Tramp for the Lord (11 page)

“I could hardly bear to see what was happening in front of me.
Surely this is the end of us all
, I thought. Then suddenly a skylark 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 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 away 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 concentration 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.’ ”

Although I was speaking through an interpreter, 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, ‘I stand at the door of your heart and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I come in.’ 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 interpreter.

She smiled and said, “They shout, ‘Old woman, come back. Old woman, come back and tell us more of Jesus.’”

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 drinking such things as they give: for the labourer is worthy of his hire
.

Luke 10: 4, 7

T
he 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 traveling ministry. I was in England and spoke, among other things, about the former concentration 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 meeting a dignified, well-dressed lady came up and handed me a check for a rather large sum of money. It was designated for 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 continued. “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 deliberately 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 which had been given 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 converted 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 Holland. She wrote, “When I prayed for your work this morning, God made it clear to me that you should not ask anybody for financial support. He will provide everything.”

I thought of the night in the concentration 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 command 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 arguments. He waited for me to get through with my objections and then repeated His original command. This time, though, it was even more specific. I was to give two thousand 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 letters 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 which 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 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 far greater blessing 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 always 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 Orient was Formosa (Taiwan). 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 journey. 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.

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 reservation 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 feeling 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. I’ll just have to pray for an island in the Indian Ocean.”