angel of light, but sometimes he chooses super¬ natural ways to frighten us into inactivity.

During a time at camp with the girls, I was singing outside of the cabin after lightsout. The song had the words: ''Don't be afraid for whatever is coming, your heav¬ enly Father takes care of you."

Suddenly I heard horrible noises around me. It seemed as if among the trees some sort of beings were trying to make me stop. The noises grew and subsided, sending shiv¬ ers through my body with their weird tones. While I sang, I pleaded with the Lord: "Cover me and protect me with Your blood, Lord Jesus . . . give me the strength to go on singing and speak through me to reach all these girls."

Opposition!

The noises remained and got louder and more ugly, but I didn't stop. I knew that I stood on the front line of battle, but through Jesus, it was victory ground, not defeat or retreat. As soon as I had finished the song, the noises stopped, just as abruptly as they began.

I went to bed and thanked the Lord for His victory. The next morning I asked the girls if they had heard anything unusual the previous night. They answered that they had never heard me sing so beautifully. Nobody heard anything else.

He Never Fails

Many of the girls in the clubs stand out in my memory. Peggy, for instance, was a member of the gym club who was not able to pay her dues, although it was only a dubbeltje (two cents). Unfortunately, we found that she stole from the club money, which was kept in a small box on the win¬ dowsill at the clubhouse. I was concerned about Peggy, so I marked a quarter and left it on the windowsill. When it disappeared, I called Peggy aside and asked to see her purse. There was the marked quarter.

Peggy had accepted the Lord as her Sav¬ ior, but she was still bound to her past and 244 In My Father's House background—a family of so-called downand-outers. I told her, "Peggy, a child of God is tempted, but the difference from those who are not Christians is that God gives with the temptation a way of escape. He says, 'Confess your sins, God is faithful and just to forgive. . .

Peggy understood and right then con¬ fessed what she had done. From that time on, we elected her treasurer of our club and there was never a cent lost. Peggy really meant business when she gave her yes to Jesus; she trusted Him, and I did too—that is why I could trust her. She never failed because Jesus never failed.

The Only Comfort

Pietje was a hunchback, one of our bestliked club girls. Although it was a long time ago, I remember her reactions to the Bible stories. One day we were discussing Exodus 20:5, where God speaks to the Jewish people about the sins of the fathers continuing upon the children, grandchildren, and great¬ grandchildren. Pietje began to cry, and when I noticed her, I took her into another room to talk over her troubles.

245 Opposition!

Pietje s face was very dark as she said, "I am a hunchback and that was the pun¬ ishment for my father who has been an alcoholic. " "But Pietje, did you hear the following verse: 'And showing mercy unto thousands of them that love me, and keep my com¬ mandments'? When your father begins to love God he will experience His mercy. You love the Lord, and although you are a hunchback, you are a happy girl, because you experience the mercy and peace in your heart because Jesus lives in you."

When Pietje was in a Bible study group we read Romans 8:34 and I asked, "Who is our Judge?" They answered, "Jesus!" and I said, "Who is our Advocate?" The answer came from Pietje, "Jesus!" Then she almost shouted, "What a joy! Judge and Advocate is the same! Jesus prays for us, so there is nothing to fear."

One day they sent for me to come quickly because Pietje was in a large ward of a hos¬ pital, and they told me she was dying. I knew that she had accepted Jesus as her Savior. As I stood beside her bed I said, "It s such a comfort to know Jesus is our Judge, also our Advocate. How He loves you!"

246 In My Father's House

At that moment I saw the transformation on her face from pain to peace. "Pietje, can you hear me?" I said.

She didn't open her eyes. I couldn't reach her anymore; I prayed with her, laying my hand on her feverish head and asking the Good Shepherd to take His lamb in His arms and carry her straight through the valley of the shadow of death into the house of the Father with many mansions.

When I said, "Amen," Pietje opened her eyes for the last time and smiled.

Pietje was still very fresh in my mind and heart when I met the next day with leaders and board members of the YWCA. We talked about club experiences, and then one lady said, "I don't like the method of your clubs in Haarlem. All that preaching you do! I don't think it's right. I believe in Christian surroundings and bringing girls into a Chris¬ tian atmosphere—that will attract far more girls than just Bible talks will. I preach by my behavior rather than by what I say."

My answer was, ''Romans 10:14 says, 'How shall they believe in Him whom they have not heard? And how shall they hear without a preacher?"'

I'm glad that we told Pietje about our Judge and Advocate Jesus in the time we

% could still reach her. In the twenty-five years that we did club work, there were at least forty girls who died. Accidents, illnesses, even a murder were the causes. When I stood at the deathbed of a club girl, I was so thankful that I had redeemed the time when she was still able to listen to the gospel. Illness, pain, even drugs during the last part of a persons life may make it impos¬ sible for him to hear.

When Pietje died, I was the speaker at her burial. Father had conducted so many burial services for his colleagues that he was able to help me in so many ways. His straightforward testimony was not always appreciated, but when death entered a fam¬ ily, Father was a welcome comforter. When someone dies, people are confronted with eternity and there is the right opportunity to speak about the security of eternal life that only Jesus can give.

Father gave me some practical advice for those sad occasions: "When your time comes to speak, Corrie, don't hesitate. Many people are moved and nervous, so look for a place where everyone can hear and see you. Step forward without hesitation. Rel¬ atives and friends who are left behind must 248 In My Father's House be challenged to repent of their sins and receive Jesus as their Savior."

Yes, opposition comes in strange places and through unusual vehicles: supernatural sounds from the darkness of a forest and even superficial attitudes from the self-righteous.

Doubt

Opposition also came from within. Has there been doubt in my heart? Has there been dryness in my prayer life? Yes, indeed, there has been.

There was a time when I needed a major operation. For some strange reason, I per¬ suaded the surgeon not to give me a general anesthetic, only a local. I didn't realize that this could be such a severe shock to my sys¬ tem. I didn't suffer pain during the opera¬ tion, but I did have a great deal of tension. For several months afterward I needed some painful treatments.

In that time my mind and spirit were very low; I couldn't pray; the Bible was uninter¬ esting; church was dull. I remember that my prayers were very short. Most of the time I muttered, "Lord, I can't reach You ... I can't pray. Lord, I know that You can reach me.

Keep me in Your care and help me to be able to pray again soon."

249 Opposition!

The outward Corrie was the same. I did the club work as I had always done. I worked in the shop, met customers, and carried on all the activities of our busy lives. I don't know if anyone saw what a dark valley I was going through, for I held it inside. I didn't talk over my problems with my family and friends. After all, I thought, they have worries enough.

Now I know how stupid that was.

Then a girl, Colly, came to me and asked if she could tell me her troubles. She was a bright girl from a good, hardworking family, and I liked her very much.

"Tante Kees," she said with her head down, "can you help me? For weeks I have been unable to pray. Do you think I'm lost? Do you think I'm no longer a child of God?"

"Colly, you're a child of God and you're not lost. Now sit down and I'll tell you something about myself. I know exactly how you feel, because I'm going through the same prob¬ lem as you. For several weeks I haven't been able to pray... but even though the time has been dark, I know that Jesus is with me and Fie can reach me. Let's see if there is some¬ thing in the Bible that can help both of us."

We read Romans 8:26: "The Spirit also helps our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us."

250 In My Father's House

Colly and I both realized that the Holy Spirit helps us with our daily problems and in our prayer problems. When we are totally inadequate, the Spirit is interceding with God the Father for us. The burden of guilt was taken from Colly and me, and together we thanked the Lord that He had forgiven us and restored our communication with Him.

Haarlemsche Meisjesclubs

The H.M.C. (Haarlem Girls* Clubs) had a performance once each year in the con¬ cert hall, when each club demonstrated some of its skills and abilities. We opened the program with all of the 250 to 300 girls marching onto the platform. They sang a song, and I gave a five-minute talk to the people in the auditorium.

The mixed club (which had passed the 'years trial" without any serious mishaps) provided the orchestra for the musical part of our entertainment. The first time this group had to play before all of those friends and relatives (about a thousand of them), they were frozen with stage fright. I walked over and picked up a violin and acted as if I were a real virtuoso, but making sure that no one in the audience saw that the bow

251 Opposition! was turned upside down and not touching the strings. As I "played" the violin, the boys gained confidence and began to perform. The ones who were playing wind instru¬ ments probably had trouble stifling their laughter in order to make music.

Tears and laughter, opposition and sup¬ port—the clubs taught those young men and women preparation for life.

When the war started, we had to close the H.M.C. clubs. I will never forget the evening we were together for the last time. We saluted our flag, with tears running down our cheeks, and then folded it carefully and hid it in a secret closet of the clubhouse.

As we sang the national hymn for the last time together, the girls had a very difficult time. "Girls, we mustn't cry," I said. "We had great fun in the clubs, but it wasn't just for a good time that we have come together. We have learned the important facts of what makes us strong, even in times of disaster. The Lord Jesus gives us security even in the insecurity of wartime."

I looked at those girls and wondered— would they draw on the Lord's strength in the days and years to come? What was in store for them in this world of ours that is filled with hatred and cruelty?

252 In My Father's House

I was so grateful that the time in our clubs had not been wasted in just building "good citizens," but that we had the opportunity to learn the vital message of Jesus' victory, which would give strength for the suffering that awaited many of us.

' ... He Took. Mi/ Hand

War: It was early in the morning when we heard the bombs. We knew the sound of the explosions were coming from Schiphol, the airport near Haarlem. I ran to Betsie's room and found her sitting up in bed, pale and shaking. We put our arms around each other and trembled with each blast; the wavering red glow was so eerie in the dark¬ ness of our once-peaceful skies.

We were afraid but had learned from childhood how to cast our burdens on the Lord. We prayed like frightened chil¬ dren, running to their father for help and protection.

''Lord, make us strong... give us strength to help others."

"Lord, take away our fear. Give us trust." It was a crisis of fear in both of us, but Jesus gave us the victory over it. We were never so frightened as we were during that 254 In My Father's House night, not even when war and occupation destroyed our whole family life and every¬ thing we had known for more than a half a century. Was that night the Lord s way of inoculating us in preparation for the future?

In the five days of war that followed, many people came to the house; Father was a Piilar of strength for all of them; he prayed with everyone who asked. Sometimes the shock of what was happening would engulf me, and while Father was bringing trust and peace to those in turmoil, I would go to the piano and play Bach. No other music gave me so much rest.

The darkest time during those five days was when our royal family left, our Queen Wilhelmina for England and Crown Prin¬ cess Juliana for Canada. We knew then that our case was hopeless.

There were not many times that I cried, but when I heard about the royal family leav¬ ing the country, I was heartbroken and wept. For the Dutch people, the queen was our security—we loved her.

Then Holland surrendered. I walked in the street with Father, and everyone was talking to everyone else. In that moment there was a oneness that I have never seen before. We were together in the great suf¬ fering, humiliation, and defeat of our nation.

. . He Took My Hand"

Although my heart was aching with misery there was encouragement that people could be so united.

In the millennium we will be like that: The whole world will be covered with the knowl¬ edge of God like the waters cover the bot¬ tom of the sea. The oneness will not be in misery but in our communion with the Lord.

The German army marched through the Barteljorisstraat: tanks, cannons, cavalry, and hundreds and hundreds of soldiers. The narrow little street where Dot and I had played games, the alley where I had seen the drunks when I was only five and prayed for "all the people in the Smedestraat," the path we had taken on Sunday to St. Bavos—all were filled with soldiers.

As the conquerors swept in, I noticed some of them were red-faced, shame writ¬ ten in their expressions. After the war a Ger¬ man told me, "With every step I took in Hol¬ land, I felt ashamed. I knew I was occupying a neutral nation."

Churches were packed in those days; the psalms, which were written in times of great suffering, gained a new value. Ministers who had never preached about the second com¬ ing of Christ now chose their texts from the many places in the Bible on that subject.

256 In My Father's House

In the beginning, we saw little change in our daily life, but gradually the enemy began to impose restrictions. At first the curfew was ten o'clock, which was not difficult for us, but later it was moved back to eight, then six. No one could leave his house; there was absolute blackout, and every window was covered with black paper as soon as the sun was down.

Telephones were cut off; food was ra¬ tioned; and often after standing in long lines with our ration cards, we would find that the stores were empty.

One beautiful Sunday afternoon, Betsie, Father, and I were walking through our park, south of Haarlem, when the Gestapo de¬ scended and took all of the young fathers around us, who were out walking with their families, leaving distraught wives and cry¬ ing children behind.

All Dutch people have bicycles, and some¬ times the Gestapo set up a bicycle block¬ ade. Everyone who rode by was summoned to give up his vehicle. If you were fortunate enough to keep your bicycle, you learned to ride without tires, because they were con¬ fiscated and taken to Germany.

We were not even safe in church. Once dur¬ ing a service in the cathedral, the Germans guarded the doors so that nobody could move. Then they opened one door and ordered every man from eighteen to forty to come out. They were sent that same day to Germany—many of these men were never seen again.

The occupation—the underground move¬ ment to save Jews—the concentration camps—all of these are documented in A Prisoner and Yet . . . , and in my book and the movie The Hiding Place.

For more than thirty years since World War II, I have been a tramp for the Lord in more than sixty countries on all the conti¬ nents of this troubled world. Many people have asked me about my childhood, youth, and the years before The Hiding Place. A person doesn't spring into existence at the age of fifty; there are years of preparation, years of experience, which God uses in ways we may never know until we meet Him face to face.

However, from the perspective of over eighty years of living, I have had the mar¬ velous opportunity to discover the sweet¬ ness of some of the fruit of His labor. Just recently I have heard from by letter or met in person some of my club "girls." (They are still girls to me!) It has been like a letter from the Lord.

258 In My Father's House

Aukje

One of our faithful club girls was quiet Aukje. She was a peacemaker who could say a few words but make them count. When other girls were unruly and stubborn, I remember Aukje saying, "Don't be so stu¬ pid. Why did we come to the club in the first place? Most of us want to have fun and learn something, so if you don't like it then leave and let the rest of us enjoy the club."

To the point—but said with such kind¬ ness that most of the time the problems were overcome. When she was about seventeen, Aukje became a club leader herself and led a group of girls who learned handcrafts. She was so quiet and gentle that we didn't expect exciting results from her, but her love for the Lord was very clear.

When the ten Boom family was arrested Aukje came to our house, not knowing that it was a Gestapo trap. She was taken to the police station and spent a week with our old¬ est Jewish underground girl, Mary, who had been in the hiding place but was later arrested in the street.

Aukje talked to Mary about the Lord Jesus. She told her that Jesus had died on the cross for the sins of the whole world and

that He had said, "Come to Me, all who are heavy laden, I will give you rest."

Mary said, "I heard Grandpa ten Boom pray so often when I was in the Beje. He always said to me, 'Mary, you are a Jew; you will not change that if you invite the Lord Jesus into your heart. On His divine side He was the Son of God, but on His human side

He was a Jew."'

Mary received Jesus as her Savior in that cell. Our quiet Aukje had a boldness for the Lord. She told me later that the moment Mary said her yes to Jesus in her prayer of accepting Him, the guards came into the cell and took her away. We heard later that she was sent to Poland where she died.

I heard nothing from Aukje for many years. What a surprise it was for me when she came to my room in Haarlem thirty years later. She told me that she was working in a small village where there was no minister; she preaches every Sunday for the little con¬ gregation. She said, "What I learned in your clubs I still use when I teach the children and have my Bible study groups."

Poes

Poes was an outgoing little rascal; wher¬ ever she was in a club there was laughing

260 In My Father's House

and fun. At camp she was the happy note, even when it was raining and attitudes were down. When there were weaker girls who needed help in hikes or gymnastics, Poes was always ready to help.

I remember one time she was walking behind me and was quite outspoken in her ideas about my legs. She said, "If I had such legs, I should decide to march beside them."

She married an older boy and moved to South Africa. I met them there once after the war, but only briefly. He called himself an atheist but did not object when Poes and I shared with him our love for the Lord Jesus. I promised to pray for him, but in later correspondence Poes never mentioned that he was interested in spiritual affairs.

Then a strange thing happened—one of those "coincidents," which are such a mar¬ velous part of Gods plan. Poes and her hus¬ band were walking in the streets of Johan¬ nesburg when a boy asked them to buy a raffle ticket to raise money for a house for a boys' club. Poes said, "Sure, I enjoyed clubs when I was a girl—I hope you have a lot of fun in your new cabin."

Later she found out that they had the ticket that won the first prize in the raffle— it was a round-trip plane ride for two to the Netherlands! And so it happened that one day they stood in my room in Holland. What memories we shared! Poes told me she had become a member of a church, and Henk, her husband, listened with amusement as we talked about the clubs. He declared very strongly that he didn't believe in God. I knew I had only one chance to bring him the gospel, so I said, "Henk, I'll probably only have this one time to talk with you. There are two ways to live: You can go your way or Gods way; you can accept Jesus Christ as your Savior, and He will make you a child of God. Then you can bring Him all your sins and ask and get forgiveness. He makes sure you're a child of God, and He will put your name in the book of life.''

After I prayed with them, Henk said, "I believe it's time that I gave my heart to Jesus.

I've seen much of Him in the life of Poes, and He must be a reality. I know I'm a sin¬ ner and you said that Jesus accepts sinners. So I'll tell Him all that I have done and I have been and believe that He will make me a child of God."

They returned to South Africa, and Henk became a member of a lively church. Some months ago Henk died, but he said, "Tell

262 In My Father's House

Tante Kees that God has used her to bring me to the Lord."

God began working years before in a mis¬ chievous little girl, Poes, in a gymnastics club in a little Dutch town.

The Golden Tea Party

What would they be like? Would the years have changed them? What joys and sorrows, trials and triumphs would they have seen in the decades since we had last met?

I was so excited, as that younger Corrie had been when she introduced her club girls at the yearly performance in the Haarlem concert hall. Now in my eighties, I had returned to Holland for a visit and had invited those women who had been in clubs in years past—and were still in the vicinity of Haarlem—to my house for tea.

No uniform with two belts and a safety pin this time! I wore my best red and white silk summer dress and made sure that not one thing would mar my appearance.

They arrived at the front door at the same time. Some came on their big old-fashioned bicycles, some drove little cars, and others walked from the bus stop. There was no need for protocol, for they began to laugh and talk all at once.

What an afternoon we had! Each girl told a little of her story, ending on the same theme, which added so much joy to my heart.

Ariapja, whose nickname was Jap, bub¬ bled with her enthusiasm about the club work. She told how she first became a part of our group and her mother had said, "You may not have a uniform!"

So she went to her first camp feeling a bit ashamed, because she wasn't dressed like the rest of the girls. It was the most impor¬ tant issue in her life then. Hank, who had also come for tea that afternoon, was the one who gave Jap her uniform; that unselfish act was remembered by Jap all her life. When she went home she asked her mother if she could be a Girl Guide. Her mother told her that it was all right, if she didn't wear the uniform on Sunday.

Girl guiding became Jap's life, and she told us that sunny afternoon in my living room in Holland that much she learned as a young girl in the clubs had prepared her for her total life experiences.

Stien had gone to one of my clubs when she was sixteen to learn the catechism. I had 264 In My Father's House been her teacher, and after she was received into the Dutch Reformed church I said, "Now, Stien, you must lead a club."

After Stien had been one of our club lead¬ ers she took the initiative and began a club for feebleminded children. She told me later, "You had taught me, Tante Kees, to love those less fortunate, and I truly did love those children." For Stien going to the clubs was the best part of her young life. Her home was never open to others, and she spent many evenings at the Beje. Fortunately, she had stayed at home on that fateful day in February 1944 when the Gestapo paid us an unwelcome visit.

Annie, who had answered a newspaper advertisement to join a club, said that she came for fun and not for all those "spiritual things." And she did have fun! She joined the singing club, the English club, and the gym¬ nastics club, and when she told about the lat¬ ter, she reminded all of us about the club slo¬ gan. (I knew someone would bring that up—the rascals!) The gymnastics club slo¬ gan—WE MAKE STRAIGHT WHAT IS CROOKED— was not very good—too long to put on a pro¬ gram. (I had to pretend not to notice the laughter every time it was mentioned.)

Annie told how she fell in love with the gym teacher. However, when his girlfriend came, Annie became very jealous and out of spite sewed his pants together and put water in his shoes.

(Tea cups almost fell off laps when this story was recounted.)

As a punishment, I told Annie that she would not be allowed to go to the club for three weeks. She reminded me, however, that she returned in one week, proving that Tante Kees's discipline was sometimes a little lax.

When Annie was seventeen, she was at the camp at Bliscap, feeling very low. She had just split up with her current boyfriend and thought it was the end of the world. She remembered that we were sitting outside looking at the stars and I had told her, "When you re in need and don't know the answer, tell the Lord about it. He has your past, present, and future in His hands." It was then that Annie accepted Jesus Christ as her Savior; she said that every time she was in need in years to come she remem¬ bered that moment.

"I know the Lord is willing to take your life in His hands when you're small," Annie said.

Nellie was born in Germany and didn't come to Holland until she was fourteen

266 In My Father's House years old. She came into the clubs when she was eighteen, not as a believer in Jesus

Christ, but found Him during one of the camps. When Nellie remembered the out¬ standing experiences of her club time, she talked about the campfires—the time of deep discussions together. She thought a while when we asked what club work had prepared her for. Then she remembered one of the articles in the club law, which was to give help to others. She said that even today people know there is help in her home. "Let's go over to Nell's—she always has the soup on."

As the girls began to share more and more of their memories and their later life expe¬ riences, one story after another spilled out. Reina told how she loved the circle and the club song. It was difficult for Ellen de Kroon, my secretary, and Carole Carlson to contain themselves as we all stood up and joined hands to repeat our motto and sing our song after almost forty years of separation! The voices may have .changed a bit, but the fer¬ vor was still there!

Reina said she had come from a Chris¬ tian family, but the club work had inspired in her the personal desire to bring the gospel to other girls.

"Did you know," she said, looking around the room, "that the last time the Girl Guides wore their uniforms was at my wedding?"

Hank was in at the start of the clubs and remembered the first camp experience she had. One of the girls had trouble with sleep¬ walking, and she told how Tante Kees had been so concerned about her and had walked her gently back to bed. However, it was also discovered that the so-called sleepwalker had a sweet tooth, for the following morning the chocolate bars, which had been left out for campfire treats, had been strangely con¬ sumed by someone in her sleep.

Julie had been rather quiet but finally began to bring the conversation back to the present. "I want so much to give our young people some of the love, the experiences, the strength in knowing the Lord that we learned in your clubs, Tante Kees. Our chil¬ dren have so much—and yet they re so poor. They're so free today—much more so than we were—and yet they face many more dan¬ gers from the world."

It became very still in the room. Every¬ one had her own thoughts about children, grandchildren—our youth, who face the "wars and rumors of wars" that exist in a world racing toward self-destruction.

268 In My Father's House

I looked through my small living room into the dining room, where Papa's portrait hangs. I could see him at the oval table, head bowed, praying: "Lord, bless the queen; we thank You for this beautiful Lord's Day and for the promise of Your soon coming. Thank You for this food and for this family. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.''

How grateful I am to have lived in my Father's house! Yes, Lord, I thank You for this family. I looked at my friends, gathered for an afternoon of tea and memories, and thanked the Lord for the family of believers all over this globe. How the love of God stretched in and out of the watchmaker's shop to all parts of the world—to mansions in California and hospitals in Kenya, from queens to prison guards.

As the "golden tea party" ended and the club girls left, we broke some of our Dutch restraint and hugged each other. Many of them had suffered much through the years, and yet they had remained strong in the Lord. I realized that all we do through our own strength has to be cleansed, but what we do through the Lord has value for time and eternity.

This is no time to look back. What chal¬ lenges we have today! I remember what Father often said: "When Jesus takes your hand He keeps you tight. When Jesus keeps you tight He leads you through life. When Jesus leads you through life He brings you safely home."

Corrie ten Boom was imprisoned by the Nazis during World War II for harboring Jews. Upon her release, she began a world¬ wide ministry of preaching and teaching. The Hiding Place is the best-known book about her life.

Tramp fortfie

Lord

Also by Corrie ten Boom

Amazing Love

Clippings from My Notebook: Writings and Sayings Collected by Corrie ten Boom Common Sense Not Needed: Some

Thoughts about an Unappreciated Work among Neglected People Corrie s Christmas Memories Corrie ten Boom's Prison Letters Don't Wrestle, Just Nestle Each New Day Father ten Boom: God's Man He Cares, He Comforts He Sets the Captives Free The Hiding Place

In My Father's House: The Years before "The Hiding Place'' Jesus Is Victor

Not Good if Detached Not I, but Christ The End Battle

Plenty for Everyone Prayers and Promises for Every Day A Prisoner and Yet . . . This Day Is the Lord's A Tramp Finds a Home

(^Torrie ten Boom

with (Jennie Buckingham

*1 Revell Grand Rapids, Michigan

Published by Fleming H. Revell a division of Baker Book House Company P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

Printed in the United States of America

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

ISBN:0-7394-4342-9

Unless otherwise indicated, Scrip¬ ture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

Scripture quotations marked NASB are from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE ®. Copyright © The Lockman Foundation 1960, Chapter 1, "A Strange Place to Hope," and chapter 7, "Love Your Enemy," are reprinted by permission from Guide-posts magazine, © 1972, Guideposts Associates, Inc.

1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977. Used by permission.

Scripture quotations marked NEB are from The New English Bihle. Copyright© 1961, 1970 by The Delegates of Oxford University Press and The Syndics of the Cam¬ bridge University Press. Reprinted by permission.

The poem "Royal Scars" is from Wings by Amy Carmichael, pub¬ lished by SPCK, London.

Scripture quotations marked PHILLIPS are from The New Testa¬ ment in Modern English, translated by j. B. Phillips, 1958. Used by per¬ mission of the Macmillan Company.

Contents

Foreword 7 Introduction 11

A Strange Place to Hope 19 Witnesses unto Me 25

Release! 30 A Song in the Night 44 A Great Discovery 50

Music from Broken Chords 70 Love Your Enemy 82 In the Power of the Spirit 87 Conny 96 Authority over Demons 103

Lights from Darkest Africa 115 God Will Provide 129 A Place to Be 147

Obedience 152 The Real Corrie ten Boom 162 Checkpoint Charlie 169 Facing Death 177 Saved by a Newborn Infant 185

Contents 6

19 Miracles Every Day 189 20 God's Word, the Sword—Gods Perfect Weapon 196 21 Where Is Heaven? 204 22 When You Are Tempted to Quit 208 23 I'll Go Where You Want Me to Go, Dear Lord . . . but Not up Ten Flights of Stairs 214 24 To All the World—Beginning with One 219 25 Leaving My First Love 224 26 Walking in the Light 231 27 Secure in Jesus 237 28 I Have Much People in This City 243 29 The Blessing Box 250 30 Closing the Circle 256 31 One Finger for His Glory 263 32 The Ding-Dong Principle 268 33 The Blacks and Whites of Forgiveness 272 34 Getting Ready for the End 277 35 Little Witness for Christ 286

Foreword

My wife, Jackie, and I met Tante (Aunt) Corrie and her pretty, blond secretary, Ellen de Kroon, at the airport in Melbourne, Florida. Ellen had called the night before saying they were flying in but that Corrie had been having some severe heart pains. At eighty years of age, that's serious busi¬ ness.

We met the plane and whisked them to our house, which is just minutes from the airport. "Em very tired," Tante Corrie said. "I like to rest a while."

Moments later she was stretched out on our daughters lavender bedspread. I opened the window so the soft, tropical breeze could blow in from the lake behind the house. Gently closing the door, I cau¬ tioned the children to speak in whispers and tiptoed into the kitchen to join Jackie and Ellen.

Ellen had brought us some Gouda cheese and we sliced it, reminiscing over my first meal in Corrie's house in Holland. Ellen couldn't wait to tell Jackie about the expres¬ sion on my face when Corrie had informed me I had a choice of two dishes for lunch: raw mullet dipped in onion, or smoked eel.

Talking softly and munching on cheese and crackers, I glanced up to see Tante Cor¬ rie coming down the hall, her eyes sparkling.

"Aren't you going to rest?'' I asked. "Oh, I have already a good sleep," she answered in her thick, Dutch accent. "Ten minutes is all you need when God gives the sleep."

It is this remarkable power of recuper¬ ation that has allowed Tante Corrie, at more than eighty years of age, to tramp the world for the Lord. I saw that same power at work in her life a year later in Pitts¬ burgh. We were both on the program for a Bible conference at the Pittsburgh The¬ ological Seminary. She had spoken three times that day to a congregation made up of everybody from bearded Jesus People to university professors. I was out late that night and, when I returned to the dormi¬ tory, I saw Ellen running down the hall. "Tante Corrie is having a heart attack," she said.

I raced to Corries room. She was stretched out on her bed, her face gray from the pain. "God has told me my time is not yet up," she whispered. "I have sent for a minister to pray that I may be healed."

Moments later, as the young minister arrived and laid his hands on her, I saw her features relax and the color return to her cheeks. "Thank You, Lord," she said softly, "for taking away the pain." Then, signify¬ ing she was ready for us to leave, she said, "I go to sleep now."

The next morning at eight o'clock she was behind the pulpit speaking to a thousand persons in the great auditorium—as though nothing extraordinary had happened.

I am convinced that the secret of Tante Corries great recuperative power, as well as the secret of her popularity as a speaker, lies in her childlikeness. As a little girl believes her Daddy can do anything, so Cor¬ rie ten Boom trusts in God—even more.

She is living proof of what happens when a woman—when any person—is filled with the Holy Spirit.

Jamie Buckingham

Introduction Tfic World Is Mu Classroom

I will teach you, and guide you in the way you should go. I will keep you under my eye.

Psalm 32:8 NEB

The school of life offers some difficult courses, but it is in the difficult class that one learns the most—especially when your teacher is the Lord Jesus Himself.

The hardest lessons for me were in a cell with four walls. The cell in the prison at Scheveningen, Holland, was six paces in length, two paces in breadth, with a door that could be opened only from the out¬ side. Later there were four barbed wire fences, charged with electricity, enclosing a concentration camp in Germany. The gates were manned by guards with loaded machine guns. It was there in Ravensbruck

Introduction

that more than ninety-six thousand women died.

After that time in prison, the entire world became my classroom. Since World War II, I have traveled around it twice, speaking in more than sixty countries on all continents. During these three decades I have become familiar with airports, bus stations, and passport offices. Under me have been wheels of every description: wheels of auto¬ mobiles, trains, jinrikishas, horse-drawn wagons, and the landing gear of airplanes. Wheels, wheels, wheels! Even the wheels of wheelchairs.

I have enjoyed the hospitality in a great number of homes and have slept in many times more than a thousand beds. Some¬ times I have slept in comfortable beds with foam rubber mattresses in the United

States, and sometimes on straw mats on dirt floors in India. There have been clean rooms and dirty rooms.

One bathroom in Hollywood had a view of exotic plants a.nd flowers from the sunken Roman bathtub, while a bathroom in Bor¬ neo was simply a mud hut equipped with nothing but a barrel of cold water. Once, while staying with a group of young Jewish girls in Israel, I had to climb over a mountain of building materials and walk through a junk-filled field to make my way to a tiny outhouse that was nothing more than a hole in the ground. Such a place would have been impossible to find at night.

Always in my travels, even now that I am in my ninth decade of life, I have carried in my hand and in my heart the Bible—the very Word of Life, which is almost bursting with Good News. And there has been plenty for everyone. I often feel as the disciples must have felt as they fed more than five thousand with five loaves and two fishes. The secret was that they had received it from the blessed hand of the Master. There was abundance for all and twelve basket¬ fuls of fragments left over.

There has been plenty for the dying ones in the concentration camps—plenty for the thousands gathered in universities, in town halls, and in churches all over the world. Sometimes I have spoken to a few men in prison who stood behind bars and listened hungrily. Once to a group of six missionar¬ ies in Japan who offered me hospitality dur¬ ing a twenty-eight-hour rainstorm in which more than a thousand persons perished around us. Groups of hundreds and crowds of thousands have listened under pandals in India and in theaters in South America.

I have spoken to tens of thousands at one time in the giant stadiums of America and retreated to the mountains of North Car¬ olina to spend time with a small group of girls in a summer camp.

"God so loved the world . . ." (John 3:16) Jesus said. And that is why I keep going, even into my eightieth years, because weVe a story to tell to the nations, a story of love and light.

God has plans—not problems—for our lives. Before she died in the concentration camp in Ravensbruck, my sister Betsie said to me, "Corrie, your whole life has been a training for the work you are doing here in prison—and for the work you will do afterward."

The life of a Christian is an education for higher service. No athlete complains when the training is hard. He thinks of the game, or the race. As the apostle Paul wrote: In my opinion whatever we may have to go through now is less than nothing com¬ pared with the magnificent future God has in store for us. The whole creation is on tiptoe to see the wonderful sight of the sons of God coming into their own. The world of creation cannot as yet see real-

ity, not because it chooses to be blind, but because in Gods purpose it has been so limited—yet it has been given hope. And the hope is that in the end the whole of created life will be rescued from the tyranny of change and decay, and have its share in that magnificent liberty which can only belong to the children of God!

It is plain to anyone with eyes to see that at the present time all created life groans in a sort of universal travail. And it is plain, too, that we who have a fore¬ taste of the Spirit are in a state of painful tension, while we wait for that redemp¬ tion of our bodies which will mean that we have realised our full sonship in him.

Romans 8:18-23 PHILLIPS

Looking back across the years of my life, I can see the working of a divine pattern, which is the way of God with His children. When I was in a prison camp in Holland during the war, I often prayed, "Lord, never let the enemy put me in a German con¬ centration camp." God answered no to that prayer. Yet in the German camp, with all its horror, I found many prisoners who had never heard of Jesus Christ. If God had not used my sister Betsie and me to bring them to Him, they would never have heard of Him. Many died, or were killed, but many died with the name of Jesus on their lips. They were well worth all our suffering. Faith is like radar that sees through the fog—the reality of things at a distance that the human eye cannot see.

My life is but a weaving, between my God and me, I do not choose the colors, He worketh, steadily, Oftimes He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride, Forget He sees the upper, and I the underside. Not till the loom is silent, and shuttles cease to fly, Will God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why. The dark threads are as needful in the skillful Weavers hand, As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.

Anonymous

Although the threads of my life have often seemed knotted, I know, by faith, that on the other side of the embroidery there is a crown. As I have walked the world—a tramp for the Lord—I have learned a few

lessons in Gods great classroom. Even as I share these things with those of you who read this book, I pray the Holy Spirit will reveal something of the divine pattern in Gods plan for you also.

Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance.

James 1:2—3 NASB

Rank upon rank we stood that hot Sep¬ tember morning in 1944, more than a thou¬ sand women lining the railroad siding, one unspoken thought among us: Not Ger¬ many!

Beside me my sister Betsie swayed. I was fifty-two, Betsie fifty-nine. These seven months in a prison and concentration camp since we had been caught concealing Jews in our home had been harder on her. But prisoners though we were, at least till now we had remained in Holland. And now when liberation must come any day, where were they taking us?

20 Tramp for the Lord

Behind us guards were shouting, prod¬ ding us with their guns. Instinctively my hand went to the string around my neck. From it, hanging down my back between my shoulder blades, was the small cloth bag that held our Bible, that forbidden book that had not only sustained Betsie and me throughout these months, but given us strength to share with our fellow prisoners. So far we had kept it hidden. But if we should go to Germany . . . We had heard tales of the prison inspections there.

A long line of empty boxcars was rolling slowly past. Now they clanged to a halt and a gaping freight door loomed in front of us. I helped Betsie over the steep side. The dark boxcar grew quickly crowded. We were pressed against the wall. It was a small

European freight car; thirty or forty people jammed it. And still the guards drove women in, pushing, jabbing with their guns. It was only when eighty women were packed inside that the heavy door slid shut and we heard the iron bolts driven into place outside.

Women were sobbing and many fainted, although in the tightly wedged crowd they remained upright. The sun beat down on the motionless train; the temperature in the packed car rose. It was hours before the

21 A Strange Place to Hope

' * train gave a sudden lurch and began to move. Almost at once it stopped again, then again crawled forward. The rest of that day and all night long it was the same—stop¬ ping, starting, slamming, jerking. Once through a slit in the side of the car I saw trainmen carrying a length of twisted rail. Maybe the tracks were destroyed. Maybe we would still be in Holland when the lib¬ eration came.

But at dawn we rolled through the Dutch border town of Emmerich. We were in Ger¬ many.

For two more incredible days and two more nights we were carried deeper and deeper into the land of our fears. Worse than the crush of bodies and the filth was the thirst. Two or three times when the train was stopped the door was slid open a few inches and a pail of water passed in. But we had become animals, incapable of plan. Those near the door got it all.

At last, on the morning of the third day, the door was hauled open its full width. Only a handful of very young soldiers was there to order us out and march us off. No more were needed. We could scarcely walk, let alone resist. From the crest of a small hill we saw it—the end of our journey—a

22 Tramp for the Lord vast gray barracks city surrounded by dou¬ ble concrete walls.

"Ravensbruck!" Like a whispered curse, the word passed back through the line. This was the noto¬ rious women's death camp itself, the very symbol to Dutch hearts of all that was evil. As we stumbled down the hill, I felt the lit¬ tle Bible bumping on my back. As long as we had that, I thought, we could face even hell itself. But how could we conceal it through the inspection I knew lay ahead?

It was the middle of the night when Betsie and I reached the processing barracks. And there, under the harsh ceiling lights, we saw a dismaying sight. As each woman reached the head of the line she had to strip off every scrap of clothes, throw them all onto a pile guarded by soldiers, and walk naked past the scrutiny of a dozen guards into the shower room. Coming out of the shower room she wore only a thin regula¬ tion prison dress and a pair of shoes.

Our Bible! How could we take it past so many watchful eyes?

"Oh, Betsie!" I began—and then stopped at the sight of her pain-whitened face. As a guard strode by, I begged him in German to show us the toilets. He jerked his head

A Strange Place to Hope 23

in the direction of the shower room. "Use the drain holes!" he snapped.

Timidly Betsie and I stepped out of the line and walked forward to the huge room with its row on row of overhead spigots. It was empty waiting for the next batch of fifty naked and shivering women.

A few minutes later we would return here stripped of everything we possessed. And then we saw them, stacked in a corner, a pile of old wooden benches crawling with cockroaches, but to us the furniture of heaven itself.

In an instant I had slipped the little bag over my head and, along with my woolen underwear, had stuffed it behind the benches.

And so it was that when we were herded into that room ten minutes later, we were not poor but rich—rich in the care of Him who was God even of Ravensbruck.

Of course when I put on the flimsy prison dress, the Bible bulged beneath it. But that was His business, not mine. At the exit, guards were feeling every prisoner, front, back, and sides. I prayed, "Oh, Lord, send your angels to surround us." But then I remembered that angels are spirits and you can see through them. What I needed was 24 Tramp for the Lord an angel to shield me so that the guards could not see me. "Lord," I prayed again, "make your angels untransparent." How unortho¬ dox you can pray when you are in great need! But God did not mind. He did it.

The woman ahead of me was searched. Behind me, Betsie was searched. They did not touch or even look at me. It was as though I was blocked out of their sight.

Outside the building was a second ordeal, another line of guards examining each pris¬ oner again. I slowed down as I reached them, but the captain shoved me roughly by the shoulder. "Move along! You're hold¬ ing up the line."

So Betsie and I came to our barracks at Ravensbruck. Before long we were holding clandestine Bible study groups for an ever growing group of believers, and Barracks 28 became known throughout the camp as "the crazy place, where they hope."

Yes, hoped, in spite of all that human madness could do. We had learned that a stronger power had the final word, even here., You shall be My witnesses both in Jeru¬ salem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and even to the remotest part of the earth.

Acts 1:8 NASB

It was a week after Betsie had died in Ravensbruck that I took my place in the ranks of women prisoners standing together in the icy cold of the early morning.

"66730!" "That is my number," I said weakly as we took our place for roll call.

"Ten Boom, Cornelia." "That is my name." I thought how strange that they would call me by name when they always addressed us by number!

"Come forward." We were falling in line for the roll call. Ten in a line, every one hundredth woman, 26 Tramp for the Lord one step forward. My friends looked at me sadly.

What does it mean? I asked inwardly. Pun¬ ishment . . .freedom . . . the gas chamber. . . sent to another concentration camp?

There was but one thought that com¬ forted me. What a joy that Betsie is in heaven. No matter what terrible things now happen, she will not have to bear it.

The guard, a young German girl, shouted at me. "Nr. 66730!"

I stepped forward, stood at attention, and repeated the necessary words. "Schutzhaftling ten Boom, Cornelia, meldet sich."

"Stand on number 1 on the roll call." I went to the place to the far right, where I could overlook the entire square of the bleak camp. Standing in the crowd I could not feel the draft, but now, standing in the bitter cold, the wind whipped through my ragged prison dress. Another girl, young and frightened, was sent to stand beside me. Roll call took three hours and we were almost frozen. She saw how cold I was and rubbed my spine when the guards were not looking.

"Why must I stand here?" I asked through chattering teeth.

Witnesses unto Me

Her answer was barely audible as it came from her blue lips. "Death sentence."

I turned back to the Lord. "Perhaps Ill see You soon face-to-face, like Betsie does now, Lord. Let it not be too cruel a killing. Not gas, Lord, nor hanging. I prefer shoot¬ ing. It is so quick. You see something, you hear something, and it is finished."

I looked back at the young girl beside me. "Lord, this is perhaps the last chance I will have to bring someone to You before I arrive in heaven. Use me, Lord. Give me all the love and wisdom I need."

"What is your name?" I asked her softly, glancing always to see if the guards were looking. a nr* v liny. "I am Corrie," I whispered. "How long have you been here?"

"Two years." "Did you ever read the Bible?" "No, I never did." "Do you believe God exists?" "I do. I wish I knew more about Him. Do you know Him?"

"I do. Jesus, His Son, came to this world to carry our punishment. He died on the cross, but He rose from the dead and has promised to be with us always. My sister

28 Tramp for the Lord died here. She suffered so much. I, too, have suffered. But Jesus is always with us. He did a miracle in taking away all my hatred and bitterness for my enemies. Jesus is willing to bring into our hearts Gods love through His Holy Spirit."

Tiny listened. For almost three hours we talked while the guards completed the roll call. It was miracle, for I had a chance to explain many things about Jesus. The pris¬ oners behind us listened too. I felt happy. Perhaps this was my last chance in life, but what joy!

I continued. "Jesus wants to live in your heart. 'Behold, I stand at the door and knock/ He says. 'If anyone opens the door, I'll come in/ Will you open the door of your heart and let Him come in and change you?"

"I will," she said. "Then talk to Him. Tell Him whatever you think. Now you have a Friend who never leaves you alone."

The siren sounded, and the guards shouted at the prisoners. "Get to work!"

Thousands of women prisoners were run¬ ning to their places where they had to march to their work. Tiny disappeared from sight. Only I was left standing in my place, where I had been ordered not to move. I still did not know what fate awaited me.

I did know, however, that the God who never slumbers nor sleeps was now with Tiny. And Tiny knew it too. Neither of us knew at that time how important that was going to be to her in the next few days. But above the din of the concentration camp, I thought I heard the singing of the angels.

Then I heard my name called. Was it death? Oh, thank God, no. It was life. I was being released. I later learned it was through an administrative blunder, but even then I knew it was not the end of an era—it was just the beginning. Ahead of me was the world.

Then he turned my sorrow into joy! He took away my clothes of mourning and gave me gay and festive garments to rejoice in.

Psalm 30:11 TLB

When you are dying—when you stand at the gate of eternity—you see things from a different perspective than when you think you may live for a long time. I had been standing at that gate for many months, liv¬ ing in Barracks 28 in the shadow of the cre¬ matorium. Every time I saw the smoke pouring from the hideous smokestacks I knew it was the last remains of some poor woman who had been with me in Ravensbruck. Often I asked myself, When will it he my time to he killed or die?

But I was not afraid. Following Betsie's death, Gods presence was even more real.

Even though I was looking into the valley of the shadow of death, I was not afraid. It is here that Jesus comes the closest, taking our hand and leading us through.

One week before the order came to kill all the women of my age, I was free. I still do not understand all the details of my release from Ravensbruck. All I know is, it was a miracle of God.

I stood in the prison yard—waiting the final order. Beyond the walls with their strands of barbed wire stood the silent trees of the German forest, looking so much like the gray-green sets on the back of one of our theater stages in Holland.

Mimi, one of my fellow prisoners, came within whispering distance. "Tiny died this morning," she said without looking at me. "And Marie also."

"Tiny! Oh, Lord, thank You for letting me point her to Jesus, who has now ushered her safely into Your presence." And Marie. I knew her well. She lived in my barracks and had attended my Bible talks. Like Tiny, Marie had also accepted Jesus as her Lord. I looked back at the long rows of barracks. "Lord, if it was only for Tiny and Marie— that they might come to know You before they died—then it was all worthwhile."

32 Tramp for the Lord

A guard spoke harshly, telling Mimi to leave the yard. Then he said to me, "Face the gate. Do not turn around."

The gate swung open, and I glimpsed the lake in front of the camp. I could smell free¬ dom.

"Follow me," a young girl in an officer s uniform said to me.

I walked slowly through the gate, never looking back. Behind me I heard the hinges squeak as the gate swung shut. I was free, and flooding through my mind were the words of Jesus to the church of Philadel¬ phia: Behold, I have set before thee an open door, and no man can shut it.

Revelation 3:8

First that door directed me back to Hol¬ land. The train ride took three days. Another prisoner, Claire Prins, had been released with me. Her leg was alarmingly swollen, and of course both of us were mere skin and bones. But we were free!

Arriving in Groningen, we made our way to a Christian hospital called the Deaconess House, where I asked to speak to the superintendent. Perhaps they would help us until I could return to Haarlem, I thought.

"Sister Tavenier cannot come at the moment," the attendant said. "She is help¬ ing conduct a Christian service in one of the wards. Pm afraid you will have to wait."

"Would you mind," I said, looking at the attendant, "if I attended the service also?"

She looked at me tenderly, sensing, per¬ haps, some of my suffering. "Why, of course. You may rest in the waiting room until it starts. Ill come after you."

"Nurse," I hesitantly asked, "have you anything for me to drink?"

Again the look of compassion crossed her face. "Ill bring you some tea," she said gently.

A few minutes later she placed it before me, saying, "I have not put butter on the toast for I see you are sick. The dry toast and tea will be good for you."

I was deeply touched by this tiny show of consideration. A moment later I was lying in a comfortable chair with my legs out¬ stretched on a bench. A wonderful feeling of rest descended on me. I was in the Neth¬ erlands, among good people. My suffering was over.

34 Tramp for the Lord

A nurse came for me to take me to the ward where the service was to be held.

Chairs had been arranged in a semicircle between the beds, facing a table. An elderly minister walked in, and a hymnal was handed to me. I could see the nurses and patients glancing stealthily at me. My clothes were ragged and filthy, hanging from my gaunt body like rags on a scarecrow. Yet I was so thankful to be free I cared not.

The minister spoke in a well-modulated voice. Then we joined in singing. I could not help but make comparisons: the dirty prison dormitory, infection-ridden and filthy, the beds full of lice, and now this. Clean sheets and pillowcases and a spot¬ less floor. The hoarse voices of the slave dri¬ vers and the mature, melodious voice of the minister. Only the singing was the same, for we had sung at Ravensbruck. Singing was one of the ways we kept up our courage.

Following the service the nurse took me to the superintendent s office. "Miss Prins has been taken care of," she said, "and is already in a fresh bed. You both must have had a horrible experience. But now, what must be done with you?"

I sat in a chair across from her desk. For more than a year I had not been allowed to make a decision. All I could do was follow orders. It was difficult even to think. "I don't know, Sister," I said. It was enough just to be surrounded by people who were not angry with me.

"I know what," she said, as she touched a bell. "First well give you a warm dinner."

A young nurse appeared and took my arm, guiding me down a hall toward the dining room. "I understand you have just been released from Ravensbruck," she said. "Where are you going? Where is your home?"

"I am going to Haarlem," I replied. "Oh, Haarlem," she said with excitement. "Do you know Corrie ten Boom who lives there?"

I looked at her. She was one of the YWCA leaders I had worked with before the war. "Truus Benes!" I exclaimed in delight.

"Why, yes, that is my name," she said, bewildered. "But I don't believe I know you.

"I am Corrie ten Boom." The nurse stopped abruptly in the hall, staring at me. "Oh, no, that is impossible. I know Corrie ten Boom very well. I have been in girls' camps with her several times.

She is much younger than you."

36 Tramp for the Lord "But really, I am Corrie ten Boom/' I argued. Then I thought of how I must have looked. My face was thin and pale, my mouth wide, like skin stretched across a skull. My hair fell queerly about my face. My eyes were hollow. My coat was dirty, for I had at times slept on the floor of the train as we traveled out of Germany. The belt of my dress sagged, for I had not had the energy to fasten it.

The nurse reached out tenderly and touched my chapped hand. "Yes . . . yes . . . it is you. It is!" And then we both broke into laughter.

In the dining room we sat opposite each other at a small table, and I asked about our mutual acquaintances. Was Mary Barger still living? Jeanne Blooker and . . . ? It was ridiculous to ask such questions, but I wanted to know everything. The world, for me, had stopped while I had been in the concentration camp. Now it was beginning to turn again, and I had so much catching up to do.

Then I was eating. Potatoes, brussels sprouts, meat and gravy, and for dessert, pudding with currant juice and an apple!

"I have never seen anyone eat so intensely," one of the nurses from a nearby table commented. I cared not. With every mouthful of food I could feel new life streaming into my body. I had once said to Betsie in camp, "When we get home we shall have to eat carefully, taking only small amounts at a time until our stomachs are ready."

"No," Betsie had said, "God will see to it that we shall be able to retain all sorts of food right from the start."

She was right. How wonderfully good that food did taste. I shall remember that meal as long as I live.

Then came a warm bath. They could hardly get me out of it. My poor sick skin, damaged by lice, seemed to grow softer the moment I slipped into that warm tub.

Afterwards they dressed me. Several of the ex-leaders of the Netherlands Girls' Clubs were among the nurses—girls that I had known before the war. They dressed me up as if I were a doll. One of them had lingerie, another shoes, another a dress and pins for my hair. I felt so happy that I laughed for sheer joy. How sweet they were to me.

These young women had been trained in kindness. How opposite from the concen¬ tration camp, where men had been trained in cruelty.

38 Tramp for the Lord

I was then taken to a cozy bedroom so I could rest. How lovely was the combina¬ tion of colors. I was starved for color. In the concentration camp everything was gray. But here in Holland the colors were vivid again. My eyes could not seem to get enough to satisfy them.

And the bed! Delightfully soft and clean with thick woolen blankets. One of the lit¬ tle nurses brought an extra pillow and tucked it under my swollen feet. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

On a shelf was a row of books. Outside I heard the whistle of a boat on a canal and the merry sound of little children calling to one another as they skipped down the street. Far in the distance I heard the sound of a choir singing and then, oh, joy, the chimes of a carillon. I closed my eyes and tears wet my pillow. Only to those who have been in prison does freedom have such great meaning.

Later that afternoon one of the nurses took me up to her room where, for the first time in many months, I heard the sound of a radio. Gunther Ramin was playing a Bach trio. The organ tones flowed about and enveloped me. I sat on the floor beside a chair and sobbed, unashamedly. It was too much joy. I had rarely cried during all those months of suffering. Now I could not con¬ trol myself. My life had been given back as a gift. Harmony beauty colors, and music. Only those who have suffered as I, and have returned, can fully understand what I mean. I knew my life had been given back for a purpose. I was no longer my own. This time

I had been ransomed and released. I knew that God would soon be sending me out as a tramp for the Lord. But right now, He was letting me enjoy the luxury of thanksgiving.

I was drinking from a fountain I knew would never run dry—the fountain of praise.

One of the first places I visited after my release from the concentration camp was the Grote Kerk in Haarlem. Since it was so close to where I had grown up in the Beje, I counted it as much of an old friend as I did the watchmaker's shop.

"May I show you through?'' the old usher said as he met me at the door.

"If it is all right," I said, "I would like to be alone."

He nodded understandingly and disap¬ peared into the shadows of the sanctuary.

I walked over the gravestones that formed the floor of the ancient building. My shoes

40 Tramp for the Lord made a strange scraping sound* that gave forth a hollow echo in the empty cathedral.

I remembered the many times I had played here as a child.

My cousin Dot was my closest friend. She was the youngest daughter of my Uncle Arnold, who was the previous usher—the caretaker—of the Grote Kerk.

Dot and I did everything together, but our favorite pastime was to play hide-andseek in the big church. There were many wonderful places to hide: pews, old doors giving entrance to spiral staircases, and many closets. There was a world-famous pipe organ in the cathedral, and sometimes when there was a concert, Uncle Arnold would allow members of his family to come into the church, sit on a wooden bench without a back, and lean against the cold, moist stone wall to hear the magnificent music.

The cathedral was a symphony in gray tones during the day, both inside and out¬ side. In the evening, when the gas lamps were lit on the side transepts, we could see the pillars and ceilings pointing upward, as the shadows danced about in a mysterious glow.

Only one place was absolutely off-limits as we played hide-and-seek. That was the old pulpit. We never went there, but for the rest—what a playground that old church was! When we shouted, the echo would ring from transept to transept, and our laughter never, never seemed to be sacrilegious. Unlike some of the stern adults who some¬ times frowned on our frolic, I had always thought that the laughter of little children in an empty cathedral was the most beau¬ tiful of all hymns of praise. And so we grew up, knowing only a God who enjoyed our presence as we skipped, ran, and played through this building, which was built for His glory.

One afternoon we played very late, and before we knew it, the darkness of the cathedral swallowed us up. I looked around. Through the beautiful stained glass win¬ dows I saw a little light coming in from the streets around. Only the silhouettes of the Gothic pillars stood out in the darkness as they reached upward and upward.

"Let's go home," whispered Dot. "I'm scared."

I was not. Slowly I went to the usher s door that opened out to where Uncle Arnold lived. There was a presence that comforted

42 Tramp for the Lord me, a deep peace in my heart. Even in the darkness, smelling the dust and dampness of the church building, I knew that the Light of the World was present. Was the Lord preparing me for some time in the future when I would need to know that His light is victorious over all darkness?

It was forty-five years later. Betsie and I walked to the square where roll call was being held in the concentration camp. It was still early, before dawn. The head of our barracks was so cruel that she had sent us out into the very cold outdoors a full hour too early.

Betsies hand was in mine. We went to the square by a different way from the rest of our barracks-mates. We were three as we walked with the Lord and talked with Him.

Betsie spoke. Then I talked. Then the Lord spoke. How? I do not know. But both of us understood. It was the same presence I had felt years before in the old cathedral in Haarlem.

The brilliant early morning stars were our only light. The cold winter air was so clear. We could faintly see the outlines of the bar¬ racks, the crematorium, the gas chamber, and the towers where the guards were standing with loaded machine guns.

"Isn't this a bit of heaven!" Betsie had said. "And, Lord, this is a small foretaste. One day we will see You face-to-face, but thank You that even now You are giving us the joy of walking and talking with You."

Heaven in the midst of hell. Light in the midst of darkness. What a security!

Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid: for the LORD JEHOVAH is my strength and my song; he also is become my salvation.

Isaiah 12:2

The war was over. Even before I left the concentration camp, I knew I would be busy helping those who had lost their way.

Now I found myself starting just such a work in Bloemendaal. It was more than a home for the homeless; it was a refuge for those who had lost their way, spiritually as well as physically.

Yet, because I had lived so close to death, looking it in the face day after day, I often felt like a stranger among my own people— many of whom looked upon money, honor of men, and success as the most important issues of life. Standing in front of a cre-

45 A Song in the Night

matorium, knowing that any day could be your day gives one a different perspective on life. The words of an old German motto kept flashing in my mind: "What I spent, I had; what I saved, I lost; what I gave, I have."

How well I understood the feeling of the artist who painted the picture of the corpse of a once wealthy man and entitled it Sic transit gloria mundi—So passes the glory of this world. The material things of this world no longer excited me—nor would they ever again.

It was during this time that I visited Haar¬ lem, the town where I had spent more than fifty years of my life. It was late in the evening as I walked through the streets. Waiting before a traffic light, I had a strange feeling that the people should fall in line, five by five, as in the concentration camp. Instead, they chatted about insignificant things, and when the light changed, they moved on without anyone shouting at them.

Walking the streets that night, however, I felt growing in me a tremendous desire to tell all men, especially those in bondage to material things, of the One who can set us free from all prisons: Jesus.

46 Tramp for the Lord

It was after midnight when I finally made my way to the Barteljorisstraat. There were few streetlights, but the moon and many stars were visible above the ancient rooftops of the familiar houses on the short street. I paused in front of the Beje on the corner of the small alley that came out in the midst of the street. I let my fingertips run across the door of the watchmakers shop. Even though the Beje was no longer my home, it was still part of my heart. Little did I dream that one day it would be set aside as a museum to commemorate my family and the hiding place of those precious Jews who had been saved from certain death at the hands of the Nazis.

I stood alone in the darkness, allowing myself the sweet luxury of remembering. How often had I put the shutters before the show window. Through this door I had walked on my first day of school, almost fifty years ago. Oh, what an unwilling pupil I had been, crying in fear of leaving the dear old house whose warmth in winter had pro¬ tected me, whose windows had kept out the rain and mist, whose cheery fire had wel¬ comed me and others in the family each night after the dinner dishes had been put away. Yet my father, knowing my fear, took

47 A Song in the Night me by the hand and led me through this door out into the world of learning, into an unknown world of teachers and classrooms.

Now Father was dead. Only my heavenly Father remained. I ran my hand over the door, letting my fingers explore the cracks. It was no longer my hiding place. Others lived here now, and the world was my classroom, and my only security came in knowing that under¬ neath were the everlasting arms. Flow thank¬ ful I was for my heavenly Father's strong hand around mine.

I looked into the small alley. It was almost pitch dark. I strained my ears, and in the far-off recesses of my heart could imagine the voices of Father, Betsie, and the others. Had it been only a year ago? It seemed like centuries. "What an honor," Father had said, "to give my life for God's chosen people, the Jews."

I felt the wall with my hands, then gen¬ tly pressed my face against the cold stones. No, I was not dreaming. It was reality. The old Beje, the old hiding place, was no longer mine. Ravensbruck had taught me much I needed to learn. My hiding place was now in Jesus alone. Even though I was wander¬ ing the streets at midnight in a town that used to be my home but was now only a 48 Tramp for the Lord town, I knew the presence of the heavenly Father.

Suddenly the cathedral started to play its nostalgic chimes. Day and night through my lifetime I had heard the beautiful music from the Grote Kerk. It was not a dream, as I had often experienced in the concen¬ tration camp. It was real. I walked out of the shadows of the alley and made my way down the Barteljorisstraat to the Grote Markt. I paused to look at the cathedral, which was silhouetted against the dark sky, framed into place by a million twinkling stars.

"Thank You, Jesus, that I am alive," I said. In my heart I heard Him reply, "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world" (Matt. 28:20).

I stayed there for long minutes as the hands on the face of the great clock moved toward the hour. Then the chimes in the cathedral tower pealed forth once again, this time with the sounds of Luther's

famous hymn "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God." I listened and heard myself singing the hymn, not in Dutch, but in German: "Em' feste Burg ist unser Gott."

49 A Song in the Night

"How like You, Lord," I half chuckled, "that You would remind me of Your grace by letting me hear a German hymn."

A policeman passed, looked at me, and spoke a friendly word. I said, "Good-night, Policeman. A mighty fortress is our God."

By faith Abraham, when he was called to go out into a place which he should after receive for an inheritance, obeyed; and he went out, not knowing whither he went.

Hebrews 11:8

When my parents were married, many years ago, they claimed Psalm 32:8 as their 'life verse," the promise that they felt was Gods assurance for them. "I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye."

Now that Father and Mother were gone, this promise became the special directive for my life as well—Gods pledge to guide me in all my journeys. It was especially needed as I set out for my first trip to America.

A Great Discovery

The war had only been over a short time, and many Europeans wanted to go to Amer¬ ica. However, few, if any, wanted to go for the same reason I did—to carry the gospel as a missionary to the Americans. For all of us, however, it was the same story when we applied for passage to America: "It is impos¬ sible to obtain papers."

I prayed, "Lord, if it is Your will that I go to America, then You must provide the nec¬ essary papers."

I soon discovered that mans importunity is Gods opportunity. He uses our problems as building materials for His miracles. I began to understand that this was my first lesson in learning to trust Him completely, my first steps on the path to complete dependence on, and obedience to, His guid¬ ance. How much I had to learn!

At last all my papers were approved, except the final one—the most important one. I sat alone on a hard wooden bench in the hall of the Immigration Office in The Hague. Everyone coming out of the office warned those of us waiting in the hall, "That fellow in there is as hard as flint. He passes no one."

"Lord," I prayed silently "I am willing to go or stay. It is up to You."

52 Tramp for the Lord "Hello, there! Don't we know each other?" It was the voice of a middle-aged woman in front of me. I looked up into her face, trying vainly to recognize her.

"You're Corrie ten Boom," she laughed. "I'm one of your cousins, and this is Jan, my husband. I haven't seen you for years, and of course, Jan has never seen you since we were married only six years ago."

"Are you trying to go to America also?" I asked.

"Oh, no," she laughed. "I'm visiting Jan. He has his office in this building."

"Then perhaps you can help me," I said, shaking his hand. I told him my story.

He was polite but said, "I'm sorry. I would like to be of service to my brand-new cousin, but that's not my department. However, if you have trouble, ring me up." He gave me his telephone number and we shook hands again as he left.

I continued to wait. The "man of flint" left the office for coffee and a young clerk took his place. Then it was my turn.

"You had better wait until my boss returns," the clerk said when I told him where I wanted to go and why.

My shoulders sagged. "I cannot wait any longer. Won't you please call this number?"

53 A Great Discovery

I handed him the card that Jan had handed me earlier.

I prayed while he placed the call. Mo¬ ments later he hung up. "All is arranged. I am approving your passport. You may make your trip to America."

From there I traveled to Amsterdam to try to arrange passage on a ship of the Holland-America Line. However, another moun¬ tain loomed before me. The agent told me they would only put my name on the wait¬ ing list. "We will notify you in about a year," he said.

"A year! But I must go now." The agent just shrugged his shoulders and returned to his work.

Disappointed, I returned to the square in the center of the city. God had told me to go to America—of that I was certain. All my papers were in order. God had seen to that also. Now it was up to Him to move this mountain. Glancing across the street I noticed a sign: "American Express Com¬ pany." Stepping into the office, I inquired, "Have you passenger accommodations on any of your freighters to America?"

The old clerk looked over his glasses and said, "You may sail tomorrow, Madam, if your papers are in order."

54 Tramp for the Lord "Oh, tomorrow is too sudden," I said, hardly believing what I heard. "What about next week?"

"That, too, can be arranged," he said. "We don't have very many women your age who ship out on freighters. But if you are will¬ ing, so are we,"

Several weeks before I had met an Amer¬ ican businessman who was visiting relatives in Holland. When I told him of my plans to visit America he tried to discourage me. "Its not easy to make ones way in America," he said.

"I believe you," I told him. "But God has directed me, and I must obey."

He then gave me two checks, one small and one larger. "If you need it, use it," he said. "You can repay me later." I tucked them away for safekeeping.

So I arrived in New York as a missionary to America. I was only allowed to bring in fifty dollars, and of course I knew no one.

However, I found my way to the YWCA, where I found a room and a place to leave my bags.

I had the address of a group of HebrewChristian immigrants who were meeting in New York. I made a phone call, and they invited me to come speak. Since they were

55 A Great Discovery

German, I could not use the English lec¬ tures I had prepared on board the ship but had to speak to them in their native lan¬ guage. It was better, perhaps, for my Eng¬ lish was rather hard to understand.

At the end of the week, after wandering around the city in a rather helpless daze, I went downstairs in the YWCA to pay my bill. The clerk looked at me sympathetically. "I am sorry, but our accommodations are so restricted that we cannot allow you to stay here any longer. One week is our limit. Do you have a forwarding address?"

Wes. I just don't know what it is yet." "I don't understand," she said, perplexed. "God has another room for me," I explained. "He just hasn't told me what the address is. But I am not worried. He led me through Ravensbruck; He will surely see me through America as well."

Suddenly the clerk remembered. "By the way, a letter came for you."

Strange, I thought, as she handed me the envelope. How could I receive a letter? No one knows where I am staying. But there it was. I read it hurriedly and then turned to the clerk. "My forwarding address will be this house on 190th Street."

56 Tramp for the Lord "But why didn't you tell me that before?" she asked.

"I didn't know. It was in this letter. A woman I do not know writes, 'I heard you speak to the Jewish congregation. I am aware that it is almost impossible to get a room in New York City. My son happens to be in Europe, so you are welcome to use his room as long as you are in New York.'"

The lady at the desk was more amazed than I. However, I reasoned, perhaps she had not experienced miracles before.

I rode the subway to 190th Street. The house at the address was a large, multisto¬ ried building occupied by many families. I found the correct apartment at the end of a hall, but no one was home. Certainly my hostess did not expect her invitation to be an eleventh-hour answer to my problem. I arranged myself among my suitcases on the floor, and leaning against the wall, soon began to drift off to sleep.

In those last moments before sleep took over, my mind drifted back to Ravensbruck. I could feel Betsies bony hand touching my face. It was pitch-black in Barracks 28, where seven hundred other prisoners were asleep. Each day hundreds of women died and their bodies were fed to the ovens. Betsie had grown so weak, and we both knew that death was always moments away.

"Are you awake, Corrie?" Her weak voice sounded so far away.

"Yes, you wakened me." "I had to. I need to tell you what God has said to me."

"Shhh. We hinder the sleep of the girls around us. Let us lie with our faces toward each other."

The cot was so small. We could only lie like spoons in a box, our knees bumping against the knees of the other. We used our two coats as covers, along with the thin black blanket provided by the Nazis.

I pulled the coat over our heads so we could whisper and not be heard. "God showed me," Betsie said, "that after the war we must give to the Germans that which they now try to take away from us: our love for Jesus."

Betsie s breath was coming in short gasps. She was so weak, her body wasted away until there was nothing but her thin skin stretched over brittle bones. "Oh, Betsie," I exclaimed, "you mean if we live we will have to return to Germany?"

Betsie patted my hand under the blan¬ ket. "Corrie, there is so much bitterness.

We must tell them that the Holy Spirit will fill their hearts with Gods love."

I remembered Romans 5:5. Only that morning some of the women in the barracks had huddled with us in the corner while I read from our precious Bible. But I shud¬ dered. Germany. If I were ever released from this horrible place, could I ever return to Germany?

Betsies weak voice whispered on. "This concentration camp here at Ravensbruck has been used to destroy many, many lives. There are many other such camps through¬ out Germany. After the war they will not have use for them anymore. I have prayed that the Lord will give us one in Germany. We will use it to build up lives."

No, I thought. I will return to my simple job as a watchmaker in Holland and never again set my boot across the border.

Betsie s voice was quivering so I could barely understand her. "The Germans are the most wounded of all the people in the world. Think of that young girl guard who swore in such filthy language yesterday. She was only seventeen or eighteen years old, but did you see how she was beating that poor old woman with a whip? What a job there is to do after the war."

I found a place where I could put my hand. It was such a stupid problem, I thought, yet it was a small cot and it was difficult to position my hands and arms. My hand rested on Betsies left side, just on her heart. I felt her ribs—only skin and bones. How long would she be able to live? Her heart was fluttering inside of the rib cage like a dying bird, as though it would stop any moment.

I rested and thought. How close to Gods heart was Betsie. Only God could see in such circumstances the possibility for min¬ istry in the future—ministry to those who even now were preparing to kill us. Most of all, to see in such a place as Ravensbruck an opportunity to bless and build up the lives of our enemies. Yes, only the Lord Jesus could have given Betsie such a vision.

"Must we live with them in Germany?" I whispered.

"For a while," Betsie answered. "Then we will travel the whole world bringing the gospel to all—our friends as well as our enemies."

"To all the world? But that will take much money."

"Yes, but God will provide," Betsie said. "We must do nothing else but bring the 60 Tramp for the Lord gospel, and He will take care of us. After all, He owns the cattle on a thousand hills. If we need money we will just ask the Father to sell a few cows."

I was beginning to catch the vision. "What a privilege," I said softly, "to travel the world and be used by the Lord Jesus."

But Betsie did not answer. She had fallen asleep. Three days later she was dead.

Going to bed the night after Betsie died was one of the most difficult tasks of my life. The one electric lightbulb was screwed into the ceiling toward the front of the room. Only a feeble ray reached my narrow cot. I lay in the semidarkness—thinking— remembering—trying to reconstruct Betsies vision.

There was a shuffle of feet near my bed and I looked up. A Russian woman, thin and gaunt, was shuffling down the aisle between the beds looking for a place to sleep. The Russians were not received kindly, and everyone turned away. As she neared me I saw the haunted look in her eyes. How awful to be in prison and not have even a place to sleep!

Betsie's place beside me was vacant. I motioned to the woman and threw back the blanket for her. She crept in, gratefully, and stretched out beside me. We were sharing the same pillow and with our faces so close I wanted to speak. But I did not know her language.

"Jesoes Christoes?" I asked softly. "Oh!" she exclaimed. Quickly making the sign of the cross, she threw her arms about me and kissed me.

She who had been my sister for fifty-two years, with whom I had shared so much of weal and woe, had left me. A Russian woman now claimed my love. And there would be others, too, who would be my sisters and brothers in Christ all across the world.

I was awakened by a gentle hand shak¬ ing my shoulder. It was after midnight, and I realized I had fallen asleep in the midst of my suitcases, sitting on the floor and lean¬ ing against the wall of the hallway.

"Come," my new friend said softly as she opened the door, "the floor is no place for a child of the King." I rose from my cramped, huddled position and entered her apartment. I was her guest for the next five weeks.

As the weeks passed, however, I realized I was running out of money. Jan ten Have (the publisher of my little book in Holland)

62 Tramp for the Lord was visiting New York. He helped me as much as he could, and I spent most of my time looking up addresses given me in Hol¬ land. The Americans were polite and some of them were interested, but none wanted me to come to speak. They were all busy with their own things. Some even said I should have stayed in Holland.

As the weeks slipped by, I found more and more resistance to my ministry. No one was interested in a middle-aged spinster woman from Holland who wanted to preach. "Why did you come to America?" people began to ask.

"God directed me. All I could do was obey."

"That s nonsense," they answered. "There is no such thing as direct guidance from God. Experience proves we must use our common sense. If you are here and out of money, then it is your fault, not Gods."

I tried to argue back in Gods defense. "But God s guidance is even more impor¬ tant than common sense. I am certain He told me to bring His message to America. I can declare that the deepest darkness is out¬ shone by the light of Jesus."

"We have ministers to tell us such things," was the reply.

"Certainly, but I can tell from my expe¬ rience in a concentration camp that what such ministers say is true."

"It would have been better for you to have remained in Holland. We don't need any more preachers. Too many Europeans come to America. They should be stopped."

I was growing discouraged. Perhaps the Americans were right. Perhaps I should return to Holland and go back to my job as a watchmaker. My money was gone, and all that remained was the second check given me by the American businessman. Yet I was hesitant to cash it without his approval. I found his address and arrived in an impos¬ ing business office in Manhattan. Only this time his face was not as friendly as it had been in Holland.

"Do you mind if I cash your second check?" I asked.

"How do I know if you can return the money?" he asked. "You've been in Amer¬ ica five weeks and have found there is no work. I think it would be better if you sim¬ ply returned the check."

Mustering all my courage, I said, "I am sure God has work for me here. I am in His will and will somehow return all your money."

54 Tramp for the Lord

He snorted, tore up the check, and then wrote out another—for a much smaller amount.

I was embarrassed and humbled. I had money in Holland—a balance left from my first book and a small income from the busi¬ ness I had sold. But these funds could not be brought to America. I returned to my room and closed the door. It was time for a long consultation with my heavenly Father.

Kneeling beside the bed, I prayed, "Father, You must help me out. If I must borrow money to return to Holland, people will say, 'There, you see, the promises of the Bible are not real. Direct guidance does not exist/ Father, for Your honors sake, You must help me out."

I fell weeping across the bed. Then, slowly, like a deep realization that dawns in a person's heart, the answer came: "Do not worry about My honor. I will take care of that. In days to come you will give thanks for these days in New York."

A great ocean separated me from my homeland. I had no money. Nobody wanted to hear my lectures. All I had was an inner word from God that He was guiding me. Was it enough? All I could do was press on—and on—and on—for His names sake.

65 A Great Discovery

Before going to sleep I opened my Bible, my constant companion. My eyes fell on Psalm 147:11. "The LORD taketh plea¬ sure ... in those that hope in his mercy." It was a thin web—a tiny filament—stretch¬ ing from heaven to my little room on 190th

Street in New York. I fell asleep holding on to it with all my strength.

The next day I attended a Dutch service in a New York church. Dr. Barkay Wolf was the speaker, and many Hollanders were present, meeting afterward for coffee in the vestry. The Reverend Burggraaff, who had baptized our Canadian-born princess, was presented to me.

"Ten Boom," he mused when he heard my name. "I often tell the story of a nurse by that name. She experienced a miracle in a concentration camp with a bottle of vita¬ mins that never ran out. I tell it to prove that God still performs miracles today, as in Bible times. Do you happen to know that nurse? Is she related to you?"

I felt joy springing in my heart. "She is not a nurse," I replied. "She is a watch¬ maker. And you are looking at her. It was I who had that experience in 1944,"

66 Tramp for the Lord "Then you must come with me to Staten Island and tell your story to my congrega¬ tion," he exclaimed.

I spent the next five days in this pleasant parsonage with Rev. and Mrs. Burggraaff. What a joy to eat good Dutch food again. I had been trying to find out how long one could exist on Nedick s ten-cent breakfast, which consisted of a cup of coffee, a dough¬ nut, and a small glass of orange juice, eaten while standing at a counter. Now God was resupplying me, not only with food, but with new hope. I could see that the Lord does take pleasure in those that hope in His mercy!

A week later I returned to Manhattan. Walking down the street I saw a church with a notice on the door. Drawing closer I saw it was an invitation to attend the Lord's Sup¬ per next Sunday morning, Easter.

Following the service, the minister gave me the address of Irving Harris, the editor of a Christian magazine called The Evan¬ gel. He encouraged me to go by and see him.

I did. In fact, the very next morning I went up to his office and talked to him. "I know I am walking in the way God has led me," I told him, "but so many declare there is no such thing as direct guidance."

"Pay no attention to them," Mr. Harris advised. "The Bible contains many promises that God will lead those who obey Him. Have you ever heard of a good shepherd who does not lead his sheep?"

Mr. Harris asked if I had any material that he might use in his magazine. I gave him a copy of one of my lectures and told him to use as much as he could.

"There is one drawback," he explained. "We cannot pay. This paper exists only to spread the gospel, not for financial profit."

"Wonderful!" I exclaimed. "I am in the presence of an American who sees money in its proper perspective."

Mr. Harris gave me a name and address in Washington, D.C. He strongly urged me to make an appointment and go down to see Mr. Abraham Vereide. I knew nothing of Mr. Vereide at the time, although I later discovered he was one of the great Chris¬ tian leaders of America. I was suspicious, afraid I was being shrugged off again. But I felt I could trust Mr. Harris and followed through, taking a chance and making a phone call to Washington.

68 Tramp for the Lord

Mr. Vereide received me graciously, invit¬ ing me to Washington as his guest. At din¬ ner three other guests were present, all professors who plied me with questions throughout the evening. I felt like a school¬ girl who had been invited out by her head¬ mistress. My English was crude and my mistakes seemed more glaring than ever before. How could I compete with such learned men?

The next afternoon, however, I was asked to address a group of women. They asked specifically that I share my prison experi¬ ences with them. This time I felt at home. Certainly I could tell them what the Lord had done in my life.

They received me warmly—enthusiasti¬ cally—in fact. "Corrie," one of the ladies said afterwards, "this is your message. Share it wherever you go." She then handed me a check that enabled me to return all the money I had borrowed in New York.

Suddenly the tables were turned. Instead of no work, I had to guard against overwork. Abraham Vereides recommendation brought in calls from everyplace, asking me to come and share my testimony. The calls came from villages and towns, as well as from the big cities. I spoke in churches, prisons, univer-

69 A Great Discovery sides, schools, and clubs. For almost ten months I traveled America, everywhere tell¬ ing the story that Jesus Christ is reality, even in darkest days. I told them that He is the answer to all the problems in the hearts of men and nations. I knew it was so, because of what He had done for me.

As the year drew to a close I began to sense that God wanted me to return to Europe. I was homesick for Holland, but this time I felt Him leading me in another direction—Germany. The one land I dreaded.

When I left the German concentration camp I said, 'Til go anywhere God sends me, but I hope never to Germany." Now I understand that was a statement of dis¬ obedience. F. B. Meyer said, "God does not fill with His Holy Spirit those who believe in the fullness of the Spirit, or those who desire Him, but those who obey Him." More than anything I desired to be filled with God s Spirit. I knew I had no choice but to go to Germany.

Cfwrds

I will sing of the mercies of the Lord for ever: with my mouth will I make known thy faithfulness to all generations.

Psalm 89:1

The Germans had lost face in defeat. Their homes had been destroyed and when they heard the enormity of Hitlers crimes (which many Germans knew nothing about) they were filled with despair. As they returned to their Fatherland they felt they had nothing to live for.

Friends in Darmstadt helped me rent a former concentration camp to use as a home for displaced persons. It was not big, but there was room for about one hundred sixty refugees, and soon it was full with a long waiting list. I worked closely with the refugee program of the Lutheran Church (das Evangelische Hilfswerk) in the Darm-

Music from Broken Chords

stacit camp. Barbed wire disappeared. Flow¬ ers, light-colored paint, and Gods love in the hearts of the people changed a cruel camp into a refuge where people would find the way back to life again.

Marienschwestern, the Lutheran Sister¬ hood of Mary, whose members had dedi¬ cated their lives to serving the Lord and spiritually hungry people, assisted with the children's and womens work. Pastors and members of different churches helped by building homes. I was traveling and help¬ ing raise money for the work.

The camp was crowded. Some rooms were jammed with several families. Noise and bedlam were everywhere as families, many without men because they had been killed in the war, tried to carry on the most basic forms of living. Often I would walk through the camp talking with the lonely, defeated people and trying to bring them hope and cheer.

One afternoon I spotted an elderly wo¬ man huddled in the corner of a big room. She was obviously new to the camp. She had been put in the big room along with three other families and was told she could set up housekeeping in the corner. There she crouched like a whipped child, her 72 Tramp for the Lord faded, worn dress pulled tightly around her frail, wasted body. I could sense she was distressed by the bedlam of all the crying children, but most of all she was defeated by life itself.

I went to her, sat beside her on the floor, and asked who she was. I learned she had been a professor of music at the Dresden

Conservatory before the war. Now she had nothing.

I asked her to tell me about her life, knowing that sometimes it helps just to have someone willing to listen. She told me that a minister in a nearby town had given her permission to play his piano. She had also learned of several farmers' children nearby who wanted to receive music lessons. But the minister's home was miles away, and the only way to get there was on foot. It all seemed so hopeless.

"You were a professor of piano?" I asked excitedly. "I am a great lover of Germany's master musician, Johann Sebastian Bach."

For an instant her eyes lighted up. "Would you care to accompany me to the minister's home?" she asked with great dig¬ nity. "I would be most happy to play for It was a great privilege, and even though we had to walk many miles, I sensed God was doing something special.

She seated herself at the battered piano. I looked at the instrument. Even though it had been saved from the bombing, it had not been protected from the rain. The strings were exposed through the warped frame and I could see they were rusted.

Some were broken and curled around the others. The pedals had long been broken off and the keyboard was almost entirely without ivory. If any of the notes played it would be a miracle.

Looking up, the old woman said, "What would you like me to play?"

Silently I prayed, knowing that failure at this moment could crush her forever. Then, to my own amazement, I heard myself say¬ ing, "Would you please play the 'Chromatic

Fantasy' of Bach?"

I was aghast. Why had I picked one of the most difficult of all piano pieces for this old woman to play on such a ruined instru¬ ment? Yet the moment I said it, I saw a light flicker behind her eyes and a slight, know¬ ing smile played across her tired face. She nodded, and with great finesse, put her fin¬ gers on the broken keyboard.

I could hardly believe my ears. From that damp, battered old piano flowed the beau¬ tiful music of Bach as her skilled fingers raced up and down the broken, chipped keys. Tears came to my eyes and ran down my cheeks as I thought of wounded Ger¬ many, left with only the remnants of the past, still able to play beautiful music. Such a nation will survive to create again, I thought.

As the notes of Bach faded from the air, the words of an old gospel song, written by the blind composer Fanny J. Crosby, came to mind: Down in the human heart, crush'd by the tempter, Feelings lie buried that grace can restore; Touched by a loving heart, wakened by kindness Chords that were broken will vibrate once more.

As we walked back to the former con¬ centration camp, my companion had a new spring in her step. "It has been many years since I played the 'Chromatic Fantasy/" she said. "Once I was a concert pianist, and many of my pupils are now outstanding musicians. I had a beautiful home in Dres¬ den that was destroyed by the bombs. I had to flee and was not able to take one thing with me."

"Oh, no, you are wrong." I said. "You took with you your most prized possession."

"And what is that?" she asked, shocked. "Your music. For that which is in your heart can never be taken from you."

Then I told her of what I had learned in Ravensbruck, of Betsies vision, and that God's love still stands when all else has fallen. "In the concentration camp they took all we had, even made us stand naked for hours at a time without rest, but they could not take Jesus from my heart. Ask Jesus to come into your life. He will give you riches no man can take away from you."

We returned to the camp in silence, but I knew the Holy Spirit was pricking her heart, reminding her of the things that man cannot snatch from us. Soon it was time for me to leave the camp and move on to other fields. The day I left she was sitting in that same corner of the room. A boy was playing his mouth organ, a baby was cry¬ ing, there were the sounds of shouts and the pounding of a hammer against a 76 Tramp for the Lord wooden crate. The room was fuh of discord and disharmonic noises, but her eyes were closed and there was a faint smile on her face. I knew God had given her something that no one could ever take from her—ever again.

After the war, Germany was filled with wounds and scars—not all of them on the surface. In one tiny cubicle in the camp at Darmstadt, I found a German lawyer. He was sitting miserably in a wheelchair, the stumps of his legs poking out from under a lap blanket. He was filled with bitterness, hatred, and self-pity. He told me he had once been an active member of his Lu¬ theran church and as a boy had rung the church bell in the village where he lived. Now the horrible injustice of war had taken his legs, and he was bitter against God and man.

I felt attracted to him since some of his experiences were similar to mine. One morning I made a special trip to his room to tell him something of my life.

I found him sitting in his wheelchair, star¬ ing at a blank wall. His face was gray, his eyes lifeless. I never was one for introduc¬ tions so I got right to the point of my visit.

"The only way to get rid of bitterness is to surrender it," I said.

He turned slowly and looked at me. "What do you know about bitterness?" he asked. "You still have your legs."

"Let me tell you a story" I said. "In Hol¬ land, during the war, a man came to me begging me to help him liberate his wife. I felt compassion for him and gave him all my money. I also convinced my friends to do the same. But the man was a quisling, a traitor. The only reason he came to me was to trap me so he could have me arrested. Not only did he betray me, but he betrayed my entire family and my friends. We were all sent to prison where three members of my family died. You ask me about bitterness and hatred. You only hate circumstances, but I hated a man. Sitting in the prison in my homeland, waiting to be transferred to a concentration camp in Germany, hatred and bitterness filled my heart. I wanted that man to die. I know what it is like to hate. That is why I can understand you."

The lawyer turned his chair to face me. He was listening. "So, you have hated also. What do you suggest I do about my hate?"

"What I have to say is of no importance. Let me tell you what the Son of God had to 78 Tramp for the Lord say. 'For if ye forgive men their Trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you: But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, nei¬ ther will your Father forgive your trespasses'

[Matt. 6:14—15]. If we forgive other people, our hearts are made fit to receive forgiveness."

The lawyer shifted uneasily in his wheel¬ chair. I could see the muscles in his neck stand out as he pushed with his hands to change position. "When we repent," I con¬ tinued, "God forgives us and cleanses us. That is what I did, believing that if I con¬ fessed my sin God would be faithful and just to cleanse my sin and forgive me from all unrighteousness" (1 John 1:9).

The lawyer looked at me and shook his head. "That is easy to say, but my hatred is too deep to have it washed away."

"No deeper than mine," I said. "Yet when I confessed it, not only did Jesus take it away, He filled me with love—even the abil¬ ity to love my enemy."

"You mean you actually loved the man who betrayed you and who was responsible for the death of your family?"

I nodded. "After the war, when that man was sentenced to death, I corresponded with him and God used me to show him the way of salvation before he was executed."

The lawyer shook his head. "What a mir¬ acle! What a miracle! You mean Jesus can do that to a person? I shall have to give this much thought."

Since I have learned not to push a per¬ son beyond where God has left him, I bade my friend good-bye and returned to my room.

A year later I was in Darmstadt again. My friends had given this man a car with spe¬ cial fixtures so he could drive without legs. He met me at the train station to bring me to the camp. As I got in the car, he laughed at my startled look.

"You taught me that Jesus is Victor," he said. "Now surely you are not afraid to drive with a man who has no legs."

"You are right," I answered. "I shall not be afraid. I am so glad to see you again. How are you?"

"Fine. I must tell you at the very beginning that I have surrendered my bitterness to God. I repented and the Lord did just as you said. He forgave me and filled my heart with His love. Now I am working in the refugee camp and am praising God that He can use even a legless man if he is surrendered."

He paused, and then continued. "But there is something I must know. After you

Tramp for the Lord forgave your enemies, was it settled once and for all?"

"Oh, no," I answered. "Just this month I had a sad experience with friends who behaved like enemies. They promised some¬ thing but did not keep their promise. In fact, they took great advantage of me. However, I surrendered my bitterness to the Lord, asked forgiveness, and He took it away."

We were bouncing over a bumpy road but the lawyer was more intent on me than his driving. "Was the bitterness gone for good, then?"

"No, just the next night, at four o'clock I awoke, and my heart was filled with bit¬ terness again. I thought, How could my dear friend behave as she did? Again I brought it to the Lord. He filled my heart with His love. But the next night it came back again. I was so discouraged. God had used me often to help people to love their enemies, and I could always give my testimony about what He had done in my life; but now I felt defeated.

"Then I remembered Ephesians 6:10—20 where Paul describes the 'armor of God.'

He said that even after you have come to a standstill, still stand your ground. I was at a standstill, so I decided to stand my ground and the bitterness and resentment fell away before me.

"Corrie ten Boom without the Lord Jesus cannot be victorious. I need the Lord every moment. And I have learned that I am absolutely dependent on Him. Because of this He has made me rich."

We were just arriving at the refugee camp, and my lawyer friend parked before the building, turned off the motor, and looked at me with a grin. "I am glad to hear that," he said. "For sometimes my old bit¬ terness returns. Now I shall just stand my ground, claim the victory of Jesus over fear and resentment, and love even when I don't want to."

My friend had learned well the secret of victory. It comes through obedience.

We feel this warm love everywhere within us because God has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love.

Romans 5:5 TLB

It was in a church in Munich that I saw him—a balding, heavyset man in a gray overcoat, a brown felt hat clutched between his hands. People were filing out of the basement room where I had just spoken, moving along the rows of wooden chairs to the door at the rear. It was 1947, and I had come from Holland to defeated Germany with the message that God forgives.

It was the truth they needed most to hear in that bitter, bombed-out land, and I gave them my favorite mental picture. Maybe because the sea is never far from a Hollan¬ der's mind, I like to think that that's where forgiven sins were thrown. "When we con-

Love Your Enemy

fess our sins," I said, "God casts them into the deepest ocean, gone forever. And even though I cannot find a Scripture for it, I believe God then places a sign out there that says, 'NO FISHING ALLOWED/ "

The solemn faces stared back at me, not quite daring to believe. There were never questions after a talk in Germany in 1947. People stood up in silence, in silence col¬ lected their wraps, in silence left the room.

And thats when I saw him, working his way forward against the others. One moment

I saw the overcoat and the brown hat; the next, a blue uniform and a visored cap with its skull and crossbones. It came back with a rush: the huge room with its harsh over¬ head lights; the pathetic pile of dresses and shoes in the center of the floor; the shame of walking naked past this man. I could see my sister s frail form ahead of me, ribs sharp beneath the parchment skin. Betsie, how thin you were!

The place was Ravensbruck, and the man who was making his way forward had been a guard—one of the most cruel guards.

Now he was in front of me, hand thrust out: "A fine message, Fraulein! How good it is to know that, as you say, all our sins are at the bottom of the sea!"

84 Tramp for the Lord

And I, who had spoken so gfibly of for¬ giveness, fumbled in my pocketbook rather than take that hand. He would not remem¬ ber me, of course—how could he remem¬ ber one prisoner among those thousands of women?

But I remembered him and the leather crop swinging from his belt. I was face-toface with one of my captors, and my blood seemed to freeze.

"You mentioned Ravensbruck in your talk," he was saying. "I was a guard there." No, he did not remember me.

"But since that time," he went on, "I have become a Christian. I know that God has forgiven me for the cruel things I did there, but I would like to hear it from your lips as well, Fraulein." Again the hand came out.

"Will you forgive me?"

And I stood there—I whose sins had again and again to be forgiven—and could not forgive. Betsie had died in that place— could he erase her slow terrible death sim¬ ply for the asking?

It could not have been many seconds that he stood there—hand held out—but to me it seemed hours as I wrestled with the most difficult thing I had ever had to do.

For I had to do it—I knew that. The mes¬ sage that God forgives has a prior condi¬ tion: that we forgive those who have injured us. "If you do not forgive men their tres¬ passes/' Jesus says, "neither will your Father in heaven forgive your trespasses."

I knew it not only as a commandment of God but as a daily experience. Since the end of the war I had had a home in Hol¬ land for victims of Nazi brutality. Those who were able to forgive their former enemies were able also to return to the outside world and rebuild their lives, no matter what the physical scars. Those who nursed their bit¬ terness remained invalids. It was as simple and as horrible as that.

And still I stood there with the coldness clutching my heart. But forgiveness is not an emotion—I knew that too. Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can func¬ tion regardless of the temperature of the heart. "Jesus, help me!" I prayed silently. "I can lift my hand. I can do that much. You supply the feeling."

And so woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out to me. And as I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started in my shoulder, raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands.

86 Tramp for the Lord

And then this healing warmth'seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.

"I forgive you, brother!" I cried. "With all my heart."

For a long moment we grasped each others hands, the former guard and the for¬ mer prisoner. I had never known God's love so intensely as I did then. But even so, I realized it was not my love. I had tried, and did not have the power. It was the power of the Holy Spirit as recorded in Romans 5:5, "The love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us."

And Jesus being full of the Holy Ghost returned from Jordan, and was led by the Spirit into the wilderness. . . . And Jesus returned in the power of the Spirit into Galilee: and there went out a fame of him through all the region round about.

Luke 4:1, 14

As I stood in the railroad station in Basel, Switzerland, waiting for my luggage, I sud¬ denly realized that I did not know where I was supposed to go. For ten years, after my release from prison, I had been traveling all over the world at the direction of God. Many times I did not know why I was to go to a certain place until I arrived. It had become almost second nature not to make my plans and then ask for Gods signature. Rather, I had learned to wait for Gods plan and then write my name on the schedule.

88 Tramp for the Lord

But this time was different. Suddenly I was in Basel and had no idea why or whom I was to contact. Besides, I was tired. Sleep¬ ing each night in a different bed and always living out of a suitcase had worn me down. I felt a sensation of panic in my heart and sat down, trying to remember to whom I was going. At sixty-three years of age could it be that I was so overworked that I was losing my memory? Or even worse, had God withdrawn His conscious presence from me and was letting me walk alone for a season?

Inside my suitcase I found an address. It had no meaning to me, but it was all I had to go on. I took a taxi to the place, but the people at that address were complete strangers and had never heard of me. By now I was desperate—and a little bit fright¬ ened.

The people told me of another man I might contact. Perhaps he would know who I was and why I had come to Basel. I took another taxi but this gentleman, too, was unfamiliar with my work.

For ten years the Lord had guided me step by step. At no time had I been con¬ fused or afraid. Now I was both—unable to recognize the presence of God. Surely He was still guiding me, but like the pilot who

89 In the Power of the Spirit

flies into the clouds, I was now having to rely on instruments rather than sight. I decided to turn around and go back home to Holland, there to await further orders.

Because of a severe storm the planes were not flying. I had to travel by train. Arriving in Haarlem, I started toward the phone near the station to call Zonneduin, the house where I was to stay in the out¬ skirts of the city in Bloemendaal.

But on the way to the phone booth I slipped on the wet pavement, and before I knew it I was sprawled in the street. A sharp pain shot through my hip, and I was unable to stand.

"Oh, Lord/' I prayed, "lay Your hand on my hip and take away this horrible pain."

Instantly the pain disappeared, but I was still unable to get up. Kind people assisted me to a taxi where a policeman asked if he could help.

"What is your name?" he asked. "Corrie ten Boom." He looked surprised and questioned me further. "Are you a member of the family of that name whom we arrested about ten years ago?"

"That is right."

90 Tramp for the Lord

During the war many of the g'ood Dutch policemen had been in the service of the Gestapo, remaining there for the express purpose of helping political prisoners. This man had been on duty that day my family was arrested.

"I am so sorry about your accident, " he said sympathetically, "but I am glad to see you again. I will never forget that night in the police station. You were all sitting or lying on the floor of the station. Your old father was there with all his children and many of your friends. I have often told my colleagues that there was an atmosphere of peace and joy in our station that night, as if you were going to a feast instead of prison and death."

He paused and looked at me kindly as if trying to remember my face. "Your father said before he tried to sleep, 'Let us pray together.' And then he read Psalm 91."

"You remember!" I exclaimed. After ten years that policeman had remembered which psalm my father had read.

For a fleeing moment, sitting in that old taxi on a Haarlem street while the rain pelted the roof, I allowed myself that pain of looking backwards. It was in this same city that we had been arrested. In fact, the

91 In the Power of the Spirit prison was only a short distance from where I was now sitting. That was the last time our family had been together. Within ten days Father was dead. Then later Betsie. All gone. Now, ten years later this policeman still remembered.

He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.

Psalm 91:1

Now the message was clear. Although there was no light to guide me, I was still in Gods will. Actually, when one is abiding under the shadow of the Almighty there will be no light, but that is only because Gods presence is so near.

I leaned back in the seat. "Dear God, when this shadow came over me I thought You had departed. Now I understand it was because You were drawing closer. I eagerly await whatever You have planned for me."

Eager I was, but not so patient. An X ray showed my hip was not broken, only badly bruised. The doctor said I would have to remain in bed for several weeks for it to heal. I was taken from the clinic to Zonne-

92 Tramp for the Lord duin, where I was put to bed,'unable to move or turn over without the help of a nurse.

I was a very impatient patient. I had only five days to get to a student conference in Germany, and as the days slipped by and I realized my hip was not healing fast enough to make the conference, I grew irritable.

"Is there not a Christian in all Haarlem who can pray for me to be healed?" I asked.

My friends sent for a particular minister in the city who was known to have laid hands on the sick for healing. That same afternoon he came to my room.

Standing beside my bed he said, "Is there any unconfessed sin in your life?"

What an odd question, I thought. I understood he had agreed to come pray for my healing, but was it his job to get so per¬ sonal about my sins and attitudes? How¬ ever, I did not have far to look. My impa¬ tience and demanding attitude, which I had displayed toward my nurse, had been wrong—very wrong. I asked her to come to the room, and I repented of my sin, asking both her and God to forgive me.

Satisfied, this gentle man then reached over and laid his hands on my head. Only the year before, my sister Nollie had died. Ever since, my heart had been broken with mourning. I had the feeling of being left all alone and knew that the insecurity I had experienced had contributed to my being here in this bed, rather than in Germany with the students. Yet as this tall, handsome man laid his hands on me and prayed, I felt a great stream of power flowing through me. Such great joy. The mourning left and I wanted to sing with David: Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sack¬ cloth, and girded me with gladness.

Psalm 30:11

I felt the presence of the Lord Jesus all around me and felt His love flowing through me and over me as if I were being immersed in an ocean of grace. My joy became so intense that I finally prayed, "No more, Lord, no more." My heart felt it was about to burst, so great was the joy. I knew it was that wonderful experience promised by Jesus, the baptism in the Holy Spirit.

I looked at the man who had prayed for me. "Can I walk now?" I asked.

94 Tramp for the Lord

He smiled. "I do not know. All I know is you asked for a cupful and God gave you an ocean."

Ten days later I was on my way to Ger¬ many, late but still filled with joy overflow¬ ing. Only after I arrived did I realize why God chose this particular time to fill me with His Holy Spirit. In Germany, for the first time, I came face-to-face with many people who were demonized. Had I gone in my own power I would have been con¬ sumed. Now, going in the power of the Holy Spirit, God was able to work much deliver¬ ance through me as we commanded demons to be cast out in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Jesus specifically warned His followers not to try to minister in His name without His power. As I found out from my experi¬ ence in Basel, trying to do the Lords work in your own strength is the most confusing, exhausting, and tedious of all work. But when you are filled with the Holy Spirit, then the ministry of Jesus just flows out of you.

It was the beginning of a new spiritual blessing that each day brings me into a closer walk with the Lord Jesus. Now, whether I am walking in the bright light of His presence or abiding under the shadow of the Almighty, I know that He is not only with me, He is in me.

Greater is he that is in you, than he that is in the world.

1 John 4:4

Though I walk through the valley of the

shadow of death, I will fear no evil.

Psalm 23:4

After twelve years of traveling alone, someone joined me in my worldwide trav¬ els. The Lord saw and supplied my need in the person of Conny van Hoogstraten, a beautiful, young, Dutch woman who be¬ came my first constant traveling compan¬ ion. I met her on one of my visits to En¬ gland. We worked well as a team (not to say we did not have difficulties—as always happens when people work so closely to¬ gether). However, those hard moments were used to bring us closer to Jesus as we learned to walk in the light with each other. Yes, *1 John 1:7—9 became a reality, and the Lord used Conny in the lives of countless

Conny

people all over the world to show and teach them the joy of walking in the light.

We laughed much together, for the Lord had given Conny an infectious sense of humor and a happy laughter. One of Conny s special gifts was the ability to change a house into a home. People always found an open door and quickly became friends. We were so different, but the Lord molded us into a team fit to do His work. I will never forget the day, now almost eight years ago, that Conny told me of the some¬ one else who had come into her life and that we would have to pray for a new part¬ ner. That was one of those very difficult days, and the best thing I could do was to go for a long walk. I experienced more than ever before that I was so dependent upon Conny and that I loved her like a sister. I could not understand the Lord s purpose, but during that walk I surrendered Conny to the Lord, and I also surrendered myself in a new way and entrusted my whole being to Him who knew best. Conny was in good hands so why not trust Him for the future? Those last years together were so different from all other years.

In that final year together, the Lord made it clear to me to go to Viet Nam. Conny and 98 Tramp for the Lord

I talked it over, and Conny shared with me that her fiance was not in favor of her going there, so we had to look around for some¬ one else. It was early spring, and I happened to meet a good brother in the Lord who shared that he had been called to go to Viet Nam also. I rejoiced and thanked the Lord as we made plans to go together. The young man was Brother Andrew, and he proved to be a very good traveling companion. In Viet

Nam, the Lord gave me a very nice nurse who worked with the W.E.C., and she took care of me when I traveled while Brother Andrew was away on other trips to very dan¬ gerous places.

I will never forget the tremendous needs I saw in the hospitals and other places I vis¬ ited, but instead of taking all those needs to Jesus, I kept them in my heavy and over¬ burdened heart. How silly I could be! With that heavy heart and aching body I had to go on to Indonesia. Oh, the Lord worked in spite of me, and the people were very kind to me and helped me in many ways, but the happiest moment came when we landed in Amsterdam. We quickly drove to Soestdijk where a very dear friend, Elisa¬ beth van Heemstra (who was working in Jerusalem at that time), had made her apartment available to me. That was a great gift from the Lord! I had no place I could really call home but now I had one—and what a haven it was! Beautiful surround¬ ings in a quiet section of town. There Conny and I spent our last months together, and it was a precious time. Conny was busy with marriage preparations and the new house she and her husband would move into. Many old-time friends came by to say hello. We talked and prayed much and we trusted that the Lord would supply a new partner before Connys marriage.

How marvelous are His ways! The Lord answered our prayers and gave me another Dutch companion, Ellen de Kroon, a reg¬ istered nurse who loves the Lord very much. I will never forget the first time Ellen vis¬ ited me. Conny and her fiance were there also. It was a nice day in June, and we decided to sit outside on the balcony. After talking for some time, Ellen noticed that I was getting cold, so she got up, asked me where she could find a shawl and put it around my shoulders. I noticed that Conny s face was beaming, and her eyes seemed to say, "See! You prayed for that someone' who would take care of you and love you and here

100 Tramp for the Lord she is." It was a testimony for Conny as well, knowing that Ellen would take her place.

On Connys wedding day, September 1, 1967, the Lord filled the empty place left behind by Conny with Ellen, the tall, fair¬ haired nurse. Conny and her husband lived not far from us, and she took much time to help Ellen with the work. Almost a year after Conny was married, her husband had to go to India for several weeks. During that time, Conny accompanied me to the United States to start the work on the book The Hiding Place, while Ellen took care of the work in Holland. Yes, it was Conny who started to type that book, which has already blessed so many lives all over the world. I knew that she loved the work we were doing, but she also missed her husband. It was so good to bring him daily before the Lord. Our prayers were answered and Conny s husband returned safely to Hol¬ land while I continued my travels with my new companion, Ellen.

Two years had passed when we learned that Conny had been taken ill. We returned to Holland and were on our way to visit Conny in the hospital. I knew that she was very ill, because she had received treatment that would indicate terminal illness unless the Lord would perform a miracle. When we entered Connys room, it was like step¬ ping into a flower garden and in the midst of it was Conny, almost asleep. Her hus¬ band was sitting beside her. That day, her specialist had informed her of her illness and that there was no hope. Conny was pre¬ pared to go and be with her Lord and Sav¬ ior, but to take that trip all by herself was so difficult for her. Would Jesus ask that of her?

Slowly she said, "I have taken many trips in my lifetime but there was always some¬ one with me. Mother was there when I was small, Corrie was with me during many of them, and now my husband is with me. But on this trip, who is going to go with me?"

Her husband gently took her hand and said, "Conny, here is my hand and as soon as Jesus comes for you, I will surrender your hand to Him!"

Conny did not answer but her face looked content. Suddenly she turned to us and asked us to sing Psalm Twenty-Three for her. I swallowed the lump in my throat and asked the Lord to help me in joining the others in the singing, but the phrase we left out was, "though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death ..."

102 Tramp for the Lord

When we finished Conny said, "You for¬ got one phrase—please sing it!"

So we sang, "though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death" while the tears rolled down our cheeks. Then Conny thought of all the friends all over the world whom we had come to know and love, and she asked me to greet them. We began to pray and Conny laid her hands on Ellen s head and said, "Be . . . faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life" (Rev. 2:10). Conny died a victorious death. Her life bore much fruit, and she prepared many people to meet the Master, our Lord Jesus Christ, who came to call her home to be with Him forever.

Authority over Demons

And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils.

Mark 16:17

For weeks I had been traveling through Eastern Europe—Russia, Poland, Czecho¬ slovakia—speaking in many home groups and even, on occasion, in a church. Many churches were still open in Eastern Europe, although the communists were very strict about who could speak—and what they said. However, as a harmless old Dutch woman I was allowed to sometimes speak in one of the churches.

As if by a miracle, I was invited to speak in a series of meetings in a great cathedral in a large communist city. I found that the pastors loved the Lord and had a heavy bur¬ den for lost souls.

\ 04 Tramp for the Lord

The first several nights I spoke about the abundant life in Jesus Christ—the joy, the unspeakable love, and the peace that passes all understanding. It was as though I was carried by the Holy Spirit through the joy¬ ful storehouse of abundance that we pos¬ sess when we know Jesus. I described in great detail the precious promises made available to us in Christ.

But something was wrong. Although some of the people rejoiced, most of them simply sat rooted to their benches. They were like chained animals, dying of hunger but unable to reach the food. And the more

I tried to give them, the more I was aware their hearts were shackled so they could not taste the food I was offering them.

Each night I would return to my room with a heavy heart for I knew that although these dear people wanted to receive what I was giving them, they could not. "It is as if the devil keeps a fence around these people that you cannot reach them," my traveling companion said.

"Could it be that demons keep them in bondage?" I wondered.

I opened my Bible and read, "In my name shall they cast out devils" (Mark 16:17).

"Lord, what must I do?" I cried out.

"Obey Me!" came the answer. "But how, Lord? There are so many who are bound by demon powers, and I cannot meet with each of them individually."

"Where did I say that you can deal only with individuals?" He asked.

I was confused and returned to His Word. It became apparent that the Lord wanted me to send all the evil spirits away in His name. Yet I knew this type of ministry was forbidden in communist lands.

That night was the final night of the meetings. The great cathedral was crowded with people, but it was the same as on all the other nights. They were not able to receive what 1 was giving them. I spoke again of Jesus the Victor. "In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world" (John 16:33). They sat like stone images, unable to grasp the joy of the Lord.

I knew God was calling on me to act. I trembled, but I had no choice. "I must inter¬ rupt my message for a moment, friends," I said. "Many of you cannot grasp the rich¬ ness the Lord offers us this evening. The servants of Satan are keeping you in bondage."

106 Tramp for the Lord

Then I obeyed. Taking a deep breath and offering one last quick prayer, I said in a loud voice, "In the name of Jesus I com¬ mand all dark powers keeping people from the blessings of God to disappear. Go away! Get out of the hearts of these people. Get out of this church. Go to the place where God sends you."

Then, closing my eyes I raised my hands upward and prayed, "Lord, will You now protect us with Your precious blood. Amen."

I was afraid, but I felt secure. I knew God had told me to do it. Then, as I opened my eyes and looked out over the huge congre¬ gation, I saw a miracle happen. The people who had been in bondage came alive. They began to rejoice, and as I continued my message I could sense their eager hearts drinking in the living water as I poured it out before them.

After the service I was scheduled to meet with a large group of local pastors who had attended the meeting. By the time I was able to break away from the crowd of people who came forward to speak to me and get to the back room, the pastors were already meet¬ ing. Their conversation was very serious.

"How could you do that?" one pastor asked as soon as I entered the room. "Communists do not allow people to speak about demons!"

"I had to obey God," was my only answer. The pastors resumed their discussion about the meeting. They, too, had seen the bondage. They had also sensed the release when the demons were cast out. But there were some who had studied psychology and others who had studied demonology. They entered into a heated argument about the subject. I had studied none of these. All I knew was God had told me to use my authority in the name of Jesus. So I sat back while the argument swirled around me.

At last one of the pastors said, "We know Gods promises and Gods command, but who among us has ever been willing to obey

Mark 16:17: 'And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils'?"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. When the Bible interferes with man's the¬ ology, it always causes a strain. The pastor then continued, "God has this evening given Corrie the grace to take the author¬ ity of Jesus and in His name cast out dev¬ ils. We should be thankful instead of all this arguing."

108 Tramp for the Lord

That was the end of the pastors' meeting, but, oh, what a lesson I learned that night.

It is tragic to be around people, especially men of God, who do not recognize the fact that we are surrounded, not only by angels but also by the powers of darkness.

Someone once asked my opinion of the missionaries in a certain country. My answer was, "They have given all, but they have not taken all. They have given home¬ land, time, money, luxury, and more; but they have not taken all of the boundless resources of Gods promises. Many do not know about two precious weapons: the power of the blood of Jesus—and every

Christian's legal right to use the wonderful name of Jesus to cast out demons.''

In War on the Saints, Mrs. Jessie PennLewis wrote, "When the existence of evil spir¬ its is recognized by the heathen, it is gener¬ ally looked upon by the missionary as 'superstition' and ignorance; whereas the ignorance is often on the part of the mis¬ sionary, who is blinded by the prince of the power of the air to the revelation given in the Scriptures, concerning the satanic powers."

We need to recognize the enemy in order to overcome him. But let us beware of the mistakes that C. S. Lewis described in Screwtape Letters. He says, "There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about the devils. One is to dis¬ believe in their existence; the other is to believe and to feel an unhealthy interest in them! They themselves are equally pleased by both errors, and they hail a materialist or a magician with the same delight."

We have a good safeguard and guide— the Bible, Gods Word. Here we find not only the necessary information about Satan and demons but also the weapons and the armor that we need for this battle.

God wants and expects us to be con¬ querors over the powers of darkness—not only for the sake of personal victory and the liberation of other souls—but for His glory, so that His triumph and victory over His enemies may be demonstrated!

First, then, let us see what the Bible says about the powers of darkness. The devil (or Satan) is introduced to us as a person who opposes God and His work. He is the "god of this world" who blinds the minds of the people to the truths of Gods Word. Having rebelled against God, he was cast out of heaven; then, he caused mans fall in par¬ adise. Jesus calls him "the father of lies, a liar, a murderer" (John 8:44). He works often

110 Tramp for the Lord as an "angel of light/' seeking the ruin of the elect. But he was cursed of God. Jesus tri¬ umphed over him at the cross of Calvary and in His resurrection. He has been con¬ demned and will finally be destroyed.

There are many kinds of demons, and they afflict people in various ways. They also bring false doctrine, trying to seduce the elect by oppressing, obsessing, and pos¬ sessing. They know Jesus, recognize His power, and tremble before Him. For them, hell is the final destination, as it is for Satan.

Second, the Bible gives us direction con¬ cerning the stand we have to take against these powers. It is most important to real¬ ize that ours is the position in Christ. We are called to resist the devil in the "whole armor of God," by virtue of the blood of Jesus, by faith, prayer, and fasting.

I remember in Ravensbruck, for instance, when we had very little to eat, my sister Betsie said, "Let us dedicate this involuntary fast to the Lord that it may become a bless¬ ing." Almost immediately we found we had power over the demons that were torment¬ ing us and were able to exercise that power to cast them out of our barracks.

Let us remember that Gods Word stands forever and that His commandments mean for us today exactly the same as for His dis¬ ciples twenty centuries ago. Those who act on them, in obedience, will in the same way prove Gods almighty power. Yes, Jesus said, "In my name shall they cast out devils/' And that means us today.

Our fight is not against a physical army, a political party, an atheistic organization— or anything like that. Our fight is against organizations and powers that are spiritual. Demons may come in as a result of occult sin, even from years back. This includes contact with hypnotism, astrology charts, fortune-telling, Ouija boards and other forms of occultism, sometimes entered into "just for fun." These demons will remain until they are cast out in Jesus' name.

We are up against the unseen power that controls this dark world and the spiritual agents are from the very headquarters of evil. Therefore, we must wear the "whole armor of God," that we may be able to resist evil in its day of power, and that even when we have fought to a standstill, we may still stand our ground.

Conny and I had traveled throughout Poland. Conny was then my constant com¬ panion, and we met many wonderful Chris-

112 Tramp for the Lord tians in that Iron Curtain Country. It encouraged us to know that God was using us to bring comfort and strength to the men and women of God. However, the longer we stayed in Poland, the more exhausted we became.

"I do not understand it," Conny said one morning as we were getting up. "I have just wakened from a full night's sleep, but already I am weak and tired."

I, too, felt the same way. We thought per¬ haps it was some kind of sickness we had picked up; yet neither of us seemed to be really sick.

Then in Warsaw one day we happened to meet an old friend from Holland. Kees was in Poland with his wife, traveling with his camping trailer.

"What a joy to meet you," he said. "How are things going?"

I looked at Conny and she looked at me. "You know, Kees, we both feel so tired. It is as if our legs are heavy, like when you have the flu. Yet we are not ill, just tired."

Kees looked at us intently. "Is this your first time to work in Poland?"

"Yes," I answered. "But what does that have to do with it?"

"Let me explain," Kees said. "Your tired¬ ness is nothing less than an attack of the devil. He does not like your work in Poland, for the antichrist is busy here, arranging his army."

Reaching out, he put his hand on my arm. "Corrie and Conny, you must remem¬ ber you have the protection of the blood of Jesus. Whenever you experience these attacks from the dark powers, you must rebuke them in the name of Jesus."

I knew what Kees was saying was right. We sat in his car while he read from the Bible. "They overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testi¬ mony; and they loved not their lives unto the death" (Rev. 12:11).

Then Kees prayed with us, laying his hands on us in the name of Jesus and rebuk¬ ing the dark powers that would attack us. Even as he was praying I felt the darkness leave. By the time the prayer was over, we both felt covered by the blood of the Lamb and all our tiredness had disappeared.

God had taught us a valuable lesson that we would remember in many other areas of the world. We learned that in a country where a godless philosophy reigns, that only by claiming the blood of Jesus can you stand

114 Tramp for the Lord and not fall. The same is true fn a city, or school, or even a church building. If Jesus Christ is not recognized as supreme, then darkness rules.

Since then we have traveled in many countries and felt this same tiredness com¬ ing over us. Often I have felt it in Ameri¬ can cities. Now I know it simply means that I am in a place where Satan rules. But praise the Lord! I can be an overcomer when I stand in the power of the blood of the Lamb.

But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them that despitefully use you, and persecute you.

Matthew 5:44

Thomas was a tall black man who lived in a round hut together with his big family in the middle of Africa. He loved the Lord and loved people—an unbeatable combi¬ nation.

Thomas s neighbor, who lived across the dirt street, hated God—and hated men like Thomas who loved God. The hatred grew stronger and stronger until the man began sneaking over at night and setting fire to the straw roof on Thomas s hut, endangering his small children. Three nights in a row this happened, and each time Thomas was 116 Tramp for the Lord able to rush out of his hut and put out the flames before they destroyed the roof and the walls. The fact that he never said an unkind word to his neighbor, only showing him love and forgiveness, made his neigh¬ bor hate him even more.

One night the neighbor sneaked across the street and set fire to Thomas's roof. This night, however, a strong wind came up, and as Thomas rushed to beat out the fire, the sparks flew across the street and set the neighbor's house on fire. Thomas finished putting out the fire on his roof and then rushed across the street to put out the fire on his neighbor's roof. He was able to extin¬ guish the flames, but in the process he badly burned his hands and arms.

Other neighbors told the chief of the tribe what had happened. The chief was so furi¬ ous that he sent his police to arrest the neighbor and throw him into prison.

That night Thomas came to the meeting where I was speaking (as he had done each night). I noticed his badly burned hands and asked him what had happened. Reluc¬ tantly he told me the story.

"It-is good that this man is now in prison/'

I said. "Now your children are no longer in

Lights from Darkest Africa

danger, and he cannot try again to put your house in flames."

"That is true," he said. "But I am so sorry for that man. He is an unusually gifted man, and now he must live together with all those criminals in a horrible prison."

"Then let us pray for him," I said. Thomas dropped to his knees, and hold¬ ing up his burned and bandaged hands, he began to pray. "Lord, I claim this neighbor of mine for You. Lord, give him his freedom and do the miracle that in the future he and I will become a team to bring the gospel in our tribe. Amen."

Never had I heard such a prayer. Two days later I was able to go to the prison. I spoke to the prisoners about Gods joy and Gods love. Among the group who listened intently was Thomass neighbor. When I asked who would receive Jesus in his heart, that man was the first one to raise his hand.

After the meeting I told him how Thomas loved him, how he had burned his hands trying to put out the fire to save his house, and how he had prayed that they might become a team to spread the gospel. The man wept big tears and nodded his head, saying, "Yes, yes, that is how it shall be."

118 Tramp for the Lord

The next day I told Thomas. Tie praised God and said, "You see, God has worked a miracle. We never can expect too much from Him." He left, running off down the path, his face beaming with joy.

I had been in Africa for three weeks when I finally got to visit the prison on the out¬ side of the city. I inquired of the warden if I could talk to the prisoners.

"Impossible," he said. "The prison is on restriction for an entire month due to an uprising that has broken out among the prisoners. Nobody is allowed in to see the men, much less give a sermon."

I felt discouraged but knew that God had brought me to that place for some reason.

So, I just stood—looking at the warden.

He grew very uncomfortable (having me stand and look at him). At last he said, "There are some political prisoners who have been sentenced to death. Would you like to speak to them?"

"Certainly," I said. The warden called three heavily armed soldiers who escorted me down a long hall past many barred doors and into a cell where one man was sitting on a low bench, which was also his bed. There was abso-

119 Lights from Darkest Africa lutely nothing else in the cell. The only light came from a small window high above the floor that let just a little spot of sunlight fall on the hard-packed dirt floor in that dreary place.

I leaned against the wall. He was a young man with black skin and very white teeth. He looked up, his eyes filled with sadness. What could I say? "Lord, give me some light to pass on to this man who sits in such darkness."

Finally I asked him a question. "Do you know about Jesus?"

"Yes," he said slowly, "I have a Bible at home. I know that Jesus died on a cross for the sins of the world. Many years ago I accepted Him as my Savior and followed Him for some time until political affairs absorbed all my time. Now I wish I could start again and live a surrendered life, but it is too late. This week I die."

"It is not too late, my friend," I said. "Do you know the ones responsible for your death sentence?"

"I could give you the entire list of those who have put me here," he answered, grit¬ ting his teeth. "I know all their names and hate them."

I opened my Bible and read, "But if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither 120 Tramp for the Lord will your Father forgive your trespasses." Then I closed the Bible and looked at him.

"Do you want your Father to forgive you before you die?"

"Of course I want that," he said. "More than anything else in the world. But I can¬ not meet the conditions. I am not able to for¬ give. I am young, strong, and healthy. I have a wife and children. These men have wronged me, and now this very week they will take away my life. How do I forgive that?"

The man looked at me with eyes full of despair and hopelessness. I felt such a great compassion in my heart, yet I knew I must be stern for much depended on it.

"Let me tell you a story," I said. And then I told him of my experience in the church in Munich when my former guard from the concentration camp asked me to forgive him.

"That moment I felt a great bitterness swelling in my heart/' I said. "I remembered the sufferings of my dying sister. But I knew that unforgiveness would do more harm to me than the guard's whip. So I cried out to the Lord, 'Lord, thank You for Romans 5:5: The love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.

'Thank You, Lord, that Your love in me can do that which I cannot do/ "At that moment a great stream of love poured through me, and I said, 'Brother, give me your hand. I forgive all/"

I looked down at the African man sitting on the bench. "I could not do it. I was not able. Jesus in me was able to do it. You see, you never touch so much the ocean of Gods love as when you love your enemies."

The man listened as I told him more of Jesus. Then, promising to meet him on the other shore, I prayed with him and left.

The next day a missionary friend came by the place where I was staying. He told me that as soon as I left the prison the pris¬ oner had sent a message to his wife saying, "Don't hate the people who brought me here and who will cause my death. Love them. Forgive them. I cannot, and neither can you, but Jesus in us can do it."

I slept well that night, knowing why God had brought me to Africa.

I had spoken in many prisons in my trav¬ els across the world, but the prison in Ruanda, Africa, was the dreariest, darkest prison I had ever seen. The men were all

122 Tramp for the Lord black, their uniforms were black' and they were sitting in the mud on the ground.

I had just entered the prison gate with my interpreter, a missionary lady. Steam (the aftermath of a hard tropical rain) was rising from the mud. The men were sitting on pieces of paper, branches, banana leaves, their legs caked with mud up to their knees.

"Why don't we go into the building?" I asked my interpreter.

"Impossible," she whispered, obviously afraid of the men. "There are so many pris¬ oners that even during the night only half of them can go inside."

I looked at their faces. Like their skin, their eyes were dark. It was the look I had seen so many times in Ravensbruck—the look of those whose hope had died. Unhap¬ piness. Despair. Hopelessness. Anger. How could I speak to them? What could I, an old Dutch woman, say to these miserable men that would help their lives?

"Lord," I prayed, "I am not able to over¬ come this darkness."

"Take my promise of Galatians 5:22," I heard an inner voice say.

Quickly I took my Bible and opened it to that passage. "But the fruit of the Spirit is "Thank You, Lord," I whispered. "But I have a great love for these men already or I would not be here."

I read on. "But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy ..."

"Joy?" I asked. "In these surroundings?" Then I remembered what Nehemiah said.

"The joy of the Lord is my strength."

"Yes, Lord," I cried out. "That is what I need. That is what I claim. I claim the promise of joy."

Even as I spoke the words I felt a won¬ derful, lifting sensation in my heart. It was joy—more joy than I had ever felt. It poured like a river out of my inner being; like the rising tide it covered the salt flats of my depression and turned the ugly mud of despair into a shimmering lagoon of bless¬ edness. Moments later I was introduced to the prisoners, who all sat, staring at me in hatred. The steam rose around them and the stinging insects swarmed their mudcoated ankles and legs.

I began to talk of the joy that is ours when we know Jesus. What a Friend we have in Him. He is always with us. When we are depressed, He gives us joy. When we do wrong, He gives us the strength to be good. When we hate, He fills us with His for- 124 Tramp for the Lord giveness. When we are afraid, He causes us to love.

Several faces changed, and I saw that some of my joy was spilling over on them. But I knew what the rest were thinking. After your talk you can go home, away from this muddy stinking prison. It is easy to talk about joy when you are free. But we must stay here.

Then I told them a story.

"Morning roll call at Ravensbruck was often the hardest time of the day. By 4:30 A.M. we had to be standing outside our bar¬ racks in the black predawn chill, in blocks of one hundred women, ten wide, ten deep.

"Names were never used in the concen¬ tration camp. It was part of the plan to dehu¬ manize the prisoners—to take away their dignity of life—their worth before God and man. I was known simply as Prisoner 66730.

"Roll call sometimes lasted three hours, and every day the sun rose a little later and the icy-cold wind blew a little stronger.

Standing in the gray of the dawn I would try to repeat, through shivering lips, that verse of Scripture that had come to mean so much to me: Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or

125 Lights from Darkest Africa

persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter.

Romans 8:35—36

In all this there was an overwhelming vic¬ tory through Jesus, who had proved His love for me by dying on the cross.

"But there came a time when repeating the words did not help. I needed more. 'Oh God/ I prayed, 'reveal Yourself somehow/ "Then one morning the woman directly in front of me sank to the ground. In a moment a young woman guard was stand¬ ing over her, a whip in her hand.

"'Get up/ she screamed in a rage. 'How dare you think you can lie down when every¬ one else is standing/ "I could hardly bear to see what was hap¬ pening in front of me. Surely this is the end of us ally I thought. Then suddenly a sky¬ lark started to sing high in the sky. The sweet, pure notes of the bird rose on the still, cold air. Every head turned upward, away from the carnage before us, listening to the song of the skylark soaring over the crematorium. The words of the psalmist ran through my mind: 'For as the heaven is high

126 Tramp for the Lord above the earth, so great is [God's] mercy toward them that fear Him' (Ps. 103:11)."

I looked out at the men who were sitting in front of me. No longer were their faces filled with darkness and anger. They were listening—intently—for they were hearing from someone who had walked where they were now walking. I continued.

"There in that prison I saw things from God's point of view. The reality of God's love was just as sure as the cruelty of men.

O love of God, how deep and great, Far deeper than man's deepest hate.

"Every morning for the next three weeks, just at the time of roll call, the skylark appeared. In his sweet song I heard the call of God to turn my eyes from the cruelty of men to the ocean of God's love.

"A Jewish doctor, Viktor Frankl, who went through far more suffering in the concen¬ tration camps than I, wrote a book. He ends the book with these words: 'We have come to know man is that being who has invented the gas chambers of Auschwitz; however, he is also that being who has entered those gas chambers upright with the Lord's Prayer or the Shema Yisroel on his lips.'"

127 Lights from Darkest Africa

Although I was speaking through an inter¬ preter, God's Spirit was working through both of us. I saw joy appearing on the faces of nearly all the men sitting before me.

"Say, men," I said, "do you know Jesus is willing to live in your hearts? He says, l stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in' [Rev. 3:20]. Just think: That same Jesus loves you and will live in your heart and give you joy in the midst of all this mud. He who is willing, raise his hand."

I looked around. All the men, including the guards, had raised their hands. It was unbelievable, but their faces showed a joy that only the Holy Spirit could produce. As I left the prison and returned to the car, all the men accompanied me. The guards did not seem worried or anxious that they swarmed around me. In fact, they did not even prevent them from going out the gate to stand around my car. As I opened the door and got in, the men began to shout and chant something, repeating the same words over and over.

"What do they shout?" I asked my inter¬ preter. She smiled and said, "They shout, 'Old woman, come back. Old woman, come back and tell us more of Jesus.' "

128 Tramp for the Lord

The missionary turned to me as we drove off. "I must confess to you that I thought this place was too dark for the light of the gospel. I had been here once before and was so frightened I said I would never come back. Now, because I had to come interpret for you, I have seen what the Holy Spirit can do. The joy of the Lord is available, even for such a place as this. From now on I shall return every week to tell them about Jesus."

Months later I received a letter from her in which she said, "The fear is gone. The joy remains."

Carry neither purse, nor scrip, nor shoes: and salute no man by the way. . . . And in the same house remain, eating and drink¬ ing such things as they give: for the la¬ borer is worthy of his hire.

Luke 10:4, 7

The people in America seem to feel I should not hesitate to ask for money for my ministry, which supports other ministries such as Bible and book translations in many parts of the world. However, from the very beginning of my ministry, I have felt it was wrong to ask for money—even to ask for travel expenses. I did not want to be paid for "services rendered." I simply wanted to preach the gospel and let the Lord provide for me.

I learned this lesson very early in my trav¬ eling ministry. I was in England and spoke, 130 Tramp for the Lord among other things, about the former con¬ centration camp where I helped refugees in Germany. My hosts had asked me to do this, saying they knew the American people would like to help support it. After the meet¬ ing a dignified, well-dressed lady came up and handed me a check for a rather large sum of money. It was designated to my work in Europe.

''It was so very interesting to hear about your work," she said.

"What did you think about the other things I said?" I asked. "Did you find them important also?"

She gave me a quizzical look. I contin¬ ued. "Of course it is a very good thing to give money for evangelistic work, but today I also spoke about conversion. God does not want a little bit of your money; He wants all of your heart. He wants to possess you completely. God will not let me take your check." I handed it back to her.

As I was speaking I noticed a haughty, proud look come into her eyes. Very delib¬ erately she pulled her fur cape around her neck. Then, without answering at all, she arrogantly walked away.

When I got back to my room I looked sadly at the other checks that had been

God Will Provide

given to me. Was God speaking to me? Was it wrong to speak of my own work while at the same time I urged people to be con¬ verted or to forgive their enemies? Was it wrong to listen to these Americans who were urging me to receive collections for my ministry? I dropped to my knees in prayer. God knew my needs.

The answer was very clear from the Lord. "From now on you must never again ask for money."

Great joy entered my heart, and I prayed, "Heavenly Father, You know that I need more money than ever before. But from this day on I shall never ask for a penny. No guarantees before I come speak. No travel expenses. Not even a place to stay. I will trust in You, believing that you will never forsake me."

That very day I received two letters. One was from a woman in Switzerland. "Corrie, God told me that from now on you must never again ask for money."

The other letter was from my sister in Hol¬ land. She wrote, "When I prayed for your work this morning God made it clear to me that you should not ask anybody for finan¬ cial support. He will provide everything."

132 Tramp for the Lord

I thought of the night in the concentra¬ tion camp when my sister Betsie had talked with me about our plans for the future.

"Corrie, we should never worry about money/' she said. "God is willing to supply our every need."

Many years later, when I faced a severe hardship, I was forced to remember this principle. I felt I had received a direct com¬ mand from the Lord to go to Russia. The price of our tickets and expenses would be five thousand guilders. However, when I looked at my checkbook I found we had only three thousand guilders in the bank.

"Lord," I prayed, "what must I do? You have commanded me to go to Russia, but I need two thousand more guilders."

I thought that this time God would let me write a few wealthy friends, telling them of my need and asking them to send the money for the plane ticket. Instead I heard a very clear directive from God: "Give away two thousand guilders."

"Oh, no, Lord," I said, as I sat at the table in my apartment in Baarn, Holland. "You did not understand. I did not say I wanted to give away two thousand guilders. I said I needed someone to give me that amount so I could go to Russia."

However, God seldom listens to my argu¬ ments. He waited for me to get through with my objections, and then repeated His orig¬ inal command. This time, though, it was even more specific. I was to give two thou¬ sand guilders to a certain mission group that had an immediate need.

I could not understand how anyone's need could be more immediate than my own, but foregoing the "wisdom of the wise," I sat down and wrote a check to this mission group, depleting my bank account down to one thousand guilders.

Later that day I went back down to see if I had received any mail. Among the let¬ ters was one from the American publishing company that was to publish The Hiding Place. For some months I had been writing back and forth, and only two weeks before I had finally signed the contract. I brought the letter back upstairs and opened it. As I pulled it out, a check fluttered to the floor.

It was an advance from the publisher, money I did not think I was going to get until the manuscript was completed. I looked at the figure. It amounted to more than I needed!

God takes His prohibition of asking for money very seriously, just as He means it

134 Tramp for the Lord seriously when He says He will care for and protect us. However, if we seek to raise our own money, then God will let us do it—by ourselves. Many times we will be able to raise great amounts of money by human persuasion or downright perseverance in asking. But we will miss the greater bless¬ ing of letting Him supply all our needs according to His own riches. And, as I found out in the case of the guilders needed for the trip to Russia, God has more for us than we would think of asking.

I would much rather be the trusting child of a rich Father than a beggar at the door of worldly men.

Yes, the Lord is not only my Shepherd; He is my Treasurer. He is very wealthy. Sometimes He tries my faith, but when I am obedient, then the money always comes in just in time.

My last stop on my first trip to the Ori¬ ent was Formosa. It was time for me to move on, so I went to the travel agency in Taipei and gave the girl a list of all the places

I needed to go on the next leg of my jour¬ ney. Hong Kong, Sydney, Auckland, then back to Sydney, on to Cape Town, Tel Aviv, and finally to Amsterdam.

The travel agent wrote it all down and then asked, "What is your final destination?"

"Heaven," I answered simply. She gave me a puzzled look. "How do you spell that?"

"H-E-A-V-E-N," I spelled out slowly. After she had written it down she sat looking at the paper. At last she looked up. "Oh, now I understand," she said with a smile. "But I did not mean that."

"But I meant it," I said. "And you do not need to write it down because I already have my ticket."

"You have a ticket to heaven?" she asked, astonished. "How did you receive it?"

"About two thousand years ago," I said, noting her genuine interest, "there was One who bought my ticket for me. I only had to accept it from Him. His name is Jesus and He paid my fare when He died on the cross for my sins."

A Chinese clerk, working at the next desk, overheard our conversation and joined in. "What the old woman says is true," he told his companion.

I turned and looked at the Chinese man. "Have you a reservation for heaven?" I asked him.

136 Tramp for the Lord

His face lit up in a smile. "Yes, I have," he said, nodding enthusiastically. "Many years ago, as a child on the mainland, I received Jesus as my Savior. That makes me a child of God with a place reserved in the house of the Father."

"Then you are also my brother," I said, shaking his hand. Turning back to the other clerk I said, "When you do not have a reser¬ vation for a seat on the plane and try to get aboard, you face difficulty. But when you do not have a place reserved for you in heaven, and the time comes for you to go, you end up in far greater difficulty. I hope my young brother here will not rest until you have made your reservation in heaven."

The Chinese clerk smiled broadly and nodded. I felt confident he would continue to witness to his fellow worker now that I had opened the door.

I left the travel agency with a good feel¬ ing in my heart. Surely God was going to bless this trip since I was already off to such a good start. However, when I arrived in my room and checked my ticket, I found the girl had made a mistake in the route. Instead of sending me from Sydney to Cape Town' to Tel Aviv, as I had requested, she had routed me from Sydney to Tel Aviv and * » then to Cape Town. I went immediately to the phone and called her.

"Why have you changed my schedule?" I asked. "My Chief has told me I must go first to Cape Town and after that to Tel Aviv. However, you have changed the sequence. God is my Master, and I must obey Him."

"Then God has made a mistake," she said, half-seriously. "There is no direct flight from Australia to Africa since there is no island in the Indian Ocean for the plane to land and refuel. That is why you must first go overland to Tel Aviv and then down to Cape Town."

"No," I argued. "I cannot follow that route. I must do what my Chief has told me. Ill just have to pray for an island in the Indian Ocean."

We both laughed and hung up. "Lord," I prayed, "if I have made a mistake in hear¬ ing Your direction, please show me. But if I heard correctly, then open the way."

An hour later the girl called back. "Did you really pray for an island in the Indian

Ocean?" she asked, incredulous. Before I could answer she continued, "I just received a telegram from Qantas, the Australian air¬ line. They have just begun to use the Cocos

Islands for a refueling station, and begin-

138 Tramp for the Lord ning tomorrow will have a direct flight from

Sydney to Cape Town."

I thanked her and hung up. It was good to know that God does not make a mistake in His plans.

However, I am stubborn and never seem to learn my lessons well. Just a few days later, after I got to Sydney and was to make a short trip to Auckland, New Zealand, and back, I ran into another situation that would have been much easier on me had I remem¬ bered the lesson I should have learned back in Formosa.

Since I was only going to be in Auckland for four days before returning to Sydney and then on to Cape Town, I packed all my essential items into one suitcase I would carry with me. I left the other suitcases with my friends in Sydney, planning to pick them up when I came back through on my way to Africa. Besides my essential clothing, I also took with me my notebooks, Bibles, lit¬ erature, and colored slides. My slides, taken in many lands, and the manuscripts of my sermons are all very valuable to me. Al¬ though I seldom read from my notes when I speak, I feel more comfortable when I have them before me. I have been accused by my friends of ascending the platform with three Bibles and five notebooks. I think it is hardly that bad, but I have met so many people and jotted down so many ideas that I cannot remember them all. So I try to carry all my notes with me.

As I started to leave the Sydney Airport for the plane, one of the pilots spotted me struggling along with my heavy suitcase. He volunteered to help me. "I have to stop by the radio room first," he said, "but then I shall bring your bag directly to your seat."

I hesitated to turn loose my bag, how¬ ever, since it was filled with everything I needed for the rest of my journey, not to mention a lifetime of treasures.

"You can trust me," he insisted. "I will arrive at the plane before you and shall leave your bag on your seat."

Reluctantly I parted from my suitcase and watched the pilot as he walked out the door. Several minutes later we boarded the plane, and I rushed to my seat. The bag was not there. Alarmed, I called the stewardess. She assured me that the bag had been stowed with the rest of the luggage and was perfectly safe. I tried to settle back in my seat as we took off, yet I had an uncom¬ fortable feeling inside.

140 Tramp for the Lord

The plane made a stop in Melbourne before heading out over the Tasman Sea for New Zealand. However, when we landed in Melbourne there was a radio message wait¬ ing for me. Like Job, the thing that I greatly feared had come upon me. The message was from Sydney. A bag, belonging to Corrie ten Boom, had been left in the radio room.

I was frustrated—and angry. "Can they send it to me?" I asked the ticket agent.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "The only way we can get it to you is to send it on our next plane to London. From there it will go to Rome, then Tel Aviv, and then . . ."

"Oohhh," I groaned, waving him quiet. "It will never make it. It contains all my earthly treasures, and it is not even locked. Tell them just to hold it for me in Sydney.

I shall pick it up when I return in four days. In the meantime, I have nothing, not even a toothbrush."

I reboarded the plane and slumped in my seat, dejected, angry, and full of resentment. On the flight from Sydney to Melbourne I had witnessed to the stewardess about my faith in Jesus Christ. I had told her that Jesus was Victor in every situation and that He gave us the power to praise Him in all situations. Now, however, I did not feel very much like praising Him at all.

I looked up, and the stewardess was bending over me. "How wonderful it must be to be a Christian at a time like this," she said. "Most people would be full of anger and resentment."

I forced a smile and said, "Well, it must be for some reason; nothing happens by chance to a child of God."

Even though I was speaking the truth, I was not walking in the victory. Victory would mean that I had no resentment at all, and at that moment I was overflowing with it.

It was late evening as the plane took off from Melbourne. It would be a night flight to Auckland, and I tried to make myself comfortable. Below us was the sea, with only the engines of the plane to hold us in the sky. I dozed, fitfully, and then woke to the smell of smoke in the cabin. The other passengers were awake also, and some of them were up in the aisle, expressing alarm. Moments later the stewardess was at my seat.

"I have good news for you," she said softly. "We are returning to Sydney to pick up your bag."

142 Tramp for the Lord "Yes, indeed, good news for me," I said. "But tell me, are we not in great danger?"

"No," she said, smiling sweetly and pat¬ ting my pillow, "we are just having some hydraulic difficulties. There is no danger."

I followed her with my eyes as she went from seat to seat, assuring all the passen¬ gers that there was no danger. I leaned across the aisle and asked the man in the next seat what was meant by hydraulic difficulties.

"It is bad news," he said. "All the mech¬ anisms on the plane depend on the hy¬ draulic system. The wing flaps, the steer¬ ing mechanism, even the landing gear is controlled by the hydraulic system. Since the fire is in that system, it means the pilot could lose control of the plane at any moment."

I sat back in my seat and tried to look out the window. Below was the blackness of the Tasman Sea. The smell of smoke was still very strong in the cabin. I was not afraid of death. Often, as a prisoner I had faced it. I remembered the words of Dwight Moody, "The valley of the shadow of death holds no darkness for the child of God. There must be light, else there could be no shadow. Jesus is the Light. He has over¬ come death."

Yet I knew I was not right with God because I was not right with man. I still held resentment in my heart and knew it had to be removed before I could even pray. I leaned back in my seat and opened my heart to God, confessing my resentment over my suitcase (which was worthless to me now that we might crash into the sea) and ask¬ ing Him to forgive me. Then I prayed, "Lord, perhaps I shall see You very soon. I thank You that all my sins have been cleansed by the blood of the Lamb."

I opened my eyes and looked around me. "What of the others?" I wondered. "Are they prepared to die?" No one was sleeping. All were sitting alert in their seats. I noticed a woman busy applying lipstick and shook my head. How silly to feel you have to enter eternity with painted lips! I had the strongest urge to stand up and say to the people around me, "Friends, perhaps in a few minutes we shall all enter eternity. Do you know where you are going? Are you pre¬ pared to appear before God? There is still time to accept the Lord Jesus. . . ."

But I could say nothing. I wanted to stand and urge them to come to Jesus, but I could not. I was ashamed of the gospel of our Lord

144 Tramp for the Lord

Jesus Christ. And not only that' but there was fear in my heart.

We finally made a landing—a safe land¬ ing—in Sydney. My bag was returned to me, but there was no joy in my heart. Even though I had been forgiven of my resent¬ ment, I had been ashamed of the Lord Jesus. I found a seat in the lounge and sat with my head bowed, my eyes closed.

"Dear Lord, I am not fit to be a mission¬ ary. I stood before the very portals of eter¬ nity and warned no one/'

I opened one of my notebooks and read on the margin of a page a note I had made many years before. "To travel through the desert with others, to suffer thirst, to find a spring, to drink of it, and not tell the oth¬ ers that they may be spared is exactly the same as enjoying Christ and not telling oth¬ ers about Him."

"Oh, Lord," I moaned. "Send me back home. Let me repair watches. I am not wor¬ thy to be Your evangelist."

As I sat there, like Jeremiah, trying to resign my commission, I saw a man com¬ ing toward me. He introduced himself as a Jewish doctor who had been aboard my flight. "I watched you all through those hours on the plane when our lives were in great danger," he said. "You were nei¬ ther afraid nor anxious. What is your secret?"

A ray of light. Perhaps God was giving me another chance. "I am a Christian," I said joyfully. "I know the Messiah, Jesus, the Son of God. He died on the cross for my sins, and yours also. If our burning plane had fallen into the sea, I had the assurance of going to heaven."

We sat and talked for a long time before he excused himself. But a few minutes later he was back again. "I must hear more about this Jesus who gives you such peace," he said.

Four times he got up and left, and yet he kept coming back. Each time his request was the same. "Tell me more about J>> esus.

I told him how Jesus gives us authority over Satan, how Jesus has promised us mansions in heaven, how He gives to all who believe the power to become the sons of God.

The Jewish doctor drank it all in and finally left saying I had given him much to think about. I sat back in my chair. The Lord, my treasure, had given me just enough of His wealth that I might share it

146 Tramp for the Lord with one of His hungry children. 1 had been found worthy to evangelize after all. And in the process I had learned another valuable lesson in the school of life. When I am weak, then am I strong (2 Cor. 12:10).

He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom.

Isaiah 40:11

Everyone needs a place to be. One of the great joys of heaven is that it is a place, a prepared place. I am thankful that there I will have a special house that is reserved just for me.

When I was born, Father and Mother were living on the Korte Prinsegracht, a typical Amsterdam canal. I was born pre¬ maturely, and my skin was blue. Uncle Hendrik, Tante Janss husband, looked at me and exclaimed, "I hope the Lord will quickly take this poor little creature to His home in heaven."

But my parents and Tante Anna did not agree with him. They surrounded me with 148 Tramp for the Lord love and care. However, since there were no incubators in those early days, I cried much from the cold. Tante Anna, knowing I missed the warmth of the special place under my mother s heart from which I had come, rolled me in her apron and tied me against her stomach. There I was warm and quiet.

Many years later I was in a primitive house in Africa. The bathtub was made from an old oil drum that had been sawed in half. Missionaries lived there, and they invited me in to eat with them. Walking into the kitchen, I saw an African woman with the white missionary child strapped tightly to her back.

"Hey, how nice she has your baby on her back,'' I said to the missionary mother.

The white mother smiled and said, "The baby was so fearful this morning. All she would do was cry. When the African cook came to the house she took one look at the baby and said, 'Ah, Missee, give me the baby. I will keep her quiet/ So she strapped her on her back, and the baby has slept all morning while the cook has been busy around the kitchen."

I could understand that feeling of hav¬ ing a place—of belonging. I was often afraid

A Place to Be

as a small child. Sleeping beside my sister Nollie, who was a year and a half older than me, I begged to be able to hold her hand at night. She refused, and instead gave me the hem of her nightgown. By and by she did not even like me holding on to that, but told me to hold on to the hem of my dolls night¬ gown.

Then, when I was five years old, the Lord Jesus became a great reality to me. My mother told me how He loved little chil¬ dren and was even willing to live in my heart if I asked Him in. I did, and a feeling of peace and security took the place of the fear

I had so often felt. From then on I could go to sleep at night and not be afraid.

As a child I prayed a nursery rhyme: Ik ga slapen, ik ben moe; 'k Sluit mijn oogjes beiden toe. Heere, houd ook deze nacht Weder over mij de wacht.

(Fm going to sleep, I am tired; I close both my little eyes. Lord, watch over me again The whole night long.)

In all these years that I have been a "tramp for the Lord," I have often been 150 Tramp for the Lord afraid. But in those moments I have always reached up and touched the hem of Jesus' garment. He has never failed to wrap me close to Him. Yet I still long for that time when I shall have a mansion in heaven.

Here on earth, at the age of seventyseven, for the first time I found a place of my own—a beautiful apartment in Baarn, Holland. Even though I am seldom there (for I intend to keep on traveling until I die in harness), it is still a place to hang up my pictures on the walls and put the few sticks of furniture that I have saved from my days in the Beje. Yet, even with this "home" here on earth, I still long most of all for my heav¬ enly mansion.

When I was a child, Tante Jans composed a children s song. I remember two lines: 'k zou zoo graag eens komen, Heiland, In dat heerlijk Vaderhuis.

(I should just like to come, Savior, In that beautiful Father-house.)

As a child, however, I always got the words mixed up when I sang the song.

Instead of singing, "to come," I would sing "to peek." The older people laughed at my mistake, but I thought they were very stu¬ pid. With all my heart I meant what I was singing. As a little child I did not want to go to heaven; I just wanted to peek for a moment. Now, though, that my days have grown long, I no longer sing as I did as a child. Now my greatest desire is to come for all eternity into the beautiful Fatherhouse.

^asasB

Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice.

1 Samuel 15:22

Obedience is easy when you know you are being guided by a God who never makes mistakes.

Conny and I were in Africa, and one day during my quiet time I began to feel that God was telling me it was time to leave Africa.

"Lord, where do You want us to go?" I asked.

"Argentina," came the answer deep in my heart.

Argentina? I had never been to Argen¬ tina. I could not speak a word of Spanish. In those days air travel was sometimes poor in Africa, and to fly across the Atlantic Ocean to Buenos Aires would be a trying

Obedience

ordeal. Yet as I sat before the Lord, the word Argentina became even stronger.

"Yes, but . . . ," I started to answer Him. Then I remembered that obedience never says, "Yes, but..." Rather it always says, "Yes, Lord!" Some months before, a missionary by the name of Breson had written me, asking if I would be willing to speak in his church if I ever came to Argentina. I did not know Bre¬ son very well, so I had not thought much about the invitation. Now, however, with God speaking to me so strongly, I sat down and wrote Mr. Breson a letter, asking if he could meet us in Buenos Aires and arrange some meetings for me to speak.

We waited almost a month, but there was no answer. "Are you sure it is the Lord s guidance for us to go to Argentina?" Conny asked. "Perhaps this man Breson no longer lives in Buenos Aires. What if we go and there is no one to meet us? Then what will we do?"

I reached out and touched Connys hand. "Yes, I know it is Gods will for us to go to Argentina. Some years ago God spoke to me and told me to go to Japan. I had no money. I knew no one in Japan. I could not speak the language. Yet I knew God had led me. I finally saved up enough money to fly to Tokyo and stepped off the plane on a dark, rainy night in that strange land and said, 'Lord, here I am. Now what?' I remem¬ bered that David Morken was there with Youth for Christ. He found me a room, and because of my obedience God opened many doors of ministry. I was alone on that trip, but this time I have you. No, I know we should go to Argentina."

The plane flight was much longer than we expected. Connections were very bad, and we had to spend one whole day in a hot, dirty African airport awaiting a connecting flight that would take us on to West Africa for our flight across the ocean. It was almost midnight when we caught our last plane, and I could sense Conny's anxiety. How¬ ever, I was sure of Gods guidance.

We finally arrived in the busy Buenos Aires airport. I looked out across the hun¬ dreds of hurrying people, hoping I might see Mr. Breson's face. There was no one.

Conny and I struggled with our luggage, and at the ticket desk a man asked us, in broken English, if he could send our bags to our address.

"I do not yet know my address," I said. Conriy looked worried. I knew her thoughts. Do you know for sure it is Argentina where God would have you work? We were both exhausted from all-night plane rides that had been added to the ordeal of waiting in all those African airports. We carried our suitcases to the curb, and I sat down. "See if you can find a taxi," I said to Conny. "Per¬ haps there is a YMCA hotel nearby."

But there were no taxis. The air was heavy and hot. I finally asked a man, "Do you know where there is a YMCA hotel?"

The man gave me a blank stare and moved on. I could speak Dutch, German, and English, but none of those languages helped me here. We sat on our suitcases, looking at the streams of traffic passing down the street.

"Aunty, Tante Corrie, are you sure that Gods guidance brought us to Argentina?"

I looked at Conny. Her face was dirty and creased with lines of exhaustion. I, too, was hot and tired and unhappy. But I was also sure of Gods leadership. "Yes," I said wearily. "I am sure."

"I don't like Argentine mosquitoes," Conny said, slapping her arm. "They are just as cruel as African mosquitoes."

We looked at each other and laughed. Here we were in a strange country with a 156 Tramp for the Lord strange language. Holland was far, far away, yet we were laughing.

Then I heard a mans voice from the other side of the street shouting, "Bent u Corrie ten Boom?" ("Are you Corrie ten Boom?")

My name. My language. What joy! I could barely see the man on the far side of the streaming traffic, but he was waving his arms as he shouted.

"Ja, dat ben ik," I shouted back. The man had to wait for the traffic to thin before he could run across the street.

Finally, after dodging cars, he stepped onto the curb. "I am Reverend Mees," he said, extending his hand. "I did not think you would be here but felt I should come and check just the same."

"Do you know Mr. Breson?" I asked. "I had hoped he would meet us."

"Did you not receive Breson's letter?" Reverend Mees asked. There was a look of alarm on his face.

"No, we heard nothing from him." Reverend Mees put his hand on his fore¬ head and looked toward the sky. "Oh, this is too bad. He wrote you a letter telling you not to come. He could not arrange any meetings and is now on a mission tour in ' » the jungle. He will not be back for two months. "

I sat back down on my suitcases, feeling even more tired than before.

"Do you know if there is a YMCA hotel in the city?" I asked, as if this would solve all our problems.

Reverend Mees smiled, "No, I do not know of a YMCA hotel, but a dear friend of mine, a woman doctor, knew about the pos¬ sibility of your coming. She asked me to bring you to her hospital, and from there she will take you to her home. She has a spare bedroom and a little apartment where you can be very comfortable."

Dr. Gwen Shepherd received us gra¬ ciously at the hospital. I knew at once that she was one of Gods precious children and therefore my sister also. She took us to her car, and for the first time I experienced what traffic in Buenos Aires is like. Traveling in the jungles of Africa was nothing to the streets of Buenos Aires. There were no traf¬ fic lights. At every intersection the cars came racing together, four abreast. Those who arrived first were the first ones through.

I never saw an accident (but perhaps that was because I kept my eyes closed most of the time!). However, after bouncing and speeding down the streets, we finally reached her home, where she provided wonderful hospitality. That night she invited a number of youth group leaders to her home, and I had an opportunity to share with them. The next day another invitation came for me to speak, and before long I was even busier than I had been any other place on the earth. Dr. Shepherd had a wonder¬ ful gift of administration and arranged much ministry for me. It was indeed God s guidance for me to come to Argentina. What a joy I would have missed had I dis¬ obeyed.

Perhaps the greatest joy of the entire trip, however, happened one afternoon in Dr.

Shepherd s hospital. I was allowed into a ward where polio patients were being treated. One room was filled with people in iron lungs. I had never seen the wheezing, gasping iron lungs before, and they scared me.

"Do you wish to talk to some of the patients?" a kind nurse asked me.

I looked around and said, "No, I think I am unable to talk. I just want to go off some¬ where and cry."

Always when I say that I am not able, I get the same answer from the Lord. He says, "I know you can't. I have known it already a long time. I am glad now you know it for yourself, for now you can let Me do it."

"All right, Lord, You do it," I said. And surely the Lord did. I went from one iron lung to another, telling the men and women about the Lord Jesus Christ who breathes into each one of us His Holy Spirit.

Then I came to a man on a rocking bed. He had a different kind of polio, and instead of being in a lung, he was on a bed that rocked up and down. When his head was up he could breathe in. When his head went down he breathed out. The nurse told me he was Jewish.

"Ah," I said, "I am happy to meet one of Gods chosen people. My old father, my dear sister, and some others in my family died in concentration camps because we loved the Jews. I, too, was in prison for helping Jews.

But tell me, do you know the Jew, Jesus, as your personal Messiah?"

The bed rocked up and down, and he shook his head, for he could not speak. He had a long tube in his nose and could only move one hand slightly to write tiny notes.

"Then is it all right if I tell you about Him?" I asked.

160 Tramp for the Lord

He picked up his stubby pencil and scrib¬ bled on a small notebook on the side of his moving bed. "I am ready to listen."

I stayed beside that rocking bed and told my Jewish friend about the great Messiah, the one whom the prophet called "Won¬ derful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace"

I finished speaking and from my bag took a small embroidery. On one side was stitched a beautiful crown. The other side was quite mixed up. "When I see you on this bed," I said, "not speaking, not mov¬ ing, I think of this embroidery. I held up the back side of the embroidery. "Your life is like this. See how dark it is. See how the threads are knotted and tangled, mixed up. But when you turn it around, then you can see that God is actually weaving a crown for your life. God has a plan for your life, and He is working it out in beauty."

He picked up his pencil and wrote again, "Thanks God I am already seeing the beau¬ tiful side."

What a miracle. He understood God did not want him to become a Gentile. Rather he would become a completed Jew. I prayed and thanked the Lord with him. Then it was time to go, and Dr. Shepherd once again took me to her beautiful home.

The next day I returned to the polio ward and asked the nurse if I could speak with my Jewish friend.

"I am sorry/' she said, "but your Jewish friend on the rocking bed is no longer with us. Just five minutes after you left he beck¬ oned me to come to his side. There was a wonderful light shining in his eyes, and he wrote on a little paper, Tor the first time I prayed in Jesus' name.' Then he closed his eyes and died."

"Then I am not sorry," I answered. "I am glad. I know he has his own crown of life. Praise God."

God has a divine pattern for each of His children. Although the threads may seem knotted—as they did when we were sitting outside the airport in Buenos Aires—on the other side is a crown.

Tfie RealCorrie ten Boom

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.

Isaiah 55:8

While in Havana, Cuba, I was asked to speak at a youth rally in the Salvation Army hall. Of course this was before the com¬ munist takeover, so there was still freedom to talk openly about the Lord Jesus Christ.

It was a hot June night, and the hall was small and stifling. The meeting was scheduled to begin at seven o'clock, but more and more groups continued to arrive from other parts of the city, so no one seemed to be in a hurry to start. As in most Latin American countries, every¬ thing was "Manana, manana," even the church services.

The Real Corrie ten Boom

Finally, I was seated on the platform between two men with huge drums. One of them, an old Negro with white hair, tried to show his love for the Lord by vigorously beating one of the drums. The sound was almost unbearable. The captain had a very sharp voice and led the singing by shout¬ ing, waving his hands, and pounding on the top of the pulpit. The young Cubans sang loudly, with much clapping of hands and stomping of feet. By nine o'clock I was already worn out, and all I had done was sit and listen. There was a terrific ringing in my ears, and my head was splitting with a headache from the crashing sounds of the drums. Finally, though, I was called on to speak, and the hall grew silent. I was grate¬ ful for the few moments of peace.

After I spoke, the captain introduced a missionary who had brought his slides. The lights were turned out, and we all sat in the miserable heat while the missionary began his long slide presentation. Like many mis¬ sionaries, he had been called upon to do some medical work in the field, so many of his slides dealt with that. He had photo¬ graph after photograph of drugs and med¬ icines that had been given him by various doctors. "This particular bottle of pills was 164 Tramp for the Lord given to me by Dr. Smith," he droned on. Then flipping to his next slide he said, "And this box of medicines was sent to me by Dr. Jones."

The young people in the hall were not the least bit interested in seeing those boxes, bottles, and jars. The noise grew louder and louder and finally reached such volume that the missionary had to shout to make himself heard. It was ten-thirty when he finally finished his presentation and the lights came back on.

Now the room was filled with flying bugs, moths, insects, and some kind of huge fly¬ ing beetle that buzzed around the exposed lightbulbs and then dropped to the floor or in people's laps. The young people were climbing over the backs of the benches, babies were asleep on the floor, and every¬ one was sweating profusely. I did not think I could stand much more.

Then the captain came to the front again and began to preach. A flying insect went in my. ear, and another was caught in my hair. I looked for some way to escape, but I was boxed in by the huge drums on either side. Finally the captain gave an invitation for people to come forward and be saved.

Surely no one is in a mood to do anything hut go home, I said to myself. Then I thought, I hope nobody comes to the front. I long to get out of here and go to bed.

Yet, to my surprise, people began getting up from their seats and coming to the front. They were kneeling around the altar rail. Twenty of them. I saw tears in the eyes of some of the young Cubans and listened as the captain spoke with great persuasion, his voice full of love.

A startling realization swept over me. I was selfish. I had hoped nobody would be saved because of my own weariness. My sleep was more important than the salva¬ tion of sinners. Oh, what a terrible egotist I was. Suddenly my bed was no longer important. I was willing to stay up all night if God was working. But what could I do with my guilty feeling for having been so selfish?

Then I began to praise God, for I had learned what to do with my sin. I confessed it to the heavenly Father in Jesus' name and I claimed His forgiveness. With joy I was able to get up and pray with the twenty young people who had made the important decision to commit their lives to Jesus

166 Tramp for the Lord

Christ. It was eleven-thirty when the meet¬ ing finally came to a close.

The next morning, Sunday I spoke in a beautiful church that was filled with the most prominent people in Havana. As I entered the imposing building I was given a copy of the parish magazine, which had been handed to all the other people. In it I read an introductory article about my min¬ istry. It said, "Corrie ten Boom is a most popular world evangelist. . . . She is tireless and completely selfless in her absolute ded¬ ication to the cause of the gospel."

Oh, Lord, I thought, if only these people knew who the real Corrie ten Boom is, they would not have come out this morning to hear me.

"Tell them," the Lord answered immedi¬ ately.

By that time I was seated on the platform looking out over the sea of faces before me. "But Lord, if I tell them, they will reject "Can I bless a lie?" the Lord asked me in my heart. "I can only bless the truth. You do want My blessing, don't you?"

Then it was time for me to speak. The gracious minister gave a flowery introduc¬ tion and asked me to come to the pulpit.

Before I could give my message, however, I knew what I had to do.

Reading first from the parish paper, I then said, "Sometimes I get a headache from the heat of the halo that people put around my head. Would you like to know what Corrie ten Boom is really like?" Then I told them what happened the evening before—how my own sleep had been more important in my eyes than the salvation of young people. "That," I said, "was Corrie ten Boom. What egotism! What selfishness! But the joy is that Corrie ten Boom knew what to do with her sins. When I confessed them to the Father, Jesus Christ washed them in His blood. They are now cast into the deepest sea, and a sign is put up that says 'NO FISHING ALLOWED.' Corrie ten Boom is lazy, selfish, and filled with ego. But Jesus in Corrie ten Boom is just the opposite of all these things."

Then I waited. Surely now that the con¬ gregation knew what kind of person I was, they would no longer want to hear me. Instead, I sensed them all leaning forward, eager to hear what I might say. Instead of rejecting me, they accepted me. Instead of a beautiful church with prominent mem¬ bers and a popular world evangelist, we

168 Tramp for the Lord were all sinners who knew that}esus died to lift us out of the vicious circle of ego into the light of His love.

God had blessed the truth!

For the Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.

Luke 19:10

Conny and I stood in line with other people outside Checkpoint Charlie, the gate for foreigners into East Berlin. Many of those in line were Dutch, and I saw they were being passed without difficulty. Every¬ thing seemed routine: Hand your passport to a guard, walk down the line, and receive your passport back with a stamp that allowed you to spend the one day in East Berlin. I hoped it would be as easy for us when it was our turn to be checked.

Finally we were in front of the window. The guard looked at our passports, looked in a book, and then turned and said some¬ thing to another man behind him.

"Is there a problem?" I asked the man.

170 Tramp for the Lord

He turned and gave me a stern look. "Come with me/' he said, motioning for Conny and me to follow him into a small room to one side. We were questioned and they opened my handbag. There they found two books. One of them was one of my books, which had been published in East Germany. The other was a copy of Billy Gra¬ ham s Peace with God, which had also been translated into German.

The officer picked up Billy Graham's book and shouted, "What? A book by that machine gun of God!"

I laughed. "I like the name you give to Billy Graham. I will tell him what you called him the next time I see him—'Gods Machine Gun.' However, if I am not allowed to take the books with me into East Berlin, I will just give them to you, and you can let us go on."

"Oh, no," he said sternly, "it is not that easy. First we have to write up your depo-

i • sition.

He searched me to see if I had hidden more books before he began his inquisition. I did not like his rough, crude manner and told him so.

"I really feel as if I am in the hands of the Gestapo again," I said.

"No," he said, abashed, "I am no Gestapo."

Checkpoint Charlie

"You surely have the same manners/' I said bluntly.

He softened his approach but still kept us in the inquisition room for more than three hours. A woman typist copied every¬ thing I said and wrote it into a "protocol." I learned that my name was on the black¬ list for East Germany which was the rea¬ son I was being so thoroughly questioned. However, I was primarily upset because we had only a few hours to visit the Christians in East Berlin, and our time was being wasted here in the guard station.

"Lord," I complained silently, "why are You keeping us here when we need to be about Your business in East Berlin?"

Then slowly it came through my stub¬ born Dutch mind that God had us in the guard office for a purpose. He not only loved the Christians in East Berlin, but He loved these communist guards also—the officer and the uniformed typist. What a sad mis¬ take we sometimes make when we think that God only cares about Christians. Although God desires that all people become Christians, He does not love one group more than another. In fact, it was for the world that God gave His only begotten Son, and Jesus Himself said "I am not come

172 Tramp for the Lord to call the righteous, but sinners to repen¬ tance" (Matt. 9:13). I remembered the words of Jesus when He said, "Ye shall be brought before governors and kings for my sake, for a testimony against them and the Gentiles. But when they deliver you up, take no thought how or what ye shall speak: for it shall be given you in that same hour what ye shall speak" (Matt. 10:18—19).

Suddenly my attitude toward the officer changed. Instead of an enemy, I saw him as one of those for whom Christ died. Now I answered every question testifying of my faith in Jesus. It became almost a kind of game.

I asked the officer, "Do you ever read the Bible?"

"No, I am a Marxist," he said stubbornly. "The Bible was written especially for Marxists," I said. "It says that God so greatly loved the Marxists that He gave His only begotten Son so that any Marxist who believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life."

Both the officer and the woman typist were listening with serious faces. I went ahead to talk about the two problems of the human race—sin and death—and stated that the Bible gives us the answer to these problems by telling us about Jesus.

"Why don't you keep my books and read them?" I said. "I will be glad to autograph my book for you, and the book by Billy Gra¬ ham will answer many of your questions."

"Must I read it?" the officer said. "It will not do you any harm," I laughed. The officer laughed too, but then, catch¬ ing himself, became very serious and busi¬ nesslike again.

"I see, Fraulein, that you are carrying chocolate with you? What is your reason?"

"I am taking it for the minister's children in East Berlin. Don't you bring chocolate with you when you visit a family with children?"

"No, I take flowers with me," he said seri¬ ously.

"Flowers are nice for parents, but chil¬ dren prefer chocolate. Besides, I often preach about chocolate."

"What crazy people we have here today," the officer said. "You carry books by a man who talks like a machine gun, and then you tell me you preach about chocolate. Tell me, what kind of sermon do you get from a chocolate bar, old woman?"

"Several years ago," I answered, "I spoke to a group of Germans who prided them-

174 Tramp for the Lord selves on being intellectuals. They would not receive me because they felt that they were more profound in their theology than I. So, my last time with them I brought them all some Dutch chocolate. Since chocolate was very rare after the war, they eagerly accepted my gift. Later, when I stood to speak to them, I told them, 'No one has said anything to me about the chocolate/ "They disagreed, saying that they had all thanked me for it.

"'I did not mean that/ I said. 'I mean no one questioned me about it. No one asked whether it had been manufactured in Hol¬ land or Germany, what quantities it con¬ tained of cocoa, sugar, milk, or vitamins. Instead of analyzing it, you just ate it/ "Then I picked up my Bible and said, 'It is the same with this Book. If you try to ana¬ lyze it as a book of science or even a book of theology, you cannot be nourished by it. Like chocolate, it is to be eaten and enjoyed, not picked apart bit by bit/"

I stopped talking and noticed, once again, that the officer and the typist were deeply interested in what I was saying. Then the officer straightened up, cleared his throat, and said to the typist, "Please type Fraulein ten Booms protocol, and we will let her * » pass." With that he stood and left the room, never looking back.

I sat quietly while the typist finished typ¬ ing her report. Moments later the officer was back. He pulled the paper from the typewriter and read aloud. "When in prison Corrie ten Boom received from God the commission to bring the gospel of Jesus Christ over the whole world. Her church has taught her to bring chocolate when she visits families with children."

The officer nodded and excused himself, saying he had to read it to his superior offi¬ cer before I could be approved for entrance into East Berlin. While he was gone I talked with the typist, urging her to accept Jesus as her Lord. She listened intently, reading through some of the pages in my book. However, when the officer returned she straightened up and returned to her type¬ writer.

I handed Billy Grahams book to the offi¬ cer. "Sir, be sure and take this book by 'Gods Machine Gun' home with you. It will change your life."

He tried to look severe, but behind his eyes I could sense both hunger and thirst. Without saying a word he took the book and slipped it into his briefcase. He handed my 176 Tramp for the Lord book to the typist and motioned her to put it in her purse. Then he opened the door and pointed in the direction of East Berlin. "I am sorry to have detained you so long, Fraulein," he said. "But what we have been doing here is even more important than your visit to your friends."

I shook his hand, and Conny and I entered the communist city, wondering if the officer actually realized the truth of his last statement. What we had to do in East Berlin was important, but even more impor¬ tant was bringing the Good News of Jesus to those who walk in darkness.

If you are reproached for being Christ's followers, that is a cause for joy for you can be sure that Gods Spirit of glory is resting upon you.

1 Peter 4:14 PHILLIPS

Watchman Nee once said, "When my feet were whipped my hands suffered pain."

Christians all over the world are bound together as the body of Christ. Many Amer¬ icans, in particular, do not realize it, but a part of that body is suffering the most ter¬ rible persecution and tribulation in the his¬ tory of mankind. If we are members of that same body—and we are—then we must suffer with them, pray for them, and where it is possible, help them.

I remember hearing of a missionary—a single woman—who turned her back on all her possessions at home and went to 178 Tramp for the Lord

China. "Are you not afraid?" a friend asked as she prepared to board the ship.

"I am afraid of only one thing," she said, "that I should become a grain of wheat not willing to die."

How much more like Christ that is than the churches who gather at Thanksgiving to sing: "Let thy congregation escape tribulation!"

Several years ago I was in Africa in a lit¬ tle country where an enemy had taken over the government. There was great oppres¬ sion against the Christians by the new gov¬ ernment. The first night I was there some of the native Christians were commanded to come to the police station to be regis¬ tered. When they arrived they were ar¬ rested, and during the night they were secretly executed. The next day the same thing happened with other Christians. The third day it was the same. By that time the entire district realized that the Christians were being systematically murdered. It was the intent of the. new government to erad¬ icate them all—men, women, and chil¬ dren—much as Hitler tried to eradicate all the Jews.

I was to speak in a little church on Sun¬ day morning. The people came, but I could

Facing Death

' * see fear and tension written on every face. All during the service they looked at each other, their eyes asking the same questions: "Will this one I am sitting beside be the next one to be killed? Will I be the next one?"

I looked out on that congregation of black and white faces. The room was hot and stuffy. Moths and other insects came through the screenless windows and swirled around the naked lightbulbs hanging over the bare, wooden benches upon which the natives sat. They were all looking at me, expecting, hoping that I could bring them a word from God for this tragic hour.

I opened my Bible and read 1 Peter 4:12-14.

And now, dear friends of mine. I beg you not to be unduly alarmed at the fiery ordeals which come to test your faith, as though this were some abnormal experi¬ ence. You should be glad, because it means that you are sharing in Christ's sufferings. One day, when he shows himself in full splendour, you will be filled with the most tremendous joy. If you are reproached for being Christ's followers, that is a cause for joy, for you can be sure that Gods Spirit of glory is resting upon you (PHILLIPS).

180 Tramp for the Lord

I closed the Book and began to talk, sim¬ ply, as an aunt would talk to her nieces and nephews. "When I was a little girl," I said, "I went to my father and said, 'Daddy, I am afraid that I will never be strong enough to be a martyr for Jesus Christ.* "'Tell me/ Father said, 'when you take a train trip from Haarlem to Amsterdam, when do I give you the money for the ticket? Three weeks before?'

"'No, Daddy, you give me the money for the ticket just before we get on the train/ "'That is right/ my father said, 'and so it is with Gods strength. Our wise Father in heaven knows when you are going to need things too. Today you do not need the strength to be a martyr; but as soon as you are called upon for the honor of facing death for Jesus, He will supply the strength you need—just in time/"

I looked out at my African friends. Many of them had already lost loved ones to the firing squad or the headsman s ax. I knew that others would surely die that week. They were listening intently.

"I took great comfort in my fathers advice," I said. "Later I had to suffer for Jesus in a concentration camp. He indeed gave me all the courage and power I needed."

181 Facing Death

My African friends were nodding seri¬ ously. They too, believed God would sup¬ ply all their needs, even the power to face death bravely.

"Tell us more, Tante Corrie," one grizzled old black man said. It was as though they were storing up all the truth they could so they could draw on it in the day of trial.

I told them of an incident that had taken place in the concentration camp at Ravensbruck. "A group of my fellow prisoners had approached me, asking me to tell them some Bible stories. In the concentration camp the guards called the Bible "das Lugenbuch"—the book of lies. Cruel death punishment had been promised for any prisoner who was found possessing a Bible or talking about the Lord. However, I went to my little cot, found my Bible, and returned to the group of prisoners.

"Suddenly I was aware of a figure behind me. One of the prisoners formed the words with her lips, 'Hide your Bible. Its Lony.' I knew Lony well. She was one of the most cruel of all the aufseherinen—the women guards. However, I knew that I had to obey God who had guided me so clearly to bring a Bible message to the prisoners that morn¬ ing. Lony remained motionless behind me

182 Tramp for the Lord

while I finished my teaching, and then I

said, 'Let s now sing a hymn of praise.'

"I could see the worried, anxious looks on the faces of the prisoners. Before it had been only me speaking. Now they, too, were going to have to use their mouths to sing. But I felt God wanted us to be bold, even in the face of the enemy. So—we sang.

"When the hymn was finished I heard a voice behind me. 'Another song like that one,' she said. It was Lony. She had enjoyed the singing and wanted to hear more. The prisoners took heart, and we sang again— and again. Afterwards I went to her and spoke to her about the Lord Jesus Christ. Strangely, her behavior began to change until, in a crude sort of way, she became a friend."

I finished my story and stood silently while the words took their effect on my African friends. "Let me tell you what I learned from that experience," I told them. "I knew that every word I said could mean death. Yet never before had I felt such peace and joy in my heart as while I was giving the Bible message in the presence of mine enemy. God gave me the grace and power I needed—the money for the train ticket arrived just the moment I was to step on the train."

The faces before me broke into broad grins. Gone were the wrinkles of fear and anxiety. Once again their eyes were flash¬ ing with joy and their hearts were filled with peace. I closed the service by reading a poem of Amy Carmichael.

We follow a scarred Captain,

Should we not have scars? Under His faultless orders We follow to the wars.

Lest we forget, Lord, when we meet, Show us Thy hands and feet.

The meeting was over, and the Africans stood to leave. Then softly, in the back of the room, someone began singing an old gospel song.

There s a land that is fairer than day, And by faith we can see it afar.

For the Father waits over the way, To prepare us a dwelling place there.

In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore, In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore.

184 Tramp for the Lord

I don't know how many were killed that week, but someone told me that more than half of those who had attended that service met a martyr s death—and thus received a martyr s crown. But 1 know that Gods Spirit of glory had been resting upon them (1 Peter 4:14).

Saved by a Newborn Infant

. . . and a little child shall lead them.

Isaiah 11:6

One of my greatest privileges is visiting with missionaries all over the world. Those of us who live in the comfort and security of our homes cannot begin to imagine what the life of a missionary is like. Many of them have no fresh water and only simple food. They constantly face the threat of sickness and infection. Some live in prim¬ itive places where their very lives are in dan¬ ger. Much to my sadness, yet to the glory of God, the list is growing longer each day of men and women who are literally laying down their lives for Jesus* sake on the mis¬ sion field. These men and women stand on the front lines, often in lonesome places, but knowing that their Master, who has \ g6 Tramp for the Lord placed them there, will also stand with them.

Once in a primitive spot in Africa I vis¬ ited a missionary couple. Their small home was located in a delightful spot that gave a beautiful view of lakes and mountains. They had very little of this world's goods but were rich in Gods grace and had been given a homesite that many wealthy people would pay thousands of dollars to have as their own. Crowded into this tiny shack were six children, the youngest just a few months old.

Tome with me," the missionary wife said as she picked up the baby and walked out¬ side. "I want to tell you a story."

We sat on a bench overlooking an awe¬ some scene of grandeur. Spreading before us was a mighty view of the mountains, cov¬ ered with deep jungle and spotted with lakes and waterfalls.

"To have many little children can be a burden for a missionary," she said. "There comes a time when you have to send them to the homeland because there are no good schools here. But while they are small you try to enjoy them."

She paused and looked down at the sweet baby asleep in her arms. Her voice was

Saved by a Newborn Infant 187 tense with emotion as she continued. "But when I learned I was going to have another baby, I rebelled against God. We already had five small children, and it did not seem fair that we should have to bear another. My health was not good, and I looked upon having another child with great sorrow and unhappiness. "

Tears were streaming down her face as she talked. "Was it not enough to have five children? Oh, how my heart cried out at God, and there were times when I wished He would take the baby from me.

"The time for the birth was here. I was very weak and there were no doctors nearby. We had no one to leave the other children with, so my husband put us all in the car and drove us into a town where there was a good mission hospital. There we stayed until the baby was born."

The tiny child stirred in her arms, stretched her little arms, and yawned. How precious she looked! The mothers voice grew soft. "When we returned to our home with the new baby we learned that in the short days we had been gone the dreaded Mau Mau had come. They had murdered every white per¬ son in the entire area. Had we been home we would have all been killed."

188 Tramp for the Lord

She hugged the little baby to her breast, tears flowing down her face. "This little dar¬ ling was sent by God to save all our lives. Never again shall I rebel against His ways for our lives."

Miracles Every Day

My times are in thy hand.

Psalm 31:15

It was my first time in India, and I was to speak at a conference of missionaries in Vellore. However, when my plane arrived in Bangkok I was told the next plane to Vel¬ lore did not leave for three days.

"But this means I will have to miss the first three days of the conference," I said.

"We are sorry, but there is no way," the man at the ticket counter told me. How¬ ever, the airlines did make arrangements for me to stay at a hotel until the next plane left.

Arriving at the hotel, I asked the kindly Indian man who was in charge of my arrangements, "Is there no possibility that I can catch another plane to Vellore?"

J 90 Tramp for the Lord "The airlines are making every effort/' he assured me.

"Then we must pray that God will help them," I said.

"Do you profess to be a Christian?" he said with a startled look on his face.

"Yes, I do," I answered. "I am a professor of Jesus Christ. And what about you?"

He hung his head. "I have been, but I am what you call a lost sheep."

"Hallelujah!" I said. "Then you are just the one sheep for whom the Shepherd left the ninety-nine to find."

We talked a long time in the lobby of the hotel. Finally I asked the man if he would be willing to come back to Jesus. "Oh, yes," he said. "For I believe God kept you here just for this reason."

We prayed together in the hotel, and then I said to him, "Now that God has used me for this miracle, will you pray with me for another miracle—that I might arrive in Vel¬ lore in time for the conference?"

The man leaped to his feet. "While you pray I must run an errand. I'll be back shortly." With that he was out the door, leav¬ ing me sitting among my suitcases.

Half an hour later he was back. "Make quickly ready for the plane," he said. "I

Miracles Every Day 191 think God has performed your miracle. We have discovered another plane going by a different route to Vellore."

"Did you arrange that?" I asked. "I did," he smiled as he hoisted my bags to his back. "But don't thank me. I must thank you for bringing me back to the Shep¬ herd."

We rushed madly to the airport, and I found the plane was supposed to have left long before. However, they were holding it just for me. Panting, I climbed the steps to the plane.

"Ah, Professor," the stewardess said as she closed the door behind me, "we were afraid we would have to leave you."

"Professor?" I asked. "Whats this?" "Oh," she smiled sweetly. "We know all about you. Our hotel agent told us you are an important professor from Holland who has to give significant speeches in Vellore. That is why we have held the plane on the ground until you arrived."

I took my seat near a window. Outside, the once-lost sheep was grinning and wav¬ ing. I waved back. Surely; I thought, God not only had a special reason for keeping me in Bangkok, hut He must have an equally important reason for wanting me in Vellore.

192 Tramp for the Lord

I was right. My first talk to the mission¬ ary conference in Vellore was the next morning. I spoke on the reality of God's promises in the Bible. After the service I slipped away from the crowd and strolled in a beautiful garden near the conference center. It was alive with color: Green and red crotons mixed their rich colors with the dark orange of the copper plants and the rainbow hues of the flowering shrubs. How wonderful, I thought, to be in the center of God's will.

"Excuse me," a shy voice said from behind.

I turned and recognized one of the Eng¬ lish missionary ladies. Her body seemed weak. She hesitated to speak but at last said, "Do you really believe in God's promises?"

"Yes, I do," I said. "Do you believe the Lord still heals the sick?"

"Of course," I answered. I motioned for her to sit with me on a stone bench near a flowering hibiscus. First I read to her from the Bible where Jesus said we would lay hands on the sick and they would be healed (Mark 16:18—20). Then I told her of a recent experience in Indonesia.

193 Miracles Every Day "I was staying in the house of a dear Chi¬ nese pastor and his wife/' I said. "Since we were so busy, the wife had no time to cook, so a member of their church, another Chi¬ nese lady, came every day in a ricksha to fix me a good Chinese meal.

"One morning I was sitting in the house and looked out the window. I saw this dear woman stumbling up the pathway. Her head was bleeding and her dress badly torn. I rushed out to meet her and helped her into the house. Her ricksha had collided with another ricksha, and she had been badly injured, hitting her head against a metal part of the primitive vehicle. Since Chinese people were not popular in Indonesia at that time, no doctor would come to see her. Instead, they just brought her to the house and let her out.

"I knew her condition was serious and also knew that the doctor would not come to the Chinese pastor s house either. There¬ fore, I just laid my hands on her and prayed in Jesus' name that she be healed. She was restored instantly."

The missionary lady was listening in¬ tently. "Must you know a person s type of sickness before you pray for them?" she asked.

194 Tramp for the Lord "No, Im not a doctor. I do not heal. It is the Lord who heals."

"I am very ill," she said quietly. "Will you lay hands on me and pray?"

"I will," I said. She slipped off the bench and knelt in that beautiful garden while I put my hands on her head and prayed for her to be healed in the name of Jesus Christ.

She rose slowly to her feet. "Now I will tell you my sickness," she said. "I have leprosy.

I had been in leper colonies, and sud¬ denly I was filled with a great fear. Oh, I thought, this is far too difficult for the Lord. I wish now she had told me ahead of time so I would have known not to pray for her.

Then I felt ashamed and asked forgive¬ ness for my small faith and unbelief. After all, it was not I who said He would heal the sick—but He who had said it.

Some years passed, and I lost the name and address of the lady missionary, although many times I remembered that time in the garden and continued to pray for her. Five years later I was back in India, staying with friends of the Pocket Testament League. One afternoon there was a knock at my hotel door. "Do you remember me?" a beau¬ tiful lady asked.

195 Miracles Every Day

I looked at her and said, "I have seen you before, but I do not remember who you are."

"Do you remember a time in Vellore when you laid hands on a leper patient and prayed in Jesus' name that she be healed?"

"Oh, yes," I exclaimed. "I surely remem¬ ber you. But you are a different person."

She smiled. "The Lord wonderfully healed me. The doctors say I am absolutely healed from leprosy."

"Thank You, Lord," I said aloud. "Your name be glorified! You are always ready to meet our needs, even when our faith is small."

, Gods Word, tfie Sword-

-fiMSHBBHHSH

The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand for ever.

Isaiah 40:8

It had been a hectic half year. I had flown from New Zealand to Korea, where I had spoken in more than two hundred and fifty meetings in a three-month period. I then returned to Hamilton, New Zealand, for a brief visit before continuing to India.

In New Zealand I had stayed with a fam¬ ily that was memorizing verses of Scripture, using the Navigators' system. I was thrilled to find so many of the new converts in New Zealand studying this course. Since I knew less Scripture in English than I did in Dutch, I, too, determined to start memo¬ rizing Scripture. I knew that once the Word

God's Word, the Sword 197 of God was hidden in my heart it would be with me always.

Leaving New Zealand full of new zeal, I arrived in the state of Kerala, India, where I was to speak in a series of small confer¬ ences far back in the jungle. My Indian companion met me at the airport and took me to a small place on the river where a canoe was waiting. We climbed in and started our slow trip down the peaceful river. Slowly our little craft glided over the shallow waters. Except for the rhythmic sound of the paddle and the occasional murmur of the soft wind in the trees, there was nothing to be heard.

My Indian companion was the leader of a home group. Twice a year the home groups in the area come together in a conference to study the Bible, pray, and plead for revival. I was to speak three times a day in several such conferences, which would be held in a pandal—a wide roof protecting the con¬ gregation from the hot sun. There are no walls so the breeze can pass through, and the people sit on the grassy floor.

As the coolie paddled our canoe down the river, my Indian companion told me of the great longing in his heart to win souls for Jesus Christ.

198 Tramp for the Lord

"Yet I am not successful," he said. "I always give my testimony, but I am not able to persuade people to make a decision."

"Do you use the sword of the Spirit, the Word of God?" I asked him.

"I fear I am not very adept at handling that sword," he admitted. "Just at the crit¬ ical moment I am never able to find a text that fits the situation."

"Yes, I can understand that," I confessed. "I sometimes have the same problem. How¬ ever, I am now memorizing certain verses of Scripture, which I call my 'first-aid course/ These are emergency Scriptures I apply to the wound until I can look up the rest of the Scriptures, which will bring fur¬ ther healing."

My Indian companion brightened, and then I told him of a recent experience in Canada where I had learned that it was not me, but the Word of God coming through me, that won people to Christ anyway.

"I had just finished speaking to a class of university students," I told him as the canoe glided down the quiet river. "I was relaxing on the veranda of one of the dormitories when a very educated woman, who had attended my lectures, sat down with me.

199 God's Word, the Sword

"'What you just told the students was very interesting/ she said. 'But you are too nar¬ row. I am an expert on world religions. I have traveled to many countries and have had long discussions with the leaders of many religious groups. I have discussed the road of life through time and eternity with Muslims, Brahmins, Shintoists, and many others. All of them know God, even though they do not believe in Jesus Christ. I am sorry to have to disagree with your talk this afternoon, but you put too much emphasis on Jesus Christ and do not allow that other religions are just as good as Christianity.'

"I was embarrassed," I told my Indian companion. "Then I remembered some¬ thing a friend had once told me. 'You are not called to convince anyone/ he had said. 'You are simply called to be an open chan¬ nel for the Spirit of God to flow through. You can never be anything else, even though you may think so at times. Follow the path¬ way of obedience, let the Word of God do its own work, and you will be used by God far beyond your own powers/ "Therefore, I said to the woman, 'Your argument is not with me, but with the Bible. It is not I who say these things, it is the Word of God. Jesus said that no man can 200 Tramp for the Lord come to the Father but by Him (John 14:6). If you wish to dispute someone, dispute Him/"

I looked at my Indian friend. His eyes were fixed on my face as he drank in what I was saying. I continued with the story.

"Some time later a reception was held in Ottawa, Canada, for all who wished to meet Prince Bernhard of the Netherlands. It was a pleasure to see so many Hollanders together. The prince looked tired, but he was cheerful and kind to us all. I met many old acquaintances and then, suddenly, I was face-to-face with this same lady who had so adamantly disputed me some time before.

"1 am glad to see you/ she said genuinely. 1 have never been able to forget what you said when you spoke at our university when you quoted Jesus, "No man cometh unto the Father but by me." I have tried to argue with that from every angle but am unable to get away from the fact that Jesus said it. I can argue with you, but I am having a dif¬ ficult time arguing with Him/ "'How wonderful/ I told her. 'Now you are listening to the voice of God. Keep lis¬ tening. He has much more to say to you/ '"Yes/ she said. 'I believe He does/ 201 God's Word, the Sword

"We parted, and I have not seen her since, but I know the sword of the Spirit is still doing its work in her life.^

I turned and looked at my Indian friend. He was nodding his head in understanding. "If we diligently read the Bible, the Holy Spirit will give us the right words and Scrip¬ ture references," I said. "If we depend on Him, we are like the branches of these vines along the river that bear fruit. However, if the branches are broken off, then no fruit will appear."

By this time the forest had thinned out on either side of the river. We could see nar¬ row paths that permitted the people to tread single file through the trees. It was almost dark, and I saw, coming down the paths, files of Indian people carrying torches of lighted palm leaves in their hands. The white clothes they wore gave the scene a strange, ethereal appearance, as though they were pilgrims walking to heaven. Many had gathered already in the pandal, away in the distance, and were singing a gospel song in a monotone, chanting it over and over as the white-robed pilgrims made their way to the meeting place.

After the meeting that night I lay in my little thatched hut praising God for the

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