Tramp for the Lord

  But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven….

  For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

  Matthew 6:20–21

  21

  Where Is Heaven?

  Happiness is not dependent on happenings, but on relationship in the happenings.

  My father taught me this when I was just a child. He often told me of the early days of his marriage. He had opened a small jewelry store in a narrow house in the heart of the Jewish section of Amsterdam. Poor Mother! She had dreamed of a home with a little garden. She loved beautiful things and spacious views. “I love to see the sky,” she often said.

  Instead, she found herself on a narrow street, in an old house—the kind with only a single room on each story—with worn-out furniture which they had inherited from Grandmother. Yet they were both happy, not because of the circumstances but because of the relationships in the circumstances.

  There, in Amsterdam in that narrow street in the ghetto, they met many wonderful Jewish people. They were allowed to participate in their sabbaths and in their feasts. They studied the Old Testament together and, on occasion, even the New Testament.

  I have remembered, many times, the lessons I learned from my father about happiness and happenings. But never was it so clear as when I was in Korea, many, many years later.

  I had been in the Orient for three months, spending much of the time in Korea. While there, I spoke in many meetings in schools, orphanages, children’s homes and churches. One day, after I had spoken in a university, a theological student came to me. I had never seen such gloom on the face of a man who said he wanted to be a minister of the risen Christ.

  “Why is it that you are so full of unhappiness?” I asked.

  “I have lost my way,” he said sadly. “When I first became a Christian, my pastor taught me the Bible is true. In those days I had great happiness. But now I am studying the famous scholar, Rudolph Bultmann, who says our Bible is full of myths and fables. I have lost my way and no longer know where heaven is.”

  I was angry. It did not seem right that the simple boys of Korea had to struggle through this horrible theology. They studied many hours at the universities, going to school twice as long as students in America. Yet because of what they studied, they often lost their faith. I answered his question about heaven by telling him what I had just seen and heard the day before while driving through the countryside.

  There I saw the poorest shack I had ever seen. It was a tiny leanto, made from materials collected from the garbage heap—pieces of cardboard, tin cans which had been smashed flat, old boards … As we drove past, though, I heard the beautiful voice of a woman singing. Seldom, even in the concert halls of Europe, had I heard such a sweet voice. We stopped the car and listened, for it was like the song of a skylark.

  I said to the missionary who was traveling with me, “Do you know that song?”

  “Yes,” she said, “it says ‘Where Jesus is, ’tis heaven there.’”

  Oh, how my heart leaped for joy as I heard this beautiful song coming from such a poor place. It is one thing to hear such a song in a dignified church, or pouring through the speakers of an expensive stereo set. But when one hears it coming from the poorest shack in the midst of such poverty, then it means something else.

  I looked at the young theological student before me. “Jesus said, ‘The kingdom of heaven is within you’ (Luke 17:21). Bultmann is wrong, and Jesus is right. Heaven is not a myth or fairy story; heaven is a prepared place for prepared people. Theology in the hands of the Holy Spirit is a beautiful science. But in the hands of unbelievers, it is death.

  “If you want to find where heaven is, get out of your stuffy classroom and go back out into the countryside. Listen to the simple faith of those who read only the Bible and trust only in God, not in material things. What do they care if some theologian says that heaven is a fable? They have found Jesus, and where Jesus is, ’tis heaven there.”

  And how shall they preach, except they be sent?

  Romans 10:15

  22

  When You Are Tempted to Quit

  The enemy tries to make everything work out for the worst. Usually it is not the big problems which depress me, but the multitude of inconveniences which stack up like small rocks to form an immovable mountain. Recently a series of such small incidents almost caused me to resign my commission from the Lord.

  In my journeyings I often have to cross borders between countries. Knowing that smuggling is sin, I do not do it. My first irritation came through an encounter with a customs official.

  “Do you have anything to declare?” he asked rudely.

  “Yes,” I replied. “Nylon stockings.”

  I had put them on top of my luggage to show him, for I knew that at that time it was necessary to pay duty on such items.

  “There are four pair here,” he said. “You told me one pair.”

  “No, I did not!” I answered.

  But he did not believe me. For the next hour he searched my baggage. He tried all the little boxes to see if they had false bottoms. He squeezed my toothpaste tube to see if it contained diamonds. He checked my shoes for false heels which might contain drugs. He felt the hem of my dresses to see if I had sewn pearls into them. He almost pulled the lining out of my suitcases. Of course he found nothing at all and finally allowed me to pass—after paying the duty on the four pair of stockings. I was both offended and unhappy.

  Later I understood why this incident had made me so upset. I had not surrendered my self-righteousness. I was so sure of my own honesty that I suffered from the consequence of wounded pride. It is easier to surrender one’s sins than one’s virtues!

  Unaware of the reason for my depression, I then discovered that I had missed my plane connections due to the delay in the customs office. I was forced to sleep on a couch in the ladies’ room at the airport. However, I am a good sleeper and enjoyed a sound slumber. When I awoke, the amazed cleaning woman (who was sweeping the floor around my couch) said with admiration, “How wonderful to be able to sleep so soundly with so much noise going on around you.”

  Eventually the plane on which I was traveling flew into a storm, making me feel airsick. Then the night following my arrival, there was an earthquake. I hate earthquakes, for they remind me of the bombs that fell during the war.

  Then the kind people who should have arranged my meetings greeted my arrival with, “We thought you needed a holiday and rest, so we have not organized anything.” Sometimes this is God’s plan, but more often it is just a sign of people’s laziness to make preparation. So I did not appreciate the fact they had not arranged any meetings for me.

  The final inconvenience—the one which caused me almost to give up completely—had to do with my room. My hosts put me in a small room that had no writing table. Ordinarily this would not have disturbed me, for I am used to writing on my knee. But on top of everything else that had happened, I crumpled like the camel loaded with straw. I blew up.

  The reason was not hard to find. Self-pity had come into my heart. Self-pity is a nasty sin, and the devil uses it and always starts his talks with “Poor Corrie.”

  This time he began by saying, “Why must you always live out of your suitcases? Stay at home and then you won’t have trouble with customs officials, passports, luggage, plane connections and other things. Every night you will be able to sleep in the same comfortable bed; and there are no earthquakes in Holland. After all, you are no longer young. You’ve lived like a tramp for many, many years. It is time to hang up your harness and retire into a nice green pasture. Let someone else do the work. You’ve earned your reward.”

  By this time I was nodding. “Yes, yes, Satan, you are right.” So, having listened to his advice, I wrote a friend in Holland who managed an international guest house where at the time I had a room kept for me with my own few pieces of furniture.

  “I believe the time has now come for me to work in Holland,” I wrote. “I am tired of all this trav
eling, and I cannot stand having wheels beneath me any longer. Will you arrange to have a desk—a big one—put in front of the window in my room; and an easy chair—a very easy one—on the right …” In my fantasy I had worked out a lovely dream of heaven here on earth, and me in the middle of it!

  That afternoon I posted the letter and then came back to my room to look over my calendar. I jotted down all the names of people I would have to write, canceling my appointments. Everyone would understand. Had not many said, “My, you must be tired at your age!”?

  Everything would have gone all right (or perhaps I should be truthful and say “all wrong”) had I not picked up my Bible. This old, black Bible has been my guidebook in times of light and in times of darkness. I began to read, asking, “Lord, what would You have me to do?”

  I opened to the Book of Romans, chapter 10:

  How then shall they call on him in whom they have not believed? and how shall they believe in him of whom they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a preacher? … As it is written, How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of good things! (10:14–15)

  I remembered the words of a paratrooper instructor. He said that when he had his men in the plane and they were over the battlefield, he gave four commands:

  First, “Attention!” (“Lift up your eyes,” John 4:35).

  Second, “Stand in the door!” (“Look on the fields for they are white already to harvest,” John 4:35).

  Third, “Hook up!” (“Be filled with the Spirit,” Eph. 5:18).

  Fourth, “Follow me!” (“I will make you to become fishers of men,” Mark 1:17).

  I sat for a long time—thinking. It is not our task to give God instructions. We are to simply report for duty.

  I laid my Bible on the bed and picked up pen and paper. Balancing the pad clumsily on my knee, I wrote my friend in Holland.

  “Forget about that last letter I wrote. I am not coming home to Holland. I refuse to spend the rest of my life in a pasture when there are so many fields to harvest. I hope to die in harness.”

  And so, dear brothers, I plead with you to give your bodies to God. Let them be a living sacrifice.

  Romans 12:1, LB

  23

  I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go, Dear Lord … but Not Up Ten Flights of Stairs

  I had spoken that Sunday morning in a church in Copenhagen, Denmark urging the people to present their bodies as living sacrifices to the Lord. I had said that even though I was an old woman I wanted to give myself completely to Jesus and do whatever He wanted me to do, go wherever He wanted me to go—even if it meant dying.

  After the church time two young nurses approached me. They invited me up to their apartment to have a cup of coffee. I was very tired. At almost eighty years of age, I found that standing on my feet for long periods of time was beginning to be exhausting. The cup of coffee sounded good, so I accepted their invitation.

  But I was not prepared for the walk up to their apartment. Many of the houses in Copenhagen are old, high houses with no elevators. The nurses lived on the tenth floor of such a house, and we had to walk up the steps.

  “O Lord,” I complained as I looked up at the high building, “I do not think I can make it.” But the nurses wanted me to come up so badly that I consented to try.

  By the time we reached the fifth floor, my heart was pounding wildly, and my legs were so tired I thought they could not take another step. In the corridor of the fifth floor, I saw a chair and pleaded with the Lord, Lord, let me stay here a time while the nurses go on up the stairs. My heart is so unhappy.

  The nurses waited patiently as I collapsed into the chair, resting. Why, O Lord, must I have this stair-climbing after this busy day of speaking?

  Then I heard God’s voice, even louder than my pounding heart. Because a great blessing is waiting you, a work which will give joy to the angels.

  I looked up at the steps, towering above me and almost disappearing into the clouds. Perhaps I am leaving this earth to go to heaven, I thought. Surely that will give joy to the angels. I tried to count the steps. It seemed there were at least one hundred more to climb. However, if God said that the work would give joy to the angels, then I had to go. I rose from my chair and once again started trudging up the long flights of stairs, one nurse in front of me, the other behind me.

  We finally reached the apartment on the tenth floor, and on entering I found a room with a simple lunch already prepared on the table. Serving the lunch were the mother and father of one of the girls.

  I knew there was only a short time and also knew that a blessing of some kind was waiting us. So, without many introductions, I started asking immediate questions.

  “Tell me,” I asked the nurse’s mother, “is it long ago that you found Jesus as your Savior?”

  “I have never met Him,” she said, surprised at my question.

  “Are you willing to come to Him? He loves you. I have traveled in more than sixty countries and have never found anyone who said they were sorry they had given their hearts to Jesus. You will not be sorry either.”

  Then I opened my Bible and pointed out the verses about salvation. She listened intently. Then I asked them, “Shall we now talk with the Lord?”

  I prayed, then the two nurses prayed and finally the mother folded her hands and said, “Lord Jesus, I know already much about You. I have read much in the Bible, but now I pray You to come into my heart. I need cleansing and salvation. I know that You died at the cross for the sins of the whole world and also for my sins. Please, Lord, come into my heart and make me a child of God. Amen.”

  I looked up and saw tears of joy on the face of the young nurse. She and her friend had prayed so much for her parents, and now the answer was given. I turned and looked at the father, who had sat quietly through all this.

  “What about you?” I asked him.

  “I have never made such a decision for Jesus Christ either,” he said seriously. “But I have listened to all you have told my wife, and now I know the way. I too would like to pray that Jesus will save me.”

  He bowed his head and from his lips poured a joyful but very sincere prayer as he gave his life to Jesus Christ. Suddenly the room was filled with great rejoicing, and I realized the angels had come down and were standing around, singing praises unto God.

  “Thank You, Lord,” I prayed as I walked back down the long steps, “for making me walk up all these steps. And next time, Lord, help Corrie ten Boom to listen to her own sermon about being willing to go anywhere You tell me to go—even up ten flights of stairs.”

  For the earth shall be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea.

  Habakkuk 2:14

  24

  To All the World—Beginning with One

  To give a tract to someone in Russia is always a risk. If the person you are talking to is alone, then there is a little more freedom. However, if a third person is present, both are always uneasy—each afraid the other might turn him over to the secret police.

  Conny and I had been in a Leningrad hotel for about a week when one morning, on our way down to breakfast, I handed the cleaning woman a tract. It was a simple tract, written in Russian, called “The Way of Salvation.” It used only Scripture verses with no commentary.

  She glanced at it and then glanced at the other woman cleaning the hall. She pushed the tract back to me, motioning with her hand as if to say, “That is nothing for me.”

  I felt sorry for her. The answer no hurts when you want to help someone. Conny and I continued on down the hall to the elevator, heading to the dining room for breakfast. We were the only ones on the elevator, and on the way down I cast this latest burden on the Lord. “Father, I can’t reach this woman. Do bring her in contact with someone who can tell her the gospel in her own language. Lord, I claim her soul for eternity.”

  I was shocked by the boldness of my prayer. Never in all my life had I prayed that way. Was it prop
er? Could I actually claim the soul of someone else? In a kind of postscript, I asked, “Lord, was this wrong or right? May I say such a prayer?”

  Then, even before I could receive His answer, I heard myself praying a prayer that frightened me even more. “Lord Jesus, I claim all of Russia for You.”

  The elevator stopped, and Conny and I walked through the huge corridor to the dining room. I was bewildered. My cheeks were red and hot. “Lord, was this right? Was this too much? But no, Lord, Your Word says, ‘The earth is the Lord’s … the world and they that dwell therein’ (Psalms 24:1). Surely that means Russia too.”

  Still confused, we entered the dining room. It was crowded, and the waiter came up and said, “There are only two of you. You cannot eat breakfast here since all the tables are reserved for big groups.”

  We looked around. A Japanese man had heard the waiter and motioned for us to come to his table where there were two empty places. “Just come,” he said. “We will act as if you belong to our group.”

  But the waiter saw what had happened and refused to wait on us. I felt unhappy and unwelcome. Turning to Conny, I said, “At dinner yesterday I took some white buns up to my room in my purse. They are still there, and we have some Nescafé. Why should we sit here and wait? Let us go to our room.”

  It was quiet and peaceful upstairs. Our breakfast tasted good although it was only dry buns and Nescafé without any cream.

  Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Conny opened it, and there stood the cleaning woman, the one who had refused the tract. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and I noticed her heavy leather shoes squeaked when she walked. She closed the door behind herself. From her lips poured a stream of Russian words, not a single one of which we could understand. Then she pointed a finger at my brown bag.