Smuggling Bibles Through the Iron Curtain

[A] A Meeting in an Elevator Years ago, I popped into a hotel elevator and found myself standing beside the famous Christian writer and Nazi death-camp survivor, Corrie Ten Boom. I recognized her at once, having read her books and seen her on television. When I introduced myself, instead of giving me a usual greeting she squinted at me as only an old woman can squint and asked with a Dutch accent: “Young man, have you ever seen an angel?”

“No,” I replied, startled, “Not that I know of.’ “Well, I have,” she declared. And in the time our elevator took to reach the bottom floor she told me of a time when she was smuggling Bibles into Communist Eastern Europe.

The border guard was checking everyone’s luggage, and she knew her load of Bibles would surely be discovered. In alarm she prayed, “Lord, you have said that you would watch over your Word.

Now, please watch over your Word that I am smuggling;’ Suddenly as she looked at her suitcase, it seemed to glow with light. No one else saw it, but to her it was unmistakable.

There was an aura of light wrapped around that suitcase. Her turn came at customs, and the guard, who had so vigilantly opened and inspected every piece of everyone else’s luggage, glanced at her bags, shrugged, and waved her through. It was an angel, she told me, who had helped her deliver God’s Word behind the Iron Curtain. (B] Friends in Nigeria On New Year’s Day several years ago, my wife, Katrina, and I entertained friends, Terry and Sue Hammack, who told us an amazing story.

Terry and Sue are missionaries with Sudan Interior Mission and lived on a compound in Kano, a large city in northern Nigeria. On one occasion, the population of Kano erupted in dangerous rioting against Christians. Terry managed to smuggle his family to safety, but he felt compelled to stay and help “hold down the fort,” particularly as his job included operating the radio equipment.

For several days they were trapped in the compound, surrounded by thousands of angry Muslims. Day after day, the missionaries expected an attack, and their lives were in jeopardy.

Finally everything settled down, and the assault on the compound fizzled. Terry wondered why. As he later talked to some of his contacts in Kano, he heard the explanation. To the frenzied crowds, it appeared as if the compound had been ablaze.

Fire shot up from the walls, and these strange flames kept the rioters at bay. Yet there had never been any fire in the compound or on the walls. [q At the Bedside of a Friend Mrs. Agnes Frazier was the oldest member of our church. She was a woman of deep piety and enthusiastic spirituality.

At age ninety-five, her health failed, and I received a call. “Mrs. Agnes is asking for you,” said her nurse. When l entered her bedroom, she was almost too weak to look up at me.

Her words were indistinct at times, but it soon became clear that she had wanted to see me because she was curious about “these men.” “What men?” I asked. “I keep seeing these two men,” she said.

“What do they look like?” “Two men, dressed in white from head to foot are standing at the foot of my bed. I don’t know what to tell them. What should I say if they ask me something?”

“Tell them,” I said at length, “that you belong to Jesus.” That seemed to satisfy her. “Yes,” she said, “I’ll tell them I belong to Jesus!’ And shortly afterward, she fell asleep in Christ and those two angels, I believe, ushered her to heaven.