Tramp for the Lord (14 page)

“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.

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the L
ORD
.

Isaiah 55:8

W
hile in Havana, Cuba, I was asked to speak at a youth rally in the Salvation Army hall. Of course this was before the Communist take-over, 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, everything was “
Mañana, mañana
^”
—even the church services.

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 shouting, 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 grateful 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 missionaries, he had been called upon to do some medical work in the field, so many of his slides dealt with that. He had photograph after photograph of drugs and medicines which had been given him by various doctors. “This particular bottle of pills was given me by Dr. Smith,” he droned on. Then flipping to his next slide he said, “And this box of medicines was sent me by Dr. Jones.”

The young people in the hall were not the least bit interested in seeing these 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 flying beetle, which buzzed around the exposed light bulbs 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 everybody 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 but 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 great 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 salvation 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? 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 Christ.

It was eleven-thirty when the meeting finally came to a close.

The next morning, Sunday, I spoke in a beautiful church which 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 ministry. It said: “Corrie ten Boom is a most popular world evangelist…. She is tireless and completely selfless in her absolute dedication 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 immediately.

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 me
.

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 introduction 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 congregation 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 members and a popular world evangelist, we were all sinners who knew that Jesus 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

C
onny and I stood in line, along 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.

Everything 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 something to another man behind him.

“Is there a problem?” I asked the man.

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 then 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 Graham’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—God’s 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 deposition.”

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.”

“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 everything I said and wrote it into a “protocol.”

I learned that my name was on the blacklist for East Germany, which was the reason 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 stubborn Dutch mind that God had us in the guard office for a purpose. He not only loved the Christians in East Berlin; He loved these Communist guards also—the officer and the uniformed typist.

What a sad mistake 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 He had not come to call the righteous but sinners to repentence (see Matt. 9:13).

I remembered the words of Jesus when He said, “You will be led before kings and governors for My name’s sake. This will be a time, an opportunity, for you to bear testimony. Resolve and settle it in your minds, not to meditate and prepare beforehand how you are to answer.” (See 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 Graham 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, catching himself, became very serious and businesslike 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 seriously.

“Flowers are nice for parents, but children 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 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 themselves as 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.’