But it was not the work that brought balance to my life, for work cannot balance our feelings. It was because my life was centered in the Lord Jesus that I had balance.
Many people try to lose their feelings in work, or sports, or music, or the arts. But the feelings are always there and will eventually, as they had done tonight in this missionary, come boiling to the surface and express their resentment and discontent.
I turned to Ellen, my companion. Ellen is a tall, blond, beautiful Dutch girl then in her early thirties. She is single, yet she has learned the secret of living a balanced life. While I believe God set me apart before I was born to live a single life, Ellen was different. She did not feel that God had called her to a single life; rather she felt that one day, in God’s time, she would marry. However, until that time arrived—one year or thirty years from then—I knew she was secure in Jesus and was not looking to a husband or children for her security.
I spoke to the missionary. “There are some, like me, who are called to live a single life,” I said softly. “For them it is always easy for they are, by their nature, content. Others, like Ellen, are called to prepare for marriage which may come later in life. They too are blessed, for God is using the in-between years to teach them that marriage is not the answer to unhappiness. Happiness is found only in a balanced relationship with the Lord Jesus.”
“But it is so hard,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes.
“That is so,” I said. “The cross is always difficult. ‘But you are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God’ (Col. 3:3). Dear girl, it cannot be safer. That part of you which would cling to a husband is dead. Now you can move into a life where you can be happy with or without a husband—secure in Jesus alone.”
I do not know if she really understood me, for often we set our minds on some one thing we think will make us happy—a husband, children, a particular job or even a “ministry”—and refuse to open our eyes to God’s better way. In fact, some believe so strongly that only this thing can bring happiness, that they reject the Lord Jesus Himself. Happiness is not found in marriage, or work, or ministry, or children. Happiness is found by being secure in Jesus.
After these things the Lord appointed other seventy also, and sent them two and two before his face into every city and place.
Luke 10:1
28
I Have Much People in This City
My second trip to Cuba was much different from the earlier one, because this time Cuba was in the hands of Communists. Ellen was with me, and we had come from Mexico with our bags loaded with books.
Friends had told us that the Communists in Cuba were burning Bibles and confiscating Christian literature, so I was not at all sure if we could be allowed to bring all these books in with us. We had also heard that most of the churches were closed, and many of the Christians were in prison—some of them for passing out literature. Thus, we were very cautious.
At customs in Havana, the officer pointed to my suitcases. “What are these books?” he asked.
“They are written by me,” I said. “I am going to give them to my friends.”
I saw him scowl as he picked one of them up. My heart began to beat rapidly. Oh, Lord, I prayed inwardly, what must I do?
Then I heard myself saying brashly, “Would you like to have one of my books? Here, I will autograph it especially for you.”
The customs officer looked up. I took the book from his hand and wrote my name in the front and then handed it back. He grinned broadly and thanked me. Then, glancing once more at my suitcase filled with books, he nodded and motioned us through the line. I closed the suitcase and stepped out on the streets. Hallelujah! The miracle had happened.
But why were we here? What kind of plans did the Lord have for us on this island? Had all our former friends been put in prison? Were any of the churches still open? These and many other questions pounded at my mind as we turned our faces toward the city.
An Intourist limousine brought us into the heart of Havana where we found a hotel room. After washing up we went out onto the streets, hoping to find some Christians. But how do you find Christians in a strange city when you cannot even speak their language? We walked up and down the sidewalks, hoping God would show us someone to speak to, but we received no guidance whatsoever.
I finally approached an old man who was leaning against the side of the building. He had a kindly face, I thought. I asked if he knew where there was a church.
He shrugged his shoulders but then, motioning us to wait, went to one of the free telephones along the street. Ellen and I stood praying. Was he going to call the police? Had we broken a law, and would we be put in jail? Then we realized he was calling some of his friends, asking if they knew the whereabouts of a church. No one knew anything, and he returned, saying he could be of no help.
We were discouraged, and to make matters worse it started to rain. Neither Ellen nor I had a raincoat, and soon we were soaked to the skin. We had been walking for hours, and I was exhausted.
“Ellen, can we try to get a taxi?” I asked.
“Well, Tante Corrie, we will need a miracle. However, we know that all things are possible with God.”
I found a little stool and sat down while Ellen walked on down the street, hoping to find a taxi. I looked out over the sea and felt as if I had just waded out of the surf, so wet was I.
I thought of the words of the driver of the Intourist limousine as he had brought us from the airport. “This is the hospital,” he had said as we drove by. “Everyone who is ill can go there, and it does not cost a penny. Here is a cemetery. When you die, we bury you, and even that does not cost your relatives anything.”
I had been in many countries, but this was the first place they had offered to bury me!
We knew that the Lord had sent us to Cuba, but we had no idea of our mission. Where were the churches? We had seen some, but they were closed. Some even had trees growing in front of the doors. We had tried to call some Christians, but the ones we knew were no longer living in the area.
I sat, waiting, while the water poured down my face. Then I heard a car stopping in front of me. Looking up, I saw Ellen’s face in the rear window of the ancient, rusted vehicle.
“Tante Corrie,” she called above the sound of the rain, “here I am again.” I hobbled to the taxi and got in the back door. “Be careful where you put your feet,” Ellen laughed, “or you will touch the street.”
The taxi took us to our hotel, and soon we were in dry clothes, our wet garments hung across the fixtures in the bathroom where the steady drip, drip of water reminded us of our failure out on the street. I love to walk with Jesus, but after eight decades I realized I was not as young as I used to be. It was in such moments that I started to feel old.
Ellen could not sleep that night. We were supposed to stay in Cuba for two weeks, but if we could not find any Christians, then what would we do? She arose in the middle of the night and prayed, “Lord, give me a word so I may know we aren’t in this country in vain.”
Sitting on the side of her bed, she reached for her Bible which was on the small table. She began to read where she had stopped the night before. She had learned that God does not want His children to be fearful, and the best way to overcome fear is through the Word of God.
She read Acts 18:9–10:
Then spake the Lord to Paul . . . , Be not afraid, but speak, and hold not thy peace: For I am with thee, and no man shall set on thee to hurt thee: for I have much people in this city.
What an answer!
The next morning Ellen could not wait to find all those people, and neither could I. She had one address which we had not contacted. It was the address of a small house on a side street where some Christians we had once known used to live. Walking from the hotel, she finally found the street and made her way to a dingy door, weatherbeaten and cracked. She knocked boldly.
A small man, deeply tanned and with wrinkles around his eyes, cautiously opened the door. Ellen co
uld speak no Spanish, but she held up her Bible and one of my books (Amazing Love) which had been translated into Spanish.
The man glanced at the books and then back to Ellen. Ellen smiled and pointed to my name on the book, then pointed back toward the city. Suddenly his whole face came alive. He threw open the door and shouted, “Corrie! Corrie ten Boom està aqui. Ella està en Havana! ”
Ellen walked in and found the room was filled with men, all kneeling on the floor. They were pastors who met each week to pray for God’s help and guidance in their difficult ministry.
Ellen hurried back to the hotel, and soon I was meeting with these wonderful men of God. We distributed all our books and made many new friends among God’s people. Indeed, God did have “much people” in that city.
Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days.
Ecclesiastes 11:1
29
The Blessing Box
Many times, on my trips around the world, I am dependent on the hospitality of Christians. From the time of my first trip to America when I was befriended by God’s people in New York, and later by Abraham Vereide in Washington, D.C., I have known the love and generosity of others in the Body of Christ.
It was on one of those continual trips, when my only home was my suitcase (that big red one), that I was invited to stay with friends in Colorado. I didn’t feel well and needed rest. My hostess escorted me to her lovely house with tall white columns. Taking me up the carpeted stairs, she showed me to a beautiful room. From the windows I could see the clear, blue sky which framed the snowcapped Rocky Mountains. She then put her arms around me and said, “Corrie, this is your room. It will always be here for you.”
“This room! For me?” I could hardly believe it was true. A place for me to unpack my suitcase! To hang up my clothes! To spread out my writing papers and put my Bible on a desk! Since that gray time in the concentration camp, I had longed for bright colors, as a thirsty man yearns for water. This room, and the scenery outside, was filled with color.
I wanted to cry, as a child cries when she is happy. But I have learned to control my tears (most of the time, anyway) and was content just to tell the Lord of my deep thankfulness. The Lord is so good, for He has given me so many friends, just like this, all over the world.
It was during one of my visits in this Colorado home that I received an early morning telephone call. I was already awake, since we intended to leave that afternoon to fly to Washington to speak in a series of meetings arranged by Mr. Vereide.
The phone call was from Alicia Davison, Mr. Vereide’s daughter. “Oh, Alicia, I cannot wait to see you today. I am looking forward to it and the meetings in your fellowship house.”
There was a pause, then Alicia said, “Tante Corrie, Dad is with the Lord.”
“Oh, Alicia …” I tried to speak, but nothing else would come out.
“It is all right, Tante Corrie,” she said calmly. “I am calling to ask you to please come on to be with all of us. We will not have the meetings, but so many people are coming, and we want you to be with us.”
“I shall be there this afternoon,” I said. After a brief prayer over the phone, I hung up.
I hurried to finish my packing, remembering all the kindnesses that had been poured on me by this wonderful family and their many friends. I have faced death many times, but there is always an empty place in my heart when someone I know and love leaves to be with the Lord. Nor did it ever occur to me that almost two years later I would once again fly to Washington to sit in that same Presbyterian Church—not to attend a memorial for Abraham Vereide but to attend the meeting in honor of Alicia. Although still young and beautiful, she would die in Hong Kong while making a mission tour with her husband, Howard Davison.
I was warmly received by my friends in Washington. Although sad, they were rejoicing in the Lord. That night after I had gone to my room, I prayed, “Lord,” I asked, “why are people so kind to me? I am just a simple old Dutch woman. Why am I treated so graciously and shown so much hospitality?”
Then the Lord reminded me of my mother’s blessing box.
Our house in Haarlem was not really big, but it had wide open doors.
I do not suppose that the many guests who were always coming to the Beje ever realized what a struggle it was to make both ends meet. Yet many lonesome people found a place with us and joined in our music, humor and interesting conversation. There was always a place at the oval dinner table, although perhaps the soup was a bit watery when too many unexpected guests showed up. Our entire home was centered in the ministry of the gospel. All people who came to us were either workers in the kingdom of God or people who needed help.
Mother loved all her guests. She often showed her love by dropping a penny in the “blessing box” when they arrived.
The blessing box was a small metal box that sat on the sideboard near the oval dinner table. Here money was collected for the mission that was so close to our hearts. Every time our family was blessed in a particular way, Mother would drop money in the blessing box as a thank offering to God. This was especially true if Father sold an expensive watch or received extra money for repairing an antique clock.
Whenever visitors came, Mother would spread her arms wide and welcome them, and then to show how she really appreciated their presence would say, “A penny in the blessing box for your coming.” If it were a special visitor, she might even put in a dime.
Then, at the dinner table, Father would always bless our visitors, thanking God that our house was privileged by their presence. It was always a special occasion for us all.
I well remember the sister-in-law of a minister who spent the night with us. The next morning Tante Anna went to her room and found her sheet twisted into a rope and lying across the bed.
“What is this?” Tante Anna asked.
The woman broke down in tears. “I must confess. Last night I wanted to commit suicide. I made my sheet into a rope and tied it around my neck to jump from the window. But I could not forget the prayer at the dinner table, as Mr. ten Boom thanked God that I could come and share in this hospitality. God spared my life through that prayer.”
After a few days in Washington, I continued my traveling as a tramp for the Lord. However, fresh on my mind was the hospitality of my dear friends. And I remembered Mother’s blessing box and Father’s prayers.
Often I am dependent on the hospitality of Christians. God’s people have been so generous to open their homes to me, and many times when I lay my head on a strange pillow, which has been blessed by the love of my friends, I realize that I am enjoying the reward for the open doors and open hearts of the Beje.
Heaven will be blessed, but here on earth I already am enjoying a “house with many mansions.”
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
30
Closing the Circle
It would seem, after having been a Christian for almost eighty years, that I would no longer do ugly things that need forgiving. Yet I am constantly doing things to others that cause me to have to go back and ask their forgiveness. Sometimes these are things I actually do—other times they are simply attitudes I let creep in which break the circle of God’s perfect love.
I first learned the secret of closing the circle from my nephew, Peter van Woerden, who was spending the weekend with me in our little apartment in Baarn, Holland.
“Do you remember that boy, Jan, that we prayed for?” Peter asked.
I well remember Jan. We had prayed for him many times. He had a horrible demon of darkness in his life. Although we had fasted and prayed and cast out the demon in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, the darkness always returned.
Peter continued, “I knew God had brought this boy to me not only so he could be delivered, but to teach me some lessons too.”
I looked at Peter. “What could that boy, Jan, so filled with darkness, teac
h you?”
“I did not learn the lesson from Jan,” Peter smiled. “But from God. Once in my intercession time for Jan, the Lord told me to open my Bible to 1 John 1:7–9.I read that passage about confessing our sin and asked the Lord what that had to do with the darkness in Jan’s life.”
Peter got up and walked across the room, holding his open Bible in his hand. “God taught me that if a Christian walks in the light, then the blood of Jesus Christ cleanses him from all sin, making his life a closed circle and protecting him from all outside dark powers. But—” he turned and emphatically jabbed his finger into the pages of the Bible—“if there is unconfessed sin in that life, the circle has an opening in it—a gap—and this allows the dark powers to come back in.”
Ah, I thought, Peter has really learned a truth from the Lord.
“Tante Corrie,” Peter continued, “even though I was able to cast out the demon in Jan’s life, it always crept back in through the opening in the circle—the opening of Jan’s unconfessed sin. But when I led Jan to confess this sin, then the circle was closed, and the dark powers could no longer return.”
That same week the wife of a good friend came to me for counseling. After I had fixed her a cup of tea, she began to tell me about all the people who had prayed for her, yet she was still experiencing horrible dreams at night.
I interrupted her conversation and drew a circle on a piece of paper. “Mary,” I said, “do you have unconfessed sin in your life? Is this the reason the circle is still open?”