Betsie saw where I was looking and laid a bird-thin hand over the whip mark. “Don’t look at it, Corrie. Look at Jesus only.” She drew away her hand: it was sticky with blood.
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 pillow cases and a spotless floor. The hoarse voices of the slave drivers 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.
Oh Father! Betsie! If I had known would.
My job was simply to follow His leading one step at a time, holding every decision up to Him in prayer.
It was one thing to believe that such things were possible thousands of years ago, another to have it happen now, to us, this very day.
And so Betsie and I arrived in Barracks 8 in the small hours of that morning, bringing not only the Bible, but a new knowledge of the power of Him whose story it was.
One, the observable, external life, grew every day more horrible. The other, the life we lived with God, grew daily better, truth upon truth, glory upon glory.
Betsie, if I hadn’t heard you in the kitchen – ” But Betsie put a finger on my mouth. “Don’t say it, Corrie! There are no ‘ifs’ in God’s world. And no places that are safer than other places. The center of His will is our only safety – Oh Corrie, let us pray that we may always know it!” T.
And I’ve never met anybody who said that they were sorry that the Lord Jesus had entered their hearts.
To Tanta Yanns the clothes in fashion when she was young represented God’s final say on human apparel. All change since then came from the style book of the devil.
Dear Jesus, I thank You that we must come with empty hands. I thank You that You have done all – all – on the cross, and that all we need in life or death is to be sure of this.
This was evil’s hour: we could not run away from it. Perhaps only when human effort had done its best and failed, would God’s power alone be free to work.
Every day of my life had ended like this: that deep steady voice, that sure and eager confiding of us all to the care of God. The Bible lay at home on its shelf, but much of it was stored in his heart.
I became the first licensed woman watchmaker in Holland. And.
Willem led Father up to the desk. The Gestapo chief leaned forward. “I’d like to send you home, old fellow,” he said. “I’ll take your word that you won’t cause any more trouble.” I could not see Father’s face, only the erect carriage of his shoulders and the halo of white hair above them. But I heard his answer. “If I go home today,” he said evenly and clearly, “tomorrow I will open my door again to any man in need who knocks.
When I enter that beautiful city, And the saints all around me appear, I hope that someone will tell me: it was you who invited me here.
Unseen by either of us, Father had appeared in the doorway. “Give the child to me, Corrie,” he said. Father held the baby close, his white beard brushed its cheek, looking into the little face with eyes as blue and innocent as the baby’s own. At last he looked up at the pastor. “You say we could lose our lives for this child. I would consider that the greatest honor that could come to my family.” The pastor turned sharply on his heels and walked out of the room.
You are not called to convince anyone. You are simply called to be an open channel for the Spirit of God to flow through.
Oh, my dears, I am sorry for all Dutchmen now who do not know the power of God. For we will be beaten. But He will not.
What I have to say is of no importance. Let me tell you what the Son of God had to say.
And even if it wasn’t right – it wasn’t so very wrong, was it? Not wrong like sadism and murder and the other monstrous evils we saw in Ravensbruck every day. Oh, this was the great ploy of Satan in that kingdom of his: to display such blatant evil that one could almost believe one’s own secret sins didn’t matter.